by Sue Perry
I was about to notice something about her front paw when she sprang to a crouch, puffed and hissed, then climbed up my torso and tensed as though preparing to sprint over my shoulder and away. I clutched her to me as I stood. Her heartbeat rattled like a drum roll. The source of her fear—Leon—swaggered up the sidewalk with a menace I'd never seen in him.
"Leon! Did you do this to Dizzy's ear? Stop right there, I won't let you hurt her again."
He kept coming as though I were talking to a cat.
Perhaps the cats sensed that I intended to stop Leon and protect Dizzy. Leon puffed out and Dizzy flattened against me, front paws on my collarbones.
Only Leon's eyes flicked. He was a killer intent on his prey. How had I seen that cat as innocent? His look validated all of Anya's fear of cats. Dizzy was so fearless she ignored threat from Anwyl by cleaning her butt. Dizzy was always grooming. She washed her paws more often than a nurse with O.C.D.
Dizzy's paws. Deep down, I finished my earlier thought about her front paw. On the surface, my thoughts focused on how scary Leon had become, although I was unsure whether cats could read my leaky mind. "Leon, knock it off," I yelled.
The thought I buried: this cat was not Dizzy. This cat—one set of claws on either side of my jugular—was a stranger that Leon wanted to hurt. Dizzy had a funny front toe—one black pad among white pads. This cat had all white pads. Otherwise she looked identical to Dizzy. But now that I stroked her, pretending to want to comfort her, perhaps her fur was a different texture. I was holding a cat that was not Dizzy yet was nearly her twin. Coincidence? Or assassination attempt?
Leon hadn't been fooled by the fake Dizzy but for now I had to keep treating him as the bad guy.
I kissed the top of the fake Dizzy's head. "You're okay, Dizzy, I won't let him hurt you. Easy now, you're safe, let's go inside." I backed up and gently adjusted her position so I could hold her with one arm while I reached for the front doorknob. The adjustment got her paws away from my throat.
It was the fastest I've ever moved. I let go of the cat and jumped backward off the steps. I stumbled but I was happy with my performance. I escaped those talons: by the time the cat began to fall and clawed for purchase, I was mostly out of reach. She merely gouged my shoulder and ripped my shirt.
Leon was all over her. I'd never seen a real catfight before, only the feline versions of pro wrestling. Here, a cloud of fur obscured my view and the tussling was silent except for the occasional thud of body slam. Then they vanished, taking their fight into another Frame. Okay. Leon could take care of himself. I hoped that he would only hurt the other cat as needed to convince her to stay away.
The fake Dizzy didn't hurt me, so I had no proof she was evil—perhaps she was misguided about where her best interests lay. A moment's knife–twist of anxiety: where was the real Dizzy? No. I wouldn't worry about her until I had evidence that I should. Dizzy was more cunning than a cold war spy.
Up the stairs to my apartment, I buffed this shiny attitude but couldn't repair the dents in my trust. The fake Dizzy didn't hurt me but she could have. If not for Leon. Would there someday appear a fake Leon? Were cats the only ones who could be fakes?
I slammed and locked my apartment door behind me. Inside the Julian I had protection, but even so I could feel it: danger everywhere and closing in.
69. OUR SPIRITS SHALL NOT BE BROKEN
Anwyl was stretched out on the couch, doing stuff on my laptop in windows only he could open. "Your mission has concluded too soon," he greeted me, setting the laptop aside.
Following instructions can have an upside. Because Anwyl knew about my activities of last night, I didn't have to hide my horror about what had gone wrong. He kept his arms around me while I described Warty Sebaceous Cysts' appearance, the Entourage chasing us, Hari!–Ya's death.
After that he was less comfort. "Another betrayal."
"Are you saying a traitor brought the Cysts there?"
"It is the most probable explanation."
We lay there; I felt extra gratitude for the protection of the Julian. I had questions about the fake Dizzy but Anwyl wasn't the one to ask. His hatred of cats was already profound. What if he overreacted against other cats? For now, Leon was on top of the imposter cat problem. Maybe Zasu was the one to talk to about fake cats.
My seesawing thoughts compounded my exhaustion. I must have slept for a bit—the morning sun had moved and now shone behind a different column of blinds. Anwyl slept beside me, his nostrils flaring in a silent snore.
The lanyard prickled. Again. It was lanyard pain that pulled me back from sleep. Now what? I strained to hear sounds of approaching danger, but colliding air particles were making too much noise. A third lanyard pulse stopped when the Julian's front door slammed and the foyer echoed with voices: Jenn and Zasu, loud enough to awaken Anwyl—and any tenants who had tried to sleep in today.
Anwyl set the laptop on my desk and sounded angry as the saboteurs trooped inside my apartment. "Your arrival is tardy. Dawn is long past." He must have been quite concerned about them—especially after my tale of the government complex—but he had given no sign until now.
"We finished before dawn then walked back, a few miles," Kelly Joe replied. His placid sense of fulfillment told me that last night he did some knocking on death's door.
Anwyl grunted. He didn't need to inquire about the success of their mission. The enthusiasm level was too high for failure. Anya joined Anwyl at the laptop, beaming. Hernandez and Jenn dropped onto the couch beside me. They reeked of chemicals; the only odor I recognized was gasoline.
Hernandez was the only one who was still. Regarding his time in Iraq, he'd once told me, I noticed too much. Too many ways to die. All my buddies were on adrenaline cruise. I couldn't stop thinking and thinking's not how you survive. Perhaps last night revealed more ways to die. For him. Or for Jenn.
Jenn's adrenaline cruise headed to port. "I'm exhausted but not sleepy," she nestled against Hernandez, then sat up to proclaim, "You should have seen Zasu!"
Zasu stood in the hall outside the bathroom, swaying as though dancing to internal music. "Destruction goes against the Gumby nature," she said, "but this Gumby will always happily serve Anya."
"If we had more Gumbys, Maelstrom would be fucked," Jenn said admiringly.
"Enough Gumbys have died." Kelly Joe looked up from cleaning his harmonica with a string that might have started life as a bootlace. He sounded like he took responsibility for the Gumby genocide. I was pretty sure he'd had no role in that terrible deed. Although: that I had to think about it showed how deep my doubts ran when it came to Kelly Joe.
Anya, on the other hand, seemed to trust Kelly Joe completely. She called him over to see whatever Anwyl had on my laptop.
Zasu watched Kelly Joe with eyes like a Buddha statue. She seemed to forgive Kelly Joe for his role in the deaths of her family. She seemed to have an attitude that was even harder to achieve than forgiveness—she accepted him as is.
Funny, I always expect a warranty.
Anya stepped away from the laptop to address us. "We have done well," she smiled. "We have secured this island against our foes."
Hernandez disagreed. "We didn't get every construction site. We kept finding more."
Anya smiled, then gestured for us to gather around my laptop. "With this you shall know our success." She queued up a news story.
Sergeant Guy Bermudez was giving a follow–up interview about his special tactical force to stop the construction site arson. Bermudez bragged, "Criminals aren't rocket scientists. We publicized that we'd start this morning, but then we deployed last night, and by midnight we had six suspects in custody." The eyes of Bermudez, aka Scabman, told a different story. They were angry and frightened. Yes, the tactical force was done. But not because they caught the arsonists.
I liked seeing Scabman frightened. He deserved worse, but it was a start.
Hernandez settled in to the couch, no longer looking troubled.
Anwyl instruct
ed Kelly Joe, "We will avoid unnecessary risk. The building abominations that survived will have guards, so for the non, we will attack no others." He looked to Hernandez, "Building abominations are powerful when plentiful. By decimating their numbers, you rendered them insignificant." To all the saboteurs he added, "You have done well. Warty Sebaceous Cysts will exact revenge and we may measure our success by their severity. For this night's deeds, expect retaliation designed to break the spirit."
"But our spirits shall not be broken," Anya flashed a special smile to Hernandez, Jenn, and me, a smile more powerful than a thousand mantras. "When next this group convenes, our war will have begun in earnest. We must away," she ordered Anwyl, Kelly Joe, and Zasu, and they headed for the door.
Before he went out, Anwyl tossed an order to us Neutrals on the couch. "Fortify your bodies and hearts, gather sustenance now for the days to come."
Kelly Joe walked a few paces behind the others, maybe so he could tell me, "These could be your last days on your own." He bent notes on his harmonica as he strolled out the door. I got the message. Whatever I was going to accomplish with the books needed to happen soon.
70. WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I HAVE CATS?
By the time Kelly Joe shut the door, Jenn and Hernandez were stacking zzzz's. I had been awake all last night, too—if catatonic clinging to a pillar above the East River counted as awake—but my chance of slumber fell between zip and nil. I tightened the blinds until the room got as dark as it was going to get.
A light shimmered from Hernandez' phone, which was on the back of the couch with a call coming in. A call from the cousin where Ben was holed up. I took the phone into the bathroom, completed the call but said nothing.
"Hey," the caller said. "If you know my voice, make a noise."
"Mmwah," I replied, the smooch I used to blow to Ben when we were newlyweds sharing a bathroom mirror.
"Hey, sis," Ben recognized the smooch. "I might have to move again. Two women have been showing up at my meetings. They pay too much attention to me and one of them forgot her birthday." The date she got sober. Recovering addicts don't get their birthdays wrong.
I stared into the bathroom mirror, trying to see Ben on the other coast. "Go somewhere unpredictable. Keep moving. You're a prize catch for my enemies."
"You sound important."
"I know, it's weird. I'd apologize for getting you involved, but, sooner or later, everyone will be involved."
"Now you sound like a movie ad."
"I still owe you an explanation but get yourself safe first."
"I like the role reversal. Today, you're the drama queen. From now on I'll just borrow phones, so you'll get calls from numbers you don't know."
"Nothing new there. Unless you actually answer when I return the call." Inside I was begging, Call every day to let me know you're okay.
"Oh, Neeks," he said. And then he was gone.
Feet pattered the length of my ceiling. The kid upstairs always ran, getting ready for school.
A run, that's what I needed. I changed to sweats and headed out. On the stairs, from somewhere above came an arrhythmic bleating. Someone was in pain. Check it out. I reversed direction. Two flights above my apartment sat a pre–teen in a plaid skirt and green sweater that could only be a school uniform. The bleating was her crying.
"Hi, can I help?" I began.
A woman stepped from the apartment across the landing, her mother's barometer having sensed that a stranger was near her girl.
"I live in 2C," I greeted the mother.
"Have you seen my cat?" the girl inhaled in hope; I shook my head and she exhaled in fear. "She disappeared before breakfast yesterday."
"What does she look like?"
The girl showed me photos of a charming calico. I promised to text with any news, day or night, and reversed direction on the stairs once more. I fought an inexplicable chill. Why did the fake Dizzy's appearance coincide with the neighbor cat's disappearance?
When I got to the foyer, I Traveled a quick trip to Frivolous Bedlam and called to Julian.
"Good morning," the building said. "You sound harried."
"Harried would be an improvement. How many cats live in you on Ma'Urth and how many of them have you seen in the last day?"
"What makes you think I have cats?"
"It's not an insult. I love cats myself. I know of three on your premises."
"Fascinating. I assumed cats were a metaphor, not real beings. The buildings speak of them—that is, the buildings who are not self–sentient—but they speak of so many things."
I allowed him the snob undertones. Much as I loved all the buildings, I could see how their eternal goofy chatter might get old.
"What about dogs. Do you have dogs?"
"Yes, of course. Dogs are beloved companions in many a Frame. I am interested to know that you believe in cats, some of my fellow sentients have speculated about the cat's role in belief systems."
"No sentient building can detect cats?"
"No. We know only their lore. Some of us do believe in cats—Henrietta falls in that category—but most of us are skeptics. I regret I can offer no assistance to you regarding—cats." The word amused him.
"I'm sorry you've never experienced a cat. Maybe someday I can help you meet one." Another item on my to–do–if–we–beat–Maelstrom list.
I Traveled back to Ma'Urth, determined to get a run before Hernandez and Jenn woke up. I hardly ever crossed paths with neighbors, but as I left the Julian here was another, a cute little hipster with a fuzz beard and the latest eyewear. He ascended his basement apartment stairs with a bag of trash and a folded lawn chair. A bizillion chairs have the same blue and white webbing, yet I knew that this was the sentient lawn chair stolen from my fire escape. "Hey! What are you doing with that chair?"
He ceased ascent.
"Sorry, didn't mean to sound accusing. I had one like that and somebody took it."
"It might be this one, somebody dumped it down my stairs. I was gonna leave it at the curb. Think I'm allergic. Headache every time I sit in it. There you go. See ya."
And with that I was holding the chair. He crossed the street mid–block without acknowledging the taxi that honked to a stop beside him.
My hand throbbed, holding the chair. Without further ado I unfolded the chair and sat in it, lopsided. The frame was bent now. I planted my forearms the length of the metal arms. Now I would find out who stole my chair from the fire escape.
And I did find out.
As the chair relived its abduction, I felt a touch on each shoulder and I cringed in expectation of being touched by Warty Sebaceous Cysts, the Entourage, or a Lobotomist.
The hands on my shoulders were quick, unexpectedly gentle, calloused and cool. I knew that touch. And with that knowledge came the realization that my life in the New Yorks was a house of cards in a tornado.
71. TRUST IS A TETHER
It made no sense.
The hands yanked me but the bicycle lock yanked back. My aluminum frame buckled. The hands dropped me. The fire escape shuddered, metal snapped near my feet. No lock protected me now. The hands grabbed me again and I bounced as my abductor jogged me out to the street. Faint harmonica notes grew louder. My thief cursed, and his voice confirmed his identity.
Anwyl stole the chair.
Another whispered curse and I flew, hit brick, scraped the unbent part of my frame. It was dark and damp where I landed this time.
Based on the chair's memories and info from the hipster neighbor, Anwyl took the chair then threw it down the stairs to the basement apartment because Kelly Joe approached. He hadn't wanted Kelly Joe to see him with the chair?
So. I knew how the chair was stolen. Why was not forthcoming.
On the morning when I had discovered the chair was missing from the fire escape, Anwyl had been asleep beside me. I'd awakened to my lanyard prickling, looked outside, saw no dangers, considered waking him but then the prickling stopped and he woke up.
Like this morn
ing.
Or was it the other way around? He woke up—so the lanyard warning stopped?
Trust is a tether and when it breaks I'm lost in the stratosphere.
Maybe my lanyard was trying to warn me about Anwyl, a being of great power who can stifle lanyard alerts––except perhaps when sleeping. The two times that Anwyl was asleep in my presence were the two times the lanyard alerted me to danger that seemed to disappear when he awoke. Maybe, instead, the danger persisted but the alerts were silenced. By him when he awoke.
I wrapped the chair in a towel and hid it in the back of my closet. Hernandez and Jenn didn't stir from sleep. I paused to enjoy their synchronized breathing. I bet Ick and I breathed like that. The best of love in the worst of times. Jenn's exhales had a darling little gasp that fell just short of labored breathing. I ignored it, as I had ignored how frail she looked when she walked in this morning.
I took a long hard run to outpace my worries. I kept going until my only thoughts were of the scant few things I could influence, like what to bring home for breakfast. When I got back to my apartment, Hernandez was doing a smorgasbord of push–ups and Jenn was in the shower. Which meant I had time to talk to Hernandez.
"Hey. I need a sounding board."
He rolled into a sitting position on the floor. "What's up?"
I told him about finding the chair and learning that Anwyl took it. "Is there any point telling Anwyl that I know?"
"What's the advantage?"
"I want to know why he did it. Silly me. Why do I think he'll tell me the truth?"
Hernandez shrugged. "He does, when the truth helps the cause. No question it was a strange thing to do but he always has reasons."