Chapter. 2

Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Breathe. I need to breathe, but all this fur is making it impossible. I gag and choke and wish I could sneeze, but I suppose cats don't sneeze. Do cats sneeze? I don't know anything about cats. Dinah's the one always feeding the strays that gather by the kitchen door, spending hours cooing over them, scratching ears, rubbing bellies.

Dinah! She'll know what to do. I need to find Dinah.

Wait, how would Dinah know what to do? Loving cats doesn't mean she knows what to do when a person's been turned into one. If a person's been turned into one. Is that what's happened? But that's impossible! This must be a dream. I must be drunk. There must be some other explanation, something that could actually happen. This kind of thing doesn't happen. I try to take another deep breath, and finally sneeze.

Apparently, cats can sneeze.

"Excuse me," I say out of habit, and then scream. The scream makes me jump. I'm full of surprises tonight, it seems.

Apparently, cats can also talk. Or maybe that's just me and not all cats, unless an entire species has been very good about keeping secrets all this time. But this is good! I can go to Dinah, explain what happened, and—

And then what? If anyone finds out about a talking cat in the palace, they'll take it as an omen that the King is cursed. There are already mutters about his youth, his inexperience, his questionable decisions and priorities. Magic may not be real, but plenty of people are still superstitious. I'll be called a witch. I'll be burned at the stake. A tiny cat-sized stake.

Even if I somehow convince them of the truth, that I'm simply a maid in an unfortunate situation, what then? Oh, the maid who just got fired for the royal souping? I'd be turned out anyway. I can't let anyone know.

All right, then. What can I do? I take another deep breath, careful not to choke on my abundant fur this time, and get to my feet. Legs. Paws. This is so weird.

Back to bed. This might be a dream, I might just be drunk—but what if I am? What if I wake up and I'm still Lurina, the maid who was fired? Do I want to be found in my bed in the morning for Alvin to find and kick out? No one in the capital would hire a maid who was personally fired by the King. It's three days' journey back to the village I come from, and kind as they are, the farmers who raised me can't afford to take me on again when I have no skills to aid in their livelihood. The wages I've been sending back are barely enough to put a dent in the debt I already owe. Even Dinah can only feed her beloved cats with scraps from the royal kitchen after the nobles are satiated. Things are even worse outside Carbonel, with the cities of our neighboring kingdom Randstand overrun with people who aren't being helped.

What am I going to do?

I sigh and look down at my hands—I mean, my paws. I can't open doors with these. And could I even get to my door at all? I moved before, purely on instinct, but now I have to make the effort to seem catlike. When I order myself to walk, only my hind legs move and I don't get anywhere.

All right, then. Front and back. No, that isn't right. Left and right. How do cats walk again? I try to picture them in my mind, regretting that I never joined Dinah during her feedings. It isn't that I have anything against cats, but being as they're so self-sufficient, I didn't see why they'd need or want my attention.

I hear Dinah's voice in my ear, remember the fondness creasing her face as she gazes at the strays she calls her friends. "Just because they don't need it doesn't mean they don't want it," she says.

Of course, I never understood what she meant. I don't know that I've ever wanted something I didn’t need, but I try not to want much as a rule. There's neither time nor budget for frivolity in my life. Still, I find myself desperately missing Dinah, even though it's barely been hours and it was my own fault for not wanting to see her after that disaster of a dinner. If only I'd come out when she came to see me. Maybe I would have skipped the whiskey, gone to bed earlier, missed whatever cat-turning curse I've stumbled into.

Focus, I tell myself. I have the rest of my life for regret—nine lives, in fact. For now, I have to learn how to be a convincing cat so I don't get found out as a witch without even opening my mouth. Front and back, front and back. There, that's walking.

A mere ten minutes ago, I had thought nothing could be more miserable than spending my birthday looking for a new job or traveling back home in disgrace. Clearly, I was wrong.

What about sounds? I had purred before when I tried to scream, and then I'd screamed without even meaning to. I think of Eveline, a new chambermaid who immigrated to Carbonel a few months ago from the country of Zellind and sometimes slips back into her native language without realizing. Her brain still functions in one, she'd explained, even when she means to speak out loud the other. If that is also my situation, am I a native cat or human?

I should practice, just in case. I clear my throat (I think) and try a meow. It sounds like a human saying meow.

Are there different vocal cords to activate? Part of the throat to engage? I've never had to think this much about the function of speech before. "This is hopeless," I mutter out loud. But I can't be doing that anymore.

"Meow," I try again. "Meow. Meow." Closer, I think. Once again, I wish Dinah were here. I'm sure she could imitate a cat better than most cats could.

I continue practicing, walking and meowing in the empty palace corridors as I get used to the sensations of my new body. Even my vision's different, though whether that's the cat thing or the nighttime, I don't yet know. What will the day be like? And will every day for the rest of my life—

No. It can't be. This is the kind of thing that happens to princesses in fairy tales, and I'm an utterly ordinary maid.

Everything will be better tomorrow. Either I'll wake up with a hangover and no job, but human, or...I don't know. I can't think. I'm so tired.

Sleep first. I'll curl up in this corner—no, too conspicuous. This chair? Temptingly plush, but what if someone sits on me? I'll jump onto the top of that bookcase. I've seen cats jump heights that should be impossible, and for a brief flicker of a moment, it's almost thrilling when I succeed.

And then I remind myself that this is for my safety. I'm in a dangerous, bizarre, humiliating, loathsome situation. I'll go to sleep, wake up in the morning, and decide what to do then.

But it seems I've barely closed my eyes when I'm being grabbed and dragged off the bookcase in the harsh light of a new day.

"What," someone says with a voice dripping with familiar disdain, "is this?"

It's Alvin.