Page 93 of Hungry As Her Python

To infiltrate and deface.

Keep our neighbors,

Safe and free,

As we will, mote it be.”

The words rolled out of us like muscle memory, the Trifecta’s magic surging and sparking around our bodies until the air smelled like roasted marshmallows and ozone.

Our Domovyks—Gryn, Ivan, and Petyr—zipped into view, their little magical bodies glowing, reinforcing the spell.

The polymers of the plastic lid morphed into pure steel, snapping shut with a clang that sent the vandals inside into another chorus of offended screeches.

Jaxson, Ryan, and Conrad appeared at the end of the alley, moving fast but not charging in.

They’d been waiting in the shadows just in case—and the fact they were letting us handle it while still ready to step in?

Yeah, that hit me right in the feels.

“You got that right, Sugar,” Conrad said with that slow, devastating grin of his.

He was pointing some kind of weapon at the steel bin like he’d been born to protect me.

Like a cross between a magic wand and an AK-47.

I didn’t even care that he’d read my mind again.

For the first time, it felt safe.

Comforting, even.

Ermagerd. I was in so much trouble.

I turned back to the bin now prison, aka magically impossible to break out of pet crate.

“Alright, you three, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

There was a pause, then a simultaneous “Meoowww?” from inside.

The steel shimmered, the magic lock flaring just enough for us to get a peek—and that’s when Evie screeched, “Cats? You’re just cats!?”

Sure enough, three furious, floofy cats stared back at us.

One was wearing a tiny leather vest that read Vice President, EFFFU, another had on a rhinestone collar that spelled “Two Fangs,” and the third—a sleek black she-cat—had eyeliner so sharp it could cut glass.

“Oh, you Witches are gonna pay,” Two Fangs growled. “You don’t mess with the EFFFU.”

I threw up my hands. “Seriously? All this chaos because you guys are in a cat gang?”

“Correction,” the she-cat said with a sniff, “an elite cat gang.”

Donny deadpanned, “We got punk’d by militant house pets.”

Ryan choked back a laugh.

Jaxson outright lost it.

Conrad, though?