Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

(2) -Mortal Enemies-

Vicrum Hudginns, Abby's mortal enemy, was a miserable boy of fifteen. He was tall, but not in a gawky way; pale, but in the way girls adored, and privileged in the way some girls really adored. 

To his credit, he was also in possession of the best head of hair Abby had ever seen, it being fluffy and soft, reminiscent of fattened storm clouds.

But for all he had, he lacked the things that truly mattered: manners, a pleasant disposition and a fondness for cats.

On the weekends, when his father journeyed to Laos to broker deals with the local shops to sell his Ean crockery (finest in the land, he'd boast) Crum joined Abby's class, never passing up an opportunity to make fun of her. Her full name flew from his mouth constantly, and as a result, Abby's foot always found its way between his legs.

He had had four run-ins--now five--with her shoes; a fact that always made Abby beam no matter how long her punishments lasted.

She trudged down the soft velvet of the staircase- Lucy at her heels - rounded the corner, and saw, situated in her father's reading chair next to the fireplace, him. The vilest of creatures. The moldiest of crumbs. 

Remnants from that morning's fire glowed dimly in the hearth, illuminating the face Abby hated more than anything in the world.

Crum turned toward her, a haughty grin carved into his pointed, pallid face.

Abby's lips slipped into a frown so deep it nearly slid off her chin.

If only he were just hair, he'd be much more agreeable.

He was wearing the tailored clothes of the wealthy, pressed linens draped exquisitely over his lithe body. Stupid girls found his symmetrical face and delicate features handsome.

Abby didn't fancy Crum- maybe this made her a little less stupid than the rest of the girls her age. To her, he was just a sack of horse dung draped in human skin, brought to life by a spell gone wrong. Perhaps Crum was one of The Wizard Kellog's failed attempts at reanimation or a child's silly foray into alchemy that should have been fed to the Blood Plains. Gods only knew.

Crum stared at her with stormy, blue eyes, his lips at full grin. A doll-old, wooden, and Abby's-rested in his lap, painted eyes pleading with the girl for help. His slender fingers traced over the outline of the doll's face, his smile growing bigger as his fingers stopped at the doll's straw hair.

As his lips pulled back to show almost every perfectly straight tooth in his stupid mouth, he grabbed the doll's hair, plucking at the strands until the doll had a bald spot.

"Hey!" Abby yelled, stomping over the marble tile, blood boiling. "That's mine," she growled, checking the doll for more signs of injury. Pleased he'd only managed to bald the doll slightly, and fully convinced it was nothing a well-placed bow couldn't fix, Abby placed her toy back on the mantle.

"Aren't you too old for such childish things?" Crum asked, his long, black eyelashes fluttering as he rolled his eyes. A sneeze escaped him, ringlets of soft, black hair falling in front of his face. He glared at Lucy the cat.

"Aren't you too stupid to understand such things?" Abby snapped back. Crum sneezed again. "Why even come here when you're allergic?"

The boy wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his tunic.

"I don't come here because I want to," he mumbled, eyeing the cat disdainfully.

Not one to back down from a fight, Lucy arched his back and let a low hiss escape his mouth. I wouldn't stare at me like that if I were you, mophead. I'd hate to see your face meet my claws.