Now that I think about it, I wonder if she’s going to be happy here. My apartment isn’t very big, but it’s a step up from the studio I was in last year. With one bedroom, a living room, kitchen and bath, it’s definitely larger than what I used to have, but I don’t know how much space cats need to feel comfortable.
With a heavy sigh I turn to face her. “I’m sorry this is all I have, angel. I’ll take you with me every day to the coffee house so you don’t get stir crazy in here. How’s that sound?”
“My name isn’t Angel,” she says, and I go completely still. “It’s Astra.”
My mouth drifts open as I stare down at her. “Did you…” I stop abruptly as I draw in a deep and steadying breath, then release it slowly through my nostrils, attempting to calm myself. Swallowing thickly, I start again.
“Did you just talk?”
“Yes, I did,” she replies matter-of-factly. “You are the one I have been searching for. And I am your familiar.”
“Me?” I ask, incredulously, still in shock I’m talking to a cat. “What’s a familiar?” the question escapes me before I even realize I’ve spoken it aloud.
She tips her head to the side to regard me. “A familiar is a sort of… companion or spirit animal that is attached to a person. I am here to serve and to guide you.”
Am I dreaming? I pinch my hand to try to wake myself up, but nothing happens. I blink down at my new feline companion, stunned.
“You are not dreaming, Kyra. You are the Chosen One. I have been sent by the God of Creation to find you and your guard.”
I walk over to the couch and sit down. Placing my head in my hands, I take several deep breaths, attempting to figure out why I’m suddenly having what I’m certain is a mental breakdown.
“You’re not crazy, Kyra,” Astra says. “You are the Chosen One, and now that I have found you, we merely need to wait for your guard to arrive.”
“My… guard?”
“Yes. The man who saved me.”
My jaw drops. “Cael?”
Her lips quirk up in the corners in her best approximation of a smile. “That would be the one.” She studies me a moment, tipping her head to the side to regard me. “You sensed something when you touched him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I…” I stop short. How does she know about that? Shaking my head in disbelief, I look down at my hands. “Cael’s a barista and you’re a cat. I’m talking to a cat… and a cat is talking to me.”
A soft huff of air escapes me as I laugh. “Oh my gosh. I’ve either lost it or I’m still asleep and dreaming.”
She moves closer and reaches her paw up to me as if wanting to shake my hand. “Take my paw.”
My mouth drifts open but I quickly snap it shut. “Is this… really happening?”
A hint of irritation shifts into her gaze.
Drawing in a deep breath to try to calm myself, I reluctantly do as she asks.
Best case scenario: I’m dreaming. Worst case: I’m insane.
The moment I touch her, images flood my mind like waves crashing against rock. Some of them are from my nightmare with the strange man who looks like Cael, and others are of a life that feels like it’s mine, but I know it couldn’t possibly be. It’s filled with memories of people that are familiar somehow, but I know we’ve never met.
I relinquish my grip on her paw, and the world begins to spin. I fall back onto the couch as everything tilts around me.
Astra jumps up beside me. “Forgive me,” she says. “I know memories of your other life must be overwhelming to receive all at once.”
I manage to lift my head. “Memories of my other life? I—I don’t understand.”
She gives me a pitying look. “They are of your life before… in the Otherworld.”
“Otherworld?” I ask, then groan as a headache pounds at my temples.
“I will explain it all as soon as you’re well, Kyra,” she says softly. “But first, we must find Cael again and speak to him. You will need his help for what is to come.”
Chapter 4
Cael
I watch as Kyra leaves the café. Beside me, Aris’s eyes track her retreating form as well.
“Something happened before I touched her.”
He turns to me, arching an inquisitive brow. “The cat?”
“Yes. I think it’s like Lynx and Fin.”
“I believe so, too.”
I meet his gaze evenly. “What should we do?”
“What can we do?” He shrugs. “We could try to talk to her tomorrow when she comes in.”
“If she comes in,” I mutter, remembering how shocked I was when Lynx first showed up. At first, I’d thought one too many drinks could explain the talking fox, but when I woke up in the morning, completely sober, and he asked what was for breakfast, I hit the panic button. I thought for sure I’d gone crazy. It took me a few days to make peace with it and realize there are more things in this world than we could ever hope to explain with science.
Aris said the same thing happened to him with Fin. To be honest, I don’t know which is worse—a talking fox like Lynx who’s always asking for bacon or a peacock like Fin who practically demands to be worshipped like a deity because he thinks he’s so beautiful.
As if reading my mind, my friend chuckles.
“I hope the cat’s not as insistent as our familiars.”
I laugh. “Me, too.”
Aris’s expression sobers. “She might have the answers we’ve been looking for. The reason we share the same nightmare.”
I meet his gaze evenly. “I hope so.”
When I get home, sure enough, Lynx is waiting for me, upset I’m half an hour later than usual.
“What took you so long?” He arches a brow, his bright blue eyes staring at me accusingly. “I’m practically starving.”
I roll my eyes. He can be so dramatic sometimes. My gaze travels over his fluffy, white coat which has gotten even “fluffier” lately with all the bacon he’s been eating. “You’re definitely not going to starve.”
His mouth drifts open as he looks down at himself, then back up at me. “If you are implying I’ve put on some weight, I’d like to remind you that winter is coming. This is just extra fluff and fur. Nothing more.” He tilts his head up, indignant.
Truth be told, that extra fluff and fur looks like it weighs a good five pounds more than it did in the summer time.
I laugh as I walk toward the kitchen. “Extra fluff and fur… right,” I tease. I turn to him with a sober look. “Actually, I think I’ve found someone else like us.”
He tips his head to the side, curling his fluffy white tail around his feet. “Who?”
“A woman. She was in the café today. I rescued a cat, and she took it home, but when I touched its fur…”
“You sensed magic,” he finishes my sentence.
“Yeah, but it’s not just that.”
“Do tell.” He lies on the floor, placing one front paw elegantly atop the other before he turns his full attention to me—extra fluff, tail, and all. He’s so cute when he does that, but I can’t comment on it. He’s sensitive about stuff like that, insisting that when I say such things, he feels more like a pet instead of a companion or familiar.