Released! CATACLYSMIC SHIFT by Tara Lain Enter to WIN!

Quiet. He opened his eyes. Dark. His back hurt. It was sorely cramped in here.

He pushed some towels aside and scooted closer to the door. Quietly, he pulled the lever down and opened the door a crack. Nobody. Good. He pushed it farther and looked into that plastic-and-metal room.

Odd. He recognized all the things in this room—an examining table of some kind, chairs, paper towels—but not what the room was for. He stepped out into the dim glow coming in from a streetlight outside the window.

He padded softly across the room and peered out into a short hall, also dark and quiet. To the left, the hall ended at a door. Light came from under it and a low noise, like maybe music or voices. Someone must be in there. To the right were several more doors. He went right.

Hmmm. Restroom. He opened the door. It was very dark, but his eyes seemed good. He looked in. A mirror on the opposite wall reflected the dim light of the hall and what must be… him. He stepped closer and peered at his reflection.

He closed the door. Until he knew his situation, best not to alert anyone. He ran his hand on the wall and flipped on the switch. Light blazed harshly in the tiny room. Holy gods.

He stared. Huge eyes, bluer than blue, stared back at him, surrounded by hair—long black hair down to his back. He turned and looked. The middle of his back. And pale skin. That was him. Truly?

What had he expected?

Not sure, but not this… boy.

He looked down at his bare body. Boy. Or man, for certain. His eyes widened. And quite a man. Look at those couilles.

But not just man. He cocked his head. Hu-man.

Now why was that strange?

He shook his head. This was so peculiar. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, but he didn’t feel at home in this skin. He shivered. There were important things he was forgetting, and he must remember them. He took a deep breath. Lives might depend on it.

He flipped off the light. The dark felt more comfortable. What should he do? That was the frightening part. He didn’t know. Not an idea where he should go, and yet he felt certain he had a purpose he must fulfill.

There was a person out there. Should he go speak to them? He peeked down at his lean body. Probably not like this. Humans were strange about nudity and such things. Wait. He was human, wasn’t he? This was very confusing.

Luke lay huddled on the couch—the couch Alain had moved, decorated, and made comfortable in the apartment that screamed of his special power and sweetness in every corner. Alain, who couldn’t stay hidden, couldn’t stop protecting, couldn’t keep his pretty nose out of others’ business. The little superhero.

No. The fucking cat.

He pulled a pillow over his face. This was ridiculous. Such things didn’t happen. His crazy mother’s wild-eyed face came into his mind. Maybe that was it. He’d followed his mother over the edge. If they gave him meds, all this would go away.

The witches. The cat.

Alain.

A sob exploded from his lips. What the hell?

Alain had already gone away.

And he felt… how? God-awful.

Witchcraft or abandonment. It all ended up the same. No Alain. No companion. No friend. No… love.

That couldn’t be right. Could it? Love? Had he ever loved anyone in his life?

Anyone?

A drip fell on his hand. Another.

No! He couldn’t love someone who had screwed up the life he’d worked so hard for. He couldn’t love someone who messed around with crazy people. People who claimed to be things that didn’t exist.

He threw the pillow across the room and sat up. Okay, quit this shit. What the hell did he really think about all this?

And there was the truth, laid out across his heart like a fucking tattoo.

A-L-A-I-N.

He wiped a hand over his eyes. He would believe in witches. Hell, he would believe in Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster if he could have Alain back.

This could not be happening. He threw his hands over his head. This could not be happening!

A sound.

He looked over his shoulder. What the fuck? He stared at the window.

Slowly the sash rose. Inch by inch. No hand on it.

The silky feline jumped up onto the sill. “Merwaorwr.”

God, he was so beautiful. Funny that Luke hadn’t known Alain was a cat from the first moment. The boy moved like this feline, all sinuous grace. They shared the big balls—and the eyes. They looked straight into your soul. Aloysius was clearly more than a cat, just as Alain had been more than a man.

The cat jumped down from the window and moved gracefully to the couch. He leaped up beside Luke, sat, and crossed his paws.

Luke shook his head. “I don’t get how this all works, Aloysius. They say you’re a familiar. You don’t have power of your own, but you can open doors and windows.”

The cat sighed. The silky sides clearly expanded and contracted.

“I know. I have to be nuts to be talking to a cat. Of course, I’ve always believed cats were smarter than people, so I guess it’s not such a leap. But believing you’re the man I held in my arms, the man I kissed and made love to….” His voice broke. “That’s a one-way ticket to insanity.”

“Mewoow.”

Luke wiped a hand across his eyes. “Why me? Why did you have to come to my clinic? Couldn’t you have found somebody else to rope into your fucking life?”

“Merwaowr. Waor.”

The cat looked at him with those blue eyes, and he cried. No, tears didn’t fall, but as certainly as Luke continued to breathe, the cat was crying.

A crack lined its way through Luke’s heart.