Not that they’d done her any good. Selina appraised the bruises on Rose’s face with professional detachment. She took note of the wild-animal look in her eyes, too. A year—maybe less if the winter was bad—and that hair would be snarling in a refrigerator drawer down at the morgue.
“Hi,” Rose said without making eye contact. “You’re Selina Kyle, aren’t you? You’re Sister Magdalene’s sister. I knew her when I was here. She was real—“
That was the last straw. Selina did not talk about Maggie, and these nuns knew damn well why. Her appetite was completely gone and the walls were closing in. Selina would have made a run for it, but Old MoJo was blocking the way.
“Yeah. She and I don’t stay in touch.”
Holding the kitten’s box in front of her like a shield, Selina strode across the kitchen, defying anyone to mention Maggie’s name again.
“I brought you something. . . . Their idea.”
Selina didn’t own any of the cats that shared her life. She didn’t name them unless they forced her to. The kitten in the box was cute and bold, but that wasn’t enough to give him a name. Rose could name him, if she wanted. Rose could do whatever she wanted. Selina told herself she didn’t care, and that she could leave, but she didn’t. She retreated a half-step and watched, just like everyone else.
The frightened look faded from Rose’s eyes as she wrestled with the cardboard flaps. Selina expected the little tiger head to pop up as soon as the box was open. She expected Rose to melt completely in the face of its juvenile charm. Neither happened. The kitten hissed. Rose’s hands flew away from the cardboard as if it had become searing hot.