Feral as a Cat (Sons of Wonderland Book 3) Page 4

  “What?” Rob looks at me in confusion. “I don’t know. They’re covered by his hair.”

  My frown deepens, and I glance at the ears that I can very much see, but I don’t bring them up again. White comes right up to us with a smile on his face. It’s a gentle smile, but even I can tell there’s more underneath there. He has secrets, just like everyone else. That’s the beauty of my business and meeting people face to face. I can always get a good read on them, and somehow, White still ticks my danger instincts, even if he’s the definition of kindness right now.

  “Good morning, Calypso,” White greets me, and I nod my head in welcome.

  “Morning. This is Rob, my partner.”

  White’s eyes flick to Rob and looks him up and down.

  “Partner?” I hear a thread of confusion, so I feel like I should clarify.

  “Business partner. Rob is pretty much my uncle.” I elbow Rob in the side playfully, and he flicks me on the ear in retaliation. White watches the exchange with curiosity, taking it all in.

  “Ah, I see. I brought my motorcycle for you to look at.”

  “Yes! You were right to bring it to me. There’s definitely a misfire in your engine. I heard it when you pulled up.”

  “Really?” Surprise flickers in his eyes. It’s not a usual reaction. “You could diagnose the problem from so far away? And just by sound?”

  “It’s her gift,” Rob says proudly, slinging his arm over my shoulder. “She’s the best in the city. It’s like she speaks to the machines.”

  I laugh and shake my head. He’s exaggerating, as usual. I’m not that great. But if you give me an engine to diagnose, I can do it. It’s the reason we’re doing so great with the shop. We guarantee the problem to be fixed before the customer leaves. And if we can’t fix it, then we don’t charge, simple as that. That’s my dad’s legacy, something I put in place to honor him. He would have never charged someone if he couldn’t help them, no matter how much time he spent on the project.

  Rob wipes his hand and scratches his head, before glancing at the clock.

  “Mind if I take a quick break?”

  “We haven’t even started yet.” I laugh. “What do ya need a break for already?”

  “Timmy had a rough night.” He rubs the back of his neck. “With all his crying this morning, I forgot to grab breakfast. I was just gonna hit up the burrito place across the street. I can grab you one, too.”

  “Go ahead.” I wink at him. “The usual.”

  “The big one,” Rob nods in understanding. “Be right back.”

  I watch Rob practically skip through the door on his way across the street. That burrito place loves when Rob comes in. He might always order me the same thing, but he tells them to surprise him each morning for his. One time, he got a Jalapeno, cheese, bacon, egg, and donut burrito. It literally had pieces of chopped up glazed donut inside it. Another time, they added pineapple. They’ve started getting pretty creative.

  “So, you have the keys to your bike?” I ask White.

  “Of course.”

  When he hands me a set of keys, and I look down at them, I snort. I hold the keychain up in front of me. Dangling from the metal hook is a lucky rabbit’s foot.

  “Really?”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” he teases, laughing right along with me. “Also, I want to introduce you to my friend.”

  I sigh, already forgetting the joke we’d been laughing about. “I already told you, I’m not interested.”

  “Well, he came with me,” White says, and I roll my eyes.

  “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

  White smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, but I don’t know why. This moment feels important, loaded some how.

  “Just meet him. That’s all I ask.”

  I’m tempted to say no, to stick to my guns, but White helped me out, and he seems so earnest, I find myself nodding my head.

  “Fine. Where is he?”

  White points behind me, and I turn, my eyes immediately finding a man sprawled across the top of Bertha. Like White, he has ears on his head, though his are feline. They’re grey with bright-blue stripes. I watch as they twitch and move, before a tail, which flicks over his hip, catches my attention. What are these guys into? Are they furries?

  I take in the leather jacket hanging open, a chiseled chest on display beneath it. He’s built, and hotter than any man I’ve ever met. Certainly, hotter than any man I’ve ever seen. He wears leather pants and combat boots, and he’s exactly the kind of guy I’d normally feel myself drawn to even though I know it’s a bad idea. This man reeks of bad choices. I’ve never met someone who so completely screams ‘Bad boy.’

  A Cheshire grin spreads across his face when he sees me ogling him, and those ears twist again, bringing my eyes up to his. They glow an electric, vibrant blue, a color so bright, I’m almost drawn to them like a bug.

  “Hello there, Pretty Thing,” he purrs, and his voice is like gasoline to my ovaries. They sit up and stand at attention. Hell, they probably would roll over if he told them to. But I don’t focus on any of that. I don’t reply to the obvious pick-up line, not with any reaction he might be hoping for.

  Instead, I say very nicely, “Get the fuck off my bike.”

  Okay. So, maybe not that nicely.

  Chapter 7

  I can feel White’s grin even though I’m not looking at him. There’s a sort of giddy excitement coming from his aura in waves, and for some reason, it makes me bristle even more. What are these two getting at? Is this a joke?

  My eyes stay fixed on the man with cat ears, his ass still parked on Bertha.

  “Did I stutter?” I ask when he doesn’t move.

  This time, White actually snickers out loud, and I glance at him. There’s absolute glee on his face, and I wrinkle my brow.

  “What kind of joke is this?” I look between the two men, taking in their ears again, confusion taking over.

  “What do you mean?” White asks, tilting his head even though the laughter is still in his eyes.

  “Y’all two come in my shop, dressed in furry costumes, and expect me to not think this is a joke?” I grab my wrench from the workbench and hold it at my side. I no longer feel as safe as I had before.

  “Calm down,” Cat Ears says, his tail flicking again. He still hasn’t moved from Bertha.

  I take a step towards him and raise the wrench.

  “What part of ‘get off my bike,’ didn’t you understand?” I snarl.

  “All of it. It’s just a machine.” He rolls his eyes, and I have the sudden urge to bash him upside the head with my wrench. Deep breaths, Cal. You don’t want to go to prison today.

  “You have three seconds to get off of my bike before I make you get off.” Cat Ears raises his brow but doesn’t move. “One.”

  “I’d listen if I were you, Cheshire.” White smiles. “I watched her take down a man twice her size yesterday.”

  “Two.” My voice is hard. I’m not even listening to what White says. My eyes are trained on the man in front of me. I take another step forward.

  “What can she possibly do to me?” I know his name is Cheshire now. How fitting since he wears cat ears.

  “Your funeral,” White shrugs and takes a step back at the same time as I step forward.

  “Three.” I don’t give him any more warning. I swing the wrench towards Cheshire’s chest, intending to knock him off my bike. I don’t expect him to be fast enough to block it, but that’s exactly what he does. His hand shoots up and wraps around my wrench before it can make contact.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” he chides, his eyes flashing for a moment. I swear they look like they’re slitted like a cat’s for a moment before they’re human again. “That isn’t very nice.”

  I release the wrench when I’m unable to yank it from his grasp and throw my fist at his nose. I don’t need the weapon to make my point. My knuckles connect with his face, and Cheshi
re jerks backwards with a snarl.

  “What the fuck?”

  I’m satisfied when blood drips from his nostrils, and his eyes narrow on me. He completely ignores the possibly broken nose as if it’s a common occurrence. Who knows? For him it might be.

  White absolutely loses it behind me, laughing so hard he doubles over to clutch his stomach.

  “If you don’t want a black eye to match that broken nose, I suggest you move.” My voice is calm, even though my hand aches from the hit, and my anger is festering beneath my skin. White howls louder.

  Cheshire grins, and it throws me off guard enough that I take a step back when he finally stands.

  “You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he purrs. I narrow my eyes and turn to White.

  “I don’t like your friend, White. Leave your keys, and I’ll take care of the misfire, but take him with you when you leave.” I move back over to the Impala and lean under the hood. I can feel Cheshire’s eyes on me, and it pisses me off that my body reacts to it and begs for me to wiggle my ass a little more. Instead, I say, “Keep your eyes off my ass, and you’ll get to keep them.”

  Cheshire snorts even as White laughs again.

  “Actually,” he says between chuckles, “we have something to ask you.”

  I sigh and straighten. “If it’s for a date, I’m going to be extremely pissed off.”

  “I don’t date,” Cheshire adds helpfully, but his eyes trail down my body in a way that suggests he does other things.

  “Of course, you don’t, Pussy Cat.”

  Cheshire growls and takes a step towards me, but White holds up his hand. Surprisingly, Cheshire stops and looks at him even though there’s still fury in his eyes.

  “What do you know of Wonderland?”

  I frown.

  “You mean like the story book?”

  “Well,” White shrugs, “yes and no. Do you believe it’s real?”

  “It’s a book.” I roll my eyes. “And I’m not a child anymore who believes in fairytales.”

  “No, you’re certainly not a child,” Cheshire mumbles, and I fight really hard not to look at him.

  Cheshire is exactly the type of guy I would normally go for. The cat ears and tail are a bit weird, but everything else is perfect. Even now, I’m tempted to look at his naked chest. The only thing he’s missing is tattoos, but those could be hidden. He’s the spitting image of a Bad Boy, and I can’t help but want to lick him.

  But I have too much going on in my life to take him up on the invitation in his eyes. Cheshire doesn’t seem the kind to stick around after a night of great sex, which is perfect, but White makes me feel like something bigger is happening here, and I can tell I don’t want any part of it. Not with my mother getting sicker, and Attie going through his teenage years.

  “What would you say if I told you it was all real?” White asks, his face so serious, it makes me pause.

  I glance between the two men, confused, before laughter bubbles from my lips.

  “Oh, I get it now,” I manage between laughs. “That’s what the ears are for, right? The White Rabbit and the Cheshire Cat. Y’all have too much time on your hands.”

  “It’s the truth, Calypso.”

  Neither of the men are laughing, just watching me with solemn eyes.

  “So, then you’re just crazy.” White shakes his head, and I glare at him before turning my eyes on Cheshire, who thinks he’s actually the Cheshire cat. What the fuck? “I don’t have time for this shit. I have work to do, so if you’ll kindly leave my shop, that would be great.” I toss the motorcycle keys back to White. “I don’t think I’m the best mechanic for you. Try another shop.”

  “Calypso, wait.”

  For some reason, my eyes flick to Cheshire’s instead of White even though he isn’t the one who spoke. Cheshire’s face holds more than one emotion. There’s annoyance, sure, but there’s also anger, lust, and a brief flicker of hope that’s gone before I can study it closer.

  “We need your help,” White says, urgency in his words.

  I shake my head. “Sorry, I don’t have time for fairytales.”

  I turn and walk away.

  Chapter 8

  Jupiter

  “They’ve been gone a long time,” I comment, worrying my bottom lip. The Hatter’s table is completely full and overflowing. There was a brief spell where there weren’t any tea parties at all and then suddenly, the number of deaths tripled. It was Alice’s way of making up for the brief lull.

  We’ve had to find extensions for the table, and add more spots for seats. We’re using anything we can find now as tables. Barrels, crates, I don’t even know what some of the stuff is. It makes the tea room even more of a mismatched nightmare than usual.

  There’s a low hum in the room as all the guests talk to each other. There’s so many that there’s almost no room to move, and I can barely hear myself talk.

  Across from me, Doe sips her tea delicately, watching all the creatures, a heavy sadness in her eyes.

  “It could have only been a day in your world,” Doe reminds me.

  “Well, it’s been two months here, and I’m slowly going insane with worry.” I frown. “What if something went wrong?”

  Clara reaches across and picks up my hand.

  “They’ll be fine. We know Cheshire’s mate will be a tricky one. I’m sure the cat is fighting White every step of the way.”

  Hatter nods his head before he speaks.

  “This will most likely be the most difficult part of the prophecy.”

  I sigh and glance at the Tweedles, sitting in their usual spot in the midst of the tea party members.

  “More and more people are attending the tea parties,” I comment, meeting Clara’s eyes.

  Clara can’t hide the worry in her eyes. “We can only wait and hope.”

  “What do we hope for?” I ask. There are so many things to focus on. I hope Alice fails. I hope White comes back unharmed. I hope we can keep everything together.

  “We hope that Cheshire’s mate saves us all,” Clara says solemnly.

  I frown. That’s so much pressure to put on one woman. Whoever she is, I hope she has a spine of steel, and that she can stay strong for us all. At least she won’t be alone. At least, she’ll have us to stand at her side.

  There’s a high-pitched ringing that fills the room, then, and makes everyone fall silent to listen. Doe jerks in her chair, and a tiny smile curls her lips.

  “Be easy,” she whispers when the room grows quiet. “The flamingo comes.”

  Chapter 9

  “Now remember, the oxygen tank has to stay with her at all times. The day nurse will show you everything when she comes, but there’s a lot of medication and steps. I have a sheet printed out for you with a checklist to complete every night.”

  The doctor hands me a stack of papers, and I stare at it without really seeing. So many medications. So many steps. Can we even do this?

  “Is everything okay?” Dr. Frank asks, worry on his face. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “No.” I meet his eyes, swallowing down the panic. “No. We can do this. The nurse will help. It’ll be fine.”

  He studies me for a moment and gently takes the papers from me before scribbling across the top.

  “If at any time, you have questions, or something doesn’t seem right, feel free to call or text me. I’m sorry I can’t help you any more.”

  I shake my head.

  “Dr. Frank, You have been the one bright spot about having mom here. You cared so much more than you had to. Thank you for this. You might regret it when I text you at three in the morning.”

  He chuckles.

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t sleep too much at night anymore, anyways.”

  He turns and walks away before I can ask him what he means. I have a feeling it has to do with the high number of patients that don’t make it out of here. Dr. Frank has apparently been the doctor at Helping Hands for years, and he’s wat
ched many patients come and go. His happy demeanor doesn’t make up for the fact that many patients come to this place to die. It’s a sad profession, and he does it anyways.

  The poor guy deserves a vacation.

  I turn to go into the room where mom and Attie are talking. Attie is prepared, wearing scrubs. He told mom that he’s a volunteer, and she fawned all over him for that. I’d seen the blush on Attie’s face at that, liking that she seemed proud of him for something. We haven’t seen that emotion directed at us in a very long time, not from mom.

  I hadn’t thought to wear scrubs. I’m dressed in my usual jeans and leather jacket despite the humid weather. It’s become a habit to wear the gear when I ride my Harley, and it’s just easier to be ready to ride at any moment.

  I take a seat beside Attie and smile at my mom. She’s weathered, more than she’s ever been. Her skin has a yellow tint and hangs on her skinny frame. She looks far too old at fifty-nine. Sick, she looks sick. I attempt to hide the sadness in my eyes, but I’ve never been that great at hiding things from my mother, even when she doesn’t remember me.

  “Why the sad look, Calypso?” she rasps, the sound of the oxygen tank almost carrying away the sound.

  My eyes jerk up to hers, and I’m glad to see the recognition there that I need today. I want my mom, and for once, someone heard my prayers.

  “Nothing, mom,” I reply, blinking furiously at the tears in my eyes.

  She holds her arms open, and I immediately kneel before her and wrap her in a hug. She feels so fragile, like I can easily break her if I move the wrong way. I’m so conscious of where I put my fingers that it makes my heart hurt.

  “You never could lie to me,” she chides, beckoning Attie forward. “My babies.”

  Attie doesn’t even try to hold back tears as he wraps his arms around both of us, burying his face in the opposite side of mom’s neck.

  “We’ve missed you,” I whisper, the urge to hug her harder overwhelming, so I sit back instead, and wipe the errant tears from my cheeks.