Present Day, London

  I was surprised when Thom stopped by a Pret a Manger on our way to see his artwork. The chain restaurant that was as ubiquitous in London as Starbucks was everywhere else seemed far too mundane for someone like Thom to patronize, but Thom made his coffee order with enough familiarity to make me believe this was a daily ritual. The cashier didn’t even ask his name before scrawling it on a cup.

  Thom was dressed in paint-splattered overalls and scuffed boots, and between the worn clothes and the heavy duffle slung over his shoulder that was full of what I assumed must be art supplies, he looked more like a handyman than an artist at the moment – a handyman from a porn film, honestly, between his sculpted features, mysterious smile and sexy stubble.

  “Where are we headed?” I asked as our strides fell into alignment. We were roughly the same height, but Thom’s legs were a little shorter than mine. He had no trouble keeping pace with me, however.

  “It’s not far,” he said instead of answering.

  As we walked down the street in the direction of Whitechapel, Thom nodded at most of the people we passed. I couldn’t tell if he knew them or if he was being unnecessarily polite, but to my surprise the people he acknowledged usually nodded back at him. In my experience so far, the English – at least Londoners – mostly kept to themselves and considered it polite to let others do the same. Maybe they could somehow tell that Thom was a local? I found it hard to believe that they all knew him, especially since he seemed so antisocial otherwise.

  “Have you lived in London long?” I asked, realizing that I’d never thought to ask this question before. While living with Thom had felt strangely easy from the beginning – perhaps because Mason had defused any feelings of awkwardness between us before they had a chance to form – we didn’t talk much. Today was the first time we’d shared any details about our lives.

  “All my life,” Thom replied and then smiled. “Well, I suppose I should say lives.”

  Creatures of myth often had longer than usual lifespans, but I’d not heard of any with more than one life. “Lives? You’ve had more than one?”

  “Eight, actually.”

  “How old are you, then? In total.”

  Pursing his lips, he replied, “Oh, nearly ninety now, I suppose.”

  I frowned, doing the math. That was much less time than I had expected, barely more than ten years per life unless some of them had been even shorter than that. I wanted to ask more questions in this vein, but I had learned to be patient. Thom was not very forthcoming and I didn’t want to shut him down by being too direct. “And you’ve lived in London that whole time? That’s a long time to live in one place.”

  He glanced at me, his eyes burnished gold in the sunshine. “I suppose for someone like you who never settles anywhere for long.”

  “I lived in Seoul my entire life until a few months ago,” I protested.

  He tilted his head thoughtfully and studied me with fresh interest. “So you’re new to the nomadic life?”

  I nodded, so distracted by his attention that I nearly tripped over a curb as we crossed the street. Thom caught me by the elbow with a firm grip and pulled me back onto the sidewalk with a little smile. I was suddenly reminded of a time I had done something similar for Yun Seo and my cheeks flushed.

  “You can look all over the world for answers,” he said in a soft tone like a secret, “but they’re usually closer than you think.”

  “Maybe,” I allowed, “but leaving wasn’t something I’d ever wanted to do until there was no reason to stay.”

  Thom made a soft sound of acknowledgement and released my arm as he continued walking.

  The street broadened into a plaza and I was surprised when Thom crossed it toward an old white church. He led me around the crumbling cemetery to the other side of the structure and I realized that the building had been converted into a daycare, the yard on the far side of the church filled with squealing children.

  “Odd place for a daycare,” I noted, my gaze lingering on the weathered headstones nearby.

  “There isn’t a lot of cheap real estate left in the city,” Thom replied, pushing through the gate and into the playground.

  “But they can afford to hire you to paint a mural?”

  He laughed, and the sound was warm and generous in a way I hadn’t found him to be up to that point. “No. This one I’m doing gratis. I happen to know the director and she asked for something to brighten up the yard.” Glancing back at me, he backed his way to the corner of the building, somehow managing to miss a pair of running children as he went. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to cover an old church in street art,” he added, his eyebrows arching toward his hairline.

  A pang of worry tugged at my chest as I tried to imagine what kind of sacrilege Thom might dream up for such a purpose in spite of the presence of children, but I breathed a sigh of relief when I rounded the building and got my first glimpse of the mural. An enormous tabby cat sprawled across the wall of the church, paws straining to reach the round window near the roof, the red stained glass roundel the perfect size and color to be a ball. I laughed at the design, struck by how wholesome and innocent it was compared to what I’d imagined.

  “It doesn’t seem like your style,” I noted, glancing at Thom who was watching my reaction with an amused smirk.

  “It isn’t,” he admitted. “But it’s good to try new things from time to time, don’t you think?”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  A red ball similar to the one in the mural collided with my leg and I caught it before it could bounce away. A young girl looked up at me in anticipation, her hands spread wide in readiness to catch it. I tossed the ball toward her with a strange feeling twisting in my gut.

  Returning my attention to Thom, I saw that he had already moved toward the wall and the corner of the painting that remained unfinished. I found a bench to sit on and finish my coffee, watching him wield cans of spray paint like paint brushes and bring the tip of the cat’s tail to vivid life.

  “Do you want a piece?”

  I looked over at the boy who had crawled onto the bench beside me. He was offering me part of his string cheese.

  Shaking my head, I smiled. “No, thanks.”

  “What do you think its name is?”

  I followed his gaze to the giant mural. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  The boy considered this deeply as he nibbled on his cheese. “It needs a good name.”

  “Of course. Maybe you should all vote on what it should be.”

  “No. Everyone else is bad at choosing names,” the boy said decisively. “They’d call it Stripes or Meow. Not anything good.”

  Chuckling, I returned my attention to the mural and Thom as he stretched high over his head to reach the last spot of empty wall. “Do you have a cat at home?”

  “We have a dog. I hate it. Always giving me kisses.” The boy shook his head with a grimace, his brown hair falling forward over his eyes with the force of his movement.

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  “What’s its name?”

  “Roger.”

  “That’s a terrible name.”

  “Right?” Finishing off his cheese, the boy sighed. “How about Tom?”

  Trying to contain my reaction, I repeated, “Tom? Why would you call it that?”

  “Like a tomcat. Or the character in that story.”

  I tried to think of the story he meant, thinking of a few cartoon characters that fit the description.

  Before I could make a guess, the boy said, “You know. The King of Cats!”

  I didn’t know, and I frowned, trying to remember a story with a character like that.

  “Oh, he’s done!” the boy exclaimed, climbing onto his feet on top of the bench and hopping up and down.

  Worried he was going to fall and hurt himself, I reached out to steady him, but he leapt off the bench and stumbled to the ground before I could stop him, rolling back to his feet and bounding across the playground with several other children to get a closer look at the mural. I stood up and walked closer as well, eyes widening when I saw Thom adding his signature to the painting, a cat’s nose and whiskers. And above that a crown. I’d been expecting this, but the confirmation of my suspicion was still unsettling.

  When he was done, Thom looked back to meet my eyes, a knowing look on his face, and I realized he had brought me here for this reason alone. He knew I would recognize the mark. Thom collected his tools and ruffled the hair of several children as he walked past, joining me without saying a word.

  “That was you on the billboard last night.”

  Chuckling, Thom nudged me with an elbow. “Let’s go. We should talk somewhere else.”

  He walked me back around the church and gestured to a bench next to the cemetery. When we were settled, Thom looked at me for a long time, his stare so intense it made me want to look away, but I sensed that I was being tested so I held his gaze.

  “As I said before, I’ve lived here a long time,” Thom said finally. Lips pressed into a thin line, he stretched his arm out over the back of the bench, unintentionally brushing fingers against my shoulder. His gaze was focused on the buildings across the street and seemed to be seeing through them to something else. “I’ve seen the city change even down to the roots with the construction of the Underground. New construction pushes out the old and the city gobbles up more and more greenspace until there everything is concrete, metal and glass. They call it progress. I call it destruction and the loss of history. Walden Construction is tearing up the old with no respect to what came before, rerouting the streets that have been footpaths across this land for a century and leaving more and more people homeless.”

  “Gentrification is a disease in many cities,” I pointed out, Thom’s passion on the topic striking me as a bit extreme.

  He gave me a look like I was missing the point, but nodded slowly anyway. “I didn’t realize it was so widespread.” A dark chuckle escaped Thom’s lips. “Even so. This is my territory and I will defend it.”

  “It seems like something that is too big to stop.”

  “Perhaps. But I have some ideas.”

  Smiling sadly, I looked at the headstones crumbling into the dirt and thought of all the people who had lived and died in this place while Thom continued living. What was he? There were many possibilities, long-lived creatures that were bound to certain territories, but I couldn’t help thinking of the boy’s statement about a cat who was a king. I should look up the story later.

  “Would you be willing to help me?”

  I winced. “I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.”

  His fingertips touched my shoulder again, this time with purpose. “Not anymore? So you did before?”

  “I spent years fighting someone else’s war. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m sorry.”

  Nodding slowly, he traced his index finger over my back. “I understand.”

  We went our separate ways for the rest of the day and I wandered for a while on my own, memories clouding my thoughts in spite of my best attempts to ignore them. I stopped on a street corner and stared at an advertisement for Requite until the display changed, remembering the way working for Yun Seo had made me feel. It had been thrilling and made me feel like I was making a difference in a world where hardly anyone got the chance to feel that way, but all along I’d known there would be a price for what we were doing. I’d simply escaped before I had to pay it myself.

  I worked my shift at the Goldcrest in a daze. Lyla was so giddy about her date the night before that she didn’t notice my sullen behavior. She didn’t even question me when I offered to lock up again, grateful to have an opportunity for round two with her new friend. I didn't see any fresh graffiti on my way home or hear any footsteps on roof tiles, and the apartment was once again empty when I arrived home. I was grateful to find Thom’s bedroom door open and the room beyond dark, not quite ready to talk to him again.

  The air was chilly enough that I checked the thermostat to make sure that it was still set at the right temperature. I took a scalding shower, blaming my emotional turmoil for my shivers, but the apartment felt even colder after the heat of my shower. I dressed in a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, suspecting I would get overheated partway through the night as I crawled underneath my duvet.

  I was almost asleep when a series of metallic thuds startled me back into alertness. They sounded like footsteps on the fire escape outside, but they were light, like the footsteps of a child. For a moment I thought I had dreamed the sound, but then I heard it again, followed by a yowl and a thump against the wall.

  Still lethargic with sleep, I crawled out of bed and saw movement in Thom’s room when I stepped into the hallway. I approached the door cautiously and flipped on the light, freezing when I saw a cat on Thom’s bed. Trying to figure out where it had come from, I noticed that the window was open, explaining the chill in the air. The cat limped across the covers, leaving a trail of blood over the white fabric, its broad paws sinking deep into the comforter with its weight. I’d never seen a cat so large. All black except for a patch of white fur on its chest, it hissed at me and retreated as soon as I moved toward the bed.

  “Stay there,” I instructed as I backed out of the room, not sure why I expected an obviously feral cat to understand and obey. I searched the bathroom until I found a first aid kit and wet a rag with lukewarm water. Returning to the bedroom, I approached the cat with outstretched hands. “You’re hurt,” I said, feeling foolish. “Will you let me patch you up?”

  The cat made an irritated sound but didn’t move away, its ears flattening to its head as I attempted to clean the blood off its paw. When I got too close to the wound on its flank, it flinched out of reach, leaving a scratch on my arm that burned. Wincing, I decided I’d done enough cleaning.

  “This will sting a little,” I told the cat as I squeezed a little salve onto the cuts, and it made a soft sound of warning, its tail flipping wildly over the covers as I wrapped a bandage around its paw, amazed that the animal had allowed me to do this much. On some level I’d already started to suspect the truth, but it was the middle of the night and I was barely coherent, so focused on taking care of the creature that had wandered into my life out of nowhere that I didn’t spare much thought for how strange and dreamlike the entire situation really was.

  Once the cat’s wounds were bandaged, I pushed the window until it was open only enough for the cat to flee when it was ready. I had a feeling Thom would be angry to find a wounded cat on his bed when he got home, but the thought seemed less important than it should have been as I settled back into my own bed, so tired that I began to drift off almost immediately. I felt the bed shift as something heavy landed on top but was too tired to move as I felt a bundle of warmth curl up beside me, rumbling with a deep purr.

  I woke up the next morning in stages, noticing first how warm and content I felt. There was sunlight shining on my face, bright enough that it was burning through my eyelids, so I shifted to find a patch of shade, surprised when I bumped into something cold.

  Opening my eyes as I backed away, I saw Thom’s face looking back at me, his burnished gold eyes watching me with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something I wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge. I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t still asleep and tried to assess the situation. Thom was naked except for the bandages on his ankle and shoulder, and he was curled on top of my duvet, his face close enough for me to feel his breath on my skin. My body reacted to his nudity but I did my best to hide my arousal, determined to stick to my self-imposed chastity where Thom was concerned.

  I swallowed hard. “You’re a cat,” I said softly, muddled memories of tending to an injured stray the night before coming back to me with the unreality of a dream.

  His lips curved but didn’t quite resolve into a smile.

  “How did you get hurt?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” Lifting his uninjured hand to the side of my face, he traced cool fingers over my cheekbone and then my ear.

  I shivered and squeezed my eyes shut. “No,” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he retorted. “I can smell your desire. You’ve been reeking of it from the moment we met, and I only have so much self-control.”

  I pushed against him as he leaned toward me. “This is a bad idea.”

  He laughed. “I’m not expecting a long-term commitment. You only signed a three-month lease, remember? And it’s already been a month.” He nipped at my nose, his breath warm against my skin while his nose was cold as he nuzzled against me, his lips dragging over mine as he continued. “You don’t want to help me protect my kingdom? Fine. But you can give me this much, can’t you? I promise you won’t regret it.”

  My resolve was crumbling, the heat of his body too insistent to ignore. My willpower fell apart with the first kiss, and soon I was grasping at his shoulders and letting him pin me down to the mattress, his tongue sliding deeper until all I could think about was the way it felt, rough and agile against my own. I didn’t track all the details after that, unsure how I managed to strip off my clothes, whether I did it on my own or with his help, but soon I was on hands and knees, my back arching with pleasure as he filled me from behind, my fingers clawing at the sheets as he took me hard and fast.

  I floated through the aftermath of my first orgasm, my mind drifting through memories of different hands holding me down, other teeth against my jaw, and shuddered when he finally grunted through his own release, his voice deep and familiar in my ear in a way I hadn’t expected. I blacked out after he coaxed a second, unexpected orgasm from my body too soon after the first, wondering briefly how he had managed it before the darkness swallowed me whole.