The small orange cat was crouched by a polished leg, her tail twitching, her ears pricked, and her eyes black in a classic pre-stalking posture. Matalina had relented in her stand, having admitted herself that even their smallest child could outfly a cat’s pounce, and after Jenks pointed out that Rex wintering indoors wouldn’t allow them to become lazy sentries, the cat’s place inside was assured.

The theory now was that if the pixy kids, whom Rex loved, could get her to come to them while they were with me, Rex might start to like me, too. Nice thought, but it wasn’t working. Rex hadn’t liked me since I used a demon curse to go wolf. I had returned back to myself with pristine skin and no fillings, but I’d rather have freckles than the demon smut that had come along with the unexpected makeover. Not to mention Rex might willingly let me touch her. I think she was waiting for me to change into a wolf again.

“This isn’t working,” I said, turning to Jenks and Matalina, who had perched on my desk in the heat of the lamp to watch the drama unfold. The sun had set, and I was surprised Jenks hadn’t moved everyone out to the stump, but maybe it was too cold tonight. It was either that or he didn’t want his kids outside when that gargoyle was lurking about. I didn’t know why Jenks was so upset. The thing was only a foot tall. I thought he looked kind of cute on the edge of the roof, and if I could go outside, I’d try to coax him down—now that he was probably awake.

“I told you that wouldn’t work,” Jenks said snarkily. “You’d better utilize your time coming up to the belfry and talking to that hunk of rock.”

Better utilize my time? It was the gargoyle. “I’m not going to lean out the belfry window and shout at him,” I muttered when the pixies squealed. “I’ll talk to him when he comes down. You’re just mad that you can’t make him leave.”

“She’s coming. Rex is coming!” one shrilled loudly enough to make me wince, but the cat was only stretching, settling in for a good long stare session. That’s all she did—stare at me.

“Here, kitty, kitty, stupid kitty,” I coaxed. “How’s my little chicken-ass feline today?” I crooned, holding out a hand as I sat on the floor. One of Jenks’s daughters walked down the plane of my arm, her own hand outstretched. “I’m not going to hurt you, you sweet little bundle of asinine, orange-furred, Were-toy of a cat.”

Okay, maybe that was harsh, but she couldn’t understand me, and I was tired of trying to get her to like me.