“Wow, you look like a sack of dog shit.” Agatha sniffed the air around my face. “And you smell like coffee-flavored vomit.”

I was too tired to respond and simply dropped the keys next to the door and hauled the box of take-out into the living room. “Where are the guys?” I looked down to see three cats sprawled on the floor, sleeping. They were cats and they were sleeping. Disappointment hit me like a sucker-punch, and I felt my jaw tighten as Agatha danced around me, her beady eyes fixed on my face. I dropped the food on the table with a thud. “Whatever. Like I give a rat’s ass.”

Fighting tears of frustration, I slipped out of the apartment and made my way down to the thrift shop. I sat in the large velvet chair for a long while, staring at the wall and trying to remember when I’d last been truly happy. A jumble of images from the past few days filled my mind and I grabbed a satin cushion and pressed it against my face. Happiness inspired by people who were half-cat didn’t count, right? I groaned into the pillow. Maybe I had been happy when I opened my juice bar? But I knew I hadn’t been, not really. Not when I remembered Gerard’s patronizing pep talks or the way he scowled when he checked my accounts at month-end. And it wasn’t when Gerard asked me to marry him, offering me the ring with one hand and taking my life-savings with the other. But I hadn’t minded giving him my money, because he needed it. For the yogalates business. Our business.

“No, Price, you silly, silly woman. His business,” I muttered. I lifted the pillow and flung it as hard as I could at the huge mirror on the far wall.

Agatha appeared around the corner. “What seems to be the trouble, hipster?”

I glared at her, waiting for a sarcastic remark, or a sly dig about my harem, but it never came. I sank back into the soft velvet and stared at the ceiling. “Everything. Everything is wrong. I need a damn fresh start, but I’ve just jumped from the frying pan into the fire, and I have no idea how to fix it.” I opened my eyes and stared at the old witch. “I’ve been running in circles all day, and I still have no answers. Or maybe too many answers. Are you sure there’s absolutely nothing that you remember surrounding your death, Agatha?”

The old woman scrunched her face and frowned, her shoulders sinking slightly as she came closer toward me. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing. Whenever I try to remember, it’s as if my entire mind goes fuzzy. It’s just blackness, and everything around it is mist.”

I rubbed my eyes, exhaustion setting in deep within me. I leaned back in the chair and pressed my cheek against the smooth velvet. “Frankie. Harlow. Who else? Who else could there be? Surely, there must be something that I’ve missed. Somebody with a better motive than a failed fashion blog or rumored loan sharks, right?” Agatha didn’t respond and irritation turned to fury in my aching gut. “Come on, Agatha, you’ve got to remember something. This is all your fault, damn it. If you hadn’t left me the house, nobody would care about me. The cops would leave me alone. Why did you do it?” I glared at the ghost. “Why leave this place to me? I’m nobody. You never even met me. We never even did a proper interview.”

“I was looking for someone special,” Agatha finally whispered. I opened my eyes and met her gaze, her baby blues as clouds before a rainstorm. “I remember I needed someone specific. Someone important.” She crossed over to me and brushed my hair off my face with feather-light strokes. Then she plucked a beautiful jeweled barrette from a shelf and slid it into my hair. She smiled. “A gift from a witch to keep you safe, dear.” Her form began to shimmer and fade, but her words remained long after she vanished. “You must be something special for me to leave it all to you, of that I’m sure.”

“Somebody special,” I whispered. “Some special sort of fool.” But I wasn’t a quitter. I clenched my teeth, dragged my sorry ass out of the chair, and set myself to work. Settling in behind the dusty computer in the back corner office, I began searching through every possible person, place, event, or whatever I could think of that could possibly be related to Agatha’s death. After two fruitless hours of frustration, I sat back and stared dry-eyed out into the silent thrift shop. The fading sun cast a dusty glow and the atmosphere was eerie as I imagined scenes of the woman’s death. Where exactly did it happen? Scanning the large cluttered space, I shivered as I pictured her lifeless form on the floor. Shaking the images from my head, I leaned back in the chair and let out an exasperated groan.

“No luck?” A deep male voice sounded from within the shop. I recognized it as Tom’s and turned my attention back to the computer.

“That’s an understatement,” I replied, preferring the frustration of my failed research to the inevitable condescension that was coming my way. “Look, I’m doing my best to figure this shit out. I don’t need anyone to give me a hard time about it, okay? I’ve had a rough day.”

The large black cat appeared next to me, his scruffy fur and bulky build nearly as intimidating as his human form. I glared down at him as he sauntered up to me and rubbed up against my leg. I barely had time to react before the large tattooed naked man stood beside me, his full frontal nudity in all its massively embarrassing glory exposed perfectly at eye height from my chair.

“Zinging zucchinis,” I cursed, shielding my eyes. “Put that thing away. You guys really need to get a handle on this whole shifting thing.”

Tom reached for a flannel sweater that hung on a near rack, wrapping it around his middle for at least a somewhat false sense of modesty. “Better?”

I opened my eye to peek and nodded slowly. “I guess. What are you doing down here?”

Tom picked up a magazine from one of the vintage stacks near the desk and flipped through it for a long, drawn-out minute before turning his attention back to me. I tried to return my focus to the computer screen but my gaze was drawn to the half-naked man as if his skin was magnetic. My eyes traced the path of his Celtic tattoo from his neck, down his back and around his side where it wound lower, deep into the V of his hip. I glanced up from the shaded muscle just above his crotch to find him watching my face with slightly parted lips. I steeled myself for a mocking comment about whether or not I would like to a closer look, but unlike Pussy, Tom said nothing. He just stared at me with lips so soft I wondered how they’d feel on my skin.

“Thought you could use some company,” he finally replied as he let his eyes fall on a spread in what I read to be ‘Volume 7 - Women’s Fashion of the 1930’s’.

“Oh,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You sound surprised.” He gave me a probing stare and I turned away, embarrassed. “Is there anything I can help with?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I’m trying to dig up information on Agatha and her friends and family, but apart from the odd social media page, I’m coming up dry. I ran a juice bar, for heaven’s sake, I’m not a journalist. I don’t know how to investigate people.” I glowered at the computer screen as if it owed me answers.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, Price. You’re doing a better job than that bastard Bert is,” Tom replied, tugging on a second sweater he found lying nearby. I caught a glimpse of round, firm buttocks as he twisted to adjust the sweater covering his nether regions and my fingers itched to pinch his warm flesh. I stared down at my hands, mortified by my uncharacteristic thoughts. Tom stepped closer to me and I forced myself to focus on his face. “The fact that the cops seem so interested in you proves how incompetent they are, doesn’t it?”

“Not really,” I replied, though I appreciated him trying to make me feel better about the whole mess. “I came into the picture out of nowhere and inherited everything Agatha owns. If I were investigating a suspicious murder, I would be the first person I would suspect.”

“You’re obviously not the one who did anything, though,” he replied.

I huffed out a frustration-filled groan. “I know that. We know that. But I have no way of proving it.”

“So, I repeat,” he said. “Is there anything I can help with?”

I turned off the computer, resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going to get any further online. I thought back on the conversations I’d had over the past few days, and whether there was anything I was missing. “It would help to know more about you guys and this house.”

“Okay.” Tom rested his back against the wall, bare ass pressed against the plasterboard, and raised his chin. “What would you like to know?”

I shrugged. “Anything, really. I’ve been here a few days now and I still know nothing about you guys and why you’re here. How you’re here, really. I’ve just sort of accepted this as my own alternate version of reality because Agatha says familiars don’t remember their previous lives, but you’re not really familiars anymore, right? At least not full-time. Do you remember anything yet? How did you come to be here as a cat? Were you a cat first? A human first? I can’t believe I’m actually asking these questions.” I dragged my hands through my hair, hysteria building again like it had in the parking lot earlier that day. “Oh, my God, I’m losing it. I’m losing my grip on everything.”

Tom leaned forward and placed his large hands on my shoulders, steadying me. The warmth he gave off comforted me and excited me both at the same time. I bit my lower lip and averted my gaze, embarrassed by the nearness of him. He responded to my withdrawal by leaning in even closer, pressing harder against my arms and holding me steady. “Slow down there, Price. One breath at a time. I know it’s been overwhelming for you. I’ll try to make sense of what I can for you, okay?”

“Okay,” was all I managed to say, my voice catching in my throat.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” he murmured. “Not that it’s much of a beginning. I don’t know if it’s the familiar spell, or this is just what I’ve always been, but I don’t remember much of anything before this house, to be perfectly honest with you. It’s all I know. And if I’m being perfectly truthful, I honestly don’t remember ever being a guy before you showed up. So, maybe I was a cat first? But that doesn’t seem right. It feels so natural to be human.” He then paused and looked off into the far corner of the room, his own eyes turning haunted. “You know what? I guess I never really thought of it before. Sort of like you said, you just accept it as your own weird version of reality.”

My chest ached. “So you don’t actually know who you are? Or what you are?”

“No, I don’t.” Tom’s hands were still on my shoulders, his body so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “All I know is that since you woke us from that spell, my whole world seems to be wrapped around this house.” His eyes met mine. “Around you. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to fix this mess for you, Price. I don’t have a damn clue what I should do to make you feel better.” I didn’t move, didn’t dare to breathe in case he could see the thoughts sliding through my mind. His voice was rough as he leaned into me, his mouth inches from my lips. “Tell me what I can do to make the pain go away.”

My breath was ragged. “I don’t know,” I lied. “I don’t know how you could make it better.”

“I do,” a voice purred. I jumped out of Tom’s grasp, flustered, and stared as Muffin rubbed against my leg and popped back into human form, having the grace to turn the other way and conceal his manly bits from me as he shifted.

“You know how to fix the shit-show that is Pricetag’s life?” Pussy drawled, sauntering into the room. “And what exactly would that be, genius?” The tabby cat rubbed himself against my leg, continuing to stroke my skin for a moment too long after he had returned to human form. I jerked my leg away and shot him a warning look, but he simply stood up slowly and stretched his hands over his head, naked as the day he was born and far, far happier. Tom grabbed a robe from a rail and threw it at Pussy, who slid his arms into the sleeves and tied the robe so loosely that I doubted it would conceal any of his essentials for very long. Pussy turned toward Finn again and cocked an eyebrow. “Well, enlighten us. How are we going to solve the problems of the world?”

Finn spun on his heels and pulled two rather large bottles of liquor from the cabinet on the wall behind me. “Easy. We get drunk.”