The Familiar Read Free

net built with strands of her magic.
    She gets out of bed. Her robe rustles as she walks toward me. She moves in front of me where I can see her and says, her voice low, "Four more lives, Tom. That's all."
    When she's calm like this, it scares me more than the rages.
    "Do you want to go out, Tom?"
    I can't move, so I don't respond.
    "I know you do. But you want to be wearing this fine, manly body of yours when you leave, don't you? You could walk over to Gillian's and tell her how sorry you are you cheated on her. Or take flowers to your mother's grave, perhaps?" She leans in to my ear, solicitous. "It was sad you missed your parent's funerals. Or no—you could escape Giles altogether and go back to your tomcatting ways in the big city. I think that's more likely, don't you?"
    She turns and walks into the hall, and I'm pulled along behind by her magical, silver tractor beam. I struggle not to lose my footing on the stairs as it tugs me downward.
    When we're finally standing at the shop door, looking out on the deserted nighttime street, she frees my head and neck, then places a hand on my jaw to turn my face to hers. She gives me an unpleasant smile. "Go on, Tom. I give you your freedom." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Walk out like a man."
    The magical net lets loose. I face forward, close my eyes, and take a deep breath. I know I can't leave as a man. I know it's a trick. I know she's taunting me: this hope welling up inside is just another load of splat. Every door, every window, every point of exit from this house precipitates the shift.
    But I can't help it. The same as my mistress, I can't bear to let go of the hope that one day I'll wake up and the rules of my universe will have changed. I'm not thinking of the transformation any more than Eunice thinks of the spell-shattering bolt of brightness under the Black Moon. I'm thinking only about how the wind would feel blowing through my hair.
    I open my eyes and step through the doorway. I'm outside, and I'm Tom. And the breeze, oh the breeze…
    Then the pain comes.
    My body pulls in on itself, folding up like intricate origami, my smooth skin darkening and sprouting fur, until Cat stands where the man was.
    I hate myself for believing, even a little.
    Eunice's laughter follows me all the way down the street.

***
    Cat doesn't like fog. You'd think he would with both he and the fog ghosting around on their little cat feet, but despite the potential for stealth, it hides the small movements of nearby prey. Hunting is poor. I hear the night creatures scatter as they smell me moving toward them, but I can't find them. They're lost in the mist.
    I prowl the backyards of the row of well-maintained Victorian-era buildings where the shop is located, searching for a creature skittering there that I can stalk and control and kill. But there's just the rustle of small feet hurrying out of my way. It'll be off to the woods, then. I can sniff something out farther from home. Maybe a squirrel, something that isn't afraid of a fight.
    I dart across the street, distracted by my urges. Tires squeal ten feet from me. I look up at the driver and see good ol' Kevie-baby's ugly mug in the windshield just before Cat is knocked over and goes down screaming to be crushed by a rear wheel and pop out behind it in a world of pain.
    I'm too hurt now to even scream as the car pulls to the side of the road. I hear doors slam and raised voices.
    "I don't know why you always have to make a big deal out of everything, Dad. Leave it for the road crews."
    "We're not leaving some kid's dead pet on the street where he can find it. Toss me your keys. Do you still have those burlap bags in the back?"
    Great. Robert's here, too. If I wasn't already dying, Eunice would kill me.
    There's a jangling thud as the keys hit the road, and a little later, the sound of the trunk popping open as footsteps move toward me.
     Then the pain stops, and the breath stops, and the sound stops, and the dark starts, and I'm in