Drink Deep - Chloe Neill [59]
But a small, black cat with a pink rhinestone collar padded into view from beneath the table. It sat down on its haunches on the floor beside Mallory and looked up at me, its eyes chartreuse.
“Your familiar?” I wondered, and Mallory nodded. At Simon’s suggestion, she’d adopted a black kitten to help her perform her sorcery duties.
“That would be Wayne Newton, yes.”
“You named your familiar ‘Wayne Newton’?”
“They have the same haircut,” she dryly said. I moved my hand. Sure enough, the small cat had a bouffant of dark hair between its ears.
“Huh. It does seem a lot calmer than the last time you mentioned it,” I said. I reached down to scratch Wayne Newton between his ears. He nuzzled against my hand, but swayed a little as he did it, as if he was drunk.
I glanced back at Mallory. “What’s wrong with him?”
She glanced down, then frowned at the kitten. “Her, not him. And it’s the fermented pickle juice. I didn’t quite get there in time, and she was lapping it up.”
“Poor kid.”
“I know. And it’s another strike against Aunt Rose. I don’t even think she liked pickles, anyway.”
Apparently equally bored of me and Mal, the cat wandered off. But there was an odd, dizzying sway to its gait.
“Are you feeling better about the kinds of things you’re doing?” Mallory had previously expressed concern about Simon introducing her to black magic. Although a spell prevented her from spilling all the details, she’d clearly had some ethical qualms about it. I’d encouraged her to talk to Catcher. I knew they’d talked, but maybe the conversation—or its follow-ups—hadn’t gone well.
She tapped a finger against the red leather cover of the book she’d been reading, which was inscribed with gold text. Frankly, it looked exactly like the kind of book a sorceress would read.
“The world is what it is,” she said. “Just because something makes me uncomfortable doesn’t mean it’s bad, you know? Sometimes it just takes a little exposure to really understand it. I was just a little paranoid before.”
I waited for more elaboration, but that’s all she said. To be honest, that answer didn’t thrill me. Coming to terms with something unpleasant was one thing. But deciding it wasn’t so unpleasant after all was entirely different.
“Just a little paranoid?” Her hands—chapped and raw—were a side effect of the magic she’d been practicing. That didn’t seem like paranoia to me; it seemed like cause and effect.
“It’s fine,” she said, putting a hand down on the table hard enough to make it shake. I jumped a little at the sound, but if she was trying to shut me up, she succeeded. “I needed the cat to help me funnel the magic. And what I still need are three more of them to help me get all this done. There’s too much to do, too much to learn, for one person.”
This wasn’t Mallory—not the attitude. I laid responsibility for that at Simon’s feet; she’d seen him more often lately than anyone else. But here it was just her and me, and I wasn’t about to lead our friendship to the precipice over some temporary stress.
“Okay,” I allowed. “You know if you need to talk you can call me anytime. Day or night.”
“You’ll answer your phone in daylight?” she snarked.
Not if you don’t lose the attitude, I thought, but kept that thought to myself. She’s been there for me, I mentally repeated, and kept repeating it until my anger calmed.
“Whatever you need,” I told her.
She humphed and flipped a page in the book. “I should get back to work. Thanks for the food.”
I frowned, unsuccessfully fighting the feeling that I’d been summarily dismissed. “You’re welcome. Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I’m fine. Even if I get sick, I could just will myself back to health.”
When it was clear I’d lost her attention, I left her with her books and plants and care package and a secret prayer that she’d weather this particular storm.
I didn’t like the sense she was hiding things, but I understood the single-minded focus. I’d had dozens of exams in college and grad school, and preparing took