Meowy Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal Page 3

  In response to Gramma Jude’s command, the nine reindeer surged forward in a thunder of hooves, snorts, and jingles, their antlers leading the way. The sled jerked into motion, and Journi cried out, her back flattening against the seat and her eyes peeling wide as the roof’s edge sped toward them shockingly fast.

  “I want off!” Journi shouted above the noise, her stomach doing its best to evacuate her body via her throat. “Let me off!”

  “Not a chance!” Gramma Jude cried gleefully, snapping the reins again.

  The reindeer reacted by galloping faster, their breath coming out in frosty explosions, and the sleigh’s runners scraping and bouncing over the gravel in a teeth-rattling, boob-jiggling streak.

  “Doesn’t this thing have shocks?” Journi shouted frantically. Then, seeing they were seconds from catapulting over the ledge, she hastily made the sign of the cross over her chest and screamed, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no eeeeeeeeevillllll!”

  One moment, there was the crunch of gravel and pounding of hooves, and the next . . . the sleigh was weightless.

  And they were plummeting to their deaths.

  Sleigh and reindeer soared off the building in a magical moment of omg-we’re-flying before they took an immediate nosedive.

  The torrent of rushing air swallowed Journi’s scream, but Gramma Jude’s howl persevered in the face of the impending collision. Just when Journi was certain they were headed straight to Hamburger Land, the reindeer pulled up, hauling the sleigh in a death-defying sideways arc, their legs pumping the air and their antlers dipping as they charged through the sky. After a blood-curdling moment in which Journi slid into Gramma Jude with a screech, the reindeer swiftly righted them, looping in a wide circle before beginning their moonward ascent.

  When Journi realized they hadn’t in fact died, she slowly withdrew from the fetal position and peered out. Night stretched before them in a hazy ocean of deepest dark, stars winking through the gauze of snow-filled clouds. As they flew higher, the moon came into view, impossibly huge and bright and bathing the reindeer in luminous light.

  “What a beaut, eh?” Gramma Jude asked, gazing at the immense, shining disc with a faint smile.

  “Yeah,” Journi agreed in an awestruck whisper. Swallowing, she looked out across the city, no longer aware of the icy wind stinging her cheeks. Columbus had never looked more magical. Positively aglow, it spread out below them like a glittering maze that dazzled the eye. From their height, she couldn’t hear the wail of sirens and blaring of horns—only the strangely peaceful rush of wind and the jingling and creaking of the reindeer’s harnesses—and it allowed her to appreciate the city’s splendor without distraction. Colorful ribbons of magic undulated languidly above rooftops like the aurora borealis, and occasionally a wraith could be seen gliding along the air currents and trailing swirls of nethersmoke. In the distance, she thought she could make out the great shadow of a dragon soaring through the clouds, its immense wings stirring the dense mists like witches’ brooms. Beneath it all, the city bustled, an always-moving clockwork of vehicles, stoplights, and flashing billboards.

  It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  Gramma Jude’s ear-splitting whistle shattered the moment. “Hop to it, you lazy, overgrown mules!”

  And once again they went into free fall as the team of deer altered coarse and descended like their tails were on fire, R-Man’s nose pulsing red as if he was homing in on Santa’s location.

  Shrieking, Journi clung to the seat and held on for dear life, demanding, “Is this really necessary?”

  “Buck up, jelly guts,” Gramma Jude scolded, her eyes alight behind her now-frosted glasses. “You ain’t gonna fall out. It’s a magic sleigh, remember?”

  Journi considered her for a long, skeptical moment, then relaxed. Slightly. Easing into an upright position, she muttered, “I am never going Christmas shopping with you again.”

  Gramma Jude only laughed, gripping the reins and leaning over the side of the sleigh to scan the blur of streets below. “Show yourself, you shifty weasel . . .”

  Something rustled behind Journi.

  She froze. “What was that?”

  Distracted, Gramma Jude didn’t look over. “What was what?”

  Before Journi could answer, the rustling came again. Reaching for her slingshot, she turned around slowly, holding onto the spine of the seat for balance. When she realized where the sound had come from, her eyes widened.

  Stuffed in the back of the sleigh was an enormous red-velvet bag, its bulky girth nearly spilling over the sides. It was tied with a heavy golden rope whose ends danced in the wind, and a faint glow emanated from the cinched velvet as if the bag was stuffed with a giant ball of Christmas lights.

  As she stared in awe, something inside the bag moved.

  And meowed.

  “It meowed,” Journi accused, pointing at the bag with her slingshot. “Why did it meow?”

  Gramma Jude glanced over her shoulder at the bag in question, then shrugged. “Probably because there’s a cat in it.”

  Journi stared at her in horror. “What? Is that normal?”

  “How should I know?” Gramma Jude asked. “Check it out.”

  “Why me?” Journi demanded. “You check it out!”

  Gramma Jude shoved her iced-over glasses atop her head, amusement twinkling in her eyes as she offered Journi the reins. “Guess you’re driving then.”

  Though Journi suspected the reindeer were driving themselves, she wasn’t about to take the proverbial wheel. She wasn’t Jesus, after all. Instead, she turned back to the bag, growling, “Fine.”

  Keeping hold of her slingshot in case the cat turned out to be a demon—a scenario not at all outside the realm of possibility—she used her free hand to warily untie the loose knot in the golden rope. As the freed velvet fell away, she was blinded by bright light.

  “What in the Lasix!” she gasped, shielding her eyes with her slingshot hand. When nothing leaped out and chewed off her face during her temporary blindness, she lowered her hand hesitantly, peeking at the bag’s shining contents as the wind whipped her hair about her temples. Packages. Lots and lots of packages. Of varying shapes and sizes, each was wrapped in festive, gold-foil paper and adorned with red-satin bows. The real kind too. The ones tied by hand and not created on an assembly line. The mound of presents glimmered like a leprechaun’s pot of gold. She gaped at it.

  She was looking at the genuine article. Santa’s bag of gifts.

  As she processed the discovery, a tiny, orange-and-white kitten poked its head out from beneath the rumpled velvet and meowed loudly at her.

  Chapter Seven

  It may have even meowed.

  “Why are you holding it like that?” Gramma Jude asked. “It’s not a hot potato, Journi Renee.”

  “I’m not holding it,” Journi replied, annoyed. “It’s sitting on my lap.”

  Indeed, the small feline had scampered over the seat without invitation and planted itself on her lap, staring at the passing night sky with wide, golden eyes. Currently, she had her fingerless-gloved hands braced on either side of it to keep it from rocking back and forth, but she was definitely not holding it.

  “Pick it up,” Gramma Jude instructed. “It’s probably scared out of its wits!”

  Journi scowled at her. “I don’t do cats.”

  “It’s not a cat,” Gramma Jude pointed out, holding tight to the reins as the sleigh circled over the topiary strolling garden next to the mall. “It’s a kitten.”

  “A kitten is a cat.”

  “If you say so.”

  Journi glanced down at the cat in question, and it stared up at her, the wind toying with its whiskers and ruffling its fur. No more than a half-pint, the thing was mostly orange with white patches here and there. It had a pink nose, and a red-satin ribbon embroidered with the words Hi, my name is Steve! was tied around its neck.

  “What kind of cat is named Steve?
” Journi demanded.

  “Gotcha!” Gramma Jude cried, leaning forward eagerly as the sleigh descended on the topiary garden, her hawk-like gaze tracking Kris Kringle’s route as he ran through the paths formed by the artistically sculpted shrubbery, his cape flapping behind him.

  Journi instinctively grabbed the kitten when the sleigh listed sharply to the left.

  The vision overtook her the moment her fingertips touched the beast’s fur.

  Unlike the visions she willingly initiated as part of her work as a soothsayer, the unexpected ones were like sensory whiplash. In a blink, the rushing wind, the city lights, and jingling sleigh bells were gone. Instead of hurtling through the sky, she was suddenly stationary, and her head spun wildly even though her surroundings weren’t technically real.

  At least, not yet.

  When the urge to vomit faded, she realized she was standing on the stoop of a brownstone. Somewhere on the north side of Columbus if the shininess of the cars parked along the curb and the upscale Christmas décor were indicators. There wasn’t an inflatable Frosty in sight. It was still nighttime, though she couldn’t be sure of which night in particular. It could be present day or five years from now. Glancing around, she searched for whatever it was she was meant to see.

  Every window up and down the street twinkled with elegant, white lights, and snow had just begun falling, drifting lazily down to land on the pine-bough-wrapped lampposts. Occasionally, a vehicle would pass, and she watched a man and woman stroll by bundled in their winter wool, their elbows entwined. They never glanced her way. Not that she expected them to. After all, she wasn’t really there.

  Turning back to the brownstone, she climbed its steps, eyeing the extravagant wreaths attached to its black double doors. To the right of the stoop, a fat Christmas tree twinkled inside a wide bay window, backlit by the cozy glow of the home’s interior.

  And sitting in that window with his knees drawn up to his chest as he stared hopefully up at the sky was a little boy.

  Maybe seven or eight, he had a mop of dark, curly hair and wore a pair of flannel astronaut pajamas. He clutched a dingy, stuffed cat to his chest.

  A dingy, stuffed orange-and-white cat.

  “Bingo,” Journi murmured, watching as a woman entered the room. Presumably the boy’s mother, she carried a mug and gazed at him wearily. After a moment, she took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. And though Journi was outside, she heard her voice as clearly as if she’d been standing beside her. “Time to open presents, Milo.”

  Milo didn’t look away from the window.

  The woman took a sip from her mug, and it seemed to steady her. “Milo, please. Come open presents for Mommy.”

  “It’s not Christmas,” Milo muttered, pressing his cheek against the stuffed cat’s head.

  Sighing, she sat down on the sofa, cradling the mug, her elbows on her knees. “I know that.” She glanced at the clear, barely distinguishable band encircling her wrist. “But it will be in three hours.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  Swallowing as if the situation was just as difficult for her, she nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Your father is picking you up in the morning. Don’t you want to see what I got you before you go?” She cringed and corrected, “I mean what Santa got you?”

  Milo clenched his jaw. “I know Santa isn’t real.”

  “Is that so?” she asked, arching a brow. “Then I guess you won’t want what’s in the big box that was dropped off earlier as a special delivery from the North Pole.” She smiled when she saw she had his attention. “It may have even meowed.”

  Milo’s eyes widened, and he turned to her warily.

  Chuckling, she gestured with her mug to indicate the large wrapped box next to the tree. “Go on, open it!”

  Scrambling off the pillowed window seat, he raced to the box and lifted off the lid. With bright, excited eyes, he looked inside.

  His excitement dimmed almost immediately.

  “What is it?” he asked, confused.

  Setting aside her mug, his mother stood and joined him. “It’s what you asked Santa for.” Reaching into the box, she pulled out a portable pet carrier and showed it to him. “A cat.”

  Inside the carrier, the white-plastic robotic cat emitted an electronic meow, its whiskers and ears twitching mechanically. “Hello, I’m Kit-E,” it announced in a singsong voice, its rainbow eyes flashing. “You’re my best friend.”

  Milo took a step back, hugging his ratty stuffed cat as if it would protect him from the thing. “I asked for a real cat. I knew Santa was fake.” Tears filled his eyes. “I knew it!”

  In general, cats, kids, and fungal infections topped Journi’s NOPE list, but the heartbreak in the young boy’s eyes punched her in the soft spot. Though she’d never consider herself an expert in miniature humans, she had the feeling there was something deeper at play here, and it had nothing to do with a spoiled child not receiving their Christmas wish. As she studied the dark circles beneath the mother’s eyes and noted the conspicuously absent aforementioned father, Journi understood.

  “Of course Santa is real,” the mother insisted, offering him the robotic cat. “Here, just give it a try. I think you’ll love it.”

  “No!” Milo shouted, tears spilling down his cheeks. “I hate it! And I hate you!”

  With that, he turned and ran back to the window seat, diving atop it and hiding his sobs in his shoulder.

  Behind him, his stricken mother glanced down at the robot and sighed. After a moment, she returned the thing to the box and joined her son. Sitting beside him, she ran her fingers through his hair. “I know you asked Santa for a real cat, and he wanted to get you one, but your dad and I . . .” She swallowed, her facade of strength cracking a little. “Your dad and I asked him to wait a few years. When you’re older and can take care of it better.”

  Milo looked at her then, his bottom lip quivering. “You don’t have to lie, Mom. I know it’s Autumn’s fault.”

  The mother flinched, and she visibly struggled to regain her composure. “Your father’s . . . fiancé is allergic to cats, yes,” she agreed, clearing her throat. “But—”

  Milo hugged the stuffed animal tighter and yelled, “Just leave me alone!”

  That was when time shifted.

  Journi looked up, watching the stars blur as they moved across the sky at high speed. Snow fell in fast forward, coating the sidewalk in a thin blanket, and cars zipped by in streaks of headlights. When the time-lapse stopped, she judged it to be roughly midnight given the moon’s new position. Glancing back inside the home, she discovered that it was dark except for the tree, and Milo and his mother were gone.

  The rightmost of the brownstone’s double doors opened slowly, and Journi watched as a figure stepped out. Milo, wearing red Fair Isle mittens and bundled in a blue parka, the furred hood pulled over his gray toboggan. Beneath his arm was the stuffed cat. He closed the door quietly behind him, took a deep breath, and surveyed the silent street, the moonlight casting a pale glow on his cheeks. His gaze passed right over Journi.

  “What are you up to, kid?” she murmured, crouching beside him.

  As if in response to her question, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it—a difficult process while wearing bulky mittens. Eventually, however, he managed, and he studied what appeared to be a flyer with his mouth pinched. Journi glanced at the paper and frowned.

  It was a flyer announcing Catmas Eve—A Midnight Holiday Adopt-a-Thon Event at the Hissing Booth!

  Aunt Frieda’s cat shelter.

  Which meant the vision was taking place tonight.

  Journi knew because she’d spent yesterday helping her aunt distribute the flyers and decorate the Hissing Booth in preparation for the event.

  “Get back inside,” Journi told Milo, suddenly uneasy. She loved her city. Columbus was a melting pot of creature and culture. It was rich in history and was colorful in every way. It was her home. But it was also dangerous as
hell. Especially for a kid on his own in the dark. A kid who probably had money for an adoption fee in his pocket. “Don’t do this.”

  As though his mind had been made up, he nodded and refolded the flyer, stashing it in his parka. Then he hurried down the steps.

  Journi cursed and went after him.

  At the sidewalk, he paused once to glance back at the brownstone before turning and walking away, his boots making tracks on the snowy sidewalk.

  Keeping pace, she noted the street sign when he reached the intersection.

  Juniper Way.

  As she started to follow him, though, time shifted again.

  What followed was the tragic collapse of a family.

  Scenes of yellowed HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? flyers fluttering on electric poles flashed in Journi’s mind’s eye. His mother, unkempt and cheeks streaked with mascara, as she pleaded with the television screen during a press conference for her son to be returned. Then, later, her slow, steady descent into alcoholism and eventual death. Milo’s father didn’t fare much better. He never married Autumn and instead devoted his life to obsessively searching for his missing son. To the detriment of all else. He lost his job, drained his bank account, and devolved into an unshowered, unshaven recluse who spent his days staring at a chaotic wall of perceived evidence. Photographs, newspaper clippings, receipts, and maps covered in red marker. Thirteen years after Milo’s disappearance, his father would be discovered swinging from his belt in the closet of his shabby apartment.

  As for Milo, he was never found.

  The last person to ever see him alive was Journi herself.

  When he’d stepped off the curb at the corner of Juniper Way.

  Chapter Eight

  This ain’t ho-ho-hover, you jolly bastard!

  “We have to leave,” Journi declared, emerging from the vision with a gasp, her head spinning as she stuffed the frightened kitten inside her leather jacket and zipped it up. “Now.”

  Gramma Jude looked at her, though Journi had no idea how she could see through her iced-over glasses. “Are you crazy?” the old witch demanded, her hair whipping across her face. “I’ve got him in my sights!”