Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  Mewly watched intently, learning to do this thing he must never do. When Shadow sat back the second time, after returning the small bit of soul, Mewly looked at the man’s eyes.

  When Clancy’s pupils dilated so big they covered the blue of his irises, all the hair on Mewly’s body fluffed. When they contracted and focused on Shadow he jumped straight up in the air and fell off the bed. He was halfway out of the room before Shadow could tell him to stop.

  “Mewly, my little friend, come back. We did it. I don’t know if I could have without you. You saved my life. From now on I will call you Sharpclaw. Come see the results of that which you must never do,” Shadow said humbly.

  “I did that? Saved your life? I didn’t mean to,” Mewly, er Sharpclaw said.

  “Your bravery and your claws saved me. If the connection is broken the cat almost always dies. That’s the good ending. The bad ending is when the cat loses both souls, his and the one being taken. Do you understand now why you must never do this thing?” Shadow asked. He was tired. More tired than he remembered ever being.

  “Yes. Shadow?”

  “Might you have a question Mewly?” Shadow asked. He may as well resign himself to it. Again.

  “Two. Does a soul like Clancy’s go to the same place as the infant souls we take?”

  “And? You said there were two.”

  “And what makes people like Clancy and cats like Tofu? They seem an awful lot alike.”

  “You continue to amaze me. Are you sure my sister is your mother?” Shadow asked. He was prouder of Sharpclaw than he could express.

  “My mom isn’t my mom?” Sharpclaw asked. The tremble in his voice cut to Shadow’s heart. The kitten may ask questions most adult cats would never think of, but for now he was still a kitten.

  “Ahh, sorry little one. She is, no doubt about that. I was being sarcastic. It’s one of those things you’ll understand better as you get older.

  “As to your first question— The souls that pass through us, as far as I know, all go to the same whatever comes next. The Gray Lady handles the details. The two times I died I was almost immediately back in my body. I had no time for sight-seeing or looking up the dead. But, with rotten, cruel, evil souls like Clancy’s there is another…I am unsure how to explain…

  “You see, infant souls go back into line to be reborn. We have nothing to do with that. Our bodies are conduits for them. Nothing more. We give them to the Gray Lady, and we’re done. But, with the evil ones, sometimes a cat that is strong enough can keep that soul, not allow it to continue its journey.

  “When you finally never do this thing, then you will understand,” Shadow said.

  “You mean they stay inside us? Clancy is inside you right now?” Sharpclaw asked. He was incredulous. And scared. He never wanted anything as evil Clancy inside him.

  “Nothing good comes without cost. It is something you learn to live with, when you never do this thing,” Shadow said. “Let’s go home. The Miller twins can live until tomorrow. As can the talk about how cats turn out bad.”

  “What will happen to his body?” Sharpclaw asked.

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Do you?”

  Sharpclaw thought about it. He didn’t care, not really. He was curious, but he knew the old saying. However, because he knew the old saying, he knew about satisfaction bringing the cat back, granting it another life. So, he was curious but not concerned.

  “No, I guess I don’t.”

  “Guess?” Shadow asked.

  “I don’t.”

  “So then, you will…?” Shadow asked.

  “Let it go. Not even bother to consider thinking about it,” Sharpclaw recited from memory. “I’m not sure I understand but I know I will someday.”

  “Then I am a success. Home little brave one. I need a drink and a catnap in my sunny spot. By the time we get there she’ll be up and perfectly positioned.”

  “Was I brave Shadow? I didn’t mean to be.”

  “That’s what makes it brave.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sharpclaw said. How did not meaning to do a thing make the thing you did better?

  “That’s alright. You will. Of that I have no doubt.”

  They walked a while in silence after that, listening to the little creatures of bush and grass going about their little lives. The stars lit their way as if it were their sole function. An owl hooted and Sharpclaw belied his new name to cower in the tall grass.

  “Look Shadow, it’s Mystique. What’s she doing out here? I thought this was our secret,” Sharpclaw said a few minutes later. Clouds converging overhead chased the star’s brightness away and brought gloom to replace it.

  “She shouldn’t be out here. This is no place for housecats,” Shadow said. “I’ve told her that a hundred times.”

  Sharpclaw ran ahead to greet his friend. Unlike Shadow he didn’t dislike house cats. “Mystique, Mystique, I got my grown-up name. Want to know what it is?” he called as he ran up to her.

  Mystique lay unmoving.

  “Sharpclaw, stop. Wait. Something isn’t right,” Shadow called. He started running, fearing what he would find.

  “Is she alright Shadow? Is she sleeping?” Sharpclaw asked. Mystique lay there, her eyes staring at nothing, as they would for the rest of forever.

  “Better than we expected, eh Boss?” Rusher whispered.

  “Silence fool. If he sees us and gets away, he’ll tell the others,” Marmalade said.

  “Tell them what? He found her dead? Nothing points to us,” Rusher said a little louder than before.

  “Poison is forbidden you fool. Even association with it is bad. As the Tom I can’t be tarnished that way. I can’t dumb it down more than that,” Marmalade hissed. “Now shut up and let me enjoy this.”

  “Is she dead Shadow?”

  “Yes. But not a mark on her. No blood on the ground. She’s too young to have a heart attack,” Shadow replied.

  “Shadow look. Why is her mouth so blue?” Sharpclaw asked.

  Sharpclaw moved closer. “Ew Shadow, it stinks,” he said pinching his nostrils shut.

  Shadow sniffed too then drew his head swiftly back.

  “Poison! Someone murdered her,” Shadow said. “Why…who would do that? And to a housecat. They’re no threat to anyone. Someone poisoned the water.”

  “Justice is served. Now you know what it felt like for me,” Marmalade said.

  “Felt like for what boss?” Rusher asked.

  “Not you, idiot. Him. Shadow. Now he knows how I felt when Cinnamon died and I got passed over.”

  Rusher thought about what Marmalade said. No one other than Marmalade ever thought he would be the next Tom. Even Rusher, who almost understood his limits, knew that. It made his decision easier. He knocked over the can he was sitting next to. The pebbles he dropped into it earlier rattled loudly.

  Shadow jerked his head up when he heard the noise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar white head duck out of sight. TOFU. Tofu poisoned Mystique. He poisoned the spring. Without a thought he took off running. He would kill Tofu.

  Sharpclaw followed as best his short little legs would allow. By the time he got to the spot they saw Tofu, no one was there. He heard a cat yowl, then a defiant scream quickly followed by vicious barking.

  “Quick Boss. They saw us. Run. I’ll meet you at Tinkerbell’s,” Rusher said.

  “You’ll pay for this you clumsy fool,” Marmalade panted as they ran.

  “Sorry Boss. It was an accident. When Shadow and the kitten follow, Tinkerbell will kill them both,” Rusher panted.

  Tinkerbell barked madly at the end of her rope at the big white cat sauntering across her yard.

  Marmalade couldn’t resist the urge to tease her. Instead of running he deliberately moved slowly, drawing out his passage. He enjoyed her growing frenzy. All the better for Shadow.

  Her tether stopped Tinkerbell a few feet short of the back fence. It may as well have been a mile. She was a determined beast with no love for c
ats. She lunged again and again at the end of her rope, wishing with all her might that it would snap.

  When it did, she fell right onto her chin, getting a mouthful of dirt in the process. She was up and running less than a second later. The look in the surprised white cat’s eyes made snapping its spine even better.

  She was still tossing Tofu’s limp corpse around her yard when Shadow and Sharpclaw peeked over the fence.

  Rusher, being not the smartest of cats, was still sitting on his haunches watching Tinkerbell savage his boss’s body when Shadow and Sharpclaw arrived. He saw them looking at him and smiled, showing all his teeth.

  “Come on Sharpclaw. There’s nothing we can do here,” Shadow said.

  “Shouldn’t we do something about Tofu?” Sharpclaw asked.

  “Do you care?” Shadow asked.

  “No,” Sharpclaw answered without hesitation.

  “There you go then. Come on.”

  The next morning, long before Shadow and Sharpclaw arrived, all the Soul Cats were in the barn listening to Rusher tell how he tried to save poor Marmalade from the evil Tinkerbell. He even had a bandaged arm he claimed was from her biting him.

  Sharpclaw and Shadow listened to him for a long time. Neither said anything. Rusher never mentioned Mystique nor that it was he that turned Tinkerbell loose. Finally winding down, Rusher told his fellow cats that Shadow and Mewly saw it all and could verify everything he said. He expected reciprocation for his betrayal of Tofu, even if he didn’t really know what the word meant.

  “The only thing he told you that was true was the part about Tinkerbell killing Tofu. What Rusher left out was the part where he cut the rope while Tofu was halfway across the yard. Ask him about that. While you’re at it, ask him about poisoning Mystique too. I have no doubt it was him and Tofu that poisoned Cinny’s Secret Spring. They probably killed Cinnamon too,” Shadow said.

  “Lies, all lies. He didn’t see me trying to save Marmalade. He didn’t see me get this,” Rusher yelled waving his bandaged leg in the air. “You wanted to kill Marmalade. We all know you hated him. You’re lying,” Rusher said. He was beginning to panic. This was not the way he planned it. Shadow wasn’t supposed to say anything against him.

  Shadow laughed loud and hard. All the other cats watched. Some squinted in agreement. Everyone knew about Rusher. Like Marmalade he was too proud. Unlike Marmalade, who had been smart enough to be the Tom, Rusher wasn’t even smart enough to keep his story straight.

  “What will happen to Rusher?” Sharpclaw asked later that day after he and Shadow had taken long well-needed catnaps.

  “Banished. They’ll blindfold him and walk him far away. Days away maybe. If he ever comes back, he’ll be executed. It’s not likely he’ll survive long on his own. It’s a harsh world out there when you don’t have any friends,” Shadow said.

  “Why don’t they execute him now Shadow? He killed Tofu and probably Mystique too,” Sharpclaw said.

  “And that, right there my little friend, is why I have no desire to be the Tom. If it were up to me, he would be executed. The others disagree. So, I do my job and live my life as I see fit. I rarely break any of the big rules and the Gray Lady finds me occasionally useful. We have an accord of sorts,” Shadow said. He mused a bit then repeated, “Yes, we have an accord of sorts.”

  “Shadow, when I grow up, I want an accordion of sorts with the Gray Lady too,” Sharpclaw said to his hero.

  Wes Pollock became an author just before he became a senior citizen. He writes great stories with adventure and action, love and the complications it brings, and characters you wish you knew in real life figuring out the solution without getting dead along the way.

  Find out more at wespollock.com.

  53

  Cat Got Your Tongue?

  by Kate Pickford

  When a rogue cat attacks one of the actors in a live-action remake of Pride and Prejudice, space-station production assistant Violet Campbell is forced to find a solution or she will be be airlocked.

  “The cat ate his face.” Viola Campbell hovered in the door to the production suite, shouting over the din.

  At 6’ 2” she was impossible to miss, but everyone—from the series director right on down to the gaffers—remained glued to their screens, earbuds jacked into the mainframe, fingers flying over touchpads like frenetic composers. It was as if no one had flung the door open and blurted out that ridiculous sentence.

  She grabbed Joe Willet’s arm and pulled him in close. “The cat did it. Pounced, shredded, tore, chewed. His jawbone is sticking out of his chin. Like, flesh hanging off him…”

  Joe shrugged her off. “Drunk out of your gourd on your first day is a sure-fire way to get your ass canned, Vi. Get a grip. You just got here. I’d hate to see you airlocked.” He pushed past her and melted into the sea of babbling, excited faces.

  Drunk?! Really?! Like, did he know her at all?

  None of them had any reason to pay her any mind, she knew that. She was the new kid on the block. Worse, she was the lowest grunt on the totem pole; the showrunner, the tea handler, a no one. But today—no, this hour, this very minute—she had to make them sit up and take notice like she was the boss of bosses. If she didn’t, the show would bomb, the station would lose its sponsors, and she’d be out of a job.

  No job? No space pass.

  Back to your home planet you go.

  No second chances.

  Earth would swallow her into its greasy, grimy maw. The oceans were on fire, the sky had evaporated, humans lived in underground pods. Who the hell wanted to go back there? No one. Certainly not Vi.

  Her day had gone from bad to worse and now it was in the damned toilet. Cats were not permitted in space, courtesy of Ruling 779-IO. Something to do with diseases and madness and their ability to control their “owners.”

  But she’d seen it. A real live cat. Eyes as big as flying saucers, a tail which undulated like three drunk Pomeranians dancing the conga, claws as long as your arm, and teeth that could rip your head off. Which is what had happened. The cat had gnawed on their lead actor’s face, mangling him so badly that no amount of Pretty Putty could hide the wounds.

  She’d locked the mauled actor in the ladies’ loo for safety and put a “CAUTION: CONTAMINATION” sign on the door to keep him safe and away from prying eyes.

  The cat, on the other hand, had snaked away like a furry anaconda and was nowhere to be found.

  Of course it had to happen today. Not yesterday when they had a couple dozen millionaires on board for their private remake of Caligula. Not last week when they’d been showing blooper reels on a continuous loop.

  No, today.

  When they were going live. With their highest-grossing show. And Alëriå F☆ (F☆ to her billions of fawning fans) starring as Elizabeth Bennet in the most anticipated event of the decade: The live-action recreation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice (1995, UK Edition).

  Vi didn’t have a moment to lose. No use standing in a doorway bellyaching to herself. She needed someone with enough clout to pull the show off the air. She held her palm-comm close to her mouth so no one would hear her and activated the search function. “Find Albert.”

  Albert was the show’s producer, a hellish man with grabby hands and more power than God.

  The hologram hovered over her palm. Albert was a dot pulsing in the CGI suite. He flashed from white to purple back to white again. Damn. He’d lost his temper and ordered some dogsbody to be airlocked. Trust him not to block the signal. He wanted people to see him, fear him, cower in his presence. There were words for bosses like Albert. None of which Vi would use.

  She sprinted through the crowded broadcast suite to the dulcet sound of his rant.

  The unfortunate tech who’d stoked the flames of Albert’s ire—Benson Schultz, according to his name tag—had already been cuffed by the security bots and was being dragged towards the evacuation pods. He railed against the sentence, fingertips reaching for Vi in pathetic supplication as she
squeezed past, but there was nothing she could do to save him. He’d known the penalties for failure when he’d signed on the dotted line. They all did. Watch This Space, Inc. did not endorse mediocrity. It was perfection or bust.

  Airlocking: The ultimate downgrade.

  Vi cleared her throat. Everyone except Albert shot her a look. He remained concentrated on his task.

  “Albert? Sir?”

  Still no response, though there was some nervous shuffling in other parts of the room. She knew what he wanted. She didn’t have a choice. Not really. She had to touch the man.

  Vi tapped Albert on the shoulder. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you can’t broadcast Pride and Prejudice today. Not this version. Or at least, not live. The cat ate his face.”

  Albert glanced up and grinned. “There is no cat. You’re tripping.”

  Vi closed her fist over the dot on her palm-comm, which flickered from white to turquoise. Ew. Just ew, ew, ew. According to his dot, Albert had the hots for her. She found her most convincing smile and beamed it at him. “Sorry, sir, but there’s definitely a cat.”

  “What’s a pretty thing like you doing telling pork pies?” Albert snaked his arm around her and squeezed her close. “That’s an ejectable offence.” Amazing how he could make a simple word like “eject” carry so much sleaze. Gross.

  Vi kept smiling. “I’m not lying and I’m not high, sir. There’s a cat…” She squared her shoulders. “A Maine Coon, if I’m not mistaken…”

  Albert stepped away from her and guffawed. “Can you believe this one? She’s seeing giant cats. Next she’ll be telling me there’s a rabbit disappearing down a hole…”

  The staff in the CGI suite followed his lead, laughing too hard and too long. Weasels. Suck ups. Cowards.

  Vi waited while they congratulated Albert on his wit and smarts. “I’m telling you, there’s a cat on this fragging space station and it ate Mr. Darcy’s face.”