Incubus in Autumn

1-Peabody

I'd just gotten out of a long term relationship and wasn't really looking for another. My last boyfriend had really screwed me over and all I did in those days was eat, cry, and work on any homework my professors at UNH had assigned. 

My apartment was small, but cozy. Living on an assistant-librarian's salary while also trying to put money away in savings to eventually pay back my student loans left little money for fancy decorations, but I made do. 

I had sheer light green curtains my grandmother had stitched together from fabric she'd found in her attic, an old rickety dining table from a local garage sale and my bed was cobbled together out of mismatched pieces of wood, courtesy to my ex. Sometimes when the bed reminded me too much of him, I slept on my couch, with the springs digging into my back leaving deep indents in my skin the next morning.

The only solace I had in life at that time was my best friend Jules, who brought me little sweets from the nearby coffee shop that brightened my day, and my cat, Peabody.

Peabody was a funny creature. I found him in a cardboard box on my doorstep one morning after a particularly bad snowstorm, frozen half to death and nearly feral with pain and fear. Though he was but a bedraggled and half drowned little thing of a kitten, he put up an awful fight when I wrapped him in a dishcloth and attempted to bring him in doors. One of his needly claws left a long gash on my right arm as he sprang out of my arms the second I let go to close the door, yowling like a high-pitched wolf and tearing around the room, finally slithering under my old couch. 

I left little bits of tuna and some water by the arm of the sofa every morning before I left for work or a class and eventually, he would creep out from under his cramped home to peer at me with his glittering yellow eyes while I made breakfast for him and myself.

 After a couple weeks, I finally gained his trust enough for him to allow me to take him to the closest animal clinic, where he was found to be absolutely infested with different parasites living in his fur and intestines. I gagged a bit as the old woman caring for him showed me the small bucket full to the brim of small teeming ticks and leeches (where did he even get those, I wondered). 

Once he was free of the various creatures feeding off of him, the little kitten started putting on weight, and gradually warmed up to me. The first time I even touched him with my bare hands was a long time later when he suddenly jumped up onto my lap in the middle of "Peabody and Sherman", that I watched on a weekly basis, hence the name, and purred vigorously as I slowly stroked his thick black fur. 

He would curl up in the strangest little nooks and crannies and sometimes I'd lose track of him for days before he crawled out of whichever crack he was hiding in, meowing for food and water. The more he grew, the more peculiar he became. 

Peabody was intelligent, and sometimes I wondered whether it was really a little human that peered back at me when I woke in a cold sweat after one of my nightmares of things too terrible to be described, by a gentle lick on my chin, and a small warmth crouched on my chest.

Jules didn't have much love for Peabody who, after stalking her back to my small dark bedroom where she lay a cupcake on my bedside table, sprang at the intruder. She let out a bellowing shriek of pain as his little claws dug into her leg and she jumped up and down, furiously trying to shake her little attacker off. Peabody flew from her leg and landed on all floors near the foot of my bed, hissing and batting at her with his paws. I had woken up at Jules' first shriek and sat with tears of laughter in my eyes at my small savior, defender of the sleeping maiden and mortal enemy of cupcakes.

It was because of Jules, and Peabody, that I even met Misha Popov. 

soon after the incident with Jules, Peabody discovered the joys of the busy Portsmouth streets. He would wriggle through the now too-small cat door I had installed in his kittenhood and watch the passers bys from our doorstep, unnerving the city-dwellers with his slinky black body and large all-seeing eyes.

 I used to say he could read your every thought, just by watching you for a moment. For this reason, I have never understood why he allowed Misha to leisurely stroll up to my door. Maybe he was intrigued by his scent, the musk of blood and testosterone, enough to want to be near him, to observe this strange hybrid of man and monster, or, and this is the theory I've stuck with all these years, maybe Misha and Peabody were friends. 

Old friends, a kindred of spirits that stretches far back, when minds were not held captive within a body. A friendship of the likes that would lead Peabody to betray the trusting girl who held him so dear. Misha denied this when I asked him, but he wouldn't meet my eyes, and I thought I detected regret in his simple reply, "No, he was and is just a cat." He could lie quite well if he wanted to, but never to me. Never to his most prized weapon, to one of the few people who knew all his dirty little secrets. 

Before he presented me to the six courts of Stone Mantle, he was just a kind delivery boy from "New Beginnings" that delivered my coffee every day and, after I told the doormen to always let him in, wrote me sweet notes on the whiteboard hung by magnets on my faulty fridge. Misha was passionate, charming, and too good to be true. 

The first time I caught him writing something on my whiteboard, with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and a whiteboard marker in the other, my heart swelled into a balloon of hope and infatuation. He turned around with a guilty half smile on his face and I burst out laughing.

Now normally I would be surprised to find a coffee delivery boy hanging out in my kitchen, but I had given him a spare key a few months ago, after I ordered the same thing every day, and we talked for hours on my couch about the pros and cons of cotton when he complimented my socks decorated with dancing fruits.

"I didn't know you would be home so early," he said.

I placed my binders on the kitchen counter and sighed, twisting my messy hair up and out of sight underneath a baseball cap as I prepared for work, "I didn't know either."

Misha hesitantly stretched out an arm, offering the pre-ordered beverage.

"Hazelnut coffee with milk and two sugars," his tone changed and he took a step towards me. I wondered what he was thinking, with his high, smooth cheekbones and deep hazel eyes he looked like he belonged in a department store, a beautiful, life-like mannequin displaying the latest style, "Would you..." he paused, color flooding into the face I had admired only a few seconds ago," Would you like to go out with me tonight? I mean, it won't just be us, there's a few of my friends going too, to a bar. Did I mention that? It's a bar. Of course, you're only what," he looked me up and down," 19? 20 at the most? You can probably pass for 21 though--"

"Misha," I cut off his rambling speech, "I'll go." Both of our faces were a flushed pink and I quickly broke our eye contact, glancing at the floor shyly. I'm only going because I have nothing better to do, I told myself. And then there was the fact that he was pretty easy on the eyes, but that had nothing to do with my decision to go out, a feat in which even Jules hadn't been able to coax me into doing since my ex. 

Misha was tall. Certainly taller than my standing height of 5''6, he was at least 6'2 and towered over me. 

His hair was a rich chocolate that, in the light, turned golden and sleek. It curled at the ends, and tucked neatly behind his ear, brought my attention to the thin spray of stubble across his strong jaw. I could see dust motes dancing in the filtered light from the kitchen window settling on his long dark eyelashes, and resisted the urge to brush the offending dust away. 

He only had one flaw, a puckered pink scar that ran from the middle of his forehead to the end of his right eyebrow. It was a very strange scar indeed, that twisted and looped so that it looked like a long vine of ivy curling down his face. Looking back, I think it was the scar that really made him stand out to me, piqued my curiosity. What kind of incident occurred to leave him with such an interesting wound, I wondered to myself. He looked down, his hair gently wiping the scar from my eyes and I broke out of my assessment, cheeks still splotchy with embarrassment and a bit of awe at his appearance. He had surely noticed my probing stare and met my eyes, a curving grin flashing out at me from the growing dusk in my apartment.   

/Authors Note/

Thank you so so much for reading the first chapter of Incubus in Autumn! I'm super excited to have started this book as it's been on my mind for a while, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have loved writing it! Leave a comment or a vote to show your support, thanks once again!

xoxo Ellie