Chapter Two

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who let that handsome prince into his waiting room?

Stef was a great believer in fairy tales. After all, he worked for SPAM and hobnobbed with superheroes on the regular, so why couldn't Cinderella be true?

He literally fanned his own face on the way into the workroom. This was where he and his partner did procedures and their techs drew blood and took temperatures and generally poked and prodded their furry patients. His clinic was small, with a very select clientele. His partner, Andrea Mason, saw most of their mundane clients, while he took care of local weres and shifters and the occasional confused chupacabra or other out-of-region cryptid. He'd once been driven out to a patch of old growth forest on the Olympic Peninsula where he'd delivered a baby bigfoot by cesarean section.

The less said about that one, the better.

Andrea generated her income through billing, but Stef was paid by SPAM, since it was hard to invoice a chupacabra for services rendered. He wasn't a huge fan of SPAM, having been raised to be suspicious of any amorphous quasi-governmental body, but their checks came on time and never bounced. Plus, the work was fascinating. Back when he was in AP Organic Chem, he'd never imagined the uses to which he'd put that knowledge.

In the privacy of the workroom, he took a moment to collect himself. He had a policy against getting romantically involved with his clients, but—Exceptions must not be made.

The brief glance he'd had of the man had shown him a strong jaw, big hands, and an overarching sense of weariness. The guy was in trouble or he wouldn't be hauling whatever it was in that box into exam room five. Stef notched his fists on his hips. "Now you just simmer down, son, and for once in your life, try and act professional."

"Did you say something?" Andrea leaned through her office door. She had her puffer coat on, her leather backpack over one shoulder.

"Just giving myself a pep talk." Stef tried to swallow his embarrassment. "Got a late call about a SPAM job. I'll lock up when I'm done."

"Cool beans. If it's really weird, text me a pic."

In three long strides, she swung out the back door. Stef smiled at her retreating figure. She was the coolest cucumber in the bunch. Maybe he should try to fix her up with the handsome prince. Then Stef could be godfather to their children and spend the rest of his life mooning over what he couldn't have.

"Lord have mercy, I need to get a grip." Shaking his head, he went into his office and tapped the screen to bring his laptop to life. With no sense of shame, he opened the video app and clicked on camera five. The box sat on the exam table, while the prince huddled in the sturdy office chair next to it. The guy's sense of doom transmitted through the video, and with a stroke of the touchpad, Stef focused the camera on the box.

"A… cat?" he murmured. If a cat could imitate the letter V. The thing looked like it had lost a fight with an oncoming car and spent a week in a ditch. "What's a dead cat got to do with SPAM?"

Then the thing moved with a mew like a leaky balloon, its jaw flopping open.

"All glory to the Father, that thing is alive." Stef's skin crawled, and he was glad he hadn't walked into the room cold because he wouldn't want Handsome to see his fear. Shutting down the video app, he rested both hands on the deck. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation."

Or not. SPAM dealt mostly with superheroes and their work, but the TTGB branch could dig up some pretty strange stuff.

And that's why Stef had the best job in the world.

Before heading to room five, he took a moment to develop a differential diagnosis based on what he'd seen. "A mummy he brought back from Egypt? An experiment gone wrong? Maybe he tried to raise something from the dead like Frankenstein's monster." He scanned the row of textbooks on the small bookshelf next to his desk. Nothing obviously relevant. "I need more information or I'm going to head in the wrong direction."

With that, he closed his laptop and left the office.

He tapped twice before opening the door to the exam room. The Prince sat hunched over, his elbows propped on his knees. Even so, he gave off a sense of size, and Stef's butt cheeks quivered.

Down, boy.

"I'm Dr. Barros," Stef said, extending his right hand, "but you can call me Stef." You already told him that, Malakas.

The Prince rose to his feet and extended his own hand. "Brandon Charles. Thank you for seeing me with so little notice."

Brandon Charles's big, strong hand wrapped around his and it took a divine act of will for Stef to keep from groaning. Oh, but he liked the way this man felt. "Roxie said it was a SPAM job, so that entitles you to first-class treatment."

"I appreciate that."

"So…" Stef tipped his head in the direction of the box. "What brings you here?"

"Necromancy."

"Uh, you're a necromancer?" Stef didn't mean to take a step backward. It just happened. But necromancer. Come on.

"Yeah," Brandon said grimly. "It's complicated."

More curious than frightened, Stef approached the box. The… cat — it was a cat, or it had been — lay on its side, its back twisted atan impossible angle. "Poor thing."

He reached in and touched the thing's ear. The fur on its skull stuck out in clumps, and Stef began stroking the side of its face.

Through its wide-open jaw, the thing began to purr.

"Tell me," he said, his attention on the cat. When Brandon didn't start talking, he glanced up. "I can't fix it unless I know what's wrong. Now tell me how this happened."

"I don't know," Brandon said to the floor. "I was out for a run, and it started following me."

"Just like that? You were running along and a dead cat hopped up and came after you?"

"More or less."

Brandon sounded so despondent Stef didn't know whether he should hug him or slap him. He settled on neither. "Has anything like this ever happened before?"

"Yes."

One word whispered so softly that Stef thought he was doing a Billie Eilish imitation. "How many times?"

"Three. Two squirrels and a bird."

"On four separate occasions, dead creatures have risen and followed you." Stef didn't mean to sound harsh. He was just making sure he understood. "Are you a necromancer?"

"No… I don't know? I don't think so, but yeah, maybe."

Stef crossed his arms. "You just gave me five different answers."

Lips moving, Brandon tapped the side of his leg. "You're right, I did."

"Is one of them correct?"

"Probably."

Stef blinked slowly. "I'm not that familiar with necromancy, so I'm not sure how much help I can be."

Joining him beside the box, Brandon stared at the cat. "Okay. We'll take off, then. How much do I owe you?"

"That's not what I meant." Stef raised both hands, accidentally on purpose pressing against Brandon's very firm triceps. "What did you come in here for?"

Brandon eased away. "I guess I was hoping you could help me, um, send Sparky and the others back to… wherever they were before I ran past them."

"Wherever they were physically, like beside the road? Or you want them dead?"

Brandon jerked as if Stef had slapped him. "I don't want them dead, but they were dead before I got close to them. I want to undo the spell or whatever."

"Undo the spell…" Chewing on his lower lip, Stef reached into the box and picked up the cat. "That's going to take some research, but in the meantime"—he set the cat on the exam table—"I can probably make a brace so this guy's a little more comfortable."

"Brace?"

The cat folded in half and fell over. "Yeah, so he can't do… that."

"Okay." Brandon sounded ever so slightly less depressed. "My friend, the one who gave me your contact info, he's trying to find me a necromancer who can, I don't know, make it stop, hopefully."

Stef lifted the cat's hips and straightened out its posture. "Hold it like this and I'll be right back."

"Sparky."

"What?"

"The cat's name is Sparky."

"Of course it is." Stef smiled and with a shuddering sigh, Brandon smiled back.

Pretending he hadn't just been struck by lightning, Stef headed for the workroom, his feet moving double time.

He aimed for the set of shelves that ran along one wall, doing his best to calm down on the way. "Yes, he's pretty, and his smile slays, but he needs the help of a professional, not a drooling idiot."

Out of habit, Stef kept his voice low. He'd talked to himself since he was a small kid, and while his staff was used to it, he tried not to make his inner thoughts common knowledge all the time.

"There it is. Bottom drawer."

He kneeled and opened one of the built-in drawers. It was long and wide, and held sheets of a malleable plastic of various sizes, along with stick-on Velcro straps. He sorted through the pieces of plastic until he found one that was roughly twelve-by-twelve inches. Taking it and two of the Velcro straps, he went back to exam room five.

"Lift Sparky and we'll see if this will work."

Brandon stood the cat up, supporting it with one hand on its chest and the other on its rump. Stef slid the piece of plastic between the cat's legs, lengthwise. "Needs about an inch off," Stef murmured. "Hang on."

Darting back into the workroom, he found an X-Acto knife and on his return, he sliced an inch off one end of the plastic. This time when he slid it under Sparky, it fit nicely. "Okay, now for the fun part."

Putting the plastic in hot water would make it soft enough to be molded. "Actually," Stef said, "why don't you bring Sparky into the workroom, rather than have me run back and forth?"

"You're inviting me to your inner sanctum? So soon?"

"Uh…" Was he flirting? Stef blushed so hard his cheeks could have melted right off. "Just… come this way."

Wondering if he'd ever develop some chill, Stef led them all into the workroom. He had Brandon position Sparky on the counter, then went to the sink. They had a boiling water spigot, and while Andrea mostly used it for tea, it did come in handy in these situations. Stef turned it on, then held the plastic sheet underneath it until the plastic started to soften.

He turned, holding the floppy plastic, to find Brandon inspecting everything. "You don't have any overnight guests?" Brandon asked.

"Not tonight. Andrea doesn't do surgeries on Fridays because the clinic is closed over the weekend." Stef slid the sheet of plastic underneath Sparky, bringing the sides up and around to create a tube with the top cut off. "There," he said. "This'll harden back up in a minute, then I'll put the straps on and we'll see how Sparky likes it."

"Can't be any worse."

"At least it'll stabilize Sparky's spine while I research how to, um, send her home, as it were."

"Her?"

Stef shrugged. "She's got teats. In fact"—he ran a hand along her underbelly—"she may have been nursing when she died."

Brandon covered his face with an open palm. "Kittens? I didn't see any kittens."

"With luck, they were old enough to fend for themselves."

"This just keeps getting worse and worse. I need to go see if I can find them."

The way Brandon lurched made Stef think he meant to run right out the door. "Calm down. There's no telling how long ago this happened." He put the firming plastic around Sparky's midsection, then went to work attaching the straps.

Brandon still looked stricken, but he didn't run off.

"Feral kittens are usually on their own by about eight weeks, so if you don't find a nest near the place you found Sparky, they're probably fine. And, uh, if you want, I'll help you look."

Brandon didn't smile, exactly, but the tension in his jaw relaxed. "Sure. That'd be great."

Stef's own grin was a lot goofier. "Absolutely."

Sparky took a couple steps and her rear end didn't wobble or flop. "Hey," Brandon said. "The brace is helping. Good call."

"Any time," Stef said and he really, truly meant it.