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Her lashes are naturally curled and lush, so unlike the rest of us mere mortals, she doesn’t need the extra help. She also doesn’t need the ego boost, so I don’t tell her the difference is marginal at best.

“Well, thanks for bringing him in,” I say. “I’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been volunteering here since I was fourteen, so…”

Kiara’s eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t mean you weren’t competent!” She takes a breath, not letting go of the kitten. “What’s going to happen to him now?”

I try my hardest not to look at the poster on the wall squashed between Adopt Don’t Shop and The Importance of Heartworm Screening .

The boss and vet, Otto Brady, leaves it up as an evergreen reminder to surrender unwanted animals to the shelter instead of abandoning them.

This time of year we get an influx of frogs, ferrets, black adders, lizards, tarantulas, and black cats.

It involves a small fee and some paperwork, but superstitious people get all worked up over the silliest things.

“Nova?” Kiara’s brows pinch.

I waver between giving her the answer she wants and the truth.

The truth being it’s the first of October, and as cute as he is, he’s still a black cat.

We’re a no-kill shelter that can offer a loving sanctuary, since in Prior’s End, adoption is a long shot for any animal of the witch’s familiar variety.

Can’t tell her that, though. I want to be unaffected by her, but going by the way Kiara’s clinging to him…I get the feeling she’ll be crushed to know the truth.

With the kind of confidence that wins Oscars, I say, “He’ll get adopted, no problem.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

I huff. “Don’t sound so suspicious.”

“I…well…okay.”

With a torn expression, Kiara finally relinquishes her handful of fluff. “Have you really been volunteering here for three years?” At my nod, she says, “I never knew that about you.”

“Why would you?” The kitten’s still a bit agitated, so I tuck in his limbs as best I can. “Anyway, you did the right thing bringing him here. I need to get him in back for Otto to do a physical exam, so…”

She takes the hint. “Yeah, no, I’ll just…I’ll get out of your hair.”

“And maybe get to the ER. Your eye looks pretty gnarly.”

“The redness will clear up on its own. Probably.” Kiara half frowns. “I’ve actually never had a mascara wand attack me like that before. I can’t explain it. It was almost like—” She tilts her head back and laughs, breathy and disbelieving.

What did she stop herself from voicing? Unease flutters in my stomach like bat wings. “Attack you?”

She backs away toward the door. “Just a figure of speech.”

The distance between us is the same as it was last night. Unbidden, my words come back to haunt me.

“ … many, many days of bad luck ahead, Kiara Mistry. Your good fortune has come to an end.”

I swallow. Between her eye injury and her cardigan, it’s hard not to at least consider it. Anyone would. I mean, it’s not even noon, and weird things have already happened to her. But who hasn’t poked themselves with their mascara wand at least once? So maybe it’s nothing?

Kiara swivels to face the door, and just as I’ve dismissed that niggling little doubt, the handle catches on the loose wool.

It barely touches the knit before rows upon rows undo themselves.

In a blink, the bottom half of the cardigan comes apart, hanging limp and shredded like the world’s worst fringe ever.

Her horrified eyes meet mine. Even the kitten is stunned, going still in my hands and not even trying to bat at me anymore. All three of our mouths are open in horror. There are, quite literally, no words. Even if I wanted to say something, I can’t get my vocal cords to work.

Kiara gathers the dangling ends in her hand, stares, then lets them drop. “What…what just happened?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

At first, I’m indignant. What makes her think that a morning spent in her presence is the stuff that gossip is made of? Then because I can’t let it go, I ask, “Why not? Sure, what happened to your cardigan was a little weird, but accidents happen every—”

“No, they don’t,” she interrupts. “They don’t happen to me.

My mom and dad think it’s because of the meditation and spiritual cleansing we do, and maybe that’s part of it, but I’ve always had good luck.

Amazing luck, actually. All the mantras and essential oils and Ayurvedic massages eliminate negative energy, sure, but I’ve always known that—” She breaks off and looks away.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “What?”

“You’ll make fun of me if I tell you.”

“Yeah, probably. But you’re on a roll. So.” I shrug and wave at her to continue.

She fidgets with the loose strands. “Not to sound conceited, but, well, ever since I was a little kid, I’ve always known that I’m special.”

Did she really just say that?

It takes every facial muscle I have not to gape at her. I mean, she’s not wrong. Though I itch to be contrary just to annoy her, there’s no point in arguing when I have her whole life history as proof positive.

So yes, as much as I hate to agree with her that she is, in fact, special, I totally agree that when the Powers That Be were dealing out good hands in life, she got a royal flush while most of the rest of us landed relative stinkers.

It doesn’t surprise me that those lucky few go through life with delusions of grandeur, but I guess if everything always went my way as if by magic, I might think the same.

“You’re right,” I tell her. Catching her look of surprise, I roll my eyes. “Not that you’re special. But I do agree that good things seem to go your way a disproportionate amount. I guess if I were you, I wouldn’t want people to know I’m only human after all.”

She blinks. “I can’t tell with you. Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“Uh, since you couldn’t tell that was sarcasm, yeah, totally .”

Kiara’s even prettier when she scowls.

I hate that I notice.