The Cat's Meow: A Halloween Anthology

by Hera B. Magic

  She’d done it. She lifted a paw in a bad attempt at a fist bump.

  “Come along.” Oliver led her to the front porch were the other two waited, already in cat and bloodhound shape. She instinctively leaned back from Jeff and heard a soft chuff from Midnight—uh—Tom. Bristling, she padded up to him and swatted him on the nose. He butted her forehead with his, and she decided it didn’t feel too bad to be a cat.

  She meowed, “Let’s go,” sure that both Oliver and Tom understood her, just as she understood Tom’s mew of encouragement.

  Jeff gave a soft bark as he picked up the scent and began to follow it as Tom walked with Oliver and Kit to Oliver’s car. Just as he’d expected, she was a beautiful orange tabby, big for a domestic cat, as most of their kind were, but a good bit smaller than he was. After they’d climbed into the backseat, he leaned over and rubbed her head with his. To his delight, she purred and rubbed him back.

  Oh yeah, this was looking promising.

  Oliver and Jeff had a telepathic link, so the car was able to closely follow the bloodhound’s path. Fortunately corps trackers were enhanced dogs, just like hunters were enhanced cats. Jeff’s speed and stamina well outstripped those of a real canine. They were about six miles from their starting point when Jeff stopped in front of a small brick bungalow and howled. Oliver parked the car on the street and got out, allowing Tom and Kit to exit as well. Following instructions, she stayed behind the other two, but her tail swished with the confidence of an avenging angel.

  Oliver lifted his hand to knock, but before he could, something began to form on the porch. Oliver backed away as Tom closed in. Another curse, this one a coyote, fangs foaming and dripping.

  Damn, this was serious. With a vicious snarl, Tom gathered his strength and leapt at the coyote at the same time as Oliver kicked the door open. Leaving the curse to Tom, Jeff bounded into the house with their boss to take care of the human or humans inside.

  Tom caught the coyote around the neck, bringing it to the ground. It was stronger than a mortal animal, just as he was, plus, curses were always mean and cunning. The two bit and clawed, tumbling over one another in a bid for dominance. At the end, though, Tom found himself on the ground, the monster coyote poised to rip out his throat. He hoped to god Oliver and Jeff could get Kit safely away. He gathered up one last surge of energy, hoping he could at least take the mutt with him.

  Suddenly there was a feral scream and the coyote lurched. He turned his head, just long enough for Tom to extend his claws and dig deep into the flesh of the creature’s neck. Bleeding heavily, the coyote shook itself and Tom saw the reason. A bright ginger tabby clung to its head, clawing at its eyes and nose.

  In seconds, the coyote collapsed, but not before flinging Kit into the bushes. An angry roar reassured Tom that Kit was okay. Pretty sure he was only sporting cuts and bites and bruises this time instead of anything life-threatening, Tom slowly, painfully got to his feet, all four of them, just in time to see Kit flounce out of the shrubbery, spitting.

  Oh yeah, he’d forgotten to tell her curses taste like shit. Ah well. She’d learned.

  Together they padded up the front porch and into the house.

  “Marcia?” Of course it came out as, “Mrrrow?” Kit gaped at her former boss, the bitch who’d stolen her boyfriend, and who’d now been webbed into a recliner by a handful of industrious spiders, roughly the size of grapefruit. Oliver stood in front of her.

  “I said, do you understand me,” he boomed. Damn, his voice was really deep when he wanted it to be. “Nod if you wish to survive this night.”

  Marcia nodded, fury burning in her over-made-up eyes, now smudged with tears. “This isn’t my fault,” she screamed. “I didn’t do anything except fire the little snot. Let me go!”

  Kit lowered her head between her paws to block out the sound. A week ago, she’d have said even Marcia didn’t deserve such treatment, but that was before the bitch had tried to kill her. Wasn’t firing her and stealing her boyfriend enough? What did Marcia have to gain from Kit being dead?

  “Why?” Oliver asked the question softly, echoing Kit’s thoughts. Could he read her mind? It wouldn‘t surprise her. Not much would after tonight. “Why curse Kristina Montgomery? What harm could she do you?”

  “It was Steve,” Marcia snarled. “Everything was all ‘Kit did it this way,’ and ‘When I was with Kit.’ Then he said he couldn’t remember why he dumped her, or what he saw in me.”

  Kit wanted to vomit. Tom curled up against her, and that helped.

  Meanwhile, Oliver kept up the questioning. “And that was enough to kill her?”

  Marcia snorted. “Kill her? Of course not. It was just a silly little ritual I found online. Everybody knows magic isn’t real. It was just something to make me feel more in control. And if it did work, just a little, so what? She didn’t deserve him.”

  Kit hissed. As if she’d take that loser back after the way he’d dumped her. The bitch was right. Kit didn’t deserve Jordan. She deserved someone smart and kind and dependable—not to mention sexy.

  Like her new neighbor maybe. It—he was definitely worth thinking about.

  “I’m telling the truth! I didn’t really believe that the curses were real. I mean, sure she got dumped and fired, but those were things I did. I just really wanted her out of the way. I didn’t really think I could kill her with a silly spell.” Marcia was crying for real now.

  “Very well.” Oliver chanted something and three small wasps flew from his fingertips. “You will forget about curses. You will have no access to your magical ability, and you will never again remember a reason to harm Ms. Montgomery. The wasps each stung at the same time and Marcia screamed, then slumped into the webbing, unconscious.

  “Is that sufficient, Miss Montgomery?” Oliver looked down at Kit.

  She nodded.

  “The webbing will last until dawn, when she will wake with no memory of tonight. Even her browser history will be wiped so she won’t be able to stumble across the curse spell again. Now let’s be on our way.” Oliver started toward the door, the others following behind him. Once they reached the car he asked, “Everyone all right?”

  They all nodded and made their way back to Tom’s house, where they changed back into human form, put their clothes on, and shared a late night pizza.

  “You did well, Miss Montgomery—Kit,” Oliver said. “Are you still thinking of joining our little enterprise?”

  Kit nodded. “Very much. Especially since I can still freelance in web design. Besides, it looks as if Tom could use some back-up out there.”

  Tom snorted. “You don’t run into death curses very often, you know. That was only my second in ten years with the corps.” Then he grinned. “But yeah. It was good to have you at my back.”

  “Then I’m in.” She couldn’t help the broad grin that spread across her face. After twenty-seven years of living, she’d finally figured out what she really wanted to do when she grew up. She wasn’t turning chicken now.

  She was turning cat.

  A little while later, Oliver and Jeff left, and Tom offered to walk Kit home. She accepted, enjoying the stroll across their modest city lots. He lingered on her porch. “I’m glad you’re joining, but please remember that it’s dangerous sometimes. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Neither do I.” She looked up into his eyes, so warm and intense. “Want either of us to get hurt, that is. But it’s a good job, and an important one. And I’ll have a great mentor.”

  He chuckled. “Okay.” He drew in a deep breath. “I know it’s way too soon for anything, but…would you maybe like to go out to dinner tomorrow night? Before working hours, of course. I’d like to get to know you better. On a personal level.”

  Her breath caught and she nodded. “I’d like that. A lot.”

  His smile was mind-blowing and she almost melted on the spot when he said, “Whew. I was afraid I’d just made a giant ass of myself.”

  Kit giggled. “I didn’t think you
could turn into a donkey. But I like you just fine as a human or a pu—”

  He lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t say that. Cat or feline will suffice.”

  “Aw, lighten up Sylvester. I was just going to say, “I t’ought I taw a puddy tat’. You don’t need to get bent out of shape about it.” She loved that he laughed along with her.

  “All right, Tabby. You win that one.” He leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. “But we’ll be keeping score for a long, long time, I hope.”

  With that, he loped off the porch and across the lawn.

  Kit held her fingers to her cheek. “Boy, I hope so.”

  For the first time in forever, she couldn’t wait to see what the future would bring.

  The Tenth Life of Vicky Torres

  (Court of Annwyn 3.5)

  By Shona Husk

  People had been getting sick all week. Seth hadn’t gone to school for the last three days. Because of the measles outbreak it had been closed. All his father’s talk about being ready for a disaster suddenly didn’t seem so crazy. Every spare dollar his father earned logging was spent on keeping the cabin prepped so they could grab their bug out bags and head to the mountains and safety.

  Seth had thought a bomb, if anything, would’ve been the cause. But it was plague. Like, biblical plague. There wasn’t a single country that wasn’t affected and it wasn’t a single disease. Ebola in Africa, smallpox in Europe, what had started as a small measles outbreak in California had now spread and was gaining strength. People were actually dying, and not because they didn’t have health insurance but because the disease killed them. Rich or poor. City or small town, they were fucked.

  He paced and checked his watch. His father should be home soon. He’d been away for five days. Seth had gone out once and bought as much water as he could along with extra tinned fruit and vegetables. After that he’d stayed in and hoped he wasn’t already sick. The truck was loaded and he knew where the cabin was.

  Dad would be pissed that he’d waited.

  He was supposed to leave straight away. But when was it bad enough to head for the hills? The day they’d shut the school? Or when all public gathering had been banned yesterday? Some countries had declared martial law. It was starting to look as though World War Three was going to start as countries started finger pointing and blaming each other for the outbreaks.

  Seth’s cell phone rang. He snatched it up and answered. “Where are you, Dad? We need to go.”

  He couldn’t believe he’d just said that. They’d argued so many times about the need to prep. People knew his Dad was odd, and it had made high school tough—because surviving his parents’ divorce hadn’t been enough. He’d had to move from Portland to here, Butt-hole, Oregon, population ten thousand.

  “I’m still at camp.” His father’s voice was strained. “None of us are coming back.”

  Seth went cold and his skin prickled. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re all sick. Two are dead. The rest of us are pretty weak.”

  “No!”

  “Listen to me, Seth. You know what to do and you know where to go. You go now.”

  All those crazy fake evac drills his father had put him through were embedded in his mind. He’d already admitted that he needed to leave. But the idea of going alone? Of being in the cabin so far from everyone? He couldn’t do it. He was a city kid—with a rap sheet—which is why he’d been sent here where not even trouble could be bothered to look.

  “Seth.”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “You have to survive.”

  He didn’t feel like he was seventeen anymore and eager for his own life to start. He was eight again and his father was walking out the door. It would be another six years before they met again.

  “I need you.” Dad had taught him how to trap and hunt, but he wasn’t good at it. It wasn’t instinct. Living in the city must have nearly killed his father. Living in the cabin would kill Seth. Maybe he should head for the city and find his mother—they spoke occasionally but she’d washed her hands of him.

  “No, you don’t. You get in the truck and you drive. You don’t stop for anyone. You know the drill.”

  Seth mumbled something which was close to agreement, sure he was going to wake up and find this was just a twisted dream dredged up by his subconscious.

  “Talk me through it, son. What’s the drill?”

  “Load the truck and drive to the cabin. Don’t stop for anyone. I loaded the truck so it would be ready for when you got home.” His voice cracked. It took a moment to realize he was crying. Dad wasn’t coming back.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.”

  But he did. All the time to go to work. It had never been a problem. A week ago the town had seemed safe. A week ago he and his buddies had been laughing about the problems elsewhere. Could he swing by and pick up his friends? And if they were already infected? He was really going to have to go it alone.

  “It’s not your fault.” Not this time, anyway.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Survive and do something great. I know you’re capable.”

  Seth almost laughed. He was good at getting into trouble. “I’ll try.”

  “Good lad. Get in the truck and start it up.”

  Seth did as he was told, taking care to lock up the house. The engine of the truck started straight away. His father always took the shit box to work. “You going to stay on the line?”

  “No. I’m running out of battery and you need to conserve yours.”

  Seth closed his eyes and leaned back. He should stay, get infected and die. Everyone else was. “You might get better.”

  Some people recovered, or they had at the start. Now the death rate was getting higher. He’d seen it on the news.

  “Then I’ll meet you at the cabin.” From the sound of his father’s voice, Seth knew that wasn’t going to happen. This was it. “Don’t let my work go waste. I know you hated it, but I did it for you. I love you.”

  Seth couldn’t breathe. He wanted to yell that it wasn’t fair, that he couldn’t abandon him again. But the words wouldn’t form. “I love you too, Dad.”

  His words were squeaky, as if his voice was breaking all over again.

  “Then fight to survive. This will pass. It’s not forever.”

  Nothing was. He knew that. As soon as he found his feet the rug got pulled and he fell over. “Okay, I’m pulling out of the driveway.”

  He wanted to drive to the logging camp to see for himself how sick his father was. But survival instinct kicked in. His father had prepped for this, too. If he wasn’t coming then his father was doing what he thought best.

  “Good. I’m going to hang up soon, once you reach the edge of town.”

  This was the last time he’d speak to his father. Hhe didn’t want it to be all about death. “Do you remember the first time you showed me the cabin?”

  There were two things that Vicky knew how to do. The first one was run. The second was rather more unusual and it scared the hell out of her. However, when people had started getting sick and the morgue and hospitals had overflowed, she’d decided to leave the nicest foster home she’d ever had and find somewhere safe to wait out the end of the world…as a cat.

  She was pretty sure that when she turned into a cat human diseases wouldn’t infect her. Pretty sure. She’d never tested the theory, never had a need to. Turning into a cat was always her last resort as she really didn’t like the change—it wasn’t quick like the movies, nor was it painless. More like an epic case of all over pins and needles that left her with whiskers and fish breath. All cats had fish breath, right?

  And unlike the movies she wasn’t a lion or a jaguar or any other big cat or apex predator.

  She was a black house cat.

  People really didn’t like black cats.

  Especially not when there were plagues.

  Because she was a cat, she couldn’t tell people to stop being superstitious fuckwits. If anythin
g, because of the plagues people were being even more stupid. Half the big church leaders were calling it the end of days and yelling for people to repent or something. Her foster parents had gotten caught up in the church thing, too, as more people got sick.

  That had been the final straw. She could take care of herself and quite frankly didn’t believe in a god for the simple reason that if she’d been born during the witch trials she’d have been burned at the stake—extra crispy Vicky, please hold the ketchup.

  She’d made no pact with the devil, not one she could remember, and she was sure that the devil didn’t recruit that young. She’d been born like this, and her parents must have known because she was found at a church abandoned and only hours old.

  But there were others like her.

  There had to be.

  She wasn’t evil.

  Just a shape shifter.

  She’d never spent so long as a cat. But it had taken a while to get out of the city. She’d hitched a few rides, being super careful not to be seen. But nowhere seemed better. Everywhere was diseased. So she’d done something a little crazy and headed into the Cascade Mountains.

  She could hunt, and she’d rather not got shot at or accused of being the cause of the plague. That was black rats. Rats not cats had carried the Bubonic plague, and this wasn’t even the same disease. Panic made people dumb. Not that she was feeling really smart after being a cat for the best part of four weeks. She’d even started licking her fur.

  What was next?

  Her butt?

  Holy fuck, no. She had rules and no one licked her butt for any reason. Herself included. Being a cat might have been easier if her human brain wasn’t constantly reminding her how icky raw meat really was. Now she knew why cats threw up all the time.

  She was hungry, her fur was matted, and she was cold. She wanted to be a person again but had no clothes or shelter and she knew that her chances were better as a cat. She was tempted to head back into civilization to see if the world was fixed.

  Had enough time passed?