Visions (Cainsville 2)

There it was. Plain and simple, and stupid as hell. He'd hurt me. Shouldn't I want some payback? Maybe not the immature scenario I'd just imagined, but at the very least I shouldn't mind hurting him, if that's what came of it.

Ninety minutes had passed since I'd left the office, and he was still trying to figure out why I hadn't been my usual upbeat self. Still trying to make it right. I could say he really didn't want to lose his new employee, and I'm sure it was partly that, but it was also . . .

I looked at those texts and I didn't see Gabriel, hard-assed lawyer. I saw a boy whose mother had left when he was fifteen, who must have left so many times before that he never once considered the possibility she was dead, just presumed she'd abandoned him and went about his life as if that sort of thing happened. As if that's what you should expect from people. They'd get tired of you. They'd decide you were more trouble than you were worth. And they'd leave.

I picked up the phone and texted back. That's fine. Send more if you have it. See you Tuesday.

I sent the message, hauled my ass off the sofa, and changed for a run.

--

Normally I ran down Main Street. Tonight, I wasn't feeling sociable, so I headed into the residential neighborhoods as I struggled to slough off my mood. Then, as I turned a corner, I glimpsed a streak of black fur tearing behind a hedge, and I stopped.

"TC?" I called.

Silly, of course. He wasn't the only black animal in Cainsville. But when I paused, my legs twitched, as if urging me to keep going. I checked around the hedge. No sign of any furred critters. I scanned the yard but still saw nothing. So I resumed my jog.

I'd gone halfway down the quiet street when a shape darted across the intersection ahead. There was no doubt it was a black cat, roughly the same size as TC.

I whistled. The cat scampered along the next street and vanished out of sight.

"TC?" I called as I hurried after him.

Seriously? Take a hint, girl. Dude's running the other way. You've never chased a guy before. Don't start now.

I just wanted to make sure he was okay. That he hadn't been . . .

What? Abducted from my apartment? Kidnapped and dumped here, a mile away, and somehow couldn't find his way home? It was a mile. Real pets cross continents for their people.

When I reached the corner, there was no sign of TC, but I jogged along looking left and right. At the next corner, I stopped on the curb and closed my eyes. I felt a twinge and opened my eyes just as a black cat dashed into a yard.

Let me get close enough to make sure it's him. That's all I need.

When I neared the house, I slowed. The shuttered windows made the house look as if it was asleep. No, as if it was drowsing, waiting . . .

I shook off the feeling. Still, the house was worth staring at. Victorian literature was my area of specialty, but I'd always taken an interest in architecture, too, and this house combined the two perfectly. It was a Queen Anne, which often conjures up images of the most over-the-top, wedding-cake Victorians, but this one had the hallmarks while showing dignified restraint. Less of a flouncy cancan dancer than a well-born lady who knows how to rock a fancy

dress and killer pair of heels.

It had an asymmetrical front, with a rounded porch extending along the left side. There was no Queen Anne tower, but the front window and the one above it were large, three-sided bays, forming a half tower. The details were Free Classic style, meaning they lacked the ornate gingerbread, instead favoring columns and simpler molding.

I continued forward. The street was lined with oaks and elms and maples, not one of which was under a hundred years old. An evening breeze made the leaves dance, and brought the faint perfume of magnolia blossoms.

I reached the house. The yard was emerald green and perfectly trimmed, as were the rose bushes and hydrangeas. The gardens were otherwise empty, though. Weeded, as if someone had meant to plant but lost track of time and missed the season.

A wrought-iron fence surrounded the house. On every post was a chimera head, like the ones in the park. I touched a minotaur.

This fence wasn't something you could hire the local builder to install, even a hundred years ago. Gorgeous, expensive custom work. I walked down to the next chimera. That's when I glanced up at the house and noticed the frieze under the cornices. Gargoyles.

"Mrrowwww."

The plaintive cry made me jump. It was TC, beyond a doubt. The call came from the side of the house, but I could see nothing there. Then it sounded again.

I bent outside the fence and called him. I whistled. I chirped. I clucked. I made every "here, kitty kitty" noise I could think of, and as I did, his cries grew louder and more urgent.

He's hurt. He's trapped.

He couldn't be. I'd just seen him.