My Cat is The Antichrist Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places,

  events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s

  Imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance

  to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely

  coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 JB Trepagnier

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be

  reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any

  form or any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 1

  Someone was trying really hard to disturb my slumber. I wondered which group was trying to save my soul this time. I’d disabled the damned doorbell because they just flocked to me. It’d been that way since I was a kid in the foster system. They were all perfectly nice. They were never mean, even when I got older, dyed my hair purple, pierced several body parts, and started wearing black lipstick. It was really weird. It didn’t matter if they were Jehovah’s Witnesses or Southern Baptist, they all seemed really concerned about some epic mistake I was going to make.

  I was twenty-six now, and it was probably way too late for whatever mistake they were worried about, but they kept knocking on my door at ass o’thirty in the morning talking about this mysterious mistake. Between my dating history, ruining any chances at college, and hell, my history at killing plants, that mistake was probably long gone.

  I was a bartender and kept late hours, so people knocking on my door that didn’t have a pizza in their hands weren’t welcome. I’d put all sorts of signs with profanity about disturbing me all over my door, and a beware of people eating dog sign. Most people who tried to knock this early gave up when I didn’t drag myself out of bed to answer, but whoever was out there was a persistent little shit.

  I decided to traumatize whoever it was. I wasn’t shy about my body. For a time, I’d bartended at a strip club where I might as well have been naked. The air conditioner in my apartment was worthless, so I was in bed surrounded by fans and no clothes. Whoever was at my door was getting a little show.

  I heaved myself out of bed and stalked to the front door wearing nothing but my tattoos. I threw the door open expecting to scare off some old church ladies. Instead, there was a man in a suit that looked like it cost an entire year of rent and my nakedness didn’t seem to faze him.

  He just peered at me over the rim of his glasses. “Tabitha? Why don’t you put some clothes on so we can talk?”

  That was a first. He wasn’t even looking at my boobs. He was looking me right in the eye, and his gaze never strayed. Now, I was actually feeling self-conscious about standing in my doorway ass naked.

  “How do you know my name?” I demanded. “And who are you?”

  “I’m the attorney handling the estate for your parents. Your birth parents. We thought they died without an heir or a will. I found a lot of photos of you in a locked drawer in your father’s desk. He’d paid someone to watch you for your entire life.”

  I felt the bottom fall out of my stomach. I never knew anything about my birth parents and my time in the foster system had been awful. All I knew was that I’d been dumped somewhere when I was two. I was never formally adopted, and most of my foster parents had like, twenty other foster kids collecting checks while we all slept on air mattresses on the floor.

  “I’m not sure I care,” I snapped, crossing my arms. “If he had someone watching me, then he knew how hard I grew up and never tried to rescue me.”

  “Miss? Do you think you could put some clothes on so we can chat? You’ve inherited a rather large estate and sum of money. You can be mad at them all you want, but that house is surely a better place to live than here,” he said, eyeing my piece of shit apartment.

  I bit my lip. I wanted to be mad, but some people had closets bigger than my apartment and shit was always breaking. If I asked my landlord to fix something, he thought I’d fuck him for repairs, and I ended up on YouTube trying to fix it myself. A house I didn’t have to pay for and an inheritance to keep me comfortable for a little while could give me a needed break from having to pretend to flirt with drunk men so they would give me a decent tip.

  “What’s your name, anyway?” I asked, stepping away from the door to let him in.

  “I’d much prefer to have this conversation with you clothed. You may call me Mattan. Just Mattan will do. It’s what everyone calls me.”

  “Well, Mattan, make yourself as comfortable as you can on that shitty couch while I put clothes on.”

  I already knew Mattan’s ass was going to hurt as soon as he sat down on that couch. I’d been living in this shit hole since I got out the foster system and some of the furniture, I found on the side of the road. That couch was from dumpster diving, and it didn’t matter where you sat, you were going to get a spring up your ass.

  Since I was talking to him about my future, it didn’t seem right to do it in sweatpants and a tank top, but the rest of my clothes were for going out or work. I just shrugged. If my father kept photos of me in some big secret locked desk, then he’d probably already seen me in leather pants and a corset. I didn’t bother with the corset because I was thinking about his ass on my couch and just put on a sheer top.

  When I got back to the living room, Mattan was shifting uncomfortably on my shit-brown couch. I sat on the other end. I was used to the damned thing and didn’t even react to the spring in my ass.

  Mattan saw right through the bold look I was giving him.

  “You want to know why you were given up, but he had someone watch you.”

  I hid my expression. “Well, since you didn’t know I existed, I’m guessing that answer died with him.”

  “Actually, no. I think I have an answer. Your parents were important people in certain circles. Some would say dangerous circles. I found a record of another child, your brother. I found his baby photos, then nothing else. It was like he totally disappeared. There is a very good chance you ended up in foster care, and he watched you for your safety.”

  “So, you’re telling me this big offer of yours puts me in danger?” I knew it was too good to be true.

  “I don’t think so. Their manor house is basically like a huge fortress.”

  He was bull shitting me. There was something he wasn’t telling me. “I’m twenty-six, so my parents can’t have died from old age. Fortress or not something got to them.”

  “The stairs got to them. They were having a dinner party. Your parents liked to entertain, and they always made a huge entrance. The manor has this huge staircase. They were announced and were posed at the top of the stairs arm in arm. One of them tripped and took the
other with them. They both broke their necks in the fall.”

  “Can I bring my roommate to live with me?”

  Mattan looked around my tiny apartment like he had no idea how there was another bedroom in here. But he surprised me. He’d clearly done his research on me before he got here.

  “Elizabeth. You call her Lizzie. You grew up in foster care together. She’s not here now?”

  “Lizzie is with her girlfriend. She’s totally in love with her, but I think her girlfriend is just dragging her along. She can do so much better,” I sniffed.

  Mattan appeared to be unflappable. “Once all the paperwork is signed, the manor is yours, and you can have whom you like live there. I traveled a long way to find you, and I’d hate to go back without you.”

  “Where is this mysterious manor?”

  Mattan grinned at me. “Salem. A long ways away, but if you can gather your things and Lizzie, I’ve got a private jet waiting to take you there.”

  Just last night, I’d gotten shorted on tips for nearly breaking the hand of a man who decided to grab my ass. His friends held it against me too, and I left the bar with shit money wondering how I was going to make rent. I wondered what kind of karma I invoked to have Mattan end up on my doorstep and not get offended at my greeting to actually tell me about my inheritance.

  Maybe there were answers about my past and how I ended up in foster care in that secret drawer of photos of me.

  Chapter 2

  Mattan left me to pack and try to convince Lizzie to come with me. I pretty much intended to leave everything behind except my wardrobe. I had no sentimental tokens of my past, but I did have some kick-ass clothes. I already knew when Lizzie would be home. Her girlfriend kicked her out her apartment without breakfast so she could get ready for work. That was just another reason I didn’t like her. If you really loved someone, you at least fed them before you booted them out your bed.

  Lizzie came home as I was throwing clothes in bags. She worked at the same bar I did and kept late hours. She heard me moving around and stuck her head in my bedroom door.

  “What the fuck are you doing awake, Tabitha? You never move before noon.”

  “You’re never going to believe this shit, Lizzie. You’re going to need to sit down.”

  Lizzie eyed my bags of clothes. We ended up in the same foster home when I was fourteen and Lizzie was sixteen. She aged out before I did. As soon as I was out, we moved in together. Lizzie wasn’t my blood, but she would always be my sister, and she knew damned well I wasn’t going anywhere without her. She took a running start a dove into my bed. The frame was a dumpster dive, but the mattress and box spring were paid for with saved tips. My bed and Lizzie’s bed were probably the only comfortable things in the house.

  “There was a man at the door before you got home—”

  “We have to move because you have a stalker from the bar? Shit, Tabby, why don’t we just scare the shit out of him like the last one?”

  “No, a lawyer. About my birth parents and some inheritance. If I sign some shit, I get a house and some money. We could just chill for a little while depending on how much money it is. If it’s a lot, we could build that club we always talked about. We’d be our own bosses for once.”

  “What’s the catch? There’s always a catch with us.”

  “We’d have to move to Salem, but shit, Lizzie, he’s going to bring us there in a private jet.”

  Lizzie snorted, then stretched on my bed like a cat. “If they’re still burning people as witches, we wouldn’t last two minutes there.”

  I threw a pair of sweatpants at Lizzie. Between the two of us, my hair was purple and hers was blue. We were probably equal in the number of piercings and tattoos we both had. I favored leather and corsets, and Lizzie was a Lolita through and through. Neither of us gave two shits about what people thought when we went out, and we were both giggling at the idea of what new neighbors would think. We found some people’s reactions to us when they saw us for the first time hilarious, especially when they tried to hide their children.

  “I doubt it. Mattan would have said something, and he didn’t react at all when I answered the door naked.”

  Lizzie cocked her perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “He didn’t even check out your tits? Is he a zombie?”

  “He kept calling the house a manor, and he’s going to bring us there in a private jet. There probably is some huge catch, but doesn’t it sound like it’s worth it just to get out of here and finally not be broke?”

  Lizzie just shrugged. “You know I’d follow your ass anywhere. I didn’t even ask you how you felt about finding out about your birth parents. You always swore you didn’t want to know.”

  “I’m curious now. I wasn’t a baby when I ended up in foster care, but Mattan didn’t know about me. My parents were in Salem, but they paid someone here to follow me and take photos. I want to know how they hid a baby when he said they were famous for their parties and why they watched me for so long, but never did anything. Whatever Mattan’s catch is, those answers are in Salem in their house.”

  Lizzie hopped out of my bed and hugged me. I didn’t need to go into some wordy explanation. Lizzie and I had always understood each other. That was why we always promised to stay together.

  “When do we leave? I’ll start packing.”

  That was my girl. Mattan told me he would be on standby waiting for my call. I knew Lizzie would be ready to get out of here with just her clothes just as much as I was. Mattan just had this face you could trust. If there were a catch, he would have told me if it was horrible.

  Chapter 3

  Mattan actually sent a fucking limousine to pick us up when I called. Neither of us had a license and hadn’t bothered to learn to drive because we knew it would be a cold day in hell before we could afford a car. We took the bus until we both had enough tips to buy a simple bike and just rode it everywhere. It was a bitch to bring more than a few bags of groceries home, but it kept my thighs in excellent shape.

  It was one of those stretch SUV limousines that easily fit all our bags. Lizzie and I were acting like total idiots, bouncing on the seats and rolling the windows down to wave at people like we were the Queen of England. There was even a small refrigerator with champagne in the fucking thing. It was the good stuff too. Lizzie and I had cheap champagne at parties, but it was like sharp, carbonated water. I thought champagne was horrible until I drank it out the back of an SUV.

  Lizzie and I were buzzed when we got to the runway. Mattan didn’t even comment as we giggled and stumbled all over the place like idiots. He nodded his head and men started unloading our bags to put in the plane.

  “The food on the plane is excellent. We should get ready to board.”

  That was the only comment he made on our drunkenness. I knew he wanted us to eat to sober up. As soon as he mentioned food, my stomach turned in on itself. Aside from the occasional pizza delivery and if I got free pub food at work because someone sent an order back to the kitchen, Lizzie and I ate cheap food from boxes that you nuked in the microwave. We were both probably radioactive at this point if that was a thing.

  Neither of us had eaten. The idea of getting out of Podunk Kentucky and the promise of money had us packing in a whirlwind. I made a quick stop at the apartment office and promised not to make a stink about my deposit if my landlord hauled the furniture out. I saw his small, beady eyes plotting. I already knew what he was going to do. He was going to leave our furniture there, jack up the rent, and advertise it as a furnished apartment because he was a greedy little shit.

  I’d never been on a plane before, much less a private jet. The seats were comfortable, and my head started nodding as soon as I rested into the cushions. I realized how tired I was. I answered the door naked early this morning, and now I was on a plane to a new state and a new house. I couldn’t sleep. I needed answers, and I might as well ask while Mattan was stuck in a plane and had nowhere to go.

  “Is there a coffee machine on this thing?”
I asked.

  I’d hardly gotten the word coffee out, and there was a man at my armrest asking me what kind of coffee I preferred. Lizzie and I had a coffee machine, and we drank our coffee straight black, like our souls. I just wanted caffeine, but I got to be fancy today. Lizzie had already ordered some Mocha Latte abomination with caramel and whipped cream. I needed black fuel, so I just said I wanted espresso.

  Mattan was giving us both this look like this kindly, grandfather figure. “You can take a nap, you know. I realize I was very early this morning.”

  The dude who took our coffee order was snappy. He had our coffee and some sort of flaky pastries on a tray before I could even start firing questions at Mattan. Maybe that was his big plan. Fling caffeine and sugar at me so I wouldn’t ask. I’m not going to lie; it was totally a trick that would work on me. I worked in a coffee shop in high school, and this wasn’t a pastry we served. It was beautiful, and it smelled better than any Danish I threw at college students trying to study.

  “Paris-Brest is my favorite,” Mattan said. “I had the chef at the Rothledge Manor make it if I could convince you to come back. You’ll find the staff there quite welcoming and willing to cook whatever you desire.”

  Lizzie was already inhaling that pastry and nearly choked. “The fucking house has a name? Every house with a name I’ve heard of has poltergeists, Casper the friendly ghost, or dead bodies in the walls.”

  Whatever, I was waiting for Mattan to answer because I’d seen the same horror movies Lizzie had. I didn’t want to start some sort of renovations and get introduced to the corpse of some great uncle in my new walls. Houses with names or on some nefarious hill always had weird shit going on. Maybe that was the catch.

  Mattan must have been a saint. Lizzie practically barfed that pastry everywhere when she found out our new home had a name and I’m pretty sure some of it got on him. He was just giving us this serene look like he didn’t think we were a bunch of savages.

  “Well, there is a family graveyard in the back plot, but the house is perfectly normal. Tabitha, your family, the Rothledges and the Lambs were originally from the Holy Land with different names, of course. The legend is that the Rothledges, the Lambs, and many of the original families in Salem were part of the same tribe. They fled the Holy Land together and settled in Europe, only to have to flee again for intolerance, even if they hid their faith.