Page 16 of Of Angels & Absolution

“Are you dressed up as Heidi or something?” he asks, gesturing to my clothes. “Pippi Long Stocking? The Wendy’s girl?”

“I’m not—” I shake my head and refocus. “You didn’t see a little grey kitten come by?”

“Only kitty I’ve seen is Annabel’s,” he says, glancing back as a ghostly goth girl slips from the room like a shadow and appears at his elbow, cradling a black cat in her arms. “Speak of the devil.”

“Hi,” I say on a breath, hoping she doesn’t remember me. I remember her. Even with all the makeup, the black lipstick and piercings, I’d recognize Angel’s cousin anywhere. His mom once joked that North blood was so strong that every single one of them looked like siblings, no matter how different their moms looked. She’s right. They all have the same Colombian features, jet-black hair, dramatic lashes, and striking eyes. While Angel is tawny complected with opaque, jade green eyes, though, Annabel Lee has alabaster skin and eyes as golden as her cat’s.

The slightest twitch of her black-nailed fingers is her only greeting, and I can’t read anything in her blank, sullen expression. I can’t tell if she knows who I am. We never hung out—she’s on the gang side of Angel’s family, which my parents didn’t want touching our lives. Heath and Eternity were from the law-abiding side, so they were allowed.

“This is our resident Wednesday Addams, and that wraith in her arms is Edward Gorey,” the K-Pop star says, catching the black cat as it launches itself like a projectile from Annabel Lee’s arms to his. “Oh, and I’m Manson. Like Marilyn, not like the serial killer. I assure you, I’m totally harmless. Unless you fuck with my friends, in which case…” He looks me up and down and raises a brow, a little smirk on his face as he strokes the cat’s head.

“He will poison you with something entirely untraceable but that kills you in a slow, agonizing, indescribably gruesome way,” Annabel Lee says, the corners of her mouth lifting into a sadistic smile, as if that prospect is the only thing that brings light to her dark world. “For me.”

“Noted,” I say. “I’m just looking for my cat. And there he is.”

Dr. Jekyll comes trotting down the hall toward us, tail straight up, like nothing happened. I hurry to scoop up the little fluff ball before retreating.

“You have a familiar?” Annabel Lee asks behind me.

I wince, but it would be rude to walk away when she’s talking to me, so I stop and turn back slowly. “I have a kitten,” I say evenly. “I know I’m not supposed to. It’s just…”

My throat catches, and suddenly I have the terrible urge to cry. After all I’ve gone through, I can’t stand the thought of being alone in that room again, even when the alternative is a demon cat who hates me.

“They can see people’s auras,” the goth girl says. “They can sense if they’re here to do you harm. Bring her over. You’ll see.”

I slowly return to them. The black cat hisses fiercely, and Jekyll shrinks down in my arms like a turtle trying to pull its head into the shell.

“I’m not—” I start, horrified that she’ll think I mean her harm, and she’ll have a reason to rat me out for having a pet. Or get her boyfriend to poison me. Maybe she’s finally making good on the threats her family threw with the bricks through our windows.

“She’s not hissing at you,” Annabel Lee drawls, sounding unbothered. “She doesn’t like strange cats.”

“I’ll put her up,” says Manson. “It was nice meeting you…?”

“Mercy,” I say, realizing I never introduced myself. “Mercy Soules.”

“Well,” he says, drawing up to his full height of at least six feet, cradling the spitting cat in his arms. “May God have mercy on all our souls.” He whirls dramatically and starts off down the hall, trench coat flapping behind him like Dracula’s cape.

“That’s quite a name,” Annabel Lee says, before cracking the tiniest, rueful smile. “Then again, I’m one to talk. I’m literally named for Edgar Allan Poe.”

I know.

I almost say the words before I catch myself. She doesn’t seem to remember me, and since the last thing I need is one more person on campus who hates me, I’m not about to remind her.

Stepping forward, she holds out a finger to pet the top of Jekyll’s head.

Instead of hissing like I’m trying to shove him in a bathtub and drown him, he reaches up his nose like a sweet little angel and bumps it against her finger.

“Who’s ziss wittle guy?” Annabel Lee asks in a baby voice that I wouldn’t have thought could possibly come from a girl who wears all black and has spikes everywhere from her platform boots to her belt to the dog collar around her neck. She even has a spike extending from a piercing between her lower lip and chin. Maybe it’s to keep herself pure, so her boyfriend can’t kiss her.

“This is Dr. Jekyll,” I say, cradling the kitten protectively, though I have no idea where that instinct comes from, since it’s clear the feelings between us are not mutual.

He sniffs Annabel Lee’s finger, then closes his eyes and rubs his head against it.

“See?” she says, giving him a few more pets before straightening. “Looks can be deceiving to humans, but never to cats. They don’t judge books by their covers.”

“I wasn’t—” I start, then break off.

Her white teeth flash in a grin. “Of course you were.”

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