No matter how old you are, your heart always races when your father calls you into his office. Henry Trudeu was forty-years-old and when his father– the Republican nominee for the upcoming presidential election– called him in, he almost threw up. He knew exactly why he was being called in.

The moment the door closed, his father turned around in his chair and said, “You little shit.”

“I can explain–”

“No. No excuses.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you tell her to get an abortion?”

“I didn’t know until last week. I was scrolling on social media and saw her and the kid and I put two and two together and…” He scratched the back of his head. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You are a fucking idiot.” Henry’s father rubbed his face and sighed. “If word gets out—”

“It’s not going to get out.”

“The media always finds out.” He pointed his finger at Henry. “I am in the lead. If you fuck this up for me I swear to God you will be more sorry than you are already.”

♣ ♣ ♣

Henry made a reservation at the most elegant restaurant in New York City and sat at a corner table as far away from anyone else as possible. When his friend Peter entered, he hurriedly waved him over. “Thanks for coming.”

“Anytime,” Peter said, taking a seat. “What’s up?”

Henry waved the waitress away and then whispered, “I fucked up. Long story short: I have a six-month-old with a stripper. And I need you to get rid of it.”

Peter lowered his voice, too. “Get rid of it? What do you mean get rid of it?”

“You know…” Henry drew his finger in front of his neck.

“Are you serious?” Peter squealed, drawing attention to the table. Henry quickly shushed him. “Peter, listen to me. If word gets out, Dad’s screwed.”

“Biden’s kid had a love child with a stripper and he still got elected.”

“This is different. We’re ahead but not that far ahead. And you know the liberals are just waiting for something like this.”

Peter put his face in his hands. After a few minutes, he lifted his head. “Am I killing the stripper, too?”

“If you can,” Henry said. “Look, it’ll be easy. I’m pretty sure they live in the ghetto and you know how many murders happen in the ghetto. She lives with her mom. Her mom’s an African lady; thick accent. Never met her but saw a video of her one day. Anyways, they can’t be hard to miss. The girl– Azna– likes cats. She has two, Bluey and Pinky. Are you writing this all down?”

Peter sighed and pulled out his phone. “Yep.”

“So look for a crazy cat lady and her African mom.”

“I have friends in the police. I can just ask them to look up her address.” He sneered. “I don’t want to spend forever in a fucking ghetto. Now, what’s her full name?”

“Azna Mangou. Her stripper name is Kitty. Don’t know the mom’s name. The kid’s apparently named Koda, but I don’t know her middle name.”

Peter put his phone back in his pocket. “I think I have enough information. I’ll text you tonight?”

That night, as Henry was getting ready for bed, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Peter. It was an address near Lake Placid. A second text came in: She must’ve moved; not in NYC anymore. House is pretty remote. Quiet. Going tomorrow. Talk after.

Henry sent him the thumbs-up emoji and then went to bed, relieved.

♣ ♣ ♣

The next day came and went and there was no word from Peter. Henry went through the day worried. He didn’t want to text Peter, but at the same time he did. It couldn’t be that hard to kill a baby, right?

The next day came, and still no word from Peter. Henry checked Azna’s social media pages and saw that she had posted a new photo of the baby that morning. The baby was sitting next to a tortoiseshell cat, watching some kid’s show on the TV. The caption read: Koda and Pinky watching TV :-). Bluey is out of frame, but he’s always watching!

♣ ♣ ♣

After a few more days, Henry couldn’t wait any longer. He called his friend Ronald and they met at the same restaurant. Henry explained everything and, to his surprise, Ronald quickly replied with an enthusiastic “Yes!”

“Peter’s probably all the way in Hawaii right now, hiding from the press,” Ronald said. He shook his head. “Scared to do something so easy. But whatever man; anything for the cause.”

Henry gave him the address and breathed a sigh of relief when Ronald said he’d go that night. He was an ex-soldier; Henry had total faith in him.

That faith was gone when Ronald didn’t call that morning… or the next morning. Agna posted more pictures of the baby on social media, so he knew they were alive. After a few more days, Henry finally gave up on Ronald. But now what? He got lucky with Peter and Ronald; they didn’t tell anyone about the plan. But would he have the same luck with his other friends? Or his staff? No; he needed a professional.

Finding a hitman was surprisingly easy. After only a week of searching, they were meeting at the same restaurant Henry had met his friends. The hitman wasn’t exactly the scariest man in the world; he actually looked pretty normal. Skinny with glasses, he was just another chump on the street. But there was a coldness in his eyes. He didn’t even flinch when Henry told him the target was a baby. “Four thousand right now, four afterwards,” was all he said. Henry wrote out a check and shook his hand.

“I’ll be in touch,” the hitman said. Except he wasn’t. After a week of waiting, there was no word from the hitman. How could this have happened three times?

“I don’t know what to do,” he said to his father.

“I know exactly what you have to do.” His father pointed a finger at him. “Go out there and do it yourself.”

♣ ♣ ♣

Henry drove to Lake Placid that night. He found the house and parked down the street from it. It was a fairly big house in the middle of the woods, with the feel of a log cabin. Its porch was decorated with many plants and the door had weird runes drawn on it. The door wasn’t even locked. He chuckled as he walked into the dark house. Idiots.

The house was pretty tidy and had lots of African decorations. There were also animal figurines, mostly big cats, and gemstones. Baby toys were in a chest with lions carved into it and many pictures hung on the walls. One of them was of a painting of a proud looking African woman, her hand resting on the head of a sitting leopard. The words under it said Sarraounia Mangou, our beloved ancestor.

From behind him came a loud mrrw! He whirled around. Sitting on the kitchen counter was a tortoiseshell cat with a pink collar and bell. It was Pinky, one of Azna’s cat. There was no sign of the other one, Bluey. Pinky’s yellow eyes glared at him.

“Fuck off,” Henry said when he walked by. The cat meowed again and jumped down. She ran between his legs, almost causing him to trip. He cursed and kicked the cat. She slid across the floor, then ran upstairs. Henry followed.

There were three rooms and a bathroom upstairs. It was easy to find the baby’s room; the door was decorated with more runes and in large stickers was the name “Koda.” He slowly opened the door and walked in. It was a typical baby’s room: toys, baby books, family pictures. There were gemstones in the window sill, which Henry thought was weird; seemed like something the baby could easily choke on but hey, how smart was a stripper? Above the crib was the same picture of the African woman and leopard. Runes were etched on the frame.

Henry peered into the crib. The baby was sleeping in a pink onesie with white and black cats on it. Her mouth occasionally twitched in a smile, dreaming of whatever babies dream about. He leaned down to pick her up. How difficult was killing a baby?

Before he could grab her, another meow came from the door. He sighed then turned around… “Oh, shit.” Pinky was sitting in the doorway, still glaring at him. Behind her was a large puma wearing a blue collar. It stalked towards him, growling. Henry pressed himself against the crib, unable to get around the puma. Pinky jumped on the nightstand, hissed at Henry, then swiped at his hand. And that was when Bluey attacked.

♣ ♣ ♣

The news reported on Henry Trudeu’s disappearance two days after. Azna sat on the couch, watching TV. Koda was playing with her toys and leaning against a sleeping Bluey. Pinky sat on Azna’s lap.

“Mummy, what now?” Azna asked. Her mother was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

“We could return to the homeland,” her mother, Sarki, replied.

“But what about Bluey?” Azna reached down and scratched his head. He purred in his sleep.

“We can figure out a way,” Sarki said. “He may not like the heat, but he’ll get over it.”

“I’d rather stay,” Azna said. “We already have our coven here. We’d have to start all over in Niger.”

Azna’s mother kissed the picture of Sarraounia. “Our ancestors will protect us, whatever happens.” She went and sat on the couch next to her daughter, kissing her head. “We will speak with our sisters this afternoon. Whatever we end up doing, I’m sure they have protection spells that will prevent anyone from coming after us. And besides–”

Bluey suddenly sprang up, hearing a sound that only he could hear. He hissed and positioned himself over the unfazed Koda.

“We have Bluey.”