Broken Path, Starless Tail - 2. Chapter 2

Something sharp poked his chest, and he jolted awake. His breath caught, what little he could with the weight on his chest and the daggers at his throat. Nothing prepared him for this, and he should have known better.

“I swear I locked that door.” Parallax was Colby’s cat. Or the family’s cat. Or a cat that lived in the woods that bordered their side of town, and he somehow had free reign on their house and demanded food the moment the horizon began to light and the stars began to fade before he scampered off to wherever he hid all day.

He took the cats were night creatures thing seriously. Beckett had never seen him awake during the day, and he could be downright lethal if whoever was his chosen food preparer of the day didn’t get right on with it.

Hence the chest and throat assault. The prick of claws wake up and baleful stare were just the start. In less than a minute, the blue black fur on his body would start to fluff, and he’d make a noise that would vibrate the bones in his victim’s skull until they had to get out of bed to shut him up and make it go away.

Plus whoever was around would assault Parallax’s chosen victim with whatever was within arm’s reach to make them do it, just in case he decided to pick someone else instead. Not that Beckett had ever seen that happen. Any time he stayed over, Parallax always picked him as his chosen breakfast slave.

“You know, I was up late reading,” he informed the cat. His eyes felt like they had twenty-pound sandbags on them. “And there was a cat in the book. Lazy thing, spent twenty-three hours a day sleeping.”

Parallax spent a lot of the time sleeping, but not that much. The clock hadn’t even made it to six yet. Beckett groaned. He needed coffee for this. He snapped the button on the pod with his cup already loaded. Colby must have set it up. Such a good best friend. Then again, Beckett was up at the butt crack of dawn feeding Colby’s cat.

Maybe he was the best best friend.

The next night, Beckett sank into his own bed with a sigh of relief. He was alone in the house, his parents going away on a weekend trip, and he didn’t have to be anywhere for the next two days. No sneaking out of the house to avoid hard looks, spending his days sweating it out waiting for Colby to finish practice or hoping he’d get a call or text on a job he was damn sure wasn’t going to materialize.

Opportunities didn’t just fall out of nowhere.

The air-conditioning was going full-blast, for once the late June day weather holding through the evening hours. Beckett pulled the sheet up over his bare chest, blocking the chill air. Some days he wished he was even a little hairy. Okay, more than some days. The guys had laughed their asses off because somehow Parallax had ringed both his nipples when he sunk his claws into Beckett’s chest that morning, leaving them red and sore.

“Ass cat,” Beckett muttered again. They were still tingly under the covers, just the slightest bit tender.

He rolled onto his side and smushed his pillow up under his neck. “Sleep.” He wanted it. Needed it. Craved it. Something about the nighttime made it hard to sleep, and he was always tired. All Beckett wanted to do was curl up into a ball and take a nap when the sun was highest—and wasn’t that a problem during fourth period Chemistry or U.S. History, or Trig.

Teachers had this thing about staying awake.

But he couldn’t. He’d prop his chin up on his first, eyes trained on the notes or the page, and then be a goner. All the last semester, Beckett had gotten be the same dream, or a version of it. Now I was exhausted.

No way was a dream keeping Beckett up tonight. He’d taken a little pharmaceutical assistance before hitting the hay.

He woke because something was stabbing him in the back. “Ow, did a fucking spring break?” He tried digging underneath him, but Beckett couldn’t find the spring.

His hand closed on something warm, kobby, and firm. Yanking it out, he stared at the brain. One end was chewed, devoid of leaves and branches, even the bark gone, like it had never existed. Just smooth wood with a slightly slippery texture.

“What the hell?” Beckett muttered. He reached over to the side of the bed, dropped the wood, and rolled over. He wasn’t sure if the sun was up, but there was no way he was greeting that evil ball of heat and light two days in a row.

He sighed, relaxing, then jerked when something poked him in the ribs on his left side. “No way,” he grumbled. Sure enough, it was another stick. Shoving back the covers, Beckett jumped out of the bed.

Instead of a soft mattress, it was a slightly concave platform, the edges woven together to form a nest. Sticks stuck out here and there, similar to the ones that’d been poking him. No bark, no blemishes, just smooth wood. But he could have sworn he’d laid down on a soft mattress.

Then Beckett looked up, jumping to find his best friend’s cat, his ass parked right on Beckett’s pillow, waiting for him. “Good evening, Beckett.”

“No fucking way. What are you doing here?” Was this a prank? He looked around, trying to find Colby. He’d be there somewhere, snickering.

Wait. The cat just talked. To him. By name.

Beckett pinched his leg. Nothing. Whew. This had to be a dream.

“You are dreaming, Beckett, but I’m not really a dream,” Parallax said.

“Oh sure.” Because that made perfect sense. He nodded along anyway, because everyone knew that was how you made a nightmare go away.