Free Feral Pride by Cynthia Leitich Smith

inherited the restaurant, her home, and this house, too. That’s a lot of money in play, but a lot of loss, too. For some reason Clyde won’t talk about, Quincie herself isn’t fond of this place and almost sold it a couple of times, but for one reason or another, the deals fell through. Now, with the interfaith coalition’s safe houses compromised, it’s become useful.
    I feel more secure than I have since leaving Pine Ridge. We napped in turns this afternoon. Freddy dropped off burner phones we can use in case of emergencies and warned us that the GPS had been disabled. I’m aching to call Jess and my folks, but I can wait.
    The fact that the FHPU is bogus doesn’t mean it’s not still after us.
    From the day I realized my species, I’ve worried about ruining my folks’ lives because of it. Not only their careers — local politics and real estate are all about word of mouth — but also whether they feel safe and welcome in church and at the VA hall and on Main Street.
    At almost 8 P.M. , I’ve stationed myself on a landing. It’s the intersection of the front stairs, leading up from the foyer and the back stairs, originally designed to connect the kitchen to what I suspect once was the second-floor maid’s quarters. Aimee is downstairs in the front parlor, Yoshi in the upstairs library, and Clyde in the attic.
    “Come up with me,” Yoshi says, appearing above in the hallway. “Or go downstairs with Aimee and watch out back. You can’t see much from there anyway.”
    Actually, I’ve got a clear view of the nearest intersection.
    Joshua’s blood is fresh in my mind. So is the memory of having been shot at last night myself. On the other hand, we don’t seem to be in immediate danger, and Yoshi wants a few minutes alone with me. He’s not pressuring. He suggested another option, keeping watch with Aimee, and offered the library rather than a bedroom or the sleeping porch.
    We’ve yet to acknowledge between us his declaration of like this morning at his grams’s antique mall. Is it too soon after Ben’s death to think about another boy that way? It’s late April now, and Ben died the day after Valentine’s Day.
    I can’t help wondering what it’s like to feel the silky touch of a fellow Cat, and Yoshi’s saunter beckons. Not that it’s completely physical. I like that he has the same instincts, knows how to work on a car, and helped exorcise my ex-boyfriend’s ghost.
    I like that, despite his possibly psychotic grandmother, he’s got an open heart.
    I liked him back when I was still the sweetheart of Pine Ridge. I could smell his desire as we traveled naked, side by side, last night in the car. I can smell it on him now. I’ve only known him a few days, but I’d known Ben my whole life and look where that got me.
    In one fluid motion, Yoshi sets his palms on the broad oak banister and swings down the five steps separating us. It’s nothing I couldn’t do, but I wouldn’t. I’m too used to passing, to hiding everything about me that’s Cat. I feel a thrill as his hands rest on my hips. He has none of the doubts a human boy would. He can smell the desire on me, too.
    “Hey, kitten,” Yoshi says, lightly massaging the small of my back. It’s an obvious nickname, but I love it. Is he going to kiss me? Should I kiss him?
    I should kiss him. I’m about to when the doorbell chimes, and we spring apart.
    Aimee calls, “Stand down.” I hear metal rings slide across the drapery rod above the beveled-glass front door, then the unlocking of the deadbolt. Aimee adds, “It’s Freddy and Jess.”
    Jess! “Did she bring my car?” Yoshi calls. She did.
    Yoshi uses a burner phone to tell his grams that she can find her truck parallel parked near Blanco and Ninth Street near the Moonlight Tower. He beeps off when she starts cussing him for having taken it in the first place. Then he and Aimee duck out to move his own car — a classic Mercury Cougar — into the garage.
    Meanwhile, in the foyer,