by Clea Simon
From the living room, the sound of laughter, and Larissa called again: “Hulloo!”
“Ande?” Becca wasn’t giving up.
“Look, it’s not my secret to share.” Ande forced a smile. “It’s just—well, I guess it’s true that you never really know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship.”
“Is this about Trent?” Becca’s voice squeaked. The warlock’s deep voice could be heard by the front door, warm and jocular. Clearly, the general mood had recovered. “I mean, the cops spoke with him too.”
“I can’t believe you two.” Kathy stood in the doorway, her freckled face unexpectedly stern. “Trent doesn’t need money.”
“I didn’t…” Becca closed her eyes and sank back against the sink in exhaustion. “We weren’t….”
Clara rose to go to her. It was quite apparent that some feline comforting was needed. But Laurel had one brown bootie firmly on the base of her tail.
“Hang on,” her sister hissed. “I want to see how this plays out.”
Clara glared, but in that moment, Ande had gone to Becca in her place, draping one arm around Becca’s shoulders. “There, there, honey.” She pulled her close, murmuring like a mother cat.
“Did you know the red-haired one was listening?” Clara nudged Laurel as the two looked on. Harriet, sensing that no cookies would be forthcoming, had padded back into the living room.
“Just the last bit.” Laurel shrugged and lifted her paw. “I wanted to hear more too. That grooming behavior…”
“I know,” Clara agreed, grateful to have her tail released. “Do you think she feels guilty?”
“Becca’s been through a lot, Kath.” Before Laurel could answer, Ande had turned back to the redhead. “Let’s cut her some slack, okay?”
“Of course. I’m sorry, Becca.” Kathy reached out with both hands. “I can’t imagine. I guess we’re all on edge.”
“Thanks.” Becca choked out the word as the redhead drew her into a hug. “I just need to get some sleep.”
“Valerian,” Kathy pronounced sternly. “And, Ande? We should get going.”
“Will you be okay?” Now that she wasn’t being questioned, Ande seemed reluctant to leave.
“Yeah, thanks.” Becca pushed off the counter. “It’s just been a long week.”
“It’s Wednesday,” said Kathy, earning a poke from Ande. Becca didn’t respond, beyond holding on to that sad, tight smile as she walked her guests to the door.
Minutes later, she was stretched out on the couch. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
She moved her feet as Clara jumped up to join her. It had been a stressful visit, and the little calico was as tuckered out as her person. For once, she had Becca—and the end of the sofa—to herself. Harriet, still annoyed about the missed opportunities in the kitchen, was prowling about, muttering about cookies and treats and the stupid, ungrateful creatures with whom she was forced to cohabit. Laurel, meanwhile, was lingering by the door, though if it was because of the residual patchouli or some other trail, Clara couldn’t tell. As Becca’s breathing slowed and deepened, the tired calico felt her own lids start to close and she fought to stay awake. So much had happened that she needed to ponder, but it had indeed been a very busy couple of days.
The gentle tap on the door woke Clara first. Stretching, she peeked over the arm of the sofa to see Laurel staring expectantly at the knob. From the way she lashed her chocolate tail, Clara knew her sister was expecting that door to open.
“Who is it?” Clara landed as soundlessly as a cat can and kept her mew soft as she approached her sister. Laurel’s blue eyes remained riveted, as the knock was repeated, a little less softly.
“Maybe if you’d paid a little more attention…” The tail lashing quickened, as if the Siamese were readying to pounce.
“To what?” Clara sat beside her, wrapping her own tail neatly around her front paws. “I was focused on Becca.”
“You weren’t the only one.” Almost a purr, this time, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent.
“Hang on.” Clara’s whiskers sagged. The sound had woken Becca, who was now shuffling toward the door. “Trent!”
Clara turned as her person straightened up, one hand going to her hair. Beside her, Laurel gave her a knowing sidelong glance. “See?”
“I’m sorry.” The warlock’s voice was as warm as his dark eyes. “I woke you. I could tell how exhausted you were, but I thought maybe…” He dipped his head shyly.
“Please, come in.” Becca stood back to let him enter. “Yeah, I fell asleep.” She rubbed her face. Clara couldn’t understand why her person should sound so apologetic. Napping was not only healthy, it was the appropriate reaction to many things, stress being one of them.
Trent passed by her and entered the apartment.
“I’m sorry.” There she was, apologizing again. Clara was beginning to get as agitated as Harriet. “Did you forget something?”
“Only my manners.” The dark-haired warlock turned to her. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. This whole evening.” He looked around, as if their coven were still assembled. “I know that it’s important to talk about what happened and to plan a memorial. But it was too soon. I should have known.”
“It’s fine, really.” Becca perked up a bit in the warmth of his gaze. “Would you like something? More tea?”
A soft laugh. “Please,” he said, “I don’t think I could. I only wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Oh.” A soft mew of disappointment. Laurel, meanwhile, was leaning against the visitor’s shins so aggressively that he almost stumbled as he tried to step forward. “Please, won’t you sit for a minute?”
“Well, if I’m not interrupting.”
Now it was her turn to chuckle. “I think I was just kind of overwhelmed. Who knew not doing anything would be so exhausting?”
“Who said you’re not doing anything?” Sidling around the feline, he took a seat on the sofa. “Living the self-directed life—being freelance—takes more energy than simply punching a clock.”
“But I’m not freelance. I’m just unemployed.” Becca settled in beside him, and for once, Laurel did not insert herself. Instead, she sat back and, when Clara approached, swatted her sister. “Stop that!” The hiss as swift as the paw.
“That’s still stressful.” Trent sounded as if he knew. “And, of course, you’re still processing the grief and the shock, I would imagine.”
“I guess,” Becca acknowledged. At their feet, the two cats faced off.
“What are you playing at?” Clara’s murmured question only earned her a fierce stare.
“Just…watch.” The low yowl was unmissable.
“Your cat makes such a funny sound.” The two felines looked up to find the guest watching them. “They’re sisters?”
“Yeah.” Becca nodded. “I know it’s odd, but littermates can have different fathers, and Laurel’s definitely got some Siamese in her. They’re, well, more talkative than other cats.”
Trent nodded, as if he understood. Laurel blinked at him slowly. Even if he couldn’t make sense of her vocalizations, thought Clara, surely, he would get that the slinky feline was flirting with him.
“Kind of like some of our coven mates.” He turned toward Becca, a hint of humor softening his words.
“Oh, they’re not so bad.” Becca was looking at her hands, Clara noted. And while they were very clean, gentle hands, the calico could not see what made them so interesting at that moment.
“I don’t know.” Trent must have admired her hands too. He’d reached over to place his own over hers. “They were a bit much tonight. Admit it.”
His tone begged for a response. “Well, Larissa can be a little demanding,” she conceded, peeking up at him.
“Tell me about it.” He chuckled softly. “But I was thinking more of how yo
u were attacked in the kitchen.”
“I wasn’t attacked.” Her demurral as soft as Clara’s mew. It didn’t matter. Whether it was the word or some latent gifts that Clara didn’t understand, Harriet had heard her and came trotting into the room. “Did someone say ‘kitchen’?”
Those wide yellow eyes turned from her two sisters to take in the humans seated so close as to be almost cuddling on the couch—and became almost saucer-like as Becca pulled back.
“Actually, I’m glad you came back, Trent. Because I realized I still have some questions…”
“I have some questions too,” Trent interrupted, his voice soft as velvet, as with one finger, he turned her chin to face him.
Becca gave a slight squeak, as if a mouse were hiding in the depths of her throat, and blinked as if transfixed. Clara looked on in dismay, wondering if she should interrupt. There was no way Harriet would put up with being so ignored.
“Becca?” Trent’s voice was soft and insistent as he leaned in, apparently unaware of the hefty marmalade who had bounded up onto the sofa.
Neither was Becca, it seemed, an oversight that Clara could not comprehend, as her plump sister had landed beside her with a noticeable thud. But even as she opened her own mouth to mew a warning, she heard a soft growl of warning.
“Don’t you dare.” A hiss as soft as a sigh. Laurel, her blue eyes glowing with anticipation.
And suddenly, Clara understood. Finger still beneath her chin, Trent had lifted Becca’s face and leaned over to gently kiss her lips. The sound she made in response—as faint as a kitten’s whimper—seemed to encourage him further. Shifting on the sofa, he leaned forward to pull her close. The gold amulet swung from his open shirt, almost as if it too wanted to make contact with the person Clara most loved.
For a moment, that gold pendant was the only thing moving, swinging back and forth in the space between the two humans as they kissed. It was mesmerizing, Clara had to admit. That steady motion. The glitter as the engraving caught the light. Beside her, on the floor, Laurel had begun to purr, the rhythmic sound matching the back and forth, back and forth.
And then everything changed. Trent shifted, moving one arm around behind Becca as if to draw her closer still. But Becca pulled back, ever so slightly, to address the dark-eyed man. “Wait, Trent, I need to know—”
Before she could finish her question, a sound like the grinding of gears caused them all to turn. Harriet had had enough. And whether she growled because of her annoyance over the lack of cookies or other treats, or whether the hypnotic swing of the amulet had been too much for her subjugated hunting instincts, Clara didn’t have the chance to inquire. As her complaint modulated into a high-pitched whine, the plump marmalade launched herself over Becca and onto Trent’s lap, landing with a thud that made the young couple flinch.
“Ow!” Trent jerked back. Of course, thought Clara, Harriet would use her claws. But whether it was her size or lack of agility that had made her dig in, it did Trent no good to pull away. Those yellow eyes were focused on one thing—the glittering toy that had swung so provocatively only seconds before. And with one fat paw—Harriet’s fluffiness extended even to her white mitts—she swiped at her prize, knocking the shiny piece off its chain and sending it flying across the room.
“Harriet!” Becca was off the couch, even as Trent squealed. “Bad girl. Bad! I’m so sorry.” Trent pressed his hand to his pillaged chest. “Trent, are you all right?”
“I think so.” He glanced down to check his fingertips.
“Are you bleeding?” Becca returned to the sofa and nearly climbed into her guest’s lap to check.
“No, I’m fine.” To Clara’s surprise, he retreated. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Here.” Becca bounced up again. “Let me get you something to put on that. Her claws must have gotten stuck in the chain or…something.” Her words trailed off as she ran to the bathroom. Clara could hear her rustling under the sink.
“She could just say fur.” Laurel leaned in, apparently amused by the whole adventure. “He has a thick pelt.”
“She’s distressed.” Clara contemplated going after their person, but she had emerged, cotton balls and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in hand. “He’s a guest.”
“Could’ve been more,” Laurel purred. But the romantic mood had definitely been dispelled.
“No, really!” Trent backed up as Becca approached, holding out one hand as if to ward her off. “I’m okay.”
In truth, Clara could almost understand. The rubbing alcohol smelled foul, its stench so sharp and biting that the three cats retreated to the window. That might have been why the man had stood and was stepping backward, but when he suddenly fell to all fours, the calico grew concerned. Straining to see, she stood as tall as she could. Luckily, at that moment, Becca closed the noxious bottle and, as the fumes began to disperse, got down on her knees beside her guest.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said again as they prowled around. “Harriet’s got quite the swing.”
Clara waited for Trent’s objection, but heard none. Perhaps he hadn’t time, because within a minute, Becca called out, “I think I’ve found it!”
Harriet’s swipe, it seemed, had sent the amulet across the room, where it must have slid beneath the overstuffed armchair. Unless… Clara turned to her older sister, but the plump marmalade only glared, her yellow eyes as poisonous as the stink from that bottle.
“Where? Oh, I see it.” Trent crawled over toward the chair, nearly knocking Becca over in his rush. “I think I can reach it.” Beside her, Clara felt Harriet shift and wondered if her sister was going to jump down in order to reclaim her prize. But either the effort wasn’t worth it, or the man on the floor was too quick. Even as Becca was reaching out—one arm extended beneath the chair—he managed to snag it.
“Is your amulet okay?” Becca sat back on her heels. Clara thought she would want to inspect it, but Trent had already shoved it in his pocket after the most cursory of inspections.
“Yup. Dandy.” He spoke as if he’d reassure her with such jolly words. But if Becca thought that all had been set right—and that her visitor would pick up again from where he had left off—she was in for a rude surprise. Leaning on the chair, Trent pulled himself to his feet, and although he did offer Becca his hand, he made no effort to draw her close again. In fact, he seemed to recoil a little when she stepped forward.
“I think I need to call it a night.” He smiled as if offering an apology, and some of the warmth came back to her face.
“Of course.” Becca nodded a bit too enthusiastically, Clara thought. “I’ll—well, I’ll see you at the next coven meeting, I guess.”
“See you then.” He slipped out almost as quietly as Clara would, leaving his hostess dumbfounded. And the three cats muttering on the windowsill.
“Well, that was interesting.” Laurel began to wash.
“That was my toy. Mine.” Harriet stared after the departed visitor, her orange-tipped tail lashing in delayed fury. “I never liked that one,” she said.
Beside her, looking on as their person stared vacantly at the door, Clara could only agree.
Chapter 24
Despite another night of tossing and turning that discomfited all three of her cats, Becca faced the day with a new determination.
“It’s not my place to figure out what happened to Suzanne,” she told her pets as they gathered around her in the kitchen. Neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening, their gaze fixed instead on the can opener she was wielding. But Clara’s ears perked up as their person kept talking. “And I’m not going to waste any more energy on Jeff, either. I don’t care about his excuses anymore. He and I are through.”
That resolution, as much as the assurance in Becca’s tone, set the calico purring as the three bent to their breakfasts. Even Harriet seemed to have a good appetite, despite her dislike of the infamous tu
na treat. Still, Clara couldn’t but be a bit distracted as Becca left the kitchen without preparing anything for herself. When she heard her open her laptop, she looked up in concern.
“You going to finish that?” Clara felt the nudge of a wet nose and looked over to see her biggest sister staring down at her can. “’Cause, if you’re not…”
“All yours.” Clara lowered her head, blinking slowly as a sign of affection and submission. She’d eaten enough, and she owed her oldest sister. Besides, right then, Becca was her priority.
Even before Harriet could finish what remained of her food, Clara was beside Becca, perched on the arm of the sofa as her person typed on the keyboard.
“Dear Mr. Reynolds,” Becca read aloud to herself as she pecked away, which made things easier for Clara. “I’m writing on the recommendation of Larissa Fox…”
“What’s going on?” Laurel landed beside her and immediately began to groom.
“I’m not sure,” admitted Clara. “I think she’s looking for another job.”
“Too bad.” The Siamese extended one dark chocolate paw. “She needs to focus more on us.”
Before Clara could respond, their person had stood. Reaching for her phone, she punched in numbers and began to pace.
“Mr. Reynolds? Thank you so much for getting back to me.” A pause. Despite her sister’s assumed nonchalance, Clara could tell that Laurel was listening too. “Why, yes, thank you. I would love to come in tomorrow for an interview.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Laurel snarled as she and Clara watched Becca head off to shower and start her day.
“What?” Clara didn’t understand her sister’s pique.
“Pushing her to be all proactive. To go outside, and all.” As she spoke, Laurel stepped down onto the sofa cushion their person had just vacated, carefully arranging herself in a perfect circle. “If she’d kept that handsome Trent here, she wouldn’t be running off.”
“That wasn’t me.” Clara bristled at the injustice. “It was Harriet who went for that pendant he was wearing.”