by Clea Simon
It wasn’t quick, though, and Clara was aware of the passage of time as her person made her way around the room. Although it wasn’t spacious, taking up maybe half as much footage as the tiny shop out front, the room was packed. And the lounge area that had been carved out of one corner, with that overstuffed couch and the coffee table, the tiny kitchenette and the bathroom, were the only areas not lined with shelving and boxes and paper. Clara didn’t know much about inventory, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Margaret was as disorganized a record keeper as she was an employer. Missing funds indeed, the little cat thought with a disdainful sniff.
As she watched, Clara grew increasingly aware of the daylight fading outside—and increasingly alarmed that Becca was not. Becca still had not closed the bathroom door, and while the indoor light would not be that noticeable during the afternoon, as twilight descended, the illuminated window would certainly call attention to itself. Even if Margaret or Elizabeth came by to turn off a forgotten light, Becca could get in trouble, she realized with growing concern. If only her person would notice and shut that door. If only she had Laurel’s power of implanting a suggestion in a human’s brain. If only her sealpoint sister was here with her now.
Clara did her best, concentrating on the window, the light, trying to visualize the portal from Becca’s viewpoint, only showing it as brighter and more obvious. When she failed at transmitting that image to her human, she pictured it instead as it might seem from outside, glowing in the growing dark like a beacon. A clear indicator, if anyone was looking, that someone was inside.
It was no use. Becca was oblivious. And as her cat, all Clara could do was wait, which she did, with an impatience more akin to a hungry Harriet than her usual forgiving self. By then, Becca was working her way down the shelving behind the lounge area, and Clara could only hope she would soon turn and notice the bathroom light. Indeed, when Becca stopped and stared for a moment at the open door, her feline heart leaped. Either her thoughts were finally getting through to her person, or Becca had realized her error.
“The windowsill!” Becca exclaimed out loud, confusing her cat. “Of course!”
Following her person back to the small bathroom, Clara soon had her hopes dashed. Instead of flicking off the light, Becca simply stopped in the doorway and studied the long, high window. Open on one side, where Becca had made her way in, the window had a deep sill that ran along the top of the wall. Sure enough, down at the other end, three potted plants enjoyed the fading glow of the back room’s only natural light. Two were succulents, the closest, an aloe, showing signs of a recent trimming. The third, however, had glossy green leaves and a dying blossom, a sad bruised purple, still hanging from its stem. As Clara watched, Becca climbed up on the toilet seat and, reaching, broke off one of those leaves as well as the limp flower. Wrapping them in toilet tissue, she slipped them in her pocket and washed her hands. Smart moves, Clara knew, but steps that kept her pet from giving the plant material the thorough sniffing she would have liked.
The running water also covered a sound that immediately put Clara’s fur on edge. A sound that Becca’s less sensitive ears were likely to miss. The scrape of metal on metal, followed by the slide of a bolt.
Someone was unlocking the shop’s front door.
Clara whirled around as the door creaked ever so faintly, her tail fluffing as her multicolored fur spiked in alarm. She and Becca would make a run for it. They would fight. They would…but Becca did not react. Whoever was out there was being careful, opening the door carefully so as to not cause the bells to jingle. Was it possible that Becca really hadn’t heard anything? How could she not be aware, as the cat at her side was, of the slow footsteps making their way into the front room?
To Clara’s horror, Becca appeared lost in thought—or in contemplation of the paper towel she was using to dry her hands—and no amount of concentration on her cat’s part was getting her attention. To make matters worse, Becca had pulled her phone from her pocket and had begun fussing with it.
“This is no time to check your messages!” Clara’s urgent warning went unheeded. As the footsteps approached, the calico considered her meager options. Should she run to the front room? Perhaps if she dropped her shading, she could startle the intruder into making some sound. Or better yet, trip the person and also slow her—his?—approach.
If only Laurel were here…
“Move over!” The hiss startled Clara so badly, she nearly fell. But as she scrambled back, she was able to see a chocolate-tipped shadow leap to the sink. Blue eyes blazed down at her for a split second, then turned upward to focus on the pale and distracted face of their human.
“Becca! Listen! Someone’s coming!” Laurel’s thoughts were so loud, even Clara could hear them. “You’ve got to get out of here. Now!”
It wasn’t a tone Clara would ever take with Becca. Even as a silent suggestion, her sister’s distinctive Siamese yowl was sharp enough to pin Clara’s ears back. But whether it was that psychic caterwaul or Becca had finally come to her own senses, it broke through their person’s preoccupied daze. Suddenly alert, Becca started, staring wide-eyed at the open bathroom door.
“She’s going to close it.” Clara began to panic. “She’s going to try and hide!”
“No!” Laurel’s silent cry stretched out into three syllables, and Clara could have sworn she heard the rasp of claws. “Na-oh-wow!”
Becca turned at last back toward the window. From the toilet to the sill, she clambered, almost as graceful as a cat herself. And then through the window and out.
“Thank you!” Clara turned to her sister once Becca was safely through.
“No more sense than a kitten!” Those blue eyes flashed, and then Laurel, too, was gone.
Chapter 33
Clara didn’t even stop to smooth her fur before she leaped too, emerging in the lot behind the store in time to see Becca dashing for the dumpster. After a quick grooming—necessary for her nerves as well as comfort and appearance—Clara joined her, slipping behind the metal container to where her person was crouching.
“Laurel?” Clara cast about for any sense that her sister was still around. “Are you here?”
A faint shimmer in the air made her turn. But when neither Laurel’s blue eyes nor her distinctive yowl emerged from the darkness around them, she settled back. Her sister had come to the rescue of their person, Clara told herself. She had heard her call and done what Clara could not. For that, the plump calico knew, she should be grateful.
If only she could get Becca to move on. Although her sensitive feline ears could pick up movement from inside the building, all appeared still out here. And yet Becca remained in what had to be an uncomfortable position for a human, squatting behind the dumpster like she was stalking prey.
“Of course!” Clara turned toward Becca with a new appreciation. Now that her person was out of danger, she would want to gather information and find out what was going on.
She didn’t have long to wait. With a squeak like a frightened rodent, the back door swung open. Although Clara’s eyes were trained on the entrance, she could hear the intake of breath as Becca saw the door swing open. Maybe it was the shadow that reached across the lot as the back room’s light spilled out. Maybe it was the way the figure paused, scanning the empty space and seeming to settle, if briefly, on the dumpster, where Becca had frozen motionless following that one quick gasp.
Or maybe it was who had stepped into the darkness, holding the back door open behind her. Elizabeth Sherman, a scowl on her hawk-like face, stared into the darkness as if she could see the young woman and the cat hidden there. Then, without a word, she stepped back inside and closed the door. A moment later, the light went out, and all was still.
“Elizabeth.” Becca said the name out loud, like she was trying out the taste in her mouth. “She can’t know…” Her voice dropped off as her awareness of her surroundings grew, but Clara could fill in what her person left unsaid. Becca had been c
areful during her brief exploration of the store’s back room. It was unlikely that the older woman would be able to tell if anyone had been there—a light could have so easily been left on by accident. There was certainly no way for Margaret’s sister to know that Becca had been the trespasser. And yet, the way she had stared at the dumpster had been unnerving, reminding Clara of how the woman had apparently seen her the day they had first met, despite the magical shading that cloaked her from others’ eyes.
After a few more minutes went by, Becca rose cautiously and, hanging close to the wall, made her way to the street. She walked slowly, and at first Clara wondered if the prolonged hiding had left her stiff. But a glimpse of her person’s face revealed Becca’s preoccupation. Clara couldn’t be sure if Becca had been able to see how the older woman had stared, with almost cat-like focus, at their hiding place. But Becca was certainly mulling over the ramifications of that plant—proof, it seemed, of a dangerous lie.
A metallic shriek had them both spinning around, and Clara’s back arched in fear.
“Tiger!” Despite her excitement, Becca kept her outcry to a whisper, for which Clara was grateful. Still, the little cat eyed the black bicycle, which had come to an abrupt halt by the curb, warily. “You were right!”
“You checked out the shop?” He sounded impressed. “They let you in?”
“I snuck in, to be honest.” Becca sounded half ashamed and half proud of her feat.
“Wow, good for you!” Smiling, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “You’re getting good at this.”
“Thanks.” Becca didn’t bother to hide her answering grin. “When you told me that Gaia used to sneak in, I realized it was possible to get in through the back window.” She stood up straight, head back. “She’s a little taller than me, but not by much. And you were right. I found the wolf’s bane in the bathroom. Up on the ledge, where it could get some light.”
“You think the cops will believe you?”
“They have to.” Becca was beaming. “I’ve got proof. I broke off a branch for evidence.”
“This is so great.” He laughed, showing those white teeth. “You’re brilliant, Becca!”
“Thanks.” Becca looked down, blushing, though whether because of the young man’s praise or the way he was looking at her, Clara couldn’t tell.
“I couldn’t have done it better myself.” He reached for her hand. To Clara’s surprise, Becca stepped away.
“I don’t know…” Even in the dim light, Clara could see that her person had gone pale. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“What?” Tiger appeared confused by Becca’s sudden change in mood.
“I’m wondering if it was foolish of me to take a sample. I mean, if I show up with some of the poisonous plant, that could make police suspect me, don’t you think?”
He laughed. “You? Becca, come on. They’d know better.”
“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I think maybe I’ve got to think about this a bit. Maybe go see Gaia again.”
“Gaia?”
“Yeah.” Becca’s brow wrinkled in thought. “I want to find out more about when Elizabeth warned her about the wolf’s bane and when it disappeared. I mean, maybe there’s been a mistake. I’m getting the feeling that I’m missing something.”
“But if you wait, then Elizabeth might get rid of it.”
“Doesn’t matter. I also took some photos of the shelf in the bathroom, but the light wasn’t great.” She held her phone over for Tiger to see as she clicked on the app. “See?”
He took the device. “Is this inside the store?”
She nodded as he thumbed through, growing more concerned as his face grew serious. “They’re not great shots, are they?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded doubtful.
“Of course! They can still say it was a plant, so to speak.” Becca leaned over. “Wait, that was from earlier. Here, this is the best one. Between this and the sprig, that’s got to be enough for them to at least look into Elizabeth, right? Even if they also suspect me?”
“You know, maybe the police have a point. Maybe you should just let it go.” Tiger sounded shaken. “The cops are already investigating Margaret, and Gaia’s had a hard enough time. Besides, this could still implicate you.”
“That’s sweet of you.” Becca didn’t sound convinced. “But this is what I do, Tiger. Or, well, what I want to do. I’m a researcher, and that means I’m an investigator, and Gaia is my client, so I owe it to her to find out what I can and bring her the results. Besides, I kind of have a friend in the department.”
“Well, just leave me out of it, okay?” He chuckled, but there was a brittle edge to his laugh. “Gaia already thinks I’m kind of a nut. Next thing you know, she’ll think I’m trying to get back together with her or something, and I, well, you know how I feel, Becca.”
“Thanks, Tiger. I do.” Becca smiled at Tiger as he righted his bike and rode off down the street. But even as she began to walk the other way, back to the square, it was clear to her cat that her mind was already a million miles away.
Chapter 34
“If only I could ask you three for advice.” Becca appeared lost in thought. “Maybe you could help me decide what I should do.”
Worried about any additional detours, Clara had stuck close to Becca’s side as she walked home. Still, she managed to slip in moments before Becca unlocked the door to find Harriet and Laurel sitting there waiting.
“What took you so long?” Laurel’s sharp Siamese yawp sounded like a question and an accusation all at once. “Can’t you manage her any better?”
“Now, now, Laurel.” Once Becca had fed them, Harriet immediately became more conciliatory. “We each have our tasks.”
“What tasks?” Clara looked up at her oldest sister, but Harriet’s round golden eyes merely blinked once before returning to her dish.
“If only you were really my familiars.” Becca was leaning back on the counter. Although Clara’s ears flipped back to catch the sigh that followed those words, it was clear that Becca was simply airing her thoughts. “My great-great-grandmother referred to her cat as her familiar, but maybe that was just a figure of speech. Or, I don’t know, a convention of the time. She couldn’t have actually conversed with her cat, could she?”
Clara’s ears flicked, but a heavy paw came down on hers. Harriet.
“No.”
Clara pulled back. “But you were the one who started her on this whole magic thing. If you hadn’t summoned…” She stopped. There was no way to remind Harriet that it was her laziness that had prompted their person to believe she was a witch without insulting her. Besides, Becca had already shown an interest in magic by then.
“It’s in the family,” Harriet mumbled, her mouth full. “It was going to happen anyway.”
“And you’re the one who is supposed to look out for her.” Laurel shot a glance Clara’s way as she sat back and began to wash her face. “Not lecture your elder sisters!”
“I’m sorry.” Clara dipped her head and stepped back from her food dish. Laurel eyed the leftovers, but wisely let Harriet dive in. “But I don’t understand.”
“Don’t be such a kitten.” Laurel sat back to wash her face, scrubbing at her tawny fur with one brown mitt.
“I just feel like you could help me sort this out.” Becca was speaking to herself. Clara knew that. And yet she couldn’t help reaching out to her person, which she did, batting at her leg with one gentle paw.
“What is it, Clara?” Becca roused to lift her pet, cradling her in her arms. “Did Harriet steal your food again?”
“Did not!” A faint grunt of protest as the marmalade cat looked up, her yellow eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t say you did,” Clara mewed softly. “I only wanted to let Becca know that we’re here.”
“So much for being discreet.” Laurel’s implication was clear.
“That’s not fair.” Clara s
quirmed in Becca’s grasp, desperate to make her sisters understand.
“Whoa, okay!” Becca released her and she jumped to the floor, but even as she did, she turned toward her person with a plaintive mew.
“You three.” Becca shook her head. “You’re worse than the coven sometimes.”
The three littermates froze. This was too close to home.
“Speaking of, I wonder if I should consult the coven?” Becca wandered back into the living room.
“We have to be more careful!” Clara did her best to keep the hiss out of her tone. It wouldn’t help to antagonize her sisters more. “You know the law!”
“I’m not the one who was squealing like a…like a…” Harriet’s short nose bunched up in thought.
“Like a little mouse,” Laurel purred. “Clara, you’re such a clown sometimes.”
“Clara the clown!” Harriet echoed, her voice taking on a singsong quality.
It was all Clara could do to keep from snarling in her own defense. Instead, tail down in a dispirited droop, she followed her person into the living room and jumped up on the sofa beside her.
“Hi, Ande?” As Clara leaned in, Becca absently stroked her spotted back. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Clara couldn’t hear the response as Becca shifted, reaching for her laptop. And as much as she would have liked to spread herself across the warm keyboard, she contented herself with leaning against Becca’s hip as her person quickly typed out some notes.
“Thanks. I’ve been working on this case, and I’ve sort of hit an impasse.” As Clara watched, Becca summoned up a familiar picture. The plant they had just seen, only set in what looked like a lush summer garden. “What can you tell me about aconite—wolf’s bane?”
A slight squawk, as if from a startled sparrow, had Becca shifting. “No, I’m not. I’m trying to stay clear of what happened to Frank Cross. I promise.” Clara looked up at her person. Becca rarely lied, but this was stretching the truth. “Though I do wonder…”