“I like how my job is the only one with any real threat of danger,” Gwyn said, but off Vivi’s look, she lifted her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, Operation Soothe the Muggles, I’m on it.”
“Good,” Vivi said. “So that’s it. We have a plan. A . . . kind of half-ass one, but a plan nonetheless.”
“Quarter-ass, if you ask me,” Rhys muttered but then nodded at her. “But certainly better than nothing.”
Glancing around him, he sighed. “And at least I’ll get to reacquaint myself with Graves Glen after all this time.”
When Vivi only stared at him, he added, “I mean . . . it’s not as if I can go home until all this is over.”
He was right. She knew that. Of course getting this sorted out meant that Rhys would stay here.
In her town.
Working with her.
He smiled at her then, winking, and despite all of it, the curse, the embarrassment, the freaking tiny plastic skulls of death, Vivi’s heart did a neat little flip in her chest.
Yep, definitely in hell.
Chapter 12
Vivi woke up to find Sir Purrcival staring at her.
That wasn’t all that unusual—he’d always liked to find whoever the last person in bed was in the mornings and snuggle in, and since Gwyn and Aunt Elaine were both early risers, that had almost always been Vivi back when she’d lived here.
What was unusual was that he blinked his yellow-green eyes at her, yawned and then said, “Treats.”
Now it was Vivi’s turn to blink.
“Dreaming,” she muttered to herself. Last night had been awfully traumatic, after all. Made sense she’d have a really vivid, really bizarre dream that felt real but wasn’t.
“Treats,” Sir Purrcival said again, butting his head against Vivi’s arm, and okay, no, this was real.
They had a talking cat.
“Gwyn!” Vivi called, scooting back a little bit in her bed, and Sir Purrcival continued to pace and turn in circles, a constant refrain of “Treats, treats, treats!” spilling from his whiskered lips.
Vivi heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Gwyn was there, still in her pajamas, her hair pushed back from her face with a brightly colored headband.
“What is it?” Gwyn asked, and Vivi nodded at Sir Purrcival.
“He talks now.”
Gwyn blinked at her, then looked back to Sir Purrcival before giving a shriek of delight and clapping her hands. “He does?”
Rushing into the room, she scooped up her cat, holding him in front of her face. “What did he say?” she asked. “Because I’ve always wanted a talking cat, and I think if any cat is going to be a stimulating conversationalist, it’s—”
“Treeeeaaaaaats,” Sir Purrcival croaked again, and then began wiggling in Gwyn’s arms. “Treatstreatstreatstreatsfoodtreats.”
“He mostly says that,” Vivi said, pushing back the covers, and Gwyn frowned at her cat.
“Okay, but maybe once he gets treats he’ll have more to say.” With that, she set him back on the bed and rushed out of the room, returning a few seconds later with the bag of cat treats. Shaking out a few in her hand, she offered them to Sir Purrcival, who gobbled them up. “Now say ‘thank you,’ buddy,” Gwyn coached.
Purrcival licked his chops and headbutted her hand. “Treatstreatstreats,” he began again.
“I think maybe that’s all he can say?” Vivi offered.
“TreatstreatstreatsTREATSTREATSTREATS!”