A Ghoulish Midlife (Witching After Forty #1) - Lia Davis Page 0,41

by someone supernatural. I’m fairly certain she was a hunter.”

“A hunter?” Sam looked pretty skeptical. Not that I blamed him. I’d known about all this witchy stuff all my life and this sounded pretty crazy.

“Someone that takes out witches. Thinks we’re evil,” I explained.

Sam nodded. “Okay. Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“Yeah, me neither. Would’ve been nice to have known years ago.” I sighed and turned when Sam sat straight upright and looked over my shoulder into the kitchen.

Alfred was putting plates on the kitchen table.

Sam screamed and jumped up, pulling his gun and firing before I could move.

“Sam, no!” I screamed. He was a great shot, I wasn’t worried about any of us being hurt, but I also didn’t know what a gunshot would do to Alfred. “Put down the gun!” I screamed as the sound of the gunshot echoed in my ears, ringing and pounding inside my head.

Sam holstered his weapon. “I think I hit it,” he whispered. “There’s some sort of zombie in your kitchen.”

“Samuel Nathaniel Thompson,” Olivia slapped her husband on the arm. Then she did it two more times. I could feel the fear rolling from her. “What have you done? Our son is here!”

Just them Sammie exited the bathroom that was on the opposite side of the living room from the kitchen, eyes wide. Olivia rushed over and scooped him up. All the while glaring at her husband.

I glared at Sam too. He should know better. “One, I don't know where your common sense went. Two, that is not a zombie. Three, this is my freaking house!”

I launched myself out of my chair and rounded it, heading into the kitchen to check on Alfred. He was cowering in the corner, apparently unhurt, but in the middle of the kitchen floor, twitching, laid Snooze.

My heart stopped for a few brief moments while my eyes teared up.

“Snoozles,” I cried, dropping to my knees.

He looked up at me and meowed piteously. As I reached my hands forward to try to heal him, he shivered and jumped up, leaving a small puddle of blood on the floor.

What the hell?

Sitting on his haunches, Snooze licked his front paw, beginning to clean the blood off of it. I leaned forward and picked him up carefully, not wanting to injure him further.

I laid him on my lap and searched his abdomen.

Then I searched it again.

“There’s no injury,” I whispered. “He’s not hurt.”

From the corner of the room, Alfred made noises like he was trying to tell me something while pointing at Snooze. Had the crazy cat jumped in front of the bullet to save a ghoul?

But why?

I pushed the thoughts aside, making a mental note to think about it later. At this rate I needed notes for my mental notes.

I did a final check of Snooze, feeling his little body for any cuts or anything, I felt a lump in his stomach. He purred as I blew on his fur, trying to get it to part so I could see his skin.

And before my very eyes, his skin split open and a bullet popped out.

Then, the skin knit back together. Snooze wiggled and climbed out of my lap as I stared in shock. “Did anyone else see that?” I whispered.

Surely, I wasn’t going insane.

“I did,” Olivia said. “That cat just expelled a bullet.”

Thank the gods.

“Is it a ghoul?” Owen asked. “Sometimes if you raise a ghoul right after it dies, like immediately after, it looks pretty normal.”

I gaped up at him as Snooze shook his tail and began to lick his midsection. It made sense, and deep down I knew that. However, it didn’t work with my mother so why would it work for Snooze?

Somehow, I didn’t think Snooze was a ghoul. Could ghouls live through being shot? Maybe. They were undead, after all.

I told Owen about when I thought I healed Snooze when I was a kid. At least that was what I was calling it. The cat had stopped breathing and his heart stopped. So technically he died. As I told the story I realized that Owen was right about raising the dead and looking normal. Not sure why I didn’t think about it before that moment. Maybe I was in denial about using my necromancer powers to bring Snooze back to life. But that didn’t make sense either. “He was a kitten then. Smaller. Well, just over a year old. He's bigger now than he was. Plus, he has aged. So, he couldn’t be a ghoul.”

Had I turned