by Clea Simon
“No, I’m not!” Clara rarely got angry at her siblings, but Harriet was being particularly obtuse. “Don’t you see? Something’s wrong.”
“Yeah, we still don’t have the good flavor,” Harriet mumbled as she lapped.
“That’s not…” Clara gave up and sat, looking anxiously up at her person.
“You don’t want that?” Harriet didn’t wait for an answer, and Clara ceded the space in front of her dish, following Becca, who was pacing around the apartment. Not that her person noticed. In fact, twice Clara had to jump out of her way as a foot came dangerously close to her tail.
***
None of the activity served to distract Becca, however, and the calico grew increasingly worried about her person, whose unsettled behavior led to another fitful night. By the next afternoon, Becca’s edginess had agitated all three cats. It was bad enough that she had tossed and turned in bed, but as Wednesday progressed, Becca wouldn’t even sit still with her computer. Instead, she seemed to be avoiding the warm machine, and that meant naps for her pets were limited as, by silent accord, they kept watch, circling her until Becca, in her preoccupation, actually stepped on Harriet’s tail.
“I’m going to make a tree house for myself!” The fluffy feline licked the appendage furiously, more because of the insult than any real injury. “I’ll climb way over all your heads!”
“Harriet, please,” Clara pleaded.
Laurel only rolled her blue eyes. “The day you climb is the day I eat a bug.”
Clara opened her mouth—and quickly shut it. Laurel prized her reputation for finickiness, and it would do none of them any good for Clara to point out that her seal-point sister had done just that last summer, when a particularly tempting moth had gotten inside.
When the doorbell rang late in the afternoon, Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Any interruption had to be better than this ongoing nervous activity. At this rate, Clara thought, they’d all be hissing at each other by nightfall.
“Maddy.” Becca sounded a little breathless, the result of all that pacing, Clara reasoned to herself. “Come in.”
“Becca.” Her friend seemed tired too, and dropped her bag on the floor before slouching onto the sofa. Done with her dinner, Laurel came over to investigate, sniffing delicately at the leather bag. Harriet, Clara noted with a touch of dismay, was still in the kitchen, cleaning up the crumbs of the other cats’ meals.
Becca settled beside her friend but didn’t relax. Clara didn’t know if Maddy could tell, but to a cat, it was easy to spot the tension in her person’s posture. “So, you knew Suzanne,” she said.
It wasn’t a question, but Maddy nodded slowly. Becca drew her feet up beneath her. If she could curl up into a ball, she would, Clara thought, and jumped up beside her. “Maddy?” Her voice was tight, as if she needed to swallow. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Her friend turned to her with a look of such horror that a slight moan escaped from Becca’s opened mouth. “No, Maddy. You couldn’t have…” She shook her head slowly, as if to ward off the awful truth. “The cake server…”
“I couldn’t? Oh, no!” Maddy reached out to grab her friend’s hands. “No, Becca. No matter what I felt, I, well, it was almost like I forgot.”
“You forgot?” Becca was breathing easier, but her brows were knit in confusion.
“I’m sorry.” Maddy didn’t look any more comfortable. If anything, she seemed to sink further down on the cushions while her friend waited. “I wanted to tell you.”
“What, that you worked with a member of my coven? Jeff’s new girlfriend? The woman who was killed?” Becca tried out the options, rejecting each in turn. “But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen—so, why didn’t you say anything?”
Maddy twisted in her seat as if she could avoid Becca’s gaze. “I told you I kind of knew who she was, when I ran into them in the Square. But it was before that—before I realized who she was—I mean, in your little crew…” Taking a deep breath, she began to talk again, and as if a dam had burst, this time, the words rushed out. “It was right after she started, in February. She was standing in the lobby when I went for my lunch break and I thought I’d ask her to join me. Just to be friendly. Only there was something about the way she was standing, kind of fussing with her hair before she put her hat on, and I realized she was probably waiting for a date. Well, I hung back for a minute—just to see—and, sure enough, her date showed up.”
Maddy fell silent, as if the flood had left her exhausted. “It was Jeff, Becca,” she said at last. “She was waiting for Jeff.”
“But…February? We were still…” Becca sputtered. “Maybe they were friends. I mean, they probably knew each other.”
Maddy’s face told the story. “Knew each other? Becca, honey. He was a creep. I always felt something was off about him, but I didn’t know what to say.”
“Maddy, you don’t know.” A note of desperation had crept into Becca’s voice.
“I know you don’t kiss your casual acquaintances.” Her friend delivered the coup de grace. “Not like they did, anyway.”
***
Maddy left soon after. She would have stayed—had wanted to comfort her friend, it was clear to see—but Becca shooed her off. “I can’t,” she said as she pushed Maddy’s bag back into her arms. “I need to process this, but I can’t—not now.”
Maddy had protested. “Come on, kiddo,” she’d said. “Let’s go to a movie. Or better, to that cupcake place in the Square.”
“No, I’ve got…an appointment.” The way she stumbled over the word had Maddy looking at her funny.
“You’re not doing that witch thing tonight. Are you?”
“We…we need to meet. To talk about Suzanne—and to figure out what’s going on,” Becca confessed. “I mean, for closure and everything.”
“Becca, honey.”
“Please, Maddy. I’ve got to get ready.”
Maddy looked like she’d swallowed a bug, and not a very tasty one at that. Still, she allowed herself to be hustled out the door with a final protest. “Call me, Becca?”
Only then did Becca allow herself to collapse, throwing herself on the sofa with a sob.
“Jeff.” One word said it all, and Clara brushed her head up against the hands that covered Becca’s head, hoping to offer the comfort of soft fur. A slight thud behind her alerted her to Laurel’s arrival. For once, she was pleased to note, her sister didn’t dish up any snark and instead stretched out alongside the crying girl. Before long, Harriet joined them, landing with an audible grunt. Despite—or perhaps because of—her hogging of their dinner, she accepted the remaining position, by Becca’s feet, lending her warm bulk to the sisterly effort.
This wasn’t their usual mode of magic. But Clara could feel the purr as it rose between them, and if the three felines couldn’t right all the wrongs of the world—or of a certain faithless boyfriend—they could at least set a certain cosmic vibration in order. In their presence, Becca went from tears to silence and then, Clara suspected, a short nap. When she sat up, about an hour later, her breathing had returned to normal. And although her eyes would be swollen for some time, as she wiped her face, she glanced around with clarity and maybe even, Clara thought, a new purpose.
She also, on seeing the clock, began to panic. “Seven thirty!” She jumped up, discomfiting the cats.
“Ungrateful,” grumbled Harriet. Becca had been careful not to kick the plump cat as she rose, but she had straightened out the cushions behind her, which Harriet had arranged for peak comfort.
“Typical,” noted Laurel as she stretched. The Siamese sister knew what all the fuss meant and was readying herself to be admired.
Only Clara remained silent. She saw how their person bustled about with renewed purpose and considered herself amply rewarded. What’s the use of power, she thought to herself, if it can’t
be used to comfort those we love?
Chapter 23
The doorbell interrupted all their musings—as well as Becca’s last-minute attempts at soothing her reddened eyes. Drying her face with a washcloth, she called out a greeting. A moment later, she was opening the door to Larissa and Trent, both of whom reacted to her appearance.
“You poor dear.” Larissa pushed her way past Trent in a swath of multicolored silk and kissed the air beside both of Becca’s damp cheeks. “You must be absolutely bereft. I wanted to get here early to give you a hand.”
She followed this embrace with a pointed look at Trent that seemed to demand an answer. “I’m sorry.” His handsome face appeared drawn with concern. “I guess we both had the same idea. Merry meet, Becca.”
“Merry meet.” Becca managed a wobbly smile. “It’s good to see you both. Come in.”
Larissa took charge, as usual, ushering Becca into the kitchen with a sweeping gesture that released a cloud of patchouli.
“I’m sorry.” Becca did her best to summon a smile, even as she blinked. Clara, at her feet, sneezed quietly, while Laurel winced and stalked off. “I haven’t put the water on or anything.”
“Nonsense, dear.” Larissa craned around until she saw the kettle, then gestured Becca over toward it. “Would you? My sleeves.”
Clara watched as Becca complied. Having something to do certainly seemed to settle her person, but the calico couldn’t help but wonder at the older woman’s apparent helplessness as she ordered Becca around.
“No, dear, fill the pot with hot water, then pour it out. You don’t want to brew your tea in a cold pot.” With a flick of those sleeves, she herded Becca toward the sink, then followed to stand close behind her. “I wanted to speak with you before the others arrived.”
She turned theatrically as if she could see through the wall to the foyer and the door beyond. When she began to speak again, her deep voice was abnormally soft.
“I don’t think it would be healthy to mention our chat yesterday.” Even muted, her suggestion had an air of command about it. “About Graham and all. You are one of my favorites, but it wouldn’t do to sow dissent.”
“Of course.” Becca’s open face showed her confusion. “But…you’ve encouraged me before. Right here, last week, and if you did the same for Suzanne…”
Larissa’s sleeves fluttered as if she were patting down an animal. “There are too many factors, my dear. Things might be misunderstood.”
“But—” Becca paused, her brow wrinkling in a look of intense concentration. It was almost as if her whiskers were bristling, thought Clara. If Laurel had looked like that, it would have meant prey was about—and in danger. But whatever observation Becca was about to make was cut off as Ande rushed into the kitchen.
“Oh, dear! How are you?” She hugged Becca, who was still holding the kettle. “I mean, blessed be—and, please, let me.”
Unencumbered by flowing clothing, Ande took the kettle and set it to boil, freeing Becca, who turned to Larissa once more. But the older woman simply raised one manicured finger to her lips and then left the kitchen as dramatically as she had entered, a sweep of her long sleeves wafting patchouli behind her.
“Phew, what’s that smell?” Ande’s nose wrinkled up. “It’s not the cats, is it?”
***
As this was not their usual meeting, Larissa had not brought her special tea. Instead, Becca was pleased to find the scent of a spicy mint mix—akin to what they’d enjoyed the day before—soon filled her small apartment, almost drowning out the older woman’s perfume.
“To promote healing,” Larissa explained once they were all gathered around the table. “And to ease our dear sister’s spirit onto the next realm, of course.”
“Of course,” Kathy echoed as she reached out to pat Becca’s hand. “That should be our main goal.”
Becca managed a tight smile that even from over on the couch Clara could tell was forced. Her human colleagues appeared to notice this too, as Ande and Marcia exchanged a look that could only be described as weighted.
“I was thinking a sunset circle.” Larissa addressed a space somewhere above the gathering, and Clara tilted her own head back to see if perhaps a fly had gotten in. “By the river, perhaps.”
“A circle?” Becca broke into the other woman’s reverie.
“To concentrate our energies,” Marcia explained. “You know, because we won’t be at the funeral.”
“We won’t?” Becca was full of questions.
“Oh, dear, I guess you hadn’t heard?” Larissa turned toward their host. “Poor, dear Suzanne’s parents are having her interment back in Connecticut.” Her crimson lips formed a moue of disapproval. “Such negative energy.”
“Oh.” The small, sad sound made Clara long to leap into Becca’s lap. “No, I hadn’t heard.”
“We haven’t wanted to burden you. I spoke with her employer, of course.” Larissa blinked, as if holding back her own tears, which was probably why she didn’t notice Becca lean forward. Clara perked her ears up, waiting for Becca to speak. “More tea?” Larissa got there first, and Becca sat back again, holding her mug close.
“Well, since there’s no great urgency, shall we wait for the solstice?” Trent, Clara noticed, had been strangely quiet until now. “That might be auspicious.” He looked around at the coven, moving from Marcia to Ande to Kathy to Becca before pausing, it seemed, at Larissa, to his right.
“That’s a bit of a wait.” Ande sounded doubtful—and Clara saw her turn toward Marcia.
“It’s too long,” Kathy responded, before tiny Marcia could. “That’s more than three weeks from now. Better to do it sooner. We need to let her move on.” She might have been speaking of Suzanne, but she was looking at Becca, who slouched back in her seat.
“Darling, are you all right?” Larissa reached for her, but Becca pushed her chair back.
“I need a little air.” Leaving the table, she walked into the kitchen.
Laurel and Clara followed, and found Harriet waiting. “Treats?” The big marmalade rubbed her considerable bulk up against her leg, and then grunted as Becca hauled her up into her arms.
“What a pretty kitty.” Ande had followed her in. “May I?”
Harriet accepted the gentle pet as her due, while Laurel looked on. Becca, however, just stared out the window.
“I just can’t stop thinking about her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Of course.” Ande bit her lip. “But you can’t think that you…”
Becca shook her head. “I was just wondering about what you told her.”
“What was that?” Trent had appeared, but Becca only shook her head. “Are you okay, Becca?”
“Yeah, thanks,” She released Harriet, who shot an evil glance at the warlock. “It’s nothing.”
Without offering up any treats, she rejoined the table, where Kathy, Marcia, and Larissa were deep in conversation.
“Luz thought it was probably random,” Marcia was saying as Ande and Trent took their seats. “A robbery gone bad.”
“I don’t want to suggest anything.” Kathy’s voice suggested anything but. “Only, do you think, maybe, it wasn’t an accident that Becca found her?”
“What?” Her person’s uncharacteristic squeal made Clara’s fur stand on end. Even Harriet looked up. “Me?”
“I mean, because of your conjuring.” Kathy scanned the table for support. “Maybe if you make something appear, then you also…well, you know.”
“Now, Kathy.” Trent was the voice of reason. “That’s not how the rule of three works. If one of us does something malicious, then that will come back three times. I don’t see how a mere pillow–”
“I’m sorry.” Becca pushed back from the table again. “I don’t think I can do this—not tonight.”
“Of course, it’s all my fault
.” Kathy went to her and reached to draw her into an awkward hug. “Trent’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Obviously, no further planning was going to be done. And although Harriet looked up expectantly—fewer of the cookies had been eaten than usual—Clara felt for her person. She was glad when Larissa signaled the end of the meeting, shooing Ande and Marcia off with the mugs and the teapot. Becca watched as they cleared the table and excused herself to follow. She found the two huddled over the sink, rinsing dishes, as Harriet, who had followed the food, stared in rapt attention.
“This isn’t the time.” Marcia seemed incapable of speaking softly, but her tone implied a confidence, even if her volume—quite audible over the running water—didn’t. Neither was paying much attention to the fluffy feline at their feet, or to the two other cats who sauntered in to join her.
“Excuse me?” Becca, however, wasn’t so relaxed, and her voice was sharp enough that even Harriet’s concentration was briefly broken.
Marcia and Ande glanced at each other before Marcia turned the faucet off. “I’m sorry,” said Ande, dishtowel in hand. “I spoke out of turn.”
“If either of you know anything, you really do need to come forward.” Becca studied the faces of the two women. When Ande dropped her eyes to the floor, she turned to Marcia. For once, the petite Sox fan was silent, her lips tight set as she reached for a towel to wipe her own hands dry.
“Ladies?” Larissa, calling from the front of the apartment. “If you’re done with clean up…”
“Coming!” Marcia hung the towel over the faucet and leaned over to give Becca a quick hug. “Thanks, Becca.” Neatly sidestepping the three cats, she left.
“Ande?” Becca leaned in, cutting off the taller woman before she, too, could escape. “What was that about?”
The remaining guest folded her towel in her hands and peered ruefully toward the living room. “I can’t,” she said.
“If this has to do with the money that went missing…”
“No, it doesn’t.” She shook off the idea, running one hand over her face as if to wash it. “And really, Larissa just wants to forget about the finances. I shouldn’t have said anything.”