While he waited, Eamon did a few chores. Loaded the dishwasher with the dishes from last night’s dinner, which were still in the sink. Took out the trash and put a new liner in the bin. Wiped down the counters. Picked up a few random bits and bobs in the living room.

  Finally, he filled a pitcher with water and went out onto the back porch to give his uncle’s beloved plants a drink. He left the lights off, preferring the dark, although the sun hadn’t quite set, so there was still more than enough light to see by.

  He worked his way around the porch, stopping when he was about half done to go back in and refill the pitcher. Eamon wasn’t much on plants one way or the other, but he had to admit that the pots of flowers, especially the geraniums with their spicy scent, really made the back porch look and smell nice.

  He drained the pitcher into the last one, a big spider plant cascading with babies, then just stood there a moment, listening.

  There was a fence separating his uncle’s yard from the yard next door, meaning he couldn’t see into their property. But he could hear them. The two women must be having dinner on their back porch. But there was a new voice. One he didn’t recognize. Also female.

  He listened closer. The new woman’s voice held the fullness of youth and a trill of joy, but there were occasional moments of … doubt. Was that what it was? Aye, doubt seemed to edge certain answers or comments. Maybe a wee bit of anxiety.

  Whoever had joined them wasn’t completely happy. Something was bothering her.

  Since starting up his podcast, he’d learned a lot about the nuances of inflection and tone in the human voice. He strived to keep his full and rounded, not letting his accent get in the way of being understood. He’d practiced a lot.

  He’d developed a real understanding of the emotions a voice could convey, as well.

  Then he picked up something new from the conversation. The younger woman called one of the older women “aunt.”

  The crazy cat women had their niece in to visit. No doubt also a crazy cat woman, if she was staying with them. You’d have to be, he thought. Those two nutters had a hundred cats over there. Maybe more.

  Devilish things. He’d never had a cat, but he knew all about the old tales of the creatures stealing people’s breath and being bad luck. He crossed himself and went back inside just as the doorbell rang. He didn’t answer it, though. Just looked at the doorbell camera on his phone. The pizza was being delivered. He still didn’t need to answer it. He’d paid and given the driver a tip through the app already.

  Living in the age of “contact-free” had made his life so much easier. Only when he saw people face-to-face did he see the hourglass hovering over them. Seeing them through any kind of lens erased that, be it a camera or the television.

  He waited until the man’s vehicle was pulling out of the driveway to head to the front door and retrieve their food. As he was doing that, his uncle arrived.

  Eamon gave him a wave, then took the food into the kitchen. He got out plates, plus forks for the salads, then fired up the telly and found the channel for the game.

  His uncle walked in, loosening his tie. “Long day. Mr. Young will have a beautiful service, though. You did a wonderful job with him.”

  “I appreciate that. Nice family?”

  Seamus nodded. “A son and a daughter, lots of grandchildren, plus a younger brother and a good deal of his family. It’ll be well-attended.”

  “That’s always nice.” Eamon left the pizza box closed.

  “Just let me shower and change and I’ll be down to eat.”

  “Of course.”

  Seamus was a man of his word, returning fifteen minutes later, dressed much like Eamon was and smelling of the bay rum soap he favored.

  They put a couple of slices of pizza on their plates, salads somehow overlooked, grabbed a beer each, then settled into their spots in the living room. The game was still in preshow, with the actual kickoff a couple of minutes out.

  The commentators were just filling airtime with the usual chatter. Eamon glanced over at his uncle. “The cat ladies have a visitor.”

  “Oh?”

  Eamon nodded. “Their niece, best I can tell.”

  Seamus smiled. “That’s nice.” He was always cordial to the sisters next door. Mostly, Eamon thought, because he fancied one of them, something Seamus had never confirmed nor denied.

  “There’s no way we’re related to them, right?”

  Seamus made a face at him. “Did ya hit yer head, lad? They’re Greek. We don’t even come from the same continent.”

  Eamon snorted softly before taking another bite. You wouldn’t find him sniffing after any woman. Not when he could see how long she had left on this Earth. He’d tried it once, and it hadn’t gone well, so he was content to be without a partner.

  Especially not with one who was doolally over cats.

  The food had been as good as Tru could have hoped for. Better, maybe. She’d eaten far too many dolmas, the rolled grape leaves filled with a mix of rice, ground lamb, and spices. She’d had too much of everything, really.

  The homemade hummus, fragrant with lemon and garlic, then the moussaka, a delicious casserole of eggplant, more ground lamb, cheese, and bechamel sauce. They’d had that with a salad of cucumbers, tomatoes, red onions, olives, and feta cheese drizzled with olive oil and vinegar, then sprinkled with fresh dill.

  All of it accompanied by pita bread and Greek wine.

  They’d laughed and talked and told stories. Now, as Aunt Delly came out with a platter of baklava squares and Aunt Cleo followed behind with a bottle of ouzo and three small glasses, Tru just laughed at the idea that she had space for more.

  She shook her head. “I don’t have room for any of that.”

  “There’s always room for dessert,” Aunt Delly said, putting the platter down on the table.

  Aunt Cleo set the glasses next to it, pulled the stopper from the bottle, then poured the clear, anise-flavored liqueur into the glasses. “You can watch your diet tomorrow. But tonight, we are celebrating. Not just your birthday but you being here with us again. Hopefully for good this time.”

  Tru nodded. “It’s been too long.”

  Her aunts nodded in agreement. Aunt Cleo passed out the glasses of ouzo, then lifted hers as she took her seat. “Here’s to our little family reunion and to the arrival of a brand-new oracle.”

  Tru tentatively raised her glass. She wasn’t feeling quite as enthusiastic about becoming an oracle. Not since the whole “about to meet death” business. “To our reunion.”

  “To us,” Aunt Delly said.

  Tru tossed back the ouzo. It burned a slow fire down her throat, warming her insides like a licorice-scented blaze.

  She’d been a little tipsy before the ouzo, which was strong stuff. Now she was glad she was seated. “No more of that for me or I’ll end up sleeping out here.”

  Somehow, the glasses got filled again and another toast made and drunk to.

  When that toast was over and the shots of ouzo gone, they helped themselves to pieces of baklava. They sat and ate and chatted some more until Aunt Cleo yawned.

  Tru nodded. “I’m right there with you. Ready for bed.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Aunt Delly said. “You’ve had a long day.”

  “And a lot to drink,” Tru added. “More than usual. A lot more.”

  Aunt Cleo stood and started gathering things up to take inside. “Dishes can wait until morning. Let’s just get them in.”

  They worked together, clearing the table in short order. Aunt Delly put out food for the cats and topped off their water bowls while Aunt Cleo tidied up the kitchen a little.

  “What can I do to help?” Tru asked.

  “Nothing,” Aunt Cleo answered. “You’re a guest. At least for tonight. Tomorrow you can start acting like a working member of the household.”

  Tru smiled. “Okay. I’ll say good night then. Love you both.”

  “Love you, too, sweetheart,” Aunt Delly said. A black cat wound around her feet.

  Tru hesitated on her way to the steps. “Will I have cats sleeping with me?”

  “You might,” Aunt Cleo said.

  Aunt Delly nodded. “If you don’t want them to, shut your door. If you do, leave it open.”

  “Okay. See you in the morning.” Tru started up the steps. She already knew she was going to leave her door open. The idea of having a little warm body to snuggle with sounded very comforting.

  She should have told her aunts about what had happened in Fatima’s tent, but they’d had such a happy evening, filled with memories and stories, and Tru hadn’t wanted to ruin any of it by sharing Fatima’s words.

  Thankfully, their powers of precognition only came through touch. And then only with non-oracles. So until Tru was ready to share, they wouldn’t know.

  Still, she needed to tell them soon. Tomorrow, maybe. Over breakfast. Then they’d have the whole day to talk about it and try to understand what it could mean. She knew better than to ask her aunts to use their gifts to read her future. As a rule, oracles didn’t read other oracles. Although maybe that didn’t apply to her, since she hadn’t gone through the ceremony yet.

  She reached the third floor and went into her bedroom. She’d opened the window a couple of inches before going down to dinner, just to get some fresh air in the room, but it was a little too cool now. She closed it, then unzipped her suitcase and got busy unpacking. She wasn’t really in the mood, but it needed to be done. If she left everything in there, it would be a wrinkled mess. She was also hoping to sober up and thought the activity might help.

  Everything seemed to take longer than necessary, which seemed like it had everything to do with what she’d had to drink. Finally, she got everything hung up or put away in the dresser. She didn’t feel like the ouzo had worn off any, though.

  With her suitcase emptied, she grabbed a nightgown and made her way into the bathroom to wash her face, brush her teeth, and get ready for bed.

  She was going to sleep like the dead tonight. No, wait, not like the dead. Just like a very tired person.

  Yes, that was better. A very tired but still alive person.

  She brushed her teeth and was about to take her makeup off when she thought she heard a cat meow. In this house, it probably hadn’t been a figment of her inebriated mind. Maybe one had come up to sleep on her bed.

  She returned to the bedroom and had a look but didn’t see one. None on the landing, either. The meow came again, but it was softer this time. Like the cat had gotten farther away. Or was outside.

  Her gaze snapped to the window. Oh, no. A sudden panic washed over her. She’d had the window open. What were the odds …

  She ran around the bed to the window, yanked it back up, all the way, and peered out. There was no screen. It was dark outside now, and the trees around the property blocked out a lot of light. “Kitty?” she whispered.

  Please don’t be outside, please don’t be outside, please don’t be—

  A little meow answered her.

  Oh, boy. She understood Fatima’s words now. She was going to die because her aunts were going to kill her. Worse, there was only one cat she’d seen so far that could fit through the narrow opening she’d left.

  Nemo. The new kitten. Their baby.

  She was in so much trouble.

  She grabbed her phone and shined the flashlight onto the roof in time to see the little orange fuzzball making his way to the ground via the house’s intricate detailing and gingerbread accents.

  She had to get Nemo back before her aunts found out. Hopefully, they were already in bed. Asleep.

  Tru went downstairs as quickly and as quietly as she could. Which would have been easier if she hadn’t had that last shot of ouzo.

  It was giving her determination, though. She was going to get the kitten back into the house before anyone was the wiser.

  The downstairs was dark and quiet, which boded well for her aunts already being in bed. She slipped out onto the back porch, down into the yard, and kept her voice down. “Nemo. Here, baby. Psp psp psp.”

  Phone in hand, flashlight on, she panned the backyard to see if she could spot him.

  She did. Just as he went through a gap in the fence and into the neighbor’s yard. She swallowed and felt a sudden chill go through her. Wasn’t that the neighbor her aunts had said was a vampire?

  Would he … eat Nemo? There couldn’t be that much blood in a kitten. They were so small. But maybe that made them extra tasty? Please don’t let that be true. It had to be just the ouzo giving her those ideas. Stupid ouzo.

  She had to go after him.

  Panicked, she stuck her phone in her back pocket, then hopped up onto a bench along the fence and heaved herself over into the neighbor’s yard.

  She hit the ground with a soft thud, landing in a flower bed and crushing what might have been marigolds. She hadn’t been aware vampires had any gardening skills. When did they do it? At night?

  Focus.

  She tried to get her bearings. Thankfully, the vampire’s house was dark, so maybe he was in bed. Except weren’t vampires nocturnal? Hmm. He could be out then. Looking for his dinner. Even better. Although not for whoever he found.

  She shuddered and tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The ouzo really seemed to be kicking in. Never again. That stuff was way too strong. She brushed off the marigold bits and crept along the fence toward the spot where the kitten had slipped through. She found the gap but no cat.

  She really wanted to turn her flashlight back on, but that might draw attention to herself. She supposed she had no choice.

  Reluctantly, she pulled her phone out and tapped the flashlight app, nearly blinding herself. She squinted to get her night vision back as she turned the phone toward the yard and took a good look around.

  A dash of orange between some bushes caught her eye. He was running toward the house.

  “No, not that way! Come to me! Do you want to get eaten?” It was hard to yell for a kitten when you were trying not to make any noise. If Nemo became a vampire’s midnight snack, her aunts would definitely kill her.

  She turned the flashlight off, shoved the phone into her pocket, and went after him, praying she got to him before the bloodsucking neighbor did, fear coursing through her at the very idea.

  Then a new thought hit her. Maybe the vampire was how she died.

  Eamon was just about to head up to bed when a flash of light in the backyard caught his eye. Someone was out there. He glanced toward the stairs. The house was dark, and his uncle had already turned in.

  As much as Eamon avoided face-to-face contact, in the case of an intruder, he’d make an exception.

  He quietly moved out onto the back porch. There was enough light for him to see by, one of the few benefits of his muddled supernatural blood. A dark shape was nearly at the path that led up to the door of the back porch.

  He left the lights off as he soundlessly made his way closer to the door. “Can I help you?”

  A little gasp answered him. He reached out and flicked on the outside lights, illuminating the trespasser.

  A young, attractive woman stood slightly hunched over in the yard. As intruders went, not at all what he’d expected.

  She blinked at him, eyes slightly glassy and transfixed. On him. She seemed to focus suddenly, and a new emotion appeared. Fear.

  “Can I help you?” he repeated.

  Her gaze darted around, but otherwise she stayed very still. “I’m, um, looking for Nemo.”

  “Sure you are.” Eamon stared at her as he crossed his arms. “And what does this Nemo look like?”

  “Um …” She held her hands about ten inches apart. “He’s about this big. And orange. With stripes.”

  That voice. She was the crazy cat ladies’ niece. Had they put her up to this? He was in no mood. “And let me guess—your name is Dory.”

  She blinked at him again, genuine confusion in her eyes this time. “What?”

  He pushed open the screen door and walked down the path, stopping a few feet away from her. The tang of alcohol drifted past him.

  So she’d had a few. Maybe that explained—but then another realization struck him like a blast of arctic air, freezing him in place. He was looking right at her. And there was no hourglass over her head.

  He felt bolted to the spot. “Are you … a ghost?”

  “A ghost? You think I’m dead?” Her lower lip quivered. She backed up. “Why would you say that?”

  “No, I just—”

  “Please don’t bite me,” she whispered. “I probably taste awful. I just want to get my cat and go home.”

  He couldn’t fathom why she thought he was going to bite her, but then drunk people didn’t always make sense. He sighed. Despite her inebriation, she was very pretty. And seemed perfectly alive. “You’re looking for your cat?”

  She nodded. “Nemo. He’s a little ginger kitten. He slipped through the gap in your fence. He’s not supposed to be outside, but I left the window open. My aunts are going to kill me. Or … you are. I’m sorry about trespassing. I really am. I just want the cat and I’ll go.” Then she whispered, “Please don’t let Fatima be right.”

  He had no clue what she was talking about, but she looked like she might start crying. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll look for him together, all right?”

  “You promise you’re not going to eat him?”

  Eamon stared at her. “Why would I eat your cat? And why would you think I’d bite you?”

  “Because of what you are.”

  He went still. How did she know what he was? He wasn’t even sure himself. Could she tell he saw death in people? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean because you’re a, you know. A vampire.”

  He stared at her for another second before he started to laugh. He almost couldn’t stop. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. He used the last of his air to get a few words out. “You think … I’m a … vampire?”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny about it.” She straightened slightly, looking indignant. “Well, aren’t you?”

  He managed to catch his breath. “Not even close. I’m a—” He’d been about to say an undertaker, but he wasn’t sure how much that would help. “I’m a podcaster. And I work part-time for my uncle. But I promise, I’m not a vampire.”

 

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