Bad Luck, Baby

7 - Bad Impressions

As I trailed after Ro down an unfamiliar street in an unsavory-looking part of town, I once again questioned what exactly had led me to be in this situation, and what chance I had of getting out of it with my sanity intact. It wasn't looking good.

Ro was in cat form, having said he would stand out less that way, but he was drawing stares, nonetheless. We both were, as we'd been up and down this street three times already. Apparently, our destination—Janelle's Spells—could only be found by following a very specific set of directions, some of which were rather odd.

Ro stopped at a crosswalk and sat on his haunches, waiting for the light to change. I stood beside him, trying to ignore the fact I was standing next to a cat. A young woman joined us and exclaimed with delight when she noticed Ro. She bent down to pet him, and he arched his back and held his tail aloft, purring loudly.

"Stop that. I can see your butt, you freak," I muttered.

The woman glanced up at me with a shocked expression, stood, straightened her skirt, and hurried away.

Mortification seared my face.

"I'm so sorry—I wasn't talking to you!" I called after her. "I was... talking to the... to my cat."

She kept walking.

I glared at Ro. He winked at me, and I knew he'd be laughing if he could.

The light changed, and he trotted out along the crosswalk. I followed, slouching my shoulders, and then sighed as he circled a streetlamp three times. Flinching against the public judgements of my mental health, I did the same. Then he set off down the sidewalk, back the way we came.

I rubbed my brow. It was barely 9 am, and I already had a headache. You'd think the universe would give me a break on the day after the worst day of my life, but so far this one wasn't shaping up to be much better than the last.

After a quick breakfast of cold cereal, Ro had informed me we had something of a journey ahead of us.

"We'll take the bus downtown," he'd said, "then walk from the station. You're up for walking, aren't you?"

"Why can't we take my car?" I'd asked, confused.

"Because your car is gone," he'd said. "I had it towed."

After a shock and a quick investigation, I'd discovered he was telling the truth. I'd expressed my disappointment and distress, and he'd given me that pitying look again.

"You've never made someone disappear before, have you?" he'd asked.

I'd admitted I hadn't. "Have you?"

He'd only shrugged, and informed me that the simplest solution was to evade the 'human police' until I knew how to reliably get them off my back. "Your father certainly did," he'd said, his expression darkening.

"But if I just explained..." I'd protested weakly.

"Yes, because you have such a wonderful alibi," he'd said, perhaps sarcastically. "You found your boyfriend murdered, called 911, hung up, fled the scene, ran away to your father's house—your father, who was also murdered, by the way. Of course, walking in on your boyfriend getting banged by another man couldn't possibly be considered motive, could it? And your new daemon familiar can vouch for you, of course."

With it laid out so plainly, I'd clearly envisioned a long and unpleasant future for myself in the state penitentiary—or mental facility, more likely—and agreed to go along with his plan.

And so, he'd taken cat form, and we'd both taken the bus downtown (at least he got to ride free), and proceeded to wander up and down streets, and around several blocks, weaving our way around lampposts and between trees, until at last he stopped before a plain black door in a brick wall.