"What in the devil's name are you doing in my house?" I dash down the stairs at lightning speed, clasping the intruder's neck, and lifting him a good twenty inches off the ground.

"It's... Me..." The puny trespasser wheezes, his scrawny legs comically dangling in the air.

I'd identify those twig arms anywhere.

"Ross Thorne."

"My... throat..." He points at the marks of red palms, his eyes rolling in their sockets, and the book he carries clangs on the floor.

I scoff and release him.

"Didn't recognize you without that flimsy towel."

"Nor... I... you, without your Pacific foods vanilla soy latte. And your super speed and super strength, of course."

Oh he's good, I give him that. It's also super strange, how he can talk about my transformation in such a matter-of-fact, laid-back way. With full acceptance. Without even a smidgen of fear.

"Oh yeah. I'm sooo Super Sonic. Super fast and super strong now. But... No more latte shopping for me." I growl at the reflection in the foyer mirror, and flinch into the shadow, hiding my growing-back nails within my dark red hoodie sleeves.

Ross is still massaging his neck, and the marks look uglier by the second.

"I... apologize." I do feel awful about what I just did. "You came fifteen minutes sooner. My housekeeper, doña Amparo, has an afternoon off. I had no idea who was in the house."

"It is not entirely your fault. I pulled a Mr. Early there, and did not announce my presence. That had been a mistake. The fear of the intruder was fully justified."

The fear of a... Who the deuce does he think I am? I don't fear no...

My nails bite into my palms, and I shake off my hood. But when he lifts a finger and speaks on, my rage weirdly subsides.

"Besides, these marks? Don't beat yourself over them. That wasn't you. It was Gus. He was furious over the tool shed door being ripped off, and..." Ross shrugs as if stating the obvious.

"He did this to you?" No way. "But Gus is your..."

"Brother, I know. Alas, blood is not always thicker than water. Unlimited power in the hands of limited people..."

"Always leads to cruelty," I whisper-finish his quote. "Cloud Atlas."

"The movie is waaay better than the book," we say at the same time and clasp our mouths.

Welp, that was some jinx.

Ross' eyes widen. I suppose he is a lot more surprised that I read that book than I am that he read it.

I shrug.

"What can I say? Books are a smart refuge from stupid people. And talking about stupid people... I... am sorry about your tool shed door." I swallow.

"All fixed now." He takes a step forward and the hair stands on the back of my neck.

For a guy with such a calm, rigid posture, his eyes are a wild, hungry ocean with hidden depths. As they roam my face, all storms and thunder, and crashing waves, they pause on my nose.

It unnerves me.

That I-am-both-his-journey-and-his-goal look is back again.

My breath catches in my throat.

His laser gaze redirects itself at the tips of my ears and I bare my teeth.

"How are the earlets?" His voice is soft as black velvet.

"All healed." I scoff at the diminutive and change the subject, hoping this will stop him from further staring. "You didn't snitch on me to any of your friends, did you?"

Ross shakes his head no, and crosses his arms over his chest, almost as though he were self-conscious about how much of him is on display for me. It makes his upper arms appear even more muscular.

Does he lift weights? How else would he achieve that kind of definition, being such a twig?

"Don't insult me," he says with a smirk. "Gus doesn't know either. By the way, my mom had no idea yesterday, when she came to visit you."

I shake off the sound of the tenderly baked chicken casserole whacking the marble.

"Another one of my stupid moments." I grunt.

We've inched close enough by now for me to see the drawing on his tee under the checkered shirt, which seems to be his trademark clothing choice. It's of what appears to be a labrador retriever, wagging its tail and wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope.

My lips widen on their own at the cute pun of a lab in a lab coat, but I am still unsure of the slogan.

Ross is probably dying for someone to ask him what it means. I plan to summon an Elgoog demon and check it out later.

There is a pin on it, a shiny enamel burning sun falling into the sea, and the words SUNSET CHASER. I have no idea what this means, only that I'm 99 percent sure Ross isn't running some kind of an underground local sect operation.

"You brought the book," I am eager to change the subject, and I point at the paper heap on the floor.

"I did. I was surprised when you texted me that you accepted my mom's tutoring suggestion." Ross blushes and scratches his nape.

"It was just an excuse. I had to play it smart. You are the only one who saw me as..." I can feel myself trembling. "Well, as You-Know-What."

"You are not as scary as Voldemort." He sticks out his tongue at me and I am enjoying this more relaxed Ross Thorne.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." I stick my tongue back at him. "Shall we?" I point at the heavy wooden door to the left of the entrance. "We'll be more comfortable there."

The old library has a few tall walls of ancient volumes, though mostly they are now a sort of decoration to set the scene. There are shelves of worn paperbacks and dime-store novels and gilded hardbacks and boxes stacked high with even more books in them.

Ross walks in after me, and he is like a man possessed.

In a few quick strides, he runs across the entire room, handling each volume with care, fluttering from a book to book. His long pianist fingers are running down their broken spines, lingering on each of them, inhaling their scent.

"I love books."

The way he says it, there is so much more in those words than just loving books.

"I love their smell. The way their bindings look pressed together on the shelf. The feel of pages buzzing through my fingers." He sighs.

"What I love about them is that they take you places. Somewhere not here. To someone who is not you."

"Yes. They are like portals into places I've never been and people I'll never be. In a book, you can live a thousand lives. See a thousand different worlds." His eyes get a glazed, dreamy look.

"Talking about living a thousand lives..." I slump on the nearest dusty armchair and it groans under my weight. "I am literally living them." I hold up my cell phone to show him a profile pic I took at the Rockefeller center a mere month ago.

How did she become me? Or should I say this? I shudder in disgust.

He studies the photo with care. "You have heterochromia? I love the contrast in your eye color."

"Welp, that's all gone now." The screen goes into the standby mode and I see the two freaky, identical golden irises staring back at me.

Ross opens his mouth to say something but then the screen comes to life once more.

DAD, it says.

My lips tighten in a thin line.

"Aren't you gonna..." Ross starts cautiously but I simply flip the thing on its belly.

"No. And it's none of your damn business. Let's focus here. Show me what the book says."

He lifts his palms in the air, sits on a wooden chair opposite, and flips the pages like a good boy.

"I got to this part, while we were in Z-man's car: Shapeshifting can occur on three levels: cellular—transforming from human to plant or animal; personal—becoming a new self or leaving an addiction behind; and institutional—creating a new business or cultural identity. I think we can comfortably conclude..."

"That I am shapeshifting on the cellular level, blah, blah, blah, thank you, Captain Obvious." I faux-yawn.

There is an inkling of a smile on his face at my tease, as he reads on.

"Chapter III-Investigation on local spirit shape changers. The art of commemorative regeneration is strong here, a thrilling collision of artistry and spirituality. The shape changers' mythos revolves around an archetypal spirit assigned to each community. Other terms for shape changers include: metamorph, the Navajo skin-walker, mimic and therianthrope. The prefix "were-," coming from the Old English word is used to designate shapeshifters. The following word will vary depending on the animal the shifter changes into."

My back stiffens at the insinuation.

"Is there a..." My eyes flicker back to Ross. "A werecat?" I make myself say. Stupid words. Stupid term. To label something that probably doesn't even exist.

My fists clench the armrests and I hear the sound of the wood cracking and breaking under them.

The splinters are now embedded in my palms, causing me to bleed.

Aaaand the armchair is ruined. I roll my eyes.

"Whoa!" Ross reaches me in a single stride and takes my palms between his. "You okay? Because I..." His mouth opens as my cuts and wounds close before our eyes in a matter of seconds.

"Holy. Shit." I shake my head and begin pacing the room. "Did you... Did you see that? Did you fucking see..." I begin pacing the room, rocking back and forth.

"Okay," Ross says. "Try to relax. Take some deep breaths. It's totally fine. You are not just super sonic, but, even, um, super soniquer than we thought." He attempts a lame joke and I'm so grateful to him for it.

"Can..." My voice sounds scared and I hate myself for it. "Can you just look if there are..."

Ross nods and sits on the floor. When he reads out loud again, a sense of calmness washes all over me. The vibrations of his voice match those in my soul.

"Chapter XIV-Werecats. Werecats are therianthropes who transform into cats..." He pauses. "Or half cats. Such creatures have enhanced strength, speed, healing abilities and night vision. There are two most common ways to acquire the werecat form. The first one through a curse, and the second one to simply have a werecat parent."

"These stupid earrings!" I pull at the rose shaped things that seem to be forever stuck in my now upright ears. "That's how that old hag cursed me. There was this old woman, you see. She just walked into my room on the night of the party and stuck these earrings into my ears. And then she called me..."

"What?" Those ocean-deep hickory brown eyes lift from the book page and scrutinize me.

"Nothing. Some weird name. Doesn't matter. I'm a clear case of cursing, hellooo! Anything else on the page?"

"Those who are born as werecats are in time able to learn to fully control their shapeshifting abilities: from human through half-cat into a full feline form. On the other hand, those cursed, change into their werecat form unwillingly, at the moments of great duress. Those who became werecats through a curse, however, are the only ones who can be cured."

"W–what?" I stop pacing like a caged animal, plop on the floor and hug my knees.

"Hey, hey hey. This last line is good. It's good. If we keep an open mind, and assume all of this is true. It says it can be cured." His voice is comforting, encouraging.

But that's not the line that echoes in my head.

"So it says I could just turn into that mountain lion thing... whenever? And I won't be able to control it at all?"

I hate how my voice quivers in front of someone who is practically a stranger. I only ever cried alone, in the privacy of my room.

A deep sob lingers in my throat, ready to gush out.

Ross looks at the ground.

I take a deep breath, and steady myself.

"Look. I'm sorry. This is a bunch of horseshit. I'm tired and afraid and sad and everything all at once, Ross. And I don't know which one I'm more of because I'm all those things so, so much."

"Bea ..." It's the first time ever he actually says my name, and he is now standing a few inches away from me.

"And I feel so alone in this. It's been just one day, one fucking day and I..." I pass my fingers though the unruly nest of my hair. "I am still in this... disbelief, acceptance stage you know. And you... Well, you are the one person that I think I can maybe trust in all this, who maybe knows what's going on."

"Bea."

His arms wrap around me, and it feels good, right. I put my head on his shoulder and fight the urge to hide it under his chin and rub my cheek against his five o'clock shadow stubble. "I didn't say you could hug me, you know."

"I know."

"You can, though."

"Thanks." He lets out a strangled sound somewhere between a giggle and a snort, and then his stomach rumbles mega loudly.

"Shall I bring out the supper and the refreshments, señorita Bea? The young man appears to be quite peckish."

I freeze at the spot, and Ross tenses and curls his fingers into the edges of my hoodie tighter, his knuckles turning white.

"Jesus, Amparo! You scared the crap out of me!" I swear.

"Language, señorita Bea," Señora Amparo scorns me and I bite my tongue. "Good evening..." She pauses and looks at Ross expectantly.

He leaps away from me and has gone pale, which is already quite a feat, seeing how he looks one shade off from a ghost already. "Ross. Ross Thorne."

"Señor Thorne!" Her voice is warm and welcoming. "Me gusta mucho su madre, Maureen. Es una buena, buena persona. I hope to see you again soon to tutor señorita Bea."

She never uses that dulcet voice with me.

I pout-stare at Amparo, for she has betrayed me far more than I could have predicted.

"What Señor Thorne just read, señorita Beatriz..." She shakes her head. "Not true."

"What do you mean, not true?" Amparo is at times so infuriating.

"Is not up to me to say but you are not a gata salvaje by curse, no, no, mi'ja."

"What are you saying, Amparo?" I massage the bridge of my nose.

"You are a gata salvaje by birth, Bojana."

That name. Amparo just called me... That old hag called me the same way.

Does she know something about this? Can it be true?

A single thought crystallizes in my head.

If I am a wild cat by birth...

Those who became werecats through a curse, however, are the only ones who can be cured...

"What kind of game are you playing, huh?" I hiss through my gritted teeth. "Huh?"

"No game, señorita Bea, it is the truth. I..." She looks everywhere but directly into my face. "But I can't say no more. No puedo hablar. You have to talk to your mama y papa, you do."

A month you have, before the final shift, the old woman had said. What did that mean?

"There is no cure?"

Ross' eyes flicker back and forth between Amparo and me and for some reason I am certain he can see the whirlwind raging inside my mind.

"Hey, hey, hey. Bea. We don't know that yet. We have only read one book so far and..."

"In a month from now, I could become a mindless beast. What is there to know? There's no point in reading more books. In doing anything, anymore."

Ross just sits there quietly, twirling a lock of his hair around his finger.

"Just leave me here. I don't want you to come back again." I snarl at him, but he is not getting up.

The mind-whirlwind shifts into a full-blown maelstrom.

My life, or what is left of it, is ruined. I have a month left to live. Truly live.

I'll never get to go to college.

And I cannot live this last month where I want, with whom I want and how I want.

Thirty days, stuck in this half-cat form, far from New York, far from my friends, my commodities.

If I dared to return...

What would my parents say if they saw me like this?

The tabloids would be the opposite of kind, setting my life on fire.

Scientists would rush in to study me. To treat me like a freak.

No. I have to lay low. Stay here, where I can't get into any kind of trouble. Or else, my family reputation and my parents' business will be burned to a crisp.

Ross speaks once more and his deep voice is magnetic to the core of who I am. It is as if he is able to resonate with all of me when everyone else has achieved a mere fraction of it.

Including myself.

"Those who are born as werecats are able to learn to fully control their shapeshifting abilities: from human through half-cat into a full feline form." He re-reads the passage.

"Do you really think I can...?" I spit out. "I can learn how to do that in under a month? You're delusional."

Before my time is up, and I perhaps succumb to the animal form for good?

"I could help you. We could figure it out together." His voice is hungry, earnest.

But I can't think of a reason why Ross Thorn would sacrifice his evenings to come to the lair of the beast, of all places. I clench my teeth and feel a muscle twitch in my jaw.

I start towards my bedroom, but not before I toss a hundred dollar bill under his feet.

"For your tutoring trouble. Do not come back here. We'll just... Go our separate ways."

After a moment he turns to me and says, "Bea..." but I'm already halfway up the stairs, and gone.

I don't need to hear that auditory caramel of a voice calling out my name.

I don't need to get to know Ross Thorne.

It's best if I don't.

A/N: Theme song: Cloud Atlas: "Piano Melody"