An Incantation of Cats

by Clea Simon

  Her own concerns dismissed, the young woman didn’t seem to think anything of it as Becca nodded and left the shop without another word. Clara, however, thought the behavior odd. As she watched, Becca strode, quickly but not breaking into a run, back toward the end of the block. Before Clara could catch up, however, she stopped cold, inches from a dark opening in the brick wall at the edge of the storefront. Carefully shading herself, Clara passed by and immediately saw what had caught Becca’s eye.

  A shadow—no, a person had slipped into the yawning alley and was moving slowly along its wall. That had been what Becca spied outside the window while Gaia had been going on about the store’s owner, Clara realized. Someone walking too slowly and too close to the store to be an ordinary pedestrian.

  Clara kicked herself for not paying attention. She could have easily slipped out and followed the figure in the shadows. Even if she couldn’t have passed along her findings to Becca, she might have prevailed on Laurel to convey some message. Only now, it was too late. There was no way that Clara was going to leave her person.

  Instead, she stood by, guarding faithfully while her person waited, frozen in place, as the figure crept to the end of the alley. For a moment, he was caught in the sun—blond-tipped hair, denim jacket, and eyes wide with fright as he turned the corner and disappeared.

  Chapter 14

  “No!” Clara wailed as Becca took off down the alley. “Becca, don’t!” Of course, being a cat, her mewl of horror came out as a caterwaul—a faint one at that, her ordinary cat voice muted by the magic that helped her blend into the shadows around her. More like the wheeze of a passing bus or the squeak of a bicycle’s brakes than a cry of panic, her yowl blended in with the street noise of the busy Monday morning and died away, unnoticed.

  Not that this mattered. Even if the young woman in the alley could have heard her terrified pet, she wouldn’t have understood her. Not unless Clara could suddenly assume Laurel’s gift of implanting ideas in a human’s mind, her pet thought with growing frustration.

  But Clara had no time for envy or even the most natural sibling resentment. And so, although her own fur was standing on end with fear, Clara darted after Becca, determined to do what she could to aid the person she loved.

  “Bother!” Unseen by Clara, Becca stopped short, and only by a quick leap sideways did the little cat manage to avoid colliding with her at the passage’s end. Panting, more from the stress than the exertion, the calico looked up as her person craned her head, peeking beyond the brick wall. The alley, Clara could now see, opened onto a paved lot, barely big enough for the two cars and the dumpster parked there. Unaware of the faithful feline nervously shadowing her every move, Becca slipped out to make a careful examination of the space. She started with the cars. As Clara watched, the young woman crouched beside the first, rising up so that only the maroon cloche and the few curls that escaped were visible as she peered through the windows. She needn’t have been so careful. These vehicles were empty; their passenger compartments gave off no vibrations, their engines cool and still. Clara could have saved Becca the effort—and the worry—of examining them so carefully had she been able to communicate with her person.

  That lack continued to try the pet’s patience, but her own superior senses helped her keep her temper. By the time Becca had progressed to the dumpster, checking around the back before peeking inside, Clara had even begun to relax. Just as they hadn’t picked up any signs of life in those cars, her whiskers hadn’t picked up the vibrations of anything man-sized between the metal receptacle and the brick wall. Becca might not like the family of rodents who had made their home in the storm drain tucked in the corner, but Clara knew they were no real threat to her person, even if their presence might make her squeal.

  If Clara was hoping that Becca would ignore the metal door that led out to the alley, however, she was disappointed. As she watched, the young woman strode up to it and tried the handle. Locked tight, the latch barely responded to her energetic pull; the dull gray door not at all. With a sigh of exasperation, she proceeded to examine the frame and then the wall. A frosted window to the right of the door was set too high for her to reach, and no bell or buzzer could be seen. Increasingly exasperated, Becca rapped on the door with her knuckle, but the thick metal only gave up a dull thud in return. Only after a few more tries did she finally give up. But instead of moving along, as her pet would have hoped, Becca began to backtrack. Perusing the little lot and the adjacent street one more time, she peered down the alley and then started the longer walk around the block back up to the store’s front.

  “Her boyfriend was right.” Becca was speaking to herself, but Clara, trotting to keep up, heard her loud and clear. So clearly, in fact, that she found it a bit unnerving. Becca’s words could have been her own. “I need to reach her,” she was saying. “To warn her…”

  But all the cat could do was tag along back to the brightly painted little shop, which was now locked tight.

  “Gaia?” Becca called as she knocked on the glass door, and then leaned in, trying to peek through a green and yellow yin-and-yang symbol. “Are you there?”

  Becca squinted. The morning sun reflected off the glass, making it difficult for her to see if her former client was inside or, indeed, if the little shop’s lights were even on. Clara could have told her that nothing was stirring, but the neatly lettered sign taped to the door—Back in Fifteen!—should have been enough. Still, Becca kept at it for at least that long before turning with a sigh and slumping back against the metal frame.

  Clara waited with her, tail curled around her paws, willing herself to be grateful for the respite. But although she would have appeared the model of patience if her person could have seen her, the little cat fretted. The shop girl had made no attempt to hide her own erratic work habits. The fact that she had a sign to post should have reminded Becca of this. Besides, if something had happened—Clara’s ears flicked in search of any indication of a struggle that she might have somehow missed—there was little her person could do about it now. As Becca waited, one foot tapping in impatience, Clara found herself channeling her sister Harriet. Maybe it would be better if Becca never left the house.

  Laurel would argue with that, of course, and as the minutes ticked past, Clara found herself wondering just what her slinky sister had been able to discern. Could her part-Siamese sibling have picked up traces of that young man, Tiger? Or had she somehow implanted a willingness to flirt in their person? Clara had long felt pretty sure of the extent of her own powers—the shading and the ability to pass through doors pretty much went paw in paw, as if her corporeality was tied in part to her visible self. What her sisters could do, though, she wasn’t completely sure. Harriet was so lazy, she rarely pressed her powers. Summoning up a pillow or a new toy was apparently all she was interested in. And while Clara had been reasonably confident that Laurel’s abilities extended only to implanting suggestions in the minds of humans, her middle sister’s recent brags had the ring of truth.

  If only her siblings trusted her more, Clara thought, her ears beginning to sag. If only they shared more. Acted more like family. Then maybe she wouldn’t worry so much about the person they had all adopted. If only Laurel weren’t so obsessed with Becca’s love life. The tawny sister was awfully quick to incite interest in just about any possible suitor, Clara thought. Although there had been that one man…

  Her musings were interrupted as Becca’s phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts.

  “Hello?” She answered with something like suspicion. “Becca Colwin.”

  She stood up straight as she spoke. A sign, Clara knew, that she might be addressing a potential client.

  “Oh!” An outburst of surprise as her posture relaxed. “Tiger. Of course I remember you.”

  Clara strained her ears forward, hoping to catch the other side of the conversation. From the faint color that rose to Becca’s cheeks, she suspected it wasn’t about business—or not completely. But
as Becca put her shoulders back, clearing her throat, Clara realized that perhaps her person had made a decision. Whether it was going to be a good one, the little calico couldn’t tell.

  “Why, yes, I’d like to get together.” With that, Becca began to walk, leaving the colorful storefront behind.

  Clara’s ears flicked back in alarm. “This is Laurel’s doing!” A low growl rose beneath the white fur of her chest. “Not every man is good boyfriend material.”

  Worse, Clara realized as she trotted along behind her person, Becca wasn’t going to the police station. Despite what she’d told her coven, what she’d promised Ande and Marcia, Becca was heading home. For the first time in Clara’s memory, the familiar path didn’t fill her with joy. Between the plans she was hearing and the direction Becca had chosen, it was clear her person was getting more deeply involved, just when they had all hoped she was pulling back from the investigation.

  “Lunch sounds great,” Becca was saying. And there was nothing the little cat could do.

  When Becca’s phone rang again, Clara dared to hope. But the young woman didn’t even slow down as she took the call.

  “Hey, Maddy. What’s up?” Clara picked up her own pace, hoping to hear Becca’s friend talk some sense into her. “Yeah, I know. I was just at Charm and Cherish. No, wait…”

  Becca rolled her eyes as her friend interrupted. It was a move Laurel had tried on occasion, with comic results. But while Harriet had chuckled, Clara kept her jaw firmly clenched. Laurel was trying to relate to their person, at least, and her youngest sister believed such an impulse should be encouraged.

  “No, that’s just it.” Becca was speaking again. “I’d already told Margaret that I couldn’t take her on as a client, and I went to tell Gaia that she wasn’t in any real danger. Her case was, well, I can’t get into details, but let’s just say we both decided that I shouldn’t pursue it. Only, Maddy, now I’m not so sure.”

  The faint squawking from the phone stopped her in her tracks.

  “No, it’s not like that.” Becca started walking again, albeit slowly, her voice as thoughtful as her face. “I mean, yes, I don’t have clients to spare. I’d hoped to make this a going concern by the time the unemployment ran out. And, you know, I’ve done some good—”

  Another burst of sound, a little softer, cut Becca off.

  “Thanks, Maddy. I may need to pick up some freelance after all.” Becca sounded so down her cat was beginning to regret her own wishes. “But, you see, I can’t come down to the office today. No, I’m not going to the police—or not yet. I’m having lunch with Tiger, that bike messenger I told you about.”

  From the sounds coming through the phone, Maddy was as surprised and upset as the calico.

  “It’s not a date.” Becca emphasized the last word, even as her cheeks grew pink. “I mean, I do believe he and Gaia are over, but still, that would just be too awkward.”

  Becca raised her hand, as if her friend could see her. “Maddy, listen. Gaia told me that she and Tiger still talk, and he told her that he thinks she’s still in danger. And when I went down to tell her about the root, I saw someone hanging around the shop. Lurking, actually. So I want to talk to Tiger, hear why he thinks Gaia’s in danger and if it has anything to do with whatever happened to Frank Cross. I gather he’s not keen to talk to the police, but maybe he’ll talk to me and then I can take it to the cops. Because this guy? He wasn’t doing anything criminal, but he was clearly watching the entrance. It was creepy.

  “No, Maddy, I didn’t call 9-1-1. The guy disappeared as soon as he saw me watching him. And I couldn’t just tell Gaia. That’s the problem. I tried to, but when I went back to the store, it was all locked up. No, I think she just she took off. She has a habit of doing that. But just in case, or in case there is some connection to Frank, I want to hear what Tiger has to say. And I want someone who cares about her to know what I saw.”

  Chapter 15

  “We’ve got to do something.” As soon as Clara slipped into the apartment, she rounded up her sisters. Waking Harriet from a nap was never easy, but the sense of urgency that had set her fur on end had made the calico fierce. “Becca’s getting more involved with this Gaia girl, and there’s something weird going on!”

  “I thought you didn’t want us using our powers?” Harriet wasn’t happy about having her nap interrupted. “Don’t let the human know, you always say. Your sister and I have been trying to give you some leeway on this, you know.”

  “I know.” Clara dipped her head in a hasty feline apology. “But I’m worried. And if Becca gets in trouble, who knows what will happen to us?”

  “Maybe we’ll find someplace better.” Laurel had been sleeping, as well but Clara knew better than to mention it. The slender Siamese liked to present herself as always watchful. “Someone who leads a more interesting life.”

  Clara bit down on her initial response and took a deep breath through her bi-color nose instead. Laurel was always cranky when she woke up, she reminded herself. “Part of this trouble might involve a new man.” Clara offered up the half-truth like a small mouse, the kind likely to interest her flirtatious sister.

  “I knew it.” Laurel stretched seductively, then began to groom, her customary calm returning. “And this is a problem, why?”

  “It’s not the man,” Clara began to explain when Becca came into the room. “It’s something he told—”

  “Look at you three.” Becca beamed down at them. “So nice to see you’re not fighting for once.”

  “Don’t smirk.” Clara couldn’t help it. Laurel had a way of arching one eye that drove her mad. “Please,” she muted her criticism. “I’m trying to think of what we can do—what we ought to do. I mean, within the rules.”

  “Good luck with that,” her middle sister purred and sauntered off, tail high, to the bedroom. Clara knew Laurel was going to get involved in Becca’s wardrobe choices. What she didn’t know was how to stop her.

  “This isn’t a date.” She trotted after her sister, her mew softening with a slight pleading tone. “She wants to talk to him.”

  “Exactly.” Laurel leaped to the bed without sparing her sister a glance. “And he’ll take her so much more seriously if she would only lose that chunky sweater. I mean, who doesn’t like Angora?”

  “Angora?” Harriet lumbered in. “You mean that pink sweater?” She reached up to groom her wide face, revealing a few silky, pink strands stuck in her claws.

  “You dragged it down from the shelf.” Clara closed her eyes, but not before she saw Harriet pull the fibers free and swallow them.

  “Silly!” Laurel hissed. “I had plans for that sweater.”

  “So did I.” Unruffled by either her sisters or the pink yarn, Harriet continued bathing, straining to lick what on any other cat would have been the small of her back and nearly toppling over in the process. “It was very soft.”

  “You missed a spot.” Resigned, Clara reached over to hook a tuft of the super-fine wool in her claw.

  “Clara! What have you gotten into?” The little calico gave a startled mew as hands reached around her middle, pulling her up in the air. “Is that from my new sweater?”

  Unable to explain, Clara could only blink in silent apology. On the bed, Laurel’s blue eyes closed in a satisfied smile.

  “I could let her know, you know. Point out that Harriet was the one to pull that sweater down from its shelf.” Laurel’s low feline muttering was too quiet for human ears. “I could also suggest to her that we’re more than she knows. That we are, in fact, royalty.”

  “Please don’t.” Clara turned toward her sister in silent appeal. It was too late. Becca was carrying her to the bedroom doorway, and then she closed the door behind her.

  With mounting frustration, she waited outside as Becca got ready for her lunchtime meet, knowing full well that Laurel, if not Harriet, would be turning the situation to their own ends. Pacing outside the shut door, and unable to pass through wi
thout alarming Becca, Clara fumed, and then began to blame herself. Of course Laurel had jumped on the romantic potential of lunch with a new man. Clara hadn’t explained the situation properly. In part, she had to admit, that was because of her own confusion over what was going on.

  For starters, Becca had said that her meeting with the bike messenger wasn’t a date. But even without the astute feline hearing that picked up a quickening heartbeat and a slight shallowness in her breath, Clara knew her person well enough to sense that she was intrigued by the dark-haired man. More intrigued, the calico feared, than she had been by anyone since her longtime boyfriend had broken up with her the previous spring.

  That had been touch and go for a while, too. Matt, Becca’s ex, had regretted their breakup, even though he had been the one to initiate it. The computer programmer had, in fact, tried to woo Becca back, and there had been moments when Clara had feared he would succeed. But the puppy-ish programmer had cheated on Becca, and, cute as he was, she knew he couldn’t be trusted. For a long while after that, Clara had worried that Becca would never again trust any man.

  That didn’t mean she wanted her person to just jump into something with this Tiger. And despite what Laurel thought, that wasn’t simply because of his name. Clara knew she was more protective of Becca than her middle sister would like. But Laurel hadn’t been the one who had stayed by Becca’s side after Matt had broken up with her. Laurel and Harriet both knew the faithless Matt had done their person wrong, and they had taken the insult personally, as all good cats would. Still, it had been Clara the heartbroken girl had cried with, cuddling her close as if her soft fur were the only comfort she would ever find. Clara didn’t know if she could find a way to explain how sad that time had been. Laurel might be her sister, but sometimes she felt like she and her littermates were not only not a real family. They were like different species entirely.