“You have a garden?”
I was genuinely surprised. Open green space in New York City is a rarity, especially in the older neighborhoods like Golgotham. Hexe’s only response was to smile mischievously at me.
Although the boardinghouse stood in the middle of the block, there was a long, narrow passageway between it and the building next door. Hexe ducked down the alleyway. I had to turn sideways to follow him. After about thirty feet, the passageway widened enough for us to move normally, although still in single file.
After another fifty feet, he came to a halt in front of a metal door. As I looked up, I realized the brick wall ended six feet over my head. I glanced back the way we came and saw the back of the boardinghouse looming over us. Hexe fished his jangling key ring out of his pocket and inserted a green key into the lock.
Like the house itself, Hexe’s garden was far larger than it appeared from the outside. Just inside the entrance was an undulating walk, bordered by monkshood, verbena, and hydrangea bushes that led to thyme-covered steps that ended at a bed of lavender. Moonflowers as big as my hand wound about pieces of classical statuary, interlaced with honeysuckle vine that filled the night air with its sweet perfume.
“Hexe, this is incredible!” I gasped. “This belongs to you?”
“It belongs to the house,” he replied. “I wouldn’t dare claim it as mine. Uncle Jack originally designed it. ...”
“The one who went upstairs?”
“And didn’t come back. Yes, that’s him.” Hexe stepped inside a small wooden shed built next to the garden wall and returned a moment later with a pair of work gloves and some pinking shears.
“Cool.” I stared in open amazement at the neatly trimmed hedge maze at its center. “Gardens are like works of art. They’re meant to be experienced, not just looked at. You can’t create a garden without its revealing a basic truth about you. He must have been, uh, must be an interesting man. Still, you must have a doozy of a green thumb!”
“Not really. I grow herbs and other organics necessary for my salves and unguents, but most of the gardening is handled by a hamadryad that lives in that tree over there.” He pointed to a stately sycamore that stood in the far corner. “She’s pretty shy around strangers, so I doubt we’ll see her tonight.”
We walked down a winding pathway past strange-looking plants, some of which seemed to rustle and move of their own volition. Hexe knelt and clipped a double handful of sage.
“Since you’re a tenant, you’re allowed access to the garden,” he explained as he stood up. “So feel free to explore—however, steer clear of the maze. Humans were never meant to navigate it.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“It can be, if it has a mind to.”
Before I could ask any more questions, Hexe turned and headed in the direction of the house. “It’s been a long day for you. I’m sure you must be exhausted.”
“I’m doing okay,” I lied. As excited as I was about my new surroundings, I was pretty much running on fumes. Still, I didn’t want to admit my weariness, just like when I was a little girl and would protest being put to bed, even though my eyelids were so heavy I could barely keep them open.
Hexe went up the porch stairs and unlocked the back door, ushering me inside. Sitting on the kitchen table like a Halloween centerpiece was none other than Scratch.
“About time you got home!” the winged cat meowed. “I’m staaaarving!”
“Bloody abdabs, Scratch! You know you’re not supposed to be on the table!” Hexe snapped. “We have to eat on that, you know.”
“The nerve!” the familiar sniffed as he leaped onto the floor. “Here I am, practically skin and bones, and all you do is insult me.”
“Poor you, you’re so mistreated,” Hexe snorted as he rinsed off the sage in the kitchen sink. “If you’re so clever, why don’t you pour it yourself? Oh, that’s right—thumbs.”
“It’s not that I can’t feed myself; it’s that I refuse to,” Scratch said defensively. “Why should I, when I can get you to do it for me?”
“All right! All right! Quit your bellyaching!”
Hexe opened the pantry door and dragged out a fifty-pound bag of Purina Familiar Chow. Scratch’s eyes grew larger and took on an even stranger gleam than usual. Hexe opened the bag and withdrew an aluminum scoop, which he used to ladle out the dried demon kibble into a food bowl the size of a mop bucket. Hexe glanced up at me as he dumped a second heaping portion into his familiar’s dish.
“You really don’t want to be in the same room when Scratch feeds,” he said meaningfully. “He can get . . . carried away.”
As I could see a long strand of drool hanging from the corner of the demon’s mouth, I decided that was as good a time as any to say my good-nights and retire to my room.
Chapter 7
I don’t know what else is in blackbird pie, but I do know it will make you thirstier than you’ve ever been in your life a few hours after you’ve eaten it. I was dragged out of a sound sleep around three thirty in the morning by my body’s need for water. I smacked my lips, trying to work up enough spit to swallow, but no luck.
I stared blearily around at my surroundings, momentarily disoriented, until I woke up enough to remember that I was no longer living in SoHo. I also remembered seeing a watercooler next to the fridge downstairs. Since my rent included kitchen privileges, I lost no time pulling on a T-shirt and my yoga pants and heading downstairs.
As I slaked my thirst with a glass of cold spring water, it suddenly occurred to me that this was the first time I was able to experience the house without either Hexe or Scratch being nearby. If the gothic romance novels I’d read in middle school were anything to go by, this would be the time I’d expect to hear mysterious noises and see spectral figures flitting across the lawn.
I tilted my head and listened to the sounds the house made late at night. Instead of rattling chains and ghostly moans, all I heard was the slow, steady grind of the electric clock over the stove, the gurgle of the watercooler, and the muffled rattle of the ice maker inside the fridge. So much for the sisters Brontë.
As I turned to rinse my glass in the sink, I glanced out the window and saw something flit across the backyard. At first I thought it might be Scratch, but whatever it was seemed larger than the familiar, and I was pretty sure it had hair.
I am a sucker for animals in distress. Always have been, always will be. It doesn’t matter if it’s a duckling or a wildebeest; if it’s limping, lost, or hungry, I’ll try to nurse it back to health, find it a home, or feed it. And although I had caught only a fleeting glimpse of whatever it was, the way it moved told me it was hurt.
I unlocked the back door and stepped out onto the porch, peering into the shadowy garden. “Don’t be afraid,” I called out softly as I headed down the steps and crossed the yard. “I’m not going to do anything bad to you.”
A rustling sound came from deeper in the garden. The moon was a third full, and its distant light limned everything in silver and shadow. I could make out the tops of the shrubbery shaking as something pushed through it.
“It’s okay, boy,” I whispered, patting the side of my leg in hopes of calling the animal into the open. I eased my way down the path, the gravel crunching under my slippered feet. “C’mere, boy. ...”
My desire to help a poor, hurt animal was suddenly replaced by a sliver of fear as whatever was in the bushes moved to circle behind me. It was too big to be a house cat, of that I was sure. My heart began to race. I took a step backward, only to freeze when I heard a growl coming from a nearby elder bush. As I looked into the shrubbery, I saw a pair of yellowish green eyes set two feet from the ground staring back at me. I realized then that what I had seen running across the garden lawn wasn’t a dog, either.
Now that I knew precisely where to look, I had no problem seeing a cougar with a shock collar about its neck crouched in the shadows. I stared at the creature for a long moment, trying to decide whether it was better to flee or stand my
ground.
“Thaaaat’s a good kitty,” I said like an idiot. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a friend. ...”
As it stood upright, the cougar revealed the torso and lower body of a man. Although I had never seen one in the flesh before, I recognized the creature as one of the bastet, a species of shape-shifter that took the form of various big cats—in this case, a mountain lion.
The were-cat’s fangs flashed in the moonlight as it hissed at me. I screamed and fled in what I thought was the direction of the house. I glanced back and saw the bastet in hot pursuit. It ran with a strange, rolling gait, as if hobbling. No doubt that was the only reason I wasn’t cat food already.
Hoping I wasn’t making things worse than they were already, I ran in the direction of the hedge maze. At that moment I decided it was better to chance whatever dangers might lie inside it to the certainty of being torn limb from limb by a ravening hell-beast.
The moment I entered the maze, its living walls shot upward, until they towered over me like evergreen monoliths, sealing off the sky. All I could see wherever I looked was tightly grown shrubbery, broken here and there by arch-shaped openings. Not sure which way to go, but fearful of stopping, I dodged through a passageway on my left.
As I crossed the living threshold, there came a sound like the rustling of a thousand crinoline skirts. I turned and saw the opening behind me seal itself shut. The hedge abruptly shook, knocking a few leaves free on my side of the wall, as the were-cat collided against it on the other side.
The were-creature tried to push its way through the dense growth, but it could not pass. I could hear it sniffing the ground, less than three feet from where I stood. I was too terrified to scream, much less move. My heart was beating so fast it felt like I was swaying in time to phantom music.
My paralysis was broken by the sound of the were-cat shrieking as it caught my scent. I turned, raw terror spurring on my weary body, and headed down the narrow passageway that opened up before me like Alice’s rabbit hole, sending me even deeper into the living maze.
My lungs ached from running, and my face and arms were bleeding from scratches inflicted by the maze, which plucked at my hair and clothing with grasping twigs like a mischievous child, but I dared not stop for even the briefest moment.
Although I could not see it, I knew I was being stalked like a deer in the wilderness. What at first had seemed a godsend—the ever-changing maze—now heightened my fear even more, for I realized that I could run headlong into the creature at any moment without any warning.
After what seemed an eternity of twists and turns, I finally stumbled into the clearing at the center of the maze. Once more the moon overhead was visible, as was the boardinghouse. Still disoriented, I looked around the open green space and saw a group of people standing about, talking to one another. I called out as I ran toward them.
“Help! Over here! I’m being chased—”
My momentary sense of relief died as I realized I was looking at a collection of statues. There were four of them, gathered around a small reflecting pool, arranged so that they appeared to be holding a conversation. Three of the statues were male, one female, each from very different periods of history. One was dressed like an Egyptian queen, another wore a toga and laurel wreath, a third was dressed in the chain mail and helmet of a knight, while the last one wore a tricorn hat.
The sound of snapping branches grabbed my attention, and I turned to see the were-cat stumble free of the maze, pieces of twigs and leaves still stuck in its coat. The moment it saw me, a feral grin spread across its face. Now I knew how Bambi must have felt. I wished I had my welder’s helmet and oxyacetylene torch handy. I’d probably still end up dead, but at least the bastard would know he’d been in a fight.
The man-cougar dropped into a crouch and began to advance, staring at me with these horrible, burning eyes. I knew that the moment I turned to flee, it would be on me, so I did the only thing I could do—I stared back.
Suddenly a shadow slid across the heart of the maze, one so large it covered not only me, but my attacker as well. The were-cat looked up, its growl turning into a hiss, and I thought I saw fear in its eyes.
The next thing I knew, something big swooped down, striking the shape-shifter with enough force to take it to the ground. The bastet screamed like a house cat hit by a car and, idiot that I was, I automatically felt sorry for the damned thing.
However, although I was glad the were-cat was no longer a threat to me, the sight of my rescuer did nothing to calm my fears because standing before me was a hairless, dragon-winged saber-toothed tiger with a long, scaly tail that looked like it belonged on a crocodile. The creature’s skin was olive in color, with glowing red eyes, and it had long, downward-curving fangs. It also smelled strongly of brimstone and cat—big cat.
“Scratch?” It came out more like a squeak than a question.
“Yeah, it’s me,” the familiar growled. “You okay, nump?”
“I think so,” I replied. As soon as I spoke, my head started to swim, and I sat down heavily on the ground. The dew from the grass soaked through the seat of my yoga pants.
Scratch turned his attention back to the wounded were-cat squirming under his front paws. “You picked the wrong garden to trespass in, Garfield,” he snarled, licking his fangs with a serpentine forked tongue. “I eat trespassers. It’s what I do. Me, I like to start with the head. ...”
“Scratch! Stop that right this minute!”
Hexe was hurrying toward me, dressed in nothing but a pair of jeans. Although I was going into shock, I still noticed he looked damned good without a shirt on.
“Can’t I take just a teensy bite?” the familiar grumbled, his crocodilian tail swishing back and forth in consternation.
“No!” Hexe replied sternly. “Not even a nibble—and that includes the ears!”
“You’re no fun.”
Hexe knelt beside me, peeling back one of my eyelids to study my pupil. “Are you okay?” As he reached to take my pulse, he noticed the bloody scratches on my arms. “You weren’t bitten, were you?”
“I’m all right,” I assured him. “Just scratched up, that’s all.”
“Thank goodness. Bites from shape-shifters can be worse than those from a rabid animal for humans. I’m glad you’re unhurt.” He looked genuinely relieved I was okay. I hoped it wasn’t simply because he’d have to find a new tenant if I’d been eaten alive.
As Hexe helped me back onto my feet, I felt a tiny thrill of excitement brushing against his naked chest. I was expecting him to put a solicitous arm about my shoulders and escort me safely back to the house. No such luck. Instead, he sprinted over to the pinned-down were-cat.
“It’s okay, boy,” he said soothingly as he inspected the creature’s wounds. As he knelt beside the were-cat, the beast tried to squirm free of Scratch’s talons. “Nobody here’s going to hurt you. ...”
“Speak for yourself, buddy,” Scratch growled.
After a cursory inspection of the bastet’s hind paws, Hexe stood up, a disgusted look on his face. “He’s been hambled. The balls of his feet have been cut out.”
To my surprise, I saw something like sympathy flicker in Scratch’s eyes. “Poor bastard,” the familiar grunted.
From the pocket of his jeans Hexe removed a copper tube the size and shape of his sixth finger. He placed it to his lips and a puff of fine white powder jetted forth, coating the were-cat’s muzzle like a French Market beignet. The creature struggled for a moment; then its eyes rolled back and it went limp.
“Is it dead?” I whispered.
“No, only sedated. And he’s a ‘he,’ not an ‘it.’ ” Hexe turned and spoke to his familiar. “Take him to the house. Put him in the spare room on the second floor and keep an eye on him.”
“As you wish,” Scratch said, bobbing his head in ritual obeisance. Without another word, the demon picked up the unconscious shape-shifter the same way a mother cat moves a newborn kitten, and, with a single beat of leather
y wings, soared into the air.
“Are you nuts?” I exclaimed in disbelief.
Hexe frowned, genuinely puzzled by my reaction. “Beg pardon?”
I was so mad I could barely see straight. It was all I could do to keep from taking a swing at him. “You’re actually bringing that thing into the house? After it did its best to try and turn me into a chew toy? What is a were-cat doing in New York in the first place? Don’t they live on the wildlife preserves?”
“I don’t know why a were-cougar would come to the city,” Hexe replied. “But not all of them live on the preserves. All I know is what was done to him once he arrived in this city is a crime. That ‘thing,’ as you put it, is an innocent victim, I can tell you that much. He is also badly injured. I am a healer. I can not turn him aside simply because of what he is. I understand your being scared—but Scratch and I have things well in hand. Now, are you ready to come back inside? Or do you need me to refund your deposit?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” I grumbled. “I’m upset, but I’m not that upset.”
“Good. Because I already spent the money on bills,” he said wryly. “C’mon—let’s get back in the house. I’m getting cold.”
“So I noticed,” I said, nodding to his bare chest. His nipples were standing so erect they looked like little pink pencil erasers.
“Same here,” Hexe laughed, returning my nod.
I glanced down and noticed my own chest made it look like I was trying to smuggle candy corn out of the country, two at a time. I quickly crossed my arms over my breasts. I wanted to say something clever and flirty, but I decided trying to sound like James Bond wasn’t the smartest move—especially if I ended up coming off more like Roger Moore than Sean Connery.
As we headed out of the maze, I fixed Hexe with a curious look. “How did you know I was in trouble? And how did you know where to find me?”
Right Hand Magic Page 5