Philomena Weylan, or Phee to her family and friends, pulled her clothes off, folding them neatly on her bed. Naked, she walked to her bedroom door, cracking it open before shifting into her feline form, a small grey housecat.

She slipped from her room, making her way to and down the staircase of the manor she and four of her cousins owned. Her small paws made no noise as she descended the old, oak steps. Swishing her feline tail, she padded across the foyer and into the kitchen.

In the kitchen, she made her way to the back door where the cat flap was unlocked. She slipped through it, into the late night, down the back steps and into the damp grass of their backyard. The air had a slight bite to it, reminding everyone that spring had only just begun. She wound around the various herbs and gnomes surrounding her cousin Cassidy’s garden, heading around the manor to the front drive.

She was headed to find someone to hole up with for the night and sate her feline urges. She didn’t normally do this, but she was in heat, in need of release to the point of desperation, and her boyfriend had broken up with her last month. He had been upset she wouldn’t commit to him. He didn’t understand she wasn’t a mortal like him.

She trotted down the long, paved drive to the end of their property, easily hopping through the iron gate that surrounded their home. It was a half hour’s walk to the bars of downtown Newport…not too far.

Keeping to the shadows of the sidewalks, she made her way through the downtown area. It was almost eleven on a Saturday night, and downtown would be filled with men for her to entice. Few cars were on the street at this time. Most people would be taking taxies home if they had decided to stay out this late.

Looking both ways, she crossed from one back road to another. She was headed for one of the pubs with a private parking lot. She lured in men so easily at these places. A little dancing, some whispered seductions, and men were all too ready to take her home. Once there, she would spend the night taking her fill.

She was crossing the back road leading into the small parking lot where she could shift and conjure up some scandalous clothes when bright lights assailed her eyes. Someone was speeding out of the parking lot, headed right for her! Yowling in fright, she scrambled to get out of the way. Unfortunately, she didn’t make it to the safety of the sidewalk. The front, then back driver-side tires bumped over her midsection. She felt a brief second of unbearable, fiery agony and then, nothing. Blackness stole over her as her punctured heart ceased to beat.

Galen Stewart sat at his computer behind his desk, updating the last of his animal clients’ files. Two had gone home feeling much better, while one was still under the weather and would be staying another night. Glancing to the clock, he sighed. It was well past midnight. He had stayed late, again. Maybe he could still get home, order some pizza and sit down to watch a movie before he had to work at the other veterinary clinic.

Not that he would eat the pizza. He didn’t eat, but he enjoyed the smell. And according to one of his previous girlfriends, what was a movie without pizza? Of course, that had been years ago, when drive-in theaters had still been popular. He didn’t know if people still ate pizza with movies. He supposed he wouldn’t find out either, not unless he made some friends.

Shutting down his computer, he checked one last time on Old Fluffy. The Persian cat was still sleeping soundly in his kennel. Grabbing his coat and keys from his office he made his way to the front door. He was almost to the door when two obscenely drunk, scantily dressed women showed up, the larger of the two clutching a small grey cat in her arms. Both women had black makeup streaming down their faces with their tears as they sobbed uncontrollably.

The shorter of the two spoke first. All he could translate through the sobbing were three words: kitty, hit and bastard.

Slowly approaching the women, Galen reached out for the cat. As he neared, he could smell the metallic tang of blood. They let him take the petite creature. Once the cat was in his arms, the tall one sobbed something about kitties and good care. He thought that meant she wanted him to take good care of the cat.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do for the cat. Someone had clearly run it over. “I’ll take good care of her,” he assured them. “Is this your pet?”

“No,” they both wailed.

He nodded. “Well, since this isn’t your pet, I’ll have to ask you both to leave.” They looked ready to cry harder. “So I can go take care of her,” he quickly added to forgo more tears.

Nodding and sobbing, they both left the clinic. Locking the door after them he sighed. Poor cat, he thought. What a horrible way to die.

Bringing the cat to the emergency care room, he laid her on the exam table. He stroked the cat’s soft head sadly. Though she was small, she wasn’t a kitten. Her fur was downy soft, a little long and light grey with white patches under her chin and on the tip of her toes on her back-left paw. The blood on her coat was sticky. She had been hit not very long ago.

He pet her for a while more, unsure what to do with her. He normally didn’t deal with dead animals. He didn’t know what the protocol was here. He would have to put her in a kennel and have the morning vet deal with her tomorrow. Leaving her on the counter, he went to find a blanket to wrap her in and prepare a kennel. He had had just grasped a blanket in the supply closet when he smelled something he hadn’t smelled in a long time. Witchcraft.

Sprinting back into the room, he expected to find a witch attempting to resurrect the poor cat. He couldn’t let that happen. If the cat came back because of Black magic, he knew it would come back wrong.

He found no one. the room was empty except for the cat. Yet, the smell of witchcraft continued to fill the air. It smelled earthy, like someone had dug a fresh hole in the ground and spread the newly turned earth around the room.

He walked cautiously to the table, watching in fascination as the cat’s twisted, hind leg snapped back into the proper position. He could hear the pieces of her shattered ribs crunch and grind back together. The bowed and broken spine popped, while slowly returning to its original alignment.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Galen, Old Fluffy and this ‘dead’ cat were the only ones in the clinic, meaning one of two possibilities. Either this cat belonged to a witch and had been spelled to always return, or this cat was the witch.

There went his late-night movie and pizza.

Galen had dealt with a witch-cat before. He had almost buried her alive. Accidentally, of course. The witch-cat had been brought into his clinic after drowning in a river. It must have been a few hours before anyone had found the cat dead because, as he was digging the grave out, the cat came back to life. Galen hadn’t been able to fully process that it was breathing again before the cat jumped up and turned into a very naked and very angry woman.

The witch-cat he now had lying on his exam table—if that was what it truly was—wouldn’t be waking for a while yet. The first witch-cat had only drowned. This cat had her insides crushed. He couldn’t just leave her at the clinic to heal, though. What if she came back to life and changed in front of someone?

What if she attacked someone?

What if she killed someone?

Galen couldn’t let that happen. He would have to take her home with him.

Wrapping the cat in the blanket he still held, he groaned. This was going to be a long night.