"Joy!"

I made a face at Roxy and turned back to Miranda. Her eyes had lost their focus as they did when she scried Roxy's future, but there was something different about her bearing now, something tense and unyielding that was in direct contrast to the relaxed posture she had with Roxy. Davide rose to his feet and started to stalk toward me, the hair on his back rising as he approached me.

"Jeezumcrow, that's a little creepy," I muttered, getting a serious case of the willies as the cat stopped about six feet in front of me, his yellow eyes never wavering from me. Miranda started to speak, so low both of us leaned forward in order to hear her better. Her low monotone, so different from her normally warm voice, added to the eerie atmosphere, and it took a few minutes before I could understand her words. Outside, the wind suddenly picked up, slamming into the house, tiny ticks and thumps indicating that debris and pinecones were being kicked around in the wind.

"All this needs is some lightning and a ghostly figure with a red-stained butcher knife suddenly appearing in the window," I said in an undertone to Roxy. What I had intended to be a light, joking tone came off as pregnant with foreboding. She looked at me with large, serious eyes.

A shiver went down my spine suddenly, the old someone stepping on your grave feeling my grandmother used to talk about. My arms were goose-bumped all the way up to my shoulders despite the warm night. If only the cat would stop staring at me like I was a three-headed Hydra, I'd be OK.

Miranda's voice strengthened, but she didn't seem to be speaking in English. I glanced back at Davide. He appeared to have been turned into a stone statue that sat staring at me.

"Aren't cats supposed to see ghosts?" I asked Roxy.