“Yeah?” It’s been an hour since the girls left, and I’ve been staring at my phone ever since, debating whether texting Bats back would be the worst thing in the world. Half of me has decided it would be. The other half has decided it wouldn’t.

“I think HP got out.”

I bolt upright. “What?”

“I just opened a can of her food, and she didn’t come. I was hoping she was locked in here with you.”

I flip off the covers and shove my feet into my unicorn slippers. “Nope. Vera was carrying in a ton of canvases earlier. I bet she snuck out. I’ll go find her.” This is bad; HP is not an outdoor cat.

“If she doesn’t come running, we’ll get her in the morning, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, but there is no way I’m leaving my cat outside all night. One, it’s cold; two, she’s mean; and three, she has the common sense of a bag of rocks. Not a great combination.

My mom gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and says good night, and then, armed with stale cat treats, I head out to the back deck. The few times she’s gotten out, that’s where she’s ended up.

“Harry!” I call, and . . . nothing. “HP!” I try, a little louder.

I walk to the edge and lean over the railing, shaking the treats as loud as I can. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

There’s a rustling sound, followed by some angry cat noises. Shit. This is bad. What if she’s fighting with that neighborhood stray?

“Harry?” I call, darting down the steps. My slippers are going to be ruined, but screw it. Some things are more important in life.

The angry cat sounds are getting louder, but now they’re accompanied by someone shouting, “Dammit, stop. Ow—what’s the matter with you?”

And that voice, it’s a poison and an antidote all at once.

I pick up the pace, and we round the corner at the same time, nearly running into one another. We both stop at the last second, staring at each other with matching shocked faces, while HP hisses and tears at his arms.

“Ridley?”

“Peak, I—”

But HP swats him in the face—claws out—before he can finish. She goes flying as he jerks back, and I scoop her up before she gets too far. She struggles for a second but then seems to realize it’s me and goes limp. I’d like to think it’s because she’s happy to see me, but I know it’s more likely because she knows scratching and biting me won’t work. I have a very high pain tolerance when it comes to her.

“Did you kidnap my cat?” I ask, utterly incredulous.