Spells and Jinglebells

by ReGina Welling

  Midnight trotted to the far side of the bed. He put his two front paws up to the window and chuckled.

  “Well, trash cans have fallen, you’re right,” he said. “But it was a drunk Santa, maybe THE drunk Santa, that toppled ‘em.”

  I smiled and closed my eyes again. “Hope he doesn’t get stuck in a chimney tonight,” I murmured.

  “Well, then, it seems clear that the sisters had had a meltdown at some point,” Gloom said, bringing our attention back to the case. The case. I felt my body flood with adrenaline. Chimera, calm down. You’re not a detective.

  “Yeah, but even so, an old Warlock family like the Blazier’s?” Midnight said. “They’d definitely have to follow the precepts. There ain’t no way that a first-circle family member’s stayin’ away from the burial unless the precept states it for some grim reason or other.”

  I lifted my head and stared at my cat. “You know about these precepts, Middie?”

  Midnight’s eyes widened. “You’ve really not heard of them?” He asked. “Not even you, O?”

  Onyx shook his head, his eyes filled with regret. Which was Midnight’s cue to take the stage.

  My night-wandering kitty puffed out his chest and paraded the length of the bed. He couldn’t have been more delighted. Midnight considered himself an ‘intelligence gatherer.’ The rest of the cats and I gave him the more informal title of ‘gossip,’ however. Middie prowled the night collecting data from creatures that only existed in the dead-of-night realms. My explorer of the dark gathered this intelligence for unspecified future use, but I suspected one of those purposes was for inflating his self-importance.

  “So, all Warlocks … well, most Warlocks, anyway … they have these familial laws written up, you with me?”

  We nodded.

  “Precepts, they’re called. Written to govern all aspects of Warlock living, dying and death situations. The practice is pretty much dead these days, though. Too rigid, not enough leeway, the young Warlocks don’t like these old ways. But … the real old families tend to keep them in place. Families like the Blazier’s, I mean.” Midnight beamed. He was enjoying this.

  “So, what like? Say if Adorania and Leland had somehow gone behind Stella’s back and sold the land. Would something like that be written into the orders?” Gloom said.

  “I ain't a Blazier, sis, so I dunno,” Midnight confessed. “But, for example, it could be a clause like …stay away if you stole something from the deceased. Or, like, if you were about to bring shame on the family, or something, then you’d be forced to steer clear of the burial for something like that too.”

  “Good examples, Middie, thanks,” I said.

  Midnight swiped the air with a casual paw. “Aw, it’s nothing, boss,” he said. “Just one tiny piece of information in the huge pile I store up here.” He tapped the side of his head with a paw.

  “Still,” I said. “Interesting about the precepts. I’d never heard of such a thing until now.”

  Middie’s grin widened. “Yeah, and there are other kinds of precepts too,” he said. “Like, one of my buddies told me that the Blackbugler’s … you know the Blackbugler’s, right?”

  “The old Warlock family originally from Nanker Isle, you mean?” I asked.

  “Yeah, those cats. I think they have some family here too, but anyway ... one of their precepts is that they have a closed casket. Know why?”

  We shook our heads.

  “‘Cos they refuse to have their organs drained before burial. The Blackbugler’s believe that by allowing their vital fluids from their organs to drain into the earth, they have once again returned to the darkness from which they were born. For the Blackbugler’s this precept completes the circle of life for them.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Gloom said, holding her nose high.

  “Great shock value, Middie,” I said, “But, let’s keep on track here, okay?”

  The sparkle left Midnight’s eyes. “Well, anyway, the precepts are only written for biological families. It wouldn’t extend to in-laws, just the immediate family."

  “I want to know why Donkerton asked if you and Stella Blazier were colleagues,” Eclipse said.

  “Me too, ’Clipsy. But I’m pretty sure the Warlock Space Program isn't much like running a herbalist apothecary.”

  “Right,” Gloom said. “Because that would be like comparing a rocket scientist to a common gardener.”

  “Thanks for that, missy,” I said. “But, let’s get back to why Adorania didn’t show for Stella’s service. So, a falling out? As Fraidy posited, maybe a row over selling Gothic Wood to the Black Elm group? And what if Gloom is right? What if Leland and Adorania somehow sold the land under Stella’s nose? Maybe they didn’t get a chance to explain their actions before Stella died, and so maybe the result of their scheming counted as theft? A transgression that would already be written into the precepts?”

  Was I getting drawn into Fraidy and Gloom’s mountain of hastily constructed speculations? It was tempting, I’ll admit.

  “Let’s tell it like a story!” Shade shrieked; his excitement making us all jump. “You know, like, a story has a beginnin’, a middle, and an end. It runs in sequins, right?”

  “‘Sequence,’ but, yeah, I know what you’re getting at, honey,” I said.

  “Yeah, so, it’s like we speak the bits of story we have already, and we speak them in the order they happened. Maybe a storyline will make more sense?”

  I nodded. “Sure, buddy. As long as we don’t all try and fill the missing pieces with speculation.”

  “Yep, yep, I’ll start,” Jet said. “Stella Blazier falls from her horse and dies five days ago.” He swiveled his head to look at us all. “Yep.” He finished.

  “Woah, let’s back up,” I said. “We have data that precedes Stella’s death.” Jet’s eyelids twitched at me. I sighed. “The fact that Gothic Wood was a bone of contention between the the two Blazier’s and one Clavelle.”

  “Yep, well, sure, yep, but --”

  “Also, the possibility that Stella overheard Leland and Adorania discussing the estate when she came home early from work,” Gloom said.

  “Okay, yep, but, well, then Stella falls from her horse, yep.” Jet bounced on the spot, happy to have had neatly slotted in his piece of the puzzle.

  “Right,” I said. “She’s buried three days, ago, but Leland and Adorania don’t show for the funeral.”

  Shade hummed.“Roll on to now, and we’ve still got a dead Stella, and we’ve still got a missing Leland. Only new thing now is our worrying-wanderer, Adorania.”

  We each fell into our own thoughts for a second.

  “The stress on an astronaut’s body is extreme, to say the least,” Onyx piped up.

  Where did that come from?

  “Could the Stillbreath’s be a reasonable application for space travel? To bring an astronaut’s body into resting state while he’s hurled out of orbit?” He asked.

  My pulse quickened. “Interesting, O,” I said, pulling the blankets up around my chin. “Donkerton certainly knows something about Stella that we don’t, anyway. Or else why would he have asked that question? Maybe Stillbreath’s are being used in the Red Orb Program?”

  “And, maybe our snow-bound sergeant has a file on her back at the station? A file that might just tell us what the connection is.” Carbon suggested.

  “Yeah, and as he’s not here right now, maybe he wouldn’t mind us taking a peek at his notes?” Shade said.

  “I think he would mind, buster,” I said to my good-natured tom. “But, what he doesn’t know, can’t hurt him, right?”

  “We’re gonna break into the police station?” Fraidy said, his voice a high-pitched squeak.

  “Relax, honey.” I swept my cat from my head and into my arms. Shade rolled, without protest, to the side of me, while I covered his cowardly brother’s cheeks with kisses. “We’ll take a look tomorrow. If there’s nobody around, we’ll just have a little snoop and see if we can see anything. His officer
might be there, so there’s a chance we won’t get close, anyway.”

  “Yeah, and if Donkerton’s got a file on Stella, then maybe there’s something in there about the Blazier Death Precepts too. Might shed some light on some things ‘n’ stuff.” Shade grinned at me. I blew him a kiss.

  “So, we need to formulate a plan. I’m slated for ten a.m tomorrow for Stillbreath picking time, and I can’t miss that window or else it’ll take another month for me to re-apply. That leaves us the rest of the afternoon and evening. We don’t have much time. We leave the day after tomorrow, remember?”

  “Uh, boss-lady, are you forgetting the avalanche?” Shade reminded me.

  “No. I’m not, buster. But I’m still hopeful we can get home by Christmas Eve.” I wasn’t lying. I just had a feeling that a Christmas Miracle was heading our way. Don’t ask me why I felt that, but my witch-senses were twitching.

  “Before we start this ‘plan,’” Gloom said. “What, exactly, are we investigating? Clavelle’s disappearance? Why Adorania didn’t show up to her sister’s funeral? The relationship between Leland and Adorania? What?”

  Shade groaned. “I get your drift, sis. My brain hurts.” My cat raised both of his front paws to the sides of his head. “Boss-lady? What should we be focusin’ on here?”

  I didn’t answer my cat.

  “Chimera?” Onyx tiptoed up the bed until he was beside my head.

  I said nothing.

  A few moments passed, and I could feel the kitties get fidgety around me.

  “Okay, I’ve got it,” I blurted, bolting upright to look at my crew. “This is what we’ve gotta do…”

  Chapter Seven

  “So you’re all clear on what you need to do?” I fussed over my kitties, smoothing their fur, removing sleep from their bleary eyes while ushering them through the door. The Infiniti made no objections; just grunted and allowed themselves to be coaxed, like a litter of obedient zombie-cats.

  We had slept poorly on our first night at Foxley. Carbon had maintained a roaring fire in the hearth, so at least we didn’t freeze to death. But the icy drafts that whipped through the disintegrating house screamed like so many love-sick banshees that we all got very little sleep. And my (exactly seven inch) share of the bed didn’t help my slumber much either.

  The kitties didn’t care for the military grade woolen blankets; said they made them itchy, and they were too much like ‘Bones,' a wiry-haired mangey mutt that lived at the end of our street on Glessie.

  When we were outside, I lined up my three cats chosen for today’s investigations. Onyx, Carbon and Midnight looked up at me with dull, sleep-deprived eyes.

  “Sure you guys are clear on everything?” I grilled, giving them a suspicious arch of my brow. “What time and where are we meeting?”

  Onyx yawned. “Four p.m.”

  “Maggoty Apple,” Carbon and Middie said in unison. I gave each of them a kiss on the forehead and shooed them toward their respective targets.

  Gloom, Eclipse, Jet, Fraidy, and Shade followed me to the car.

  “Why wasn’t I chosen to go out in the ‘field?’” Eclipse said.

  “Honey, I told you already. I need you with me. Who else is going to mind-wipe the registrations clerk?”

  The plan I’d made last night had been hasty, to say the least. But, hopefully, with what I had in mind, it would at least answer a few questions.

  I sent Carbon to the police station to see if he could find any report on Stella that would tell us why the Sergeant had asked me if I was the deceased’s colleague. We were also hoping to uncover the Blazier’s Death Precepts, if any, to find out the reason for Adorania’s inexplicable absence from her sister’s funeral.

  I chose Carbie for this mission because, as well as lighting fires, my heat-seeking cat could also behave like smoke; wisping and curling himself into the smallest of gaps, such as keyholes or minor cracks in window sills. Carbon could gain entry into Gothic Harbor P.D without attracting attention.

  Onyx, I sent to Spleener & Sons, the local funeral director’s place of business. My learned cat was to use his love of science as a ruse for obtaining information regarding the after-death processes Spleener took to ready Stella Blazier’s body for burial.

  “Remember, tell him you’re writing a crime book,” I advised my kitty. “Tell him you want to respect the accuracy of what happens to a dead body before its interned,” I said, scratching O’s ear. “Stella was likely Spleener’s last … um...client, so he might divulge some specifics on our Ms. Blazier.” Kind of a long shot, Chimera.

  I sent Midnight to check out Gothic Wood. There probably wasn’t much point to this endeavor, but as Adorania had brought up the property, I thought it was worth checking out.

  I brought ‘Clipsy with me to the Stillbreath patch, because my enigmatic kitty could wipe minds of temporarily. This power came in useful from time to time. Mostly -- and, on my behalf -- Eclipse used his Obliviscatur spell on Mrs.Chitterlong; a gibbering neighbor whose unsolicited company I sometimes found hard to escape. Eclipse, with one mentally constructed charm, invariably brought Mrs.Chitterlong’s gossipy ramblings to a sharp stop. It was during my neighbors confused after-moments that I generally made my escape.

  Anyway, my hope was Obliviscatur would come in handy when I signed in with the registrations agent. If Stella Blazier had been picking Stillbreath’s, then her name may well just show up on the registrant’s list. I’d have to scan that record, however, so I needed ‘Clipsy to distract the agent with a mind-wipe while I inspected the column of names.

  I kept the windows open for the drive to the fungus patch. The cats could barely keep their eyes open, so I thought the fresh air might help combat their drowsiness.

  Gloom, Shade, and Fraidy sat huddled together in the back seat, their faces like thunder. I knew I’d pay for this inhumane treatment later. Gloom had already accused me of degrading her, given that I’d capped each of my kittie’s paws with balloons. My grumpy cat’s balloon covered feet didn’t match, and she was still sulking about it.

  Eclipse sat right where I wanted him in the passenger seat, ready to spring into memory-erasing action.

  We rolled up to the first gate; manned, but the agent there showed no interest in our arrival. He had his feet crossed on the table in front of him. He had a freshly shaken snow globe in his hand, and he gazed, entranced, at the myriad of falling flakes within the dome. I drove on.

  A rusty-brown streak of fur raced through the snow to my right. A squirrel or other small rodent.

  The registration office was just ahead. I could make out the outline of the agent as he paced the length of his small room.

  “Okay, ‘Clipsy, you ready?” I said turning to my cat.

  But my cat wasn’t there. Because Eclipse had seen the racing furry-thing too.

  The kitties in the back laughed as they watched their brother bound after the small creature in the snow.

  I banged my forehead on the steering wheel a couple of times before closing the final few yards to the office.

  I leaned out the window to the man who bent out of his window.

  “Hello, I’m --”

  “Is that your cat?” He asked, nodding toward a galloping Eclipse.

  “It is.”

  “You’re going to have to put him on a leash, ma’am.”

  “I will, yes, of course, he--”

  “Name,” the clerk said, not looking up from his papers.

  “Yes, I’m Chimera Opal, I’m here--”

  “Permit.”

  I reached for the license and presented it to the officer. He traced his pencil down a column until he found what he was looking for and then put a clipboard in front of my face.

  “Sign here,” he said, tapping an empty box with his finger. His other hand held the top of the clipboard so firmly that his thumb outstretched until it rested over three last names at the top of the form.

  I grabbed the pen secured to the top of the board, and hovered for a few seconds, m
y eyes darting to the list of names on the left.

  “Right in the box there.” His finger tapped again.

  I made a squiggle and looked at the man. He didn’t return my gaze. He merely reached under his desk and depressed the secret button that would allow us access to ‘Facility 3522,’ the only operating Stillbreath patch on Bonemark Isle.

  “Park your car on the left,” the man called after us as we passed through the electronic gates.

  “Okay, so I got Boris, Astrid, and Polonia for the top three names,” Shade said. “Buddy there had his thumb over the last names, but I think I saw the letter “B” after Polonia.”

  “Good work, honey,” I said.

  “I got Yevgeny Asimov, Gertrude Hahn, and somebody Eaglespeaker,” I said of the three names listed under the one's Shade had just mentioned.

  “Rainbird,” Gloom said. “Rainbird Eaglespeaker.”

  I slumped in my seat. “No, Stella, then,” I said, motorboating my lips.

  “Not unless Polonia’s last name is Blazier, and Stella’s real name is Polonia,” Shade offered.

  I pulled into the parking spot and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, not sure what to make of the dead-end.

  I sighed. “Come on guys. Let’s get your deranged brother and pick these mushrooms.”

  Gloom pulled her ears back and thumped her tail. “I’m not going anywhere in mismatching shoes,” she stated. “Why am I wearing these anyway?” She wiped her paws on the backseat for the umpteenth time, trying to dislodge the offending pieces of rubber.

  “They’re protection, honey,” I begged. “A barrier for your fine paws, so you don’t absorb the toxins in the Stillbreath.”

  “Protection or not, they should at least match.” My grumpy cat crossed her paws in front of her and sat down. I eyed the one green and one red balloon that adorned Gloom’s front feet and groaned.

  “Exactly,” Gloom said. “It’s hideous.” She pointed a green rubbered paw to where her brother was leaping through the snow. “HE has the other red one.”

  “Honey, you can’t expect me to catch Eclipse just so you can have matching shoes,” I said through gritted teeth. My kitty turned her head away from me.