Day of the Full Moon

  July 3, 2023

  Sunset: 8:31 p.m.

  Moonrise: 9:18 p.m.

  Chapter Fifty Five

  The time on Eugene's phone read 6:07 a.m.

  The moon had set just a few minutes ago, and I’d awoken to the sensation of my body shifting. Virginia’s presence receding—allowing me to become human once again.

  In just a few more minutes, the sun would rise and Virginia's presence would cease to be anything more than an impulse in the back of my mind.

  Until night came, at least.

  I shut off the screen—shunting the phone back into Eugene’s bracelet with a thought—and lay my head back down.

  The light hurt my eyes.

  Somehow, I’d gotten a solid four to five hours of sleep—and I’d slept like a rock. All at the low, low price of leaving Virginia unsupervised in the interim.

  And what had that gotten me?

  Pain and darkness.

  This wasn't me being melodramatic, by the way.

  My whole body felt like it’d been hit by a bus, and the space I found myself in was cold and pitch black.

  It hurt to move.

  Hurt to think.

  My head pounded with what was surely another migraine, and it felt like the world was spinning around me. The cold air bit into my face. I could hear the droning of what sounded like a refrigerator pump, like I’d found myself in a walk-in freezer.

  Yet, aside from my face, the rest of me didn't feel that cold. In fact, I was rather... warm and snug—tucked underneath something large, furry…

  And smelt of dog.

  His large head was resting on my shoulder.

  Snoring into my ear.

  Boden.

  The last thing I could recall was dozing off in the seat of Eugene's car—using Boden as a pillow.

  Now he was a blanket.

  Confused as to my surroundings, I tried probing his mind for answers.

  Only to find it vacuous as usual.

  Not a worry in the world dwelt within the cavity between his ears—not when he—exhausted after a long night of adventure—had snuggled up with all the new friends he had made.

  In fact, he’d made quite a lot of them.

  He nuzzled my hand as I went to stroke his head, then, with a deep exhale, buried his head into my shoulder and went back to sleep.

  As I listened to him slowly inhaling and exhaling, I became aware that his wasn’t the only breathing I could hear.

  From all around us there were several of them.

  Boden’s new friends.

  I felt myself slowly rising and falling: the slow exhalations of something large beneath me.

  And shifting beside me.

  With my hand, I tentatively felt around. What I touched twitched in response. A sticky, serpentine something wrapped around my hand.

  It pulsed.

  And then pulled.

  In a brief moment of horror, a particular image—seared into my memory—jumped to the forefront of my mind.

  But my panic quickly subsided when my hand was brought into contact with a muzzle.

  Of a horse.

  Oh, thank God.

  It had just been Sylvester's tongue.

  Further feeling around revealed I was tucked into the crook of Sylvester’s neck. Sylvester was curled around me like I was some kind of teddy bear. His head resting by my lap.

  I suppose this would have been cute and all, were Sylvester a regular horse—which I could perhaps delude myself into thinking.

  So long as I didn’t look this gifted horse in the mouth.

  I mentally reached out, hoping to pick his brain and figure out what the hell was going on—he was good with direction after all.

  But I found his thoughts sluggish and clouded.

  For him, time didn't so much flow as ooze, and his body felt too heavy to move.

  It was like he was in some kind of fugue state and could only form the simplest of thoughts. Bringing my hand to his face was about the most he could muster. And now, with contact made, he too drifted back to sleep.

  I tried to sense what Sylvester was feeling—to figure out if he'd been injured or poisoned, if that was even possible.

  Yet, even as I occupied his mind, I couldn't sense anything wrong with Sylvester. Aside from a slight tummy ache—from eating more than he should have—he seemed perfectly fine. Just really, really tired, as far as I could tell.

  And maybe a little chilly.

  Perhaps that was it.

  Eugene had theorized that the Green-flames engineered their chimeras to brumate.

  For ease of storage.

  And that would explain Sylvester's behavior.

  The cold was making him go into hibernation, and he'd curled around Boden and me for comfort and warmth.

  And he hadn’t been the only one.

  Despite my migraine—despite not wanting to face reality—I took out Eugene’s phone again and used the light to survey the space around me. Revealing what appeared to be the inside of a cargo container.

  Its contents an absolute mess.

  Pallets full of insulated packages of various produce and canned beverages were strewn around, their contents leaking out. Ruptured cans of juice, broken bottles of beer, smushed packs of meat, crushed cartons of eggs, all leaking out onto the pallets and floor beneath them, forming into a slurry.

  I found the smell about as appealing as a dumpster behind a grocery store—which, with Virginia still on the brain, meant that I unfortunately found it rather appetizing. And, having emptied my stomach hours before, it was giving me strange cravings—Macros were macros, after all.

  But, hopefully, this would soon pass.

  I had standards.

  Though, considering the container was refrigerated, I figured this meant I was in a reefer box. One that was currently plugged into a power terminal.

  And me, Boden, Sylvester, and our guests were all crammed in here like sardines.

  I turned the light towards the rest of the container's occupants.

  At the figurative dog-pile they formed atop Sylvester, Boden, and me.

  I say figurative because I didn’t know if these creatures still counted as dogs.

  There were about half a dozen of them in total. And they were… dog-sized, but not quite dog-shaped.

  Some of them still had their fur, or what looked like fur, but many of them bore the same patterned skin I'd seen on Sylvester when the steam had stripped off his outer layer.

  And each bore the same biomantic scent as Sylvester.

  Like Sylvester, the cold had sent them into hibernation.

  And, like Sylvester, they'd crowded around Boden and me because, as the two entities without any amphibious modifications, we were still warm-blooded.

  And they liked the heat.

  It seemed that during the course of Virginia’s nighttime foray—after I’d fallen asleep behind the wheel—she’d found her way into the kennel where the Green-flames kept their pets.

  A kennel of chimeras.

  And had elected to take a nap there.

  So, naturally, I and to ask:

  Virginia! What the fuck?

  All I got in return was a half-hearted snort that seemed to say, You're welcome.

  The gall of this bitch.

  Frustrated, I prodded her repeatedly with my mind. I wasn't going to take this lying down. And, in response, I got another thought—a query. One asking if I would’ve preferred the rosemary hedges at Ursily’s.

  This struck me as a bit of a non sequitur.

  Sure, I suppose that this was better than waking up in someone's yard without my clothes again—and making a third appearance in Ursily’s garden would have been awkward indeed.

  And I supposed that, of all the places she could have dumped us, a reefer box wasn't a bad choice.

  Especially considering the company.

  But if the reefer was plugged into a power terminal, then this container had to be somewhere that had them—which narrowed down the options in ways I didn’t like.

  There was also the small problem of Virginia, in her infinite wisdom, deciding that we should curl up with Sylvester.

  Which now left me skin-to-skin with a chimera that was poisonous on contact.

  A wise wolf indeed.

  I tried to sit up.

  I needed to come up with a plan to get out of here. To figure out my whereabouts. Figure out Eugene’s whereabouts. And how the hell I was going to get home.

  There was also the problem of dealing with a kennel of chimeras I was now in the presence of. They were docile now, because of the cold. But I didn’t know how they’d react once they were warmed up.

  And still hadn't figure out what I was going to do with my first chimera.

  That had been the whole point of work with the Agent Thompson, after all.

  But now that plan was out the window.

  I needed to get my footing. Needed time to think.

  Except I found myself immediately faced with a more immediate problem.

  I couldn't move.

  It wasn't just the weight of Boden and the kennel pinning me down.

  I was glued.

  To Sylvester.

  Like the kelpies of lore, his skin secretions—along with its other attributes—seemed to possess an adhesive quality.

  Poisonous when wet. Sticky when dry.

  Like some kind of psychoactive napalm.

  Your physiology never ceases to disturb me, Sylvie, I thought as I tried to extricate myself.

  Every muscle in my body burned and pain lanced through my chest. My ribs. As if I'd broken them.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  It became clear that I couldn't muster the strength I needed by myself.

  Well, guess that left me no other option.

  I began to mentally shake Virginia awake.

  She’d helped me into this mess, so she sure as hell could help me out of it.

  I readied myself for the mental anguish I was about to subject myself to. Squaring up for a fight. I knew how petulant she could be when she was grumpy. Especially now—now that the moon had set—and she was ready for bed.

  She sensed my intentions, and I could feel her retreating into the back of my mind.

  Fleeing from her responsibilities.

  Oh no you don’t!

  I mentally seized her by the tail, dragging her back into the forefront of my mind. To shove her back into the passenger seat.

  Buckle up, Virginia.

  It was time to have a chat.

  But that act of getting any concessions out of her was like trying to fish out some strange item she’d hidden in her mouth. Her mind wriggled and writhed and refused to cooperate.

  I could sense that, in her opinion, I was not in any dire situation. I was safe. Protected even. Tucked away from the public eye.

  Surrounded by our ever-growing pack—our chimeric entourage.

  So, there was no reason to get so worked up.

  If anything, I was the one being unreasonable.

  Bullshit! What did you do! Where’s Eugene!

  I continued to probe Virginia until she snapped, finally bit down, seizing me by the thoughts.

  But I'd come ready for a fight. I was ready to bite her back.

  Ready to—

  Wait, what are you doing?

  Virginia had bitten down, but this wasn’t the same painful, warning snap she’d given me before.

  It was something more gentle.

  More... insidious.

  Like she was scruffing me by the brain.

  As I continued to mentally thrash about, I could feel myself being dragged down into the recesses of my mind.

  Like Virginia was going to tuck me into bed with her.

  And, suddenly, I felt very, very sleepy.

  I recognized what she was doing. But all too late

  It was the very thing I'd done to her before.

  On countless nights.

  Curled up on the bathroom floor.

  The sound of the shower running in the background.

  Trying to coax a rowdy little pup to sleep.

  But now the tables had turned.

  Now I was the rowdy puppy.

  Shit!

  She was using my own trick against me.

  Compelling me to rest.

  Rest to recover from our injuries and to renew our strength.

  After all, we had a big night ahead of us.

  No, no, no.

  Fuck that.

  I was getting out of here.

  I tried to resist Virginia's temptation, tried to sit up again.

  And struggled in futility.

  I was good and stuck between a chimera and a dog-pile.

  Trapped in a comfy reclined position, with the white noise hum of the AC, the cold air on my face, Boden like a warm weighted blanket.

  And, in what I could only describe as a coup de grace, Virginia opened her mind—just a bit—and channeled the sleepy thoughts of the chimeras around us, creating a compulsion that permeated through me.

  And In the brief moment, before sleep took me, I realized, to my horror, that Virginia had bonded with the kennel.

  Made them part of our pack.

  When the hell did she learn to do that?

  But, before I could dwell on the implications, the thought fizzled out.

  I closed my eyes, realizing just how tired I really was. Realized just how little I'd slept in the past week. How desperately I wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep.

  After all...

  I had a big night ahead of me.

  Something batted at my face.

  Or, pawed, I should say.

  It was soft.

  Repetitive.

  And it quickly got annoying.

  I groaned.

  Half-asleep, I figured a moth was fluttering around my face—they were prevalent buggers this time of the year.

  So, I swatted at it.

  The moth was much larger than I'd expected.

  It had even hissed at me.

  But it stopped harassing me, so I didn't spare it another thought, and I let myself fall back to sleep—if only for a mere moment before the supposed moth sank its teeth into my arm.

  The pain was sharp and abrupt.

  And, just like that, I was wide awake.

  I gasped in shock, more startled than hurt, sitting straight up with more strength than I intended—successfully peeling myself off Sylvester.

  Which, considering this was the morning after a night wolfing around, meant I'd had a healthy amount of body hair.

  Had being the operative word.

  My whole body seized from the sudden full back epilation.

  “Motherfucker,” I blurted out.

  My back burned in the frigid air, muscles spasming.

  And my heart rate had gone from 0 to 60—or, technically, 60 to 120—in a second.

  I was livid.

  Thankfully my head-hair hadn't been as pressed into Sylvester, so I'd gotten away with a mild scalping.

  I summoned Eugene’s phone in my hand.

  And then dropped it because my hands were shaking.

  I searched frantically for the phone for several seconds, and then resorted to using the bracelet to resummon it into my hand.

  I flipped on the light and searched for the furry little bastard that had awoken me.

  I knew he was here.

  I could smell him.

  Solomon.

  “You know, I’ve already eaten one cat. Don’t think I won’t do it again.”

  From right behind me, whiskers on my neck, came a voice.

  “Well, good morning to you too,” said Solomon, cheerily.

  I turned to look over my shoulder, finding a wall of crate.

  But no black cat.

  But when I turned back, I spotted him lounging atop a nearby stack of produce.

  Close, but just out of arm's reach.

  Guess it was never too early for him to play games.

  I debated throwing the phone at Solomon.

  “Though, I suppose I should say, good afternoon. What with the time,” said Solomon, his attention on the screen.

  I looked at the phone.

  12:31 p.m.

  “Oh, shit!”

  I scrambled to my feet, as did Boden. Seemed he was ready to get up, too.

  I could sense he was hungry.

  And so was I, for that matter.

  But, aside from that, the sleep had done me well. I was still a little sore, but I wasn't hurting like before.

  I surveyed the group at me feet. Sylvester and the other chimeras had barely moved, only shifting slightly to fill the cold void I'd left behind. And now that I was out from under my cover—with neither clothes nor pelt—I could feel the cold slowly biting into me as well.

  I looked around for something to cover myself with. Something that wasn’t sticky.

  To my relief, I discovered Eugene's jacket on the floor beneath me.

  Apparently, I'd been sleeping on it the entire time.

  I checked the back pocket, hoping to find Eugene, but found it empty.

  Boden let himself in. and placed his head on my shoulder after I threw on the jacket.

  As I began zipping up the jacket, Solomon stood up.

  “Careful with that. Wouldn't want to smudge the sigil your detective so painstakingly drew for you.”

  “Sigil? What sigil?”

  I turned the phone's light to look at myself.

  Sure enough, drawn in green marker at the center of my chest, right atop my… assets, was a circular array of complex symbols.

  Symbols that looked familiar to me.

  They resembled the inscriptions Eugene had placed on the rocks back in the depot to contain the curse emanating from the dead thralls.

  “The hell is this?” I asked.

  “It's meant for it to supplement the bezoar you swallowed, since it wasn't fully effective by itself. As long as that sigil remains intact, it will suppress the mental effects of any poison in your system—ingested or otherwise.”

  “So that's why I'm not feeling any of the effects of Sylvester's skin toxin?” I asked.

  I examined myself by shaking my head and flexing my fingers.

  My brain seemed surprisingly unfried despite my prolonged contact with Sylvester.

  A little dizzy, perhaps, and a little wobbly on my feet—but that could have been me standing up too quickly.

  All things considered, I felt pretty sane and coherent.

  So, clearly, more magical dipshittery was afoot.

  “Correct. But keep in mind, it won't stop you from absorbing it through your skin. Nor will it suppress all the symptoms—see how your hands shake. It just prevents it from doing anything to your head.”

  "So... I just got to make sure not to mess with it? Doesn't seem too hard."

  I started zipping up the jacket the rest of the way.

  "Except your detective drew it with a magic marker. The brand, mind you. Not actual magic. So I question its integrity."

  Solomon looked over to the chimera-pile, adding, "I'd imagine a lot of it has accumulated in your system at this point."

  My hand stopped.

  “Then what the hell am I supposed to do? Walk around with them out?”

  I said, gesturing at my now purely human anatomy.

  Solomon tilted his head.

  “You're worried about a little immodesty now? After all you've been through?”

  “...maybe,” I said in a quiet voice.

  “Your funeral.”

  I sighed in frustration.

  "Why'd it have to be here? Couldn't he have put it somewhere more, I don't know... appropriate?"

  "What? You expected him to shave a werewolf?"

  “What’s that got to—”

  “Your detective told you—or, well, your Virginia—that the sigil needed to be placed somewhere free of hair. Good contact. Preferably smooth and... flat."

  I facepalmed.

  Of course.

  The boob window.

  "The look on his face when she showed him your breasts. Now that made me chuckle. Seems your sense of humor is rubbing off on her.”

  “No, that’s just where Sylvester tongued—”

  I stopped myself.

  I knew where this was going.

  I could see the smug look on his face.

  “Oh, do go on,” said Solomon.

  He was enjoying this.

  Just breathe, AJ. Just breathe.

  I had to resist the urge to slap a cat.

  As much as I hated to admit it, I knew that I needed his help.

  The only problem was that Solomon seemed to understand this as well.

  And was making the most of it.

  “Look, cut the crap, Solomon. Where were you in all this? How do you know these things?"

  The all-black Maine Coon stood up and stretched, his body like an inverted Nike logo. A logo with a tail like a feather duster.

  "Oh, you could say that a... itsy-bitsy spider told me."

  "Elmo? What does he have to do with this?"

  I mentally tapped the bead lettered ‘E’ on the bracelet. But no fuzzy red tarantula appeared.

  Nor could I find said spider in any of Eugene's pockets.

  Well great.

  I’d lost Elmo.

  "Well, if you must know, I've been using her as my familiar."

  I gaped at him.

  This must have been his desired response—my incredulity.

  Because his mouth opened into a toothy grin—a true Cheshire smile.

  "Oh? Did you think you were the only one who could use your Sisters' pets as a familiar? Surely you realized I made you befriend our friendly neighborhood spider for a reason.”

  "You've... you've been spying on me?"

  If I wasn't mad before. Boy was I now.

  "Oh come now, don't be like that. Surely you didn't think you'd be left in charge without some supervision, did you?"

  "Supervision?” My voice jumped an octave. “How is this supervision?"

  I swept my hand, gesturing at the company around us.

  "You know, I don't recall saying anything about hand-holding, now did I?”

  "You could have at least warned me about the animals being familiars."

  "Did I not warn you about Carl?"

  "At the last second! And what about Phin and Ferb? Or Monty? Or what Sandy planned to do with Boden.”

  “And deprive you of the opportunity to learn things hands-on? Perish the thought.”

  "What about when Elmo caused Childs to crash her car?"

  I saw Solomon's smug expression falter.

  Just a bit.

  "I will admit, that one's on me. Should have seen that coming. Elmo does like to climb on things she loves. And she's rather fond of you.” Solomon paused for a moment before adding, “Your Virginia too. Though I wonder how the two of them got so close."

  My hands shook with the desire to throttle this cat.

  Which caused me to drop the phone again.

  I went to pick it up. And when I returned to look at Solomon, he’d disappeared.

  I looked around. But not a cat in sight.

  “This is bullshit. You're just letting me make a fool of myself.”

  “Ah, but the humility of our mistakes is the greatest teacher of all,” said Solomon.

  I spotted him atop a tall stack of crates.

  Looking down on me.

  “Besides,” he continued, “it's good practice to allow a nascent mage to experience her magic freely at first. Magic is, in many ways, a—ugh—”

  Solomon looked down at Sylvester.

  “Form of self-expression.”

  He emphasized the words like a jab, making me wince. And a chill ran down my spine.

  Not from the refrigeration.

  But the insinuation.

  “How... how much did you see?” I asked.

  “Everything.”

  “Like... everything everything?”

  “Everything everything.”

  His smile was back.

  “Does that mean you saw…”

  “How you Morning Gloried that chimera?” Solomon finished.

  “There's... there's a name for it?” My voice came out as a squeak.

  The thought of finding a corner to curl up in, and die, crossed my mind.

  “Why yes. You’d be surprised by the number of young theriomancers who inadvertently replicate the Lovett Dolphin Study. So good on you for perpetuating the stereotype. Though, I must say, it was rather daring of you to perform it on such a large creature."

  Oh, God. I was never going to live this down.

  “It was an emergency. I had to improvise,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Oh,” said Solomon in a playful tone, “that's what they all say.”

  I bit my tongue before I could retort.

  A hard impulse to resist.

  I just knew Solomon would milk this conversation for as long as I allowed him.

  All just to get under my skin.

  He was a cat after all.

  And I was a werewolf.

  This was probably a spiritual thing.

  I needed to regain control of this conversation. Be the one asking the questions. And not let myself be baited so easily.

  Which would have been easier to do had my ego not just suffered such abuse.

  Now I felt cold and exposed.

  Like I'd arrived to school without my clothes.

  Or to church without underwear.

  I tried to situate Eugene's jacket without zipping it all the way up. Leaving the top half open.

  But with Boden's head hanging out, the jacket kept sliding down my back. causing the zipper to dig into me worse than a bra with a broken underwire.

  Ah yes—just a small discomfort to add to an ever-growing pile.

  Existence was pain.

  I'd get used to it.

  But, a thought occurred to me.

  If I had Eugene’s jacket, and I had Boden...

  Then where was Coy—the third dog in our trenchcoat?

  Wouldn't he have jumped at the opportunity to go on another adventure?

  As for Nevermore, I was pretty sure he'd been left in the park with Agent Thompson.

  Waiting for Virginia to show up.

  Unaware that she'd gone off script.

  I turned to Solomon.

  “What happened while I was sleeping?” I asked, then added, "after Eugene drew the sigil, I mean. If you’ve been spying on me, then you should know how I ended up here.”

  “Oh? You don't remember?”

  “No, I'm just asking for shits and giggles. Answer the question.”

  “Well, you went on quite the escapade. But why are you asking me when you should be asking yourself—your other self. I’m sure she could help you recall everything in exquisite detail if you just let her.”

  Right, because my last attempt to talk to her worked so well for me. I was willing to bet Solomon knew this too.

  It was time to put my foot down.

  “No, I’m not letting you bait me on this again. I've figured you out. You get off on this, don't you? A little schadenfreude pick-me-up to get your day going. Well, you know what, I don't have to put up with you. You can play Solomon Freud in the corner for all I care.”

  I turned and stumbled my way over Sylvester. My balance was all off. After I got back to my feet I started climbing over the pallets and boxes, making my way towards the container’s entrance.

  “In a hurry are we? Where exactly do you plan to go?” said Solomon, sounding amused.

  “Out of here, obviously.”

  Admittedly, it was a feint.

  I knew I wasn't going to get very far with this plan.

  But so long as I didn't play his game, then at least neither of us would have any fun.

  Besides…

  I needed to know:

  How fucked was I?

  Clearing the way to the door didn’t require that much work, as there was a gaping hole punched through the container's contents.

  Following the path of the damage, my eyes fell upon Sylvester and the other chimeras, nestled together in what was looking more and more like a giant crater in the center of the container.

  As if they’d all crashed in through the door at high speed.

  Perhaps after being accelerated by some sort of magic.

  Like a gravity trap constructed by a particular mage.

  I could feel the soreness in my body returning.

  I was starting to think I knew just what kind of bus had hit me.

  The Sylvester kind.

  I pulled up on the latch and pushed the door open, only to hit something hard after only a few inches.

  Sunlight crept in through the gap, bright enough to blind me, and I had to close my eyes.

  I slipped a hand out, looking for the obstruction. My hand eventually fell upon a thick metal strut—one that was bolted to the front of the container.

  Panic rose in my throat.

  This was not a good sign.

  I wobbled on my feet again.

  But now I knew it wasn't because of me.

  My head wasn't spinning.

  It was rocking.

  And it wasn't my head.

  It was the container itself.

  Rocking back and forth.

  Up and down.

  Not so much like waves on a beach.

  But more like a ship out at sea.

  I summoned Eugene’s crowbar to my hand and used it as leverage to force the door open further. The entire container creaked with the effort.

  When it was just wide enough, I shoved my shoulder through the opening, using all my strength to make an opening large enough to stick my head out. Boden’s head proceeding after my own.

  Hot, salty wind whipped my face, tussling my hair while Boden’s ears flailed wildly.

  I squinted in the bright light.

  My container appeared to be at the bottom of a small canyon of containers. Rows upon rows stacked half a dozen high. Each with more metal struts anchoring the bottom levels in place.

  I looked to the left and right.

  Or I should say port and starboard.

  Because at either end of the rows was a small gangway.

  Beyond which was the open ocean.

  For as far as the eye could see.

  Yep.

  It was as I feared.

  The Westrock Paper Mill was right next to the North Charleston port terminal.

  A port that handled thousands of cargo transfers a day.

  And whether through her own wisdom or Kirkland’s magic, I’d figured that was where Virginia had curled up for the night.

  Global logistics had taken care of the rest.

  I closed the door and leaned against it as I sank down to the floor.

  But the floor was ice cold and my ass was bare.

  So I found a box to sit on instead, tucking the hem of the jacket under myself so I could comfortably wallow in my own despair.

  I'd thought the worst thing that could happen to me was waking up in someone's yard and getting arrested again.

  But Virginia had proven me wrong.

  Now I was out at sea. The Atlantic, if I had to guess. On a ship that had set sail to God knows where.

  All while stuck in an icebox with a cat and an entourage of sleeping chimeras.

  Boden began to lick the side of my face. He found my tears so… flavorful.

  I made no move to stop him. I hadn't the will.

  Not even five minutes after I'd woken up refreshed and I'd already broken my brain.

  I felt Solomon rub against my back, his tail brushing my neck. Purring with such force that I could feel it in my teeth.

  “Well, well, well. Would you look at that,” he said, slipping easily into my lap despite his size.

  A Cheshire smile all the while.

  “Looks like we’ll be spending some quality time together.”