Excerpt

Alone in Suite Four, Liza watched the gray cat devour the biscuit. It was a dainty little creature, even in its obvious hunger, licking up any stray crumbs and then grooming its whiskers when it had finished. The wings on its back rustled softly.

"You need a name, kitten," Liza said.

At the sound of her voice, the cat looked up, regarding her with unblinking purple eyes. At least it wasn't afraid of her, but Liza dreaded what was coming next.

She knelt down by the cat and laid out the pillowcase she'd nicked from the vast ship's linen closet. As the creature watched, she reached into the pillowcase and tucked the second biscuit into the back corner.

"You're going to have to trust me," she said, holding the pillowcase open. "I can carry you out of here with the laundry, but after that, things are going to get complicated."

By all the bright stars, this was so risky—yet she had to try. She prayed that her solution for smuggling the cat off the ship was the same way the animal had been brought on board—the animal's life signs concealed by the warmth and beat of a human heart. Hopefully, Liza wouldn't bear claw marks for the rest of her life.

The cat tilted its head, then stood and slowly walked forward. It sniffed Liza's hand, then continued into the tent Liza had made. Fur the texture of spun silk brushed her hand, and she got a good look at its hindquarters as the cat went all the way into the pillowcase.

"You're a girl, then," she said. "Sit tight, love."

Carefully she gathered up the case. The cat let out a barely audible purr, the needles of her claws lightly pricking Liza's arm through the fine cotton. Step one, accomplished.