Nocticadia

by Keri Lake

Something brushed across my ankles, and on a panicked jolt, I leapt onto Professor Bramwell’s desk. Twisting around showed a black little furball staring up at me with golden eyes. I blew out a relieved breath and chuckled, climbing off the desk. “Hello there,” I said, kneeling down to give the cat a pet. “What the heck are you doing in a lab?” I frowned the moment the words escaped me. “He better not be experimenting on you.” The cat leaned into the scratching, and I smiled, indulging the attention-loving rascal. “Strange, he doesn’t strike me as a cat person.”

“May I ask a question?” “That is a phrase that will echo in death,” he said, not bothering to look up, and I smiled.

She was the warmth of the sun on a cold and rotting corpse. The first breath after a lifetime of death.