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Her voice is shaking now. “What proof?”
“DNA, for one.”
Her face goes pale as if someone pulled a plug and let all the blood drain out. Her cocktail is trembling so badly now that purple liquid sloshes over the rim.
“DNA?” she whispers.
I don’t dare elaborate. I can’t because it’s nothing but a bluff. I don’t have so much as a strand of hair. But she doesn’t know that, and her expression just told me more than a lab ever could.
Spooky mood music blares from the speakers. People are still dancing, laughing, and having the time of their lives. But in our little bubble, there’s only silence and the truth settling between us as heavy as a tombstone.
“Clawdia was your mother,” I say quietly. “Your birth mother. She gave you up or abandoned you or denied you—I don’t know which. But you found her years ago. You became a fan first, then a star pupil. She took you under her wing, mentored you, and helped you build your career.”
Kitty doesn’t dare blink.
“But she never acknowledged you as her daughter publicly,” I continue. “She kept it secret. Called you ‘my daughter’ in private, but to the world you were just another student.”
“Stop,” Kitty whispers.
“And then there’s the documentary. Your pet project. Your idea. The thing you poured everything into. She was going to take it. Heartlessly ruin it and ruin you.” I take a step closer, and both cats let out a small hiss. “Her own daughter, and she was willing to destroy you anyway.”
Something breaks in Kitty’s face, and soon enough, the bubbly façade, the pink cheerfulness, the sweet innocence she emits so easily—it all cracks and falls away, and what’s underneath is nothing but pure rage.
“She deserved it,” Kitty says, and her voice is shaking with venom. “The witch deserved to die.” A gurgle of a scream emits from her. “How dare she. How dare she deny her own flesh and blood. I’m the one who found her. I reached out. I gave her a chance to be my mother, and she said no. She said she had no interest in being my mother. She had me as a teenager and out of wedlock. She said it would ruin her image. Her perfect reputation.” She laughs, but it sounds hollow and broken. “So I became what she wanted. The perfect underling. The devoted student. And she used me. She helped my career just enough to keep me around. But never as her daughter. Never.”
She shakes her head. “Six months ago, I gave her one last chance. I wrote her a letter by hand. I put everything in it. Everything I’d spent my whole life wishing I could say to her face.” Her laugh catches, but there’s nothing funny in it. “And do you know how she answered me? Through an attorney. Certified mail on legal letterhead, denying she’d ever had a daughter.” Her eyes lock with mine. “She didn’t just reject me, Bizzy. She made it official.”
People nearby are starting to notice. Starting to turn and watch.
“And then that whole nightmare with the documentary,” Kitty spits out. “Our project. That was the one thing we were supposed to do together. Mother and daughter working side by side, even if no one else knew. And she was going to steal it from me! She was determined to turn it into something ugly. And more than that, she was determined to destroy me with it.” Her eyes are blazing now. “She said it wouldn’t be fair if I grew to be bigger than her. She didn’t mind helping me out, so long as my star never eclipsed hers. Her own daughter didn’t matter. Her career mattered. Her image mattered. I certainly didn’t.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and for just a second, underneath all that rage, I see the hurt.
“I just wanted her to love me,” Kitty says, and now her voice is breaking. “That’s all I ever wanted, and she couldn’t even do that. And once she had enough, she said that both me and my career had to go.”
“So you killed her,” I say quietly.
The hurt disappears, replaced by cold fury. “I hate her, Bizzy. I wish I could poison her all over again.”
Both cats yowl in unison.
“How did you get the cyanide?” I ask.
Kitty gives a bitter laugh. “A black-market apothecary. You’d be amazed what people will sell to horror collectors if you know where to look. Antique poisons, old surgical tools, things that should probably come with a police escort.” Her smile fades. “I bought it after Clawdia gave me her ultimatum.”
“Her career or yours.”
“She’d already decided mine didn’t matter.” Kitty’s eyes harden. “She was going to ruin me, Bizzy. Everything I built, every subscriber, every sponsor, every chance I had of becoming something without her. She expected me to smile while she did it.”
“And you weren’t willing to.”
“No.” Her voice is quiet now. “For once, I chose myself.”
A chill runs through me.
“And the drink?”
“I made it for her for three years. Black sugar rim. Burnt orange peel. Always exactly the same.” Her mouth twists. “Clawdia liked people to think she appeared out of thin air fully accessorized, cocktail included. Nobody was supposed to know her little nobody of a daughter was backstage doing the work.”
