Ник Сайнт - Purrfectly Hidden. Purrfect Kill. Purrfect Boy Toy

“Baby, baby,” she sang, the music thumping through the room. She was wearing her usual pink leggings and her favorite pink sweatshirt—the same outfit she always wore when she started rehearsals. They were worn out by now, after years of use, but Chickie had a superstitious streak, and wouldn’t wear anything except her lucky threads.

“Baby, baby, baby,” she sang as she swung her hips and thrust out her arms.

She’d have preferred it if her trusty choreographer had been with her in person, to make those small corrections and improvements that make all the difference, but Tracy hadn’t been able to make it. Doctor’s appointment. No worries, though. Tracy always filmed her choreos and gave her clients plenty to work with.

“Baby, baby, baby, baby…”

Chickie frowned at her image in the mirror. Something wasn’t right and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Tracy would know. The experienced choreographer would only need a glimpse to know what was wrong and immediately correct her. ‘No, Chickie—you need to relax those shoulders. And be light on your feet. Lighter! You look like an elephant stomping across the stage. Snappy movements. Snappy, snappy, snappy!’

And Chickie, even though she sometimes had a hard time following instructions, would do as she was told, because that’s how much faith she put in Tracy’s genius.

The fact of the matter was that she had a lot riding on the new album and the accompanying tour. It was her first one in five years, and already the media were calling it her comeback album. Then again, if you didn’t put out something new every six months, you were already a has-been and ripe for a much-touted comeback.

She was proud of the new album. And felt that it was probably the best thing she’d ever done. She just hoped her fans, her Chickies, would like the new stuff. She’d invited a select few of them to the house the week before for a slumber party, so they could hear the new songs, and they’d loved them. Loved them! One or two had even fainted. Fainting was good. It was a sign she still had what it took to inspire her army of Chickies.

The sound of a pebble hitting the window had her look up in surprise. She walked over and looked out. It took another pebble to direct her attention to a tree whose branches reached the fence. One of her most fanatical Chickies sat in the tree and was throwing rocks at her window. Oh, God. Not that guy again. But instead of indicating her displeasure, she gave him a little pinky wave. You had to keep the superfans happy.

She quickly moved back from the window before this self-declared #SuperChickie heaved a brick through the window and hit her smack in the face. Picking up her phone, she dialed Tyson’s number, the man in charge of her small security crew.

“Yeah, Tyson. Olaf is back. He’s sitting in a tree throwing rocks at my window. Can you get him out of there? Be nice about it—he may be nuts but he’s still a fan. Thanks.”

She shook her head in dismay. It was one thing to have fans but another to have crazies who followed you around wherever you went, trying to get a glimpse of you.

Trying to put the incident out of her mind, she resumed her rehearsal. One-step, two-step, pivot. One-step, two-step, pivot. Ouch. A sudden pain shot through her ankle.

“Oh, hell!” she cried, and threw up her hands. “Now see what you did, Olaf!”

And just as she picked up the phone to set up an appointment with her physiotherapist, the door swung open and she glanced up at the new arrival.

“Oh, hey,” she said. “I think I twisted my ankle again. And it’s all because of that horrible Olaf Poley. Can you believe he’s actually throwing rocks at my window now?”

Suddenly two hands closed around her neck with surprising strength. She tried to fight back but to no avail. And as she started to lose consciousness, she remembered Tracy’s words from their very first session: ‘You need to work on your upper-body strength, missy! Train those noodles you call muscles until they’re strong as iron bands!’

Oh, how she wished now she’d followed Tracy’s advice.

Chapter 1

I woke up from a strange sound. Thump, thump, thump . I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. As if some giant hand had grabbed the house and was shaking it all about.

And then I realized what it was.

“Earthquake!” I shouted as loud as I could. “Earthquake!”

And I was up and moving with great alacrity in the direction of the exit. I halted when a small inner voice told me I’d forgotten something. Something critical. I’d totally neglected to make sure my human was awake and responding to my cry of alarm.

So ignoring danger to life and limb, I turned back and checked on Odelia. Imagine my surprise when I saw that only Chase still occupied the bed, the covers pulled all the way up to his ears, blissfully sleeping the sleep of the dead in spite of my urgent plea.

“Earthquake!” I tooted in his ears. “Wake up, Chase—there’s an earthquake!”

And to add credence to my words, I placed my paws on the burly copper and started massaging his mighty chest, not stinting on the odd claw extending from the odd paw.

“Not now, Max,” Chase muttered, then turned to his other side and kept on sleeping.

“But Chase! You have to wake up! There’s an earthquake and if you don’t get up right now the house will fall on top of our heads!”

“That’s nice,” Chase muttered, even though I’m sure he couldn’t possibly have understood what I’d just said. Chase is one of those humans who can’t comprehend cats. Well, I guess most humans fall into that category. Only Odelia, Chase’s girlfriend and my very own personal human, can speak to me, as well as her mother and grandmother.

My gaze briefly raked the spot where Odelia should have been, and I reached out a tentative paw to touch the sheet. Still warm, so she must have gotten up just now. So why hadn’t she alerted her boyfriend of the impending doom? Or me, for that matter?

And then, as I glanced around some more, I saw that there was one other individual missing from the picture: my best friend Dooley. I wasn’t worried about him, though, as Dooley has the luxury of calling two homes his home, both Odelia’s and her mom’s, and had presumably opted to keep his own human next door company this particular night.

I decided to go in search of Odelia, as she seemed to be the only one who’d be able to rouse Chase from the land of slumber and into full wakefulness.

The loud noise that I’d identified as an earthquake had changed in pitch, and as I hurried out of the bedroom and into the corridor, suddenly I realized my mistake. It wasn’t an earthquake but… music. Loud, thumping music. The kind that humans like to dance to.

Quickly putting two and two together I deduced that Odelia had gotten up early and was using these quiet moments before the dawn to perform some of that aerobics, as she calls it. She dresses up in fluorescent lycra and jumps around in sync with the music, watching other women donning similar attire do the same on her big TV screen.

So I waddled down the stairs, and the moment I arrived in the living room I discovered I’d been right on the money: there, jumping up and down and swinging her arms, was Odelia, dressed in pink, moving along to the beat of some very peculiar music.

And next to her sat Dooley, bobbing his head as if in approval of these proceedings.

I sidled up to him, after giving Odelia a once-over to determine if she was still of sound mind and body or had been bitten by some exotic bug and gone off her rocker. With humans you never know. They act sane and sensible one minute, and nuts the next.

“Have you been up long?” I asked as I hopped onto the couch and joined my friend.