Chapter One
OUT OF ORDER . USE STIARS .
One peeling strip of tape held the misspelled sign to the closed elevator doors. By tomorrow, the sign would be facedown on the floor with a footprint stomped on its back. By tomorrow, the elevator would still not be fixed. The security guard lounging in one of the lobby chairs with a newspaper draped across his knees shrugged.
Josie shook her head. Incompetence at its finest , she thought. Somehow, her feet carried her up the five flights of stairs to her apartment. Each step reminded Josie of her poor choice of shoes and why, no matter how cute ballet flats looked with an outfit, sneakers were preferable. After all, house cleaning was not a job that required cute. It demanded being on her feet for hours, selling her body and time to clients like a whore but with less pay. Josie yearned for a loving massage, but she lived alone. Who would give her one? Not Sir Glauber, for sure. As soon as Josie opened her apartment door, he approached her with an accusatory look on his orange, furry face.
Oh, fuck . She forgot to feed him before she left for work.
"Sorry, Sir."
He marched off to his empty bowl, his tail held high. He sat and regarded her, his gaze arrogantly expectant. As Josie scoured the cupboards and the fridge for cat food, she wondered if Sir Glauber was human in a past life. Perhaps he was a king or somebody accustomed to servants. She was the human, the master in this relationship, yet Josie often felt like the slave.
The slave who ran out of food to feed her master.
Josie momentarily considered ignoring Sir Glauber's starvation in favour of her bed but her heart and Sir Glauber's glare dissuaded her. Keys and debit card in hand, Josie left the apartment with her last vestiges of energy. Outside, winter warned her of its impending arrival as she headed toward the nearby convenience store. Many of the once green tree leaves were burgundy but mostly camouflaged in the dark shadows of the night. The breeze curled around her body, lifted her hair, and pressed against the exposed parts of her skin. She shivered, pushing her hands into her hoodie's pockets to protect them.
Of all the seasons, Josie disliked winter the most. Something about the cold inspired a special kind of misery and unfriendliness in people. She favoured the spring weather and its symbolism. Not as chilly as winter, yet not as scorching as summer. New life. New hope. If she were to ever get married, she'd want a spring wedding. If she were to ever have a baby, she'd want it born in the spring.
But life didn't let a person pick and choose their fate. Even if it did, Josie would wallow in uncertainty. Years later, she still wondered if dropping out of school in favour of her passion for art or dumping that cheating bastard, Greg, to protect her self-respect were all good choices.
"Five twenty five," said the convenience store clerk, his voice as devoid of emotion as his store was of customers. Josie resisted the urge to squawk at the high cost for two measly cans of cat food, paid, and went on her way.
Her footsteps echoed louder on her journey home, the lights barely illuminating the darker areas. The gang signs in graffiti on the walls and the distant wailing of a police siren reminded Josie of her neighbourhood's less-than-savoury status. Though she'd lived in the area incident-free for nearly two years, Josie regretted leaving the safety of her apartment so late at night. How would she protect herself if the need arose? Her body ached and the only item fit to defend her was a bag of canned cat food.
The things I do for love of a damn cat , she thought.
THUMP!
Josie's heart lifted and her body shook involuntarily. She spun around and her mouth opened on a soft, gasp-scream mix.
Something tall and silver…in the shape of a man.
A silver man. Standing there, facing her.
The light of the street lamp just behind him—it—glistened on its reflective skin. It was taller than an average man,
OUT OF ORDER . USE STIARS .
One peeling strip of tape held the misspelled sign to the closed elevator doors. By tomorrow, the sign would be facedown on the floor with a footprint stomped on its back. By tomorrow, the elevator would still not be fixed. The security guard lounging in one of the lobby chairs with a newspaper draped across his knees shrugged.
Josie shook her head. Incompetence at its finest , she thought. Somehow, her feet carried her up the five flights of stairs to her apartment. Each step reminded Josie of her poor choice of shoes and why, no matter how cute ballet flats looked with an outfit, sneakers were preferable. After all, house cleaning was not a job that required cute. It demanded being on her feet for hours, selling her body and time to clients like a whore but with less pay. Josie yearned for a loving massage, but she lived alone. Who would give her one? Not Sir Glauber, for sure. As soon as Josie opened her apartment door, he approached her with an accusatory look on his orange, furry face.
Oh, fuck . She forgot to feed him before she left for work.
"Sorry, Sir."
He marched off to his empty bowl, his tail held high. He sat and regarded her, his gaze arrogantly expectant. As Josie scoured the cupboards and the fridge for cat food, she wondered if Sir Glauber was human in a past life. Perhaps he was a king or somebody accustomed to servants. She was the human, the master in this relationship, yet Josie often felt like the slave.
The slave who ran out of food to feed her master.
Josie momentarily considered ignoring Sir Glauber's starvation in favour of her bed but her heart and Sir Glauber's glare dissuaded her. Keys and debit card in hand, Josie left the apartment with her last vestiges of energy. Outside, winter warned her of its impending arrival as she headed toward the nearby convenience store. Many of the once green tree leaves were burgundy but mostly camouflaged in the dark shadows of the night. The breeze curled around her body, lifted her hair, and pressed against the exposed parts of her skin. She shivered, pushing her hands into her hoodie's pockets to protect them.
Of all the seasons, Josie disliked winter the most. Something about the cold inspired a special kind of misery and unfriendliness in people. She favoured the spring weather and its symbolism. Not as chilly as winter, yet not as scorching as summer. New life. New hope. If she were to ever get married, she'd want a spring wedding. If she were to ever have a baby, she'd want it born in the spring.
But life didn't let a person pick and choose their fate. Even if it did, Josie would wallow in uncertainty. Years later, she still wondered if dropping out of school in favour of her passion for art or dumping that cheating bastard, Greg, to protect her self-respect were all good choices.
"Five twenty five," said the convenience store clerk, his voice as devoid of emotion as his store was of customers. Josie resisted the urge to squawk at the high cost for two measly cans of cat food, paid, and went on her way.
Her footsteps echoed louder on her journey home, the lights barely illuminating the darker areas. The gang signs in graffiti on the walls and the distant wailing of a police siren reminded Josie of her neighbourhood's less-than-savoury status. Though she'd lived in the area incident-free for nearly two years, Josie regretted leaving the safety of her apartment so late at night. How would she protect herself if the need arose? Her body ached and the only item fit to defend her was a bag of canned cat food.
The things I do for love of a damn cat , she thought.
THUMP!
Josie's heart lifted and her body shook involuntarily. She spun around and her mouth opened on a soft, gasp-scream mix.
Something tall and silver…in the shape of a man.
A silver man. Standing there, facing her.
The light of the street lamp just behind him—it—glistened on its reflective skin. It was taller than an average man,
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