What the Cat Knew

by P. D. Workman

  But none of those things had banished Reg’s imaginary friends. It was the other foster children who had set her straight, telling her that she needed to fly straight and not attract attention to herself if she wanted to stay. If she didn’t want to end up locked in some psycho ward, she needed to blend in and act normal.

  “You saw dead people,” Corvin said with a smile. “I’d bet anything. Do you still see them? Or is it only when you are trying to make contact now?”

  “I don’t see dead people.” Reg hadn’t intended for her voice to be so loud. A couple of people turned and looked at her. Reg lowered her voice so that only Corvin could hear her. “You can believe what you like, but I don’t believe in ghosts. I provide a service. I help people to reconcile with their pasts. I give them a tool to get closure. I do not actually see dead people.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  Reg shook her head. “Enough about me. Why don’t you tell me about your week. What have you done? And I don’t care whether it’s witchy stuff or just mundane. I just want to talk about you.”

  “Witchy stuff?”

  “Or warlocky stuff. What’s it like being Corvin? Or what was it like this week?”

  “I met a pretty new psychic this week,” Corvin said teasingly, looking straight at Reg. “Someone I think is going to stir things up a little around here. Other than that… my car was in the shop, so I didn’t really get anywhere. I won an award for some writing I did on witchcraft in early American history. I tossed and turned and didn’t sleep well because there is something disrupting the spiritual atmosphere in Black Sands.”

  Reg blinked at Corvin. She started to laugh, but he appeared to be serious. All of his points were so unrelated, she didn’t know which item to pursue a conversation on. “I have to take my car in for an oil change,” did not seem like an empathetic response to his offering.

  “I’ve been tired all the time,” she tried instead. “I guess with the traveling, getting adjusted to a new home and routine… it just seems like I’m tired all the time. I was wondering whether I should see the doctor to get some blood tests done. Thyroid or mono or iron…”

  “It could be,” Corvin acknowledged. “Or it could be that you’re sensitive to the disruptions in the magnetic fields as well. Not everybody is, but when I was in your house the other day… there was a very strong spiritual presence.”

  “You mean you think it’s haunted?”

  “No, no. I mean that you have a very strong magnetic field yourself, and in my experience, people who have that kind of aura tend to also be very sensitive to changes in their environment. You’re already trying to rebalance yourself after having moved into a completely new location. Changes going on in that environment would make it very difficult to find your balance.”

  Reg had another bite of her soup and then pushed the bowl away. “Not to mention an unruly cat.”

  Corvin snorted. “Yes, the cat could be upsetting your balance as well.”

  “He definitely is. I tripped over him at least three times today. Just about found myself doing a face plant directly into the fridge.”

  Corvin smoothed the beard on his chin. “Did anyone ever point out that when you feel uncomfortable, you deflect with sass and sarcasm?”

  “Is the pope Catholic? Or maybe I should translate that into pagan terms… do you have some kind of head warlock? Like a worldwide leader?”

  “No. Leadership amongst practitioners of magic is quite localized. A coven has a leader, but there is no grand master of all witches and warlocks.”

  “Well, then, that doesn’t work, does it? We’ll have to go with: ‘Is the pope Catholic?’”

  He looked like he’d lost the thread of the conversation, which suited Reg perfectly. “What did you win the award for? That sounds very scholarly.”

  He didn’t look like the professorial type. Far too ruggedly handsome for such a nerdy pursuit. The history of witchcraft in North America?

  “Witchcraft is a much-misunderstood topic in American history. People have passing familiarity with the Salem witch trials. Or are at least aware that there was such a thing. But they have no idea what actually happened during the trials. Or about witchcraft in the rest of American history. It’s like that’s the only time we can acknowledge that there were witches—or suspected witches—in the country. Just that one little pocket, and then the hysteria went away, and that was the extent of the influence of witchcraft in America.”

  “So were the Salem witches actually witches?”

  He pursed his lips and considered. The waitress attended to them to remove their soup bowls and bring them their dinners.

  Reg had opted for the burgers and fries, in spite of the fact that it was a date. She just felt incredibly hungry for an all-American burger and greasy chips.

  Maybe she was still channeling Warren Blake.

  ⋆ Chapter Eight ⋆

  “Whether or not there were actually witches accused in the Salem witch trials is for you to decide,” Corvin said, after eating a few minutes in silence. “The mainstream will tell you it was just mass hysteria. The community will tell you that some of them were witches. In fact, a number of the people in this community are descended from people who were tried as witches.”

  “You’re not going to give me a yes or no? I thought you were the expert. You wrote a paper.”

  “You’re welcome to read it.”

  Reg rolled her eyes. “I’m not much of a reader.” She took another big bite of her juicy burger. She felt something brush past her ankles and looked down, startled, expecting to see Starlight. Of course her cat wasn’t there. She thought maybe there would be another cat. Maybe the restaurant had a mascot or some witch had figured it was okay to bring her familiar along. But there was nothing there.

  “Problem?” Corvin asked, looking under the table himself.

  “No. Just… bumped into the table leg, I guess.” Reg looked at her burger. “I should keep some of this for Starlight.”

  “Does he like burgers?”

  “I’m guessing he does. He doesn’t seem to like kibble, but anything I’m eating is fair game.”

  “Maybe he’s a reincarnate and doesn’t really believe he’s a cat.”

  Reg shook her head. “Right. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

  “Like I said before, he has a powerful presence.”

  “Sarah says he has a third eye. Because of his markings.”

  “She’s very experienced.”

  “She said she’s older than she looks,” Reg said. “How old do you put her at?”

  His expression was masked. “I know more of her history than you do, that wouldn’t quite be fair.”

  “So how old is she?”

  Corvin pondered for a moment. Then his eyes fixed back on her. “Older than you think.”

  Reg rolled her eyes. Figured. They were circling the wagons. Protecting each other. “She says you are dangerous.”

  He smirked. “Does she, now?”

  “Why would she think that?”

  Corvin’s smile deepened. Even with his sardonic mien, Reg still felt a magnetic physical attraction. “I can’t imagine why,” he said in a low, melodious voice that pulled at Reg’s heartstrings. She started to make a list in her head of reasons she shouldn’t get involved with Corvin. Then she laughed at herself. Making lists like Erin? She certainly didn’t need any of Erin’s strait-laced habits rubbing off on her. Life was dreary enough without following a bunch of societal strictures.

  “Where did you go?” Corvin asked.

  Reg took another bite of her burger. It was absolutely delicious. “I was just thinking about… my sister.”

  “I thought we were talking about me,” he reproached, looking like a disappointed schoolboy.

  “We were.” Reg leaned a little closer to him, which felt a little like opening the oven to check on supper. A wave of heat spread over her. “My sister is dating a cop. Much safer than having supper with a warlock.”
/>   He chuckled, looking pleased.

  Reg looked away, feeling her cheeks flush. One of the curses of her pale complexion was a propensity to blush when she was embarrassed. While she could lie without any physical sign, she still had an emotional reaction to other circumstances. The dim, candlelit interior of the restaurant would help to hide some of the redness of her cheeks.

  In looking away, she realized she was being watched from a nearby table. It was the man she had met at the bar when she’d previously been in the restaurant. He had an odd name, and she struggled to remember it. Uriel. Mayberry? Wolfsbane? Some kind of plant name. When she caught his eyes on her, Uriel didn’t look away. He didn’t smile or wink, he just continued to stare at her. Reg looked behind her to see if he might be watching or looking at something else of interest and she had just mistaken his gaze. But there was nothing behind her that might have captivated his attention.

  “Do you see that man?” Reg asked Corvin.

  “Uriel Hawthorne?”

  “That was it. He’s staring at me.”

  Corvin stared back at Uriel, his gaze hard and challenging. Eventually, Uriel stood up. He didn’t walk away, but approached the table.

  “Corvin,” he greeted coldly. “Miss Rawlins.”

  “Reg,” she corrected breathlessly.

  Corvin just looked at Uriel, not offering his hand or returning the greeting.

  “You two know each other?” Reg asked.

  Corvin looked at Uriel and didn’t explain. Uriel smiled thinly. “You get to know everybody in the community eventually.”

  They were obviously not friends.

  “I’d appreciate you not staring at my date,” Corvin growled.

  Uriel looked at Reg again, a clear challenge to Corvin’s territorial rights. “Of course. I understand.” He gave Reg a nod, then moved away.

  Reg gave a shudder. “That’s kind of creepy. You don’t think I need to worry about him, do I?”

  “You’re with me. He won’t bother you.”

  “What about when I’m not with you?”

  “If you tell him to back off, and he doesn’t, feel free to complain to management.” Corvin nodded toward Bill at the bar. “Or the police, of course.”

  That didn’t give Reg much comfort. She ate a few more bites of her burger and then picked at the fries.

  “You’re done?” Corvin eyed her burger.

  “I’ll take the rest home. Starlight will enjoy it.”

  “Lucky cat.”

  When they had finished their dinners, shared a hot fudge brownie, and lingered over demitasse coffees, it was clearly time to adjourn their date. Reg looked at Corvin, not sure what to expect, as they waited for the waitress to come back with the doggie bag. Or rather, the kitty bag.

  “Come back to my house for a nightcap?” Corvin suggested.

  “Well…” She was certainly tempted. But she had already been warned how dangerous this man was, and her own instincts were fighting against her attraction, warning her not to jump into anything.

  She knew very little about what kind of a man Corvin actually was. A con, for sure. His charms were too well-polished to be natural. They were a hook to be set in order to reel unsuspecting prey in. She wasn’t sure what his motivation for pursuing her was. If he was after money, he was going to be sorely disappointed. It might just be the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of knowing he could have whatever woman he set his sights on.

  “You know you want to,” he urged, voice husky.

  The waitress came back and handed Reg her take-home container. Reg focused on that.

  “I’d better get home to Starlight,” she said. “He’ll need to be fed…”

  “I’m sure he has food available if he gets hungry. You can leave him alone for another hour or two.”

  “I’ve been so tired lately. I’d better get to bed and get to sleep.”

  He took her hand in his. “Reg…”

  She again felt the electric charge of his touch. Her stomach dropped like she was in an elevator. Her heart sped and pounded hard.

  Without warning, she flashed back to the cottage. To Starlight clawing her leg when she’d been caught in Corvin’s vortex before. She focused on that memory, of being completely aware and pulling away from him, and in doing so was able to release his hand and break the connection.

  “You need to stop doing that,” she told him.

  “Doing what?”

  Of course he knew exactly what he was doing to her, but he wasn’t going to admit it, and Reg didn’t want to acknowledge the powerful force she felt either. It was hormones, that was all. A handsome man, the scent of his rose-laced cologne, a warm human touch. It was just the perfect storm for a lonely woman who hadn’t had a good relationship for a number of years. But a one-night stand would just lead to future awkwardness, and a long-term relationship with the mysterious man was an even scarier proposition.

  Reg didn’t touch him or look into his eyes again. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “So that’s it?” Anger grated in his voice. He wasn’t a man who was accustomed to being turned down.

  “I don’t owe you anything,” Reg asserted. “We planned for supper. We’ve had supper. I need to get home and get some sleep.”

  “Coming home with me would be a lot more fun,” he coaxed.

  “I barely know you. It’s not going to happen. Not tonight.”

  “We could go back to your place, if you’re more comfortable with that.”

  “Goodnight, Corvin.”

  The heat that rolled off of him then was not animal attraction, but fury. Reg braced herself. She was far more used to defending herself against anger than against physical attraction. That was something she’d dealt with all her life.

  He didn’t say goodbye. Reg turned her back on him and left. She did stop once she got outside the door and look back to make sure he wasn’t pursuing her.

  She got back home with the clear feeling that she had escaped something predatory. Starlight rubbed against her legs, yowling at her. It was probably just the smell of the leftover burger in Reg’s takeout container, but she liked to think that he was relieved to see her and have her home again.

  “I made it,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I was going to.”

  She put the container on the counter and bent down to pick Starlight up. “You helped me even though you weren’t there,” she confided, speaking with her lips pressed against the short, velvety fur of his head. “I just kept thinking of you biting my ankles.”

  He purred loudly, pressing his head against her. Reg had a sudden vision of Corvin, storming down the alley behind The Crystal Bowl, kicking over garbage cans in a fit of rage.

  She shuddered and held her cat close.

  ⋆ Chapter Nine ⋆

  She slept restlessly, alternating between dreams of Warren’s restless spirit bound somewhere and not believing that he was really dead and visions of Corvin, menacing in his long black coat, trying to pull her in with his magnetism, no matter how hard Reg fought back against the pull.

  It was comforting having Starlight there, even though Reg had sworn she would never allow him to sleep on the bed. He purred and kneaded the blankets and managed to soothe Reg back to sleep several times before she finally gave up and got up for the day. It was much earlier than she would have chosen to get up. Not as early as Erin had to get up to bake bread and goodies before her bakery opened for the day, but earlier than Reg, normally a night owl, preferred. She was sitting on one of the stools beside her kitchen island, working on a large cup of coffee, when the doorbell rang.

  Most people knocked first. But most people didn’t come at seven o’clock in the morning. She needed to decide what her office hours were and post them on her door. She didn’t want to be seeing people all hours of the day and night.

  Disgruntled, Reg took her coffee mug with her to the door and looked out. She wasn’t expecting to see a uniform. Meter reader? Courier delivery? Reg opened the door and looked o
ut.

  Not a meter reader. A police officer. A woman, skin a golden brown, with black hair. Reg wasn’t sure whether she had Hispanic or native blood. Reg looked toward the street where she had parked her car, but she couldn’t see it from the cottage.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “I need to talk with you, ma’am.” The woman’s voice was flat, almost robotic. Difficult for Reg to get a read on. She motioned the woman into her living room where she had done the last couple of readings.

  “Do you want… coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” the policewoman responded sharply.

  “Okay…” Reg sat down in the nearby chair. “What can I do for you, then, Officer…” Reg focused on the name bar. “Detective Jessup?”

  “It has come to the attention of the police department that you are may be participating in fraudulent business practices.”

  Reg’s stomach knotted, but she kept her cool demeanor. “Fraudulent? I’m not sure what you’re talking about. Have you had a complaint?” She’d only done a couple of readings—how could anyone have filed a complaint against her already? As far as she knew, both Amy Calvert and Ling Lau had been more than satisfied with the readings she had provided.

  “We try to keep pretty tight track of what is going on in the neighborhood,” Jessup advised. “There are a lot of people who come here with schemes to defraud the citizens of Black Sands, and it’s my job to keep that from happening.”

  “So there hasn’t been a complaint?”

  Jessup didn’t acknowledge the question one way or the other. “I understand that you purport to offer psychic services?”

  Reg swallowed. “Yes, certainly. And that’s not against the law in Florida.”

  “Not specifically, no, but offering a service and then not providing what was advertised…”