Marisa had never really liked the cat, even though her daughter, Kara, had adored it. So many times, she had wanted to strangle the little beast because it had puked in her shoes, or foregone the litter box for her duvet, or any number of other offenses.
After tonight, though, she would care for it and pamper it in every way possible.
She spoke softly, barely above a whisper. She murmured names. Ancient names. Names of gods. Angels. Darker beings.
Carefully, Marisa picked up the knife. The cat barely even flinched as the blade bit deeply. Blood flowed swiftly, covering the mystic circle drawn on the floor.
The blood on the circle vanished, as if absorbed by a sponge. A red mist seeped from the circle into the now lifeless cat. The wound on its neck closed. It shuddered once, breathed deeply, and turned its eyes on Marisa.
“Mommy?” Her little girl’s voice. Not out loud, but in her mind. “What happened?”
“You had an accident, honey.” She smiled, wiping tears from her eyes. “But mommy made it all better.”