Cat's Claw by Amber Benson Read Free Book Online

had no idea that the supernatural world even existed ( and in tandem with their own world! ), so as far as they were concerned, I had just gone off to Rhode Island to look after my ailing father ( who didn’t even have the grace to die and give weight to my excuse ) in our family mansion ( too much info ) in Newport because this was the stellar story ( not! ) my dad’s Executive Assistant, Jarvis, had come up with when he’d called the House and Yard office to explain my absence.
    Luckily, everyone at work bought his explanation, so when I finally went back, the whole office was sufficiently solicitous about my dad’s health . . . everyone, that is, but my überintelligent, überintense boss, Hyacinth Stewart.
    And boy, was she pissed .
    Apparently, the dumb girl that the temp agency had sent over to fill in for me while I was gone had e-mailed one of her friends ( in the middle of a workday ) to bitterly complain about the stupid, fat, ugly, bitchy woman she was working for. The poor girl hadn’t learned the most basic lesson that one must adhere to when “assisting” for a living in Corporate America: Bosses love to read your personal e-mail—seriously, it’s like an avocation for some of them—so don’t write personal e-mails at work. Period.
    Needless to say, Hy blamed me entirely for the psychological damage she had had to endure because of my absence. Not really my fault as far as I could see, but when you’re someone’s assistant, you learn very quickly to just grin and bear it. I mean, I really think someone should teach a class in college titled How to Succeed in Business by Nodding and Keeping Your Mouth Shut When Someone (Your Boss) Blames You for Something You Didn’t Do.
    I think a student’s first work experience would be a lot more pleasant after having taken that class.
    The ridiculous thing about the whole temp situation was how very wrong the substitute had been about my boss. Anyone who worked for her more than two minutes could see that Hyacinth Stewart was a devious and intelligent woman. One who was sharp as a tack and could be more manipulative than Erica Kane on a bender. She was anything but stupid.
    Yes, the bitchy part was completely true—I won’t fight you on that one—but the fat and ugly stuff? Well, if that was what the girl thought, then she was just a moron. Hy was a beautiful woman, and though she might’ve been on what one would term the plus-sized side of the scale, I don’t think anyone with a brain cell in their head would ever use the word “fat.”
    Large, maybe, but never fat.
    I mean, the woman knew exactly how to dress her larger frame so that she was ten times sexier than nine out of ten of the models running up and down Fifth Avenue, portfolios in sweating hand. Seriously, Hy knew exactly how to wrap a man around her finger and make him do whatever she wanted.
    Hy knew something was fishy about my absence, but she just couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Instead, she’d been Hell on wheels ever since I’d returned, keeping me so busy during the past few months that my life—and my apartment, by extension—was literally falling apart.
    Enough said .
    When I turned my attention back to Madame Papillon, she was looking at me oddly, almost with pity. I didn’t know if it was just because my aura had some serious issues or whether it was only a gut-level response to how completely dirty my apartment was.
    “I’m gonna clean it soon,” I said, the words just popping out of my mouth.
    Madame Papillon looked at me blankly. “Your aura?” Guess I was just being paranoid about the old apartment, I thought dryly—and happily.
    “Can you get your aura cleaned?” I asked. Maybe I really didn’t have an aura problem if I could get it dry-cleaned or something.
    “It can be cleansed,” the older woman said, her eyes drawn back to the nearly naked construction worker on the coffee table, “but when someone puts a curse on your aura, you either have to