Page 14 of How to Flirt with a Witch

My room is dead silent except for the rain lashing against the window, leaving streaks between me and the pitch black night. My candles sway in a draft, casting shadows over the walls.

“If it’s urgent, we recommend you bring your cat in for an exam,” the vet tech says.

“Please just have her call me.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I have follow-up questions.”

A pause. “Okay. What’s the best number to reach you?”

I give her my number, and before I can ask how long it will be, the line goes dead.

I flop sideways on the bed and draw my knees to my chest. Hazel is still on my laptop, walking in and out of the frame as she paces her room and flaps her hands.

Not-Lucy comes to curl up beside my face. I pet her.

“Whose cat are you, then?” I whisper, and she purrs, oblivious to my turmoil.

“There has to be an explanation,” Hazel says calmly. “A vet could get in serious trouble for something like this. They could be sued, or shut down, or… get a really bad review on Google.”

I moan incoherently into the duvet.

The minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. I turn on my desk lamp and try to study, re-reading the same notes over and over, praying they sink in so I don’t fail my first university midterms.

It’s hopeless.

After an hour, Hazel and I have to end our call so she can go to sleep.

Finally, as I lie in bed and prepare to stare at the ceiling all night, an unknown number lights up my phone.

I sit up and answer with a trembling hand. “Where’s the real Lucy?”

Silence. An exhale. “What are you talking about?”

Natalie’s voice disorients me. It purrs through the speaker, making me tingle everywhere.

I scowl. “Don’t give me that! You swapped my cat.”

The silence goes on for longer this time. “What makes you say that?”

I fling the blankets off me and get up, pacing the dark room. The ambient light from the street lamps outside casts a faint glow over the bed. “First of all, her whole personality is different, but I chalked that up to her being cured from… whatever she had going on. But it’s her back paw. The real Lucy has a smudge there, and this kitten doesn’t.”

“Do you not like this kitten?”

The question makes my heart jump. “So you admit it. This isn’t Lucy.”

“And you don’t like her?”

I look down at the little fluff ball on my pillow with her big eyes and beige-tipped ears. “That’s not the point.”

“Miss Alexander, trust me when I say you’re better off this way.”

I freeze mid-step, a scoff escaping. “I don’t trust you! You’ve given me no reason to!”

She says nothing. I want to reach through the phone and shake a real answer out of her.

“Is this why you put the ribbon on her?” I ask. “To distract me?”

“No. Maybe.”

I growl in frustration, acid rising inside me. “You’re despicable. Is Lucy still alive?”