by Hailey North
The tag, engraved with RETURN TO MRS. MERLIN plus her phone number, had been meant to protect him, but now here it was and her kitty was the stars only knew where.
Had he been shrunk? Or flattened? Or worse?
Then the thought hit her full force and she forgot all about her jambalaya.
There were no coincidences in candle magick. Mr. Gotho had told her that over and over again. She could see the wise but bothersome man shaking his head over this mix-up. Because mix-up it no doubt was, a confabulation that no doubt had resulted in trouble for the very woman who’d helped Mrs. Merlin find her way home.
Sinking to a chair, Mrs. Merlin fingered the tag on her cat’s collar, knowing in her heart that wherever she found Mr. M, she’d find Penelope and Tony Olano, too.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “What a muddle. I just hope they haven’t gotten their bodies crossed. That might be more than even I could undo. And I just know Mr. Gotho won’t help me out of this pickle.”
She brightened as she remembered the jar of bread and butter pickles in her refrigerator. Perhaps she would eat first. She worked so much better on a full stomach. Why, if she hadn’t been flattened and starved, surely this mix-up never would have happened!
“What do you mean, you don’t know where she is?” Senior partner Hubert H. Klees towered over Jewel, beetling his brows and wringing his hands.
“She . . . uh, had to take care of some business outside of the office today, but I’m not sure where she is right at this moment.” There, Jewel thought, that bluff should do the trick. She was far too loyal an assistant to say she’d not heard from Penelope all day, that no one had answered the phone the twenty times she’d rung her apartment, and that she, Jewel, was starting to worry and about to call her brother the cop to ask for advice.
“Well, you tell her the minute you hear from her that I want her in my office ASAP.” Hubert glared and strode off, trying to look like a man in control. Jewel had seen Mr. Fitzsimmons stroll into the office in his quiet yet commanding way half an hour ago, so she knew why Hubert was sweating it.
He wanted Penelope to appear and charm the guy again. Or maybe he wanted her to solve his tax problems. Jewel glanced down at the memo Penelope had left her to type, a memo that detailed quite a brilliant solution to Fitzsimmons’s dilemma.
She could have offered it to Hubert, but she’d worked in the legal world far too long to have done anything so naive. With Penelope missing from the office, Hubert quite likely would have taken the credit and felt quite justified in doing so. No, if Penelope didn’t appear soon, Jewel would find a way of getting the memo to Fitzsimmons. Under Penelope’s signature, of course.
Chapter 22
It was all too weird, Penelope thought, watching the sidewalk bob from her vantage point inside the ear of a fat and rather cantankerous yellow cat, a cat she’d be willing to bet belonged to Mrs. Merlin.
Trust the mistress of magickal mishaps to own a cat with an attitude.
Penelope figured she must have lost hours in some magickal time warp, because the afternoon sun beat down bright and hot on the sidewalk in front of the shotgun house where the cat had paused.
When she’d last been herself, the clock had been sweeping past midnight. Penelope shook her head and clung to the inside of the yellow cat’s ear. Honestly, to have been reduced to the size of a flea was more of an insult to her ego than she could handle!
But even as that thought crossed her mind, she banished it. Thinking of Mr. Gotho and whatever lesson he’d been trying to impress upon her, she somehow knew this was not the right moment to be demanding of the universe a different set of circumstances for something so minor as her ego.
No, right now she needed her wits about her, sans any distractions of pride, hubris, or whatever the bearded magician might have termed it.
She hoped she hadn’t imagined seeing Tony only a few minutes earlier walk out onto the porch of the house the cat had chosen to visit. She hoped she hadn’t merely fallen into one of her fantasies. But from her perspective, obscured as it was by the wavy hairs lining the cat’s ear, she couldn’t be sure.
Or could she?
Penelope sighed. She knew in her heart she’d recognize the man with bedroom eyes even if she were blindfolded. And hadn’t Mrs. Merlin insisted there were no coincidences in candle magick? As surely as Penelope had been thrust loose from her usual realm, she had in a miraculous fashion landed close to help.
In a cat’s ear, she reminded herself, feeling another sweeping wave of indignation. All she’d tried to do was help Mrs. Merlin back to normal, and look what she’d gotten for her troubles!
The cat must have turned its head rapidly, because Penelope felt herself tipping and sliding in a way that totally disoriented her. Then she experienced hurtling through a vast darkness, exactly the way she had last night during the candle spell.
The sensation lasted only a few moments, but whatever event had occurred, when things settled once again, she could now see the man on the porch ever so clearly. No more peering around fuzzy hairs inside a cat’s ear.
She caught her breath at the sight of him.
The wiry legs, muscle and sinew, were all Tony. He wore shorts, his usual uniform, it seemed, but these were much briefer than those she’d seen him wear before, treating Penelope to a mouthwatering view of sculpted, muscular thighs disappearing from her appreciative view under flimsy nylon shorts.
“Go on up to the porch,” she urged the cat. She didn’t know how she would accomplish it, but she knew she had to have Tony’s help to undo Mrs. Merlin’s spurious spell.
The cat didn’t budge.
She’d spoken to it earlier and it had in some way acknowledged her, either through gesture or kitty language. But now the cat stood on all fours, for all intents and purposes, frozen.
Penelope looked upward. Tony lowered his body to the top step of the porch. Funny how she could see so clearly now, as if she were looking straight at him from her own eyes. . ..
The thought she’d been about to think lodged in her mind. No longer was she looking through the fine hairs inside the cat’s ear. It’s only a test, she told herself, willing her mind to command one of the cat’s front paws to move.
Even as she directed the paw, she glanced down and saw that the cat’s foot was indeed moving forward. Now the right one, she said, and watched as she moved closer to the porch.
“Wingtips and whiskers,” she breathed.
She’d become the cat!
Across town, in the heart of the French Quarter, the telephone rang in the back section of the Bayou Magick Shoppe.
About to leave for his daily workout at the New Orleans Athletic Club, Alistair Gotho glanced toward the front of the shop to see whether his assistant would reach for the phone. Three customers crowded the counter; the phone continued to peal. Without setting down his gym bag, he reached for the phone to put the caller on hold for his helper.
As he did, he noticed the light flashing on the second line, indicating whoever was calling had dialed his unlisted number.
With a sigh, he lifted the receiver. “Gotho speaking.”
“Now, I know you told me you were washing your hands of me, but it really, really would be unfair to Penelope to write me off just now, so don’t hang up. Please. I knew Mr. M was somehow crossed with Penelope and I was only trying to straighten things out, but I have a terrible feeling I’ve really made things worse now!” Mrs. Merlin’s voice rushed over the phone line, sweeping into his ears and taking over like an unwanted relative come to stay for an extended visit.
“Ah, Mrs. Merlin, how are you?”
“How can you ask such a question? After what I’ve just told you! Could things be any worse?”
Alistair dropped his gym bag on the floor, settled into the chair behind the counter, and lifted a hand exerciser he kept for moments like these. Knowing Mrs. Merlin, that would be the extent of his day’s workout.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he said. “For instance, a
re you back to your usual size?”
“Thank the stars, yes.”
“You’re welcome,” Alistair murmured, thinking of the supplies he’d bundled up to help her out of her miscast spell, but the comment was lost on Mrs. Merlin. “So am I to understand that you have not stuck to your word to practice only the simplest of candle magick’s applications?” He didn’t know why he wasted his breath asking that question; clearly she had called for yet another rescue operation.
“Well. . .”
“Yes?” He tried to sound stem, but pulling that trick with someone the same age as his own grandmother was pretty hard for him to do.
“Not exactly. But I meant well.”
Alistair swapped hands with the phone and the exerciser. “Let’s try to get to the point, then, hmmm?”
She laughed, a nervous sound that hummed along the phone line like a rattler gathering itself to strike. “If only I could! But I don’t even know what’s happened to Penelope. She helped me get back to myself, and then, well, Mr. Gotho, you may find this hard to believe—”
“Try me.” From Mrs. Merlin, he’d believe almost anything.
“Hold your horses. I’m telling this story. As I was saying, you may find this hard to believe, but once I was back home safe and sound and back to size, and shape, thank you very much, my cat had disappeared.”
Alistair nodded. The cat easily could have run off. He glanced longingly at his gym bag, only to be snapped back to attention when Mrs. Merlin spoke again.
“Yet his collar was wrapped around the candle on my altar.”
“Any idea where he might be?”
“None. But I must find him.”
“Anything else?” He asked, to give himself time to think as much as out of curiosity.
“Well, there is one more little problem.”
He should have known. He waited for her to make a clean breast of the mix-up.
“Penelope’s shoes are here, too, next to the collar.”
“The ones she wore when she assisted you with your retum-to-body spell?”
Silence answered him. He waited, then finally repeated his question.
“What’s-a-matter? Couldn’t you see me nodding?”
Alistair shook his head. “Can you see that?”
“Of course not, but you have powers I can’t begin to imagine ever possessing.”
“And you’ll never even come close if you keep confusing the heavens and clouding your karma.” That time he did manage a tone of severity. “You know you’ve endangered an innocent woman and an innocent feline by your hurly-scurly rush into spells you’ve no business attempting.”
“Oh, I know, Mr. Gotho!” Her voice wailed at him over the line. “And I promise, if you help me correct this one, I’ll never ever do it again.”
He didn’t even ask her to swear to that promise on the nose of the goddess. He’d only be wasting his breath.
He was about to speak when she came out with, “There is one other little detail I’d be remiss not to clarify.”
“Remiss?” Alistair wondered where this grandmother from Gentilly had acquired her vocabulary. Better not to ask, though. “And what is that?”
“I didn’t just try once to unmix things—”
“You didn’t perform two spells!” Alistair slapped his forehead. Mrs. Merlin had really done it this time.
“I do remember you said that once a spell goes awry, it’s best not to tinker with it, but I did think surely I could get Mr. M back.”
“I think,” Alistair said, trying not to grind his teeth, “I’d better come straight over.”
“Oh, would you do that?” Mrs. Merlin’s voice perked right up. “I’ll set out some bread pudding I just happen to have in the freezer and put on a pot of coffee.”
Alistair shook his head, then said, “Why don’t you do that?” Anything to keep the woman from lighting another candle. “I’ll be right over.”
Tony figured he must have passed the cat’s safety inspection, because suddenly the large orange feline quit hanging back and walked straight toward the porch. Tony had always liked cats, but since his old tom Bruno died last year, and Kathy had moved out with the two kittens, he hadn’t adopted another one.
“You lost or just new to the neighborhood?” Tony asked in a low voice, gently reaching a hand out to the cat. “Hey, you look just like Bruno.”
The cat halted on the step beside his feet, then lifted its head up.
Tony stared at the cat’s eyes. They were the most amazing blue, deep and glowing. The cat meowed and Tony stroked it lightly on the top of its head. It seemed to like that as it moved closer and rubbed against his leg.
He’d never seen eyes that color on a cat. The cobalt blue was the same shade as Penelope’s eyes, and they were unusually rare and beautiful even in a human. Stroking the cat’s head and back gently, he propped his chin on the other hand and wondered what she was doing.
Probably at work, too busy to think of Tony Olano, the man who’d stolen her virginity and then pushed her away. He’d been on his way back to the corner basketball court to work out his frustrations.
To his surprise, the cat hopped onto his lap.
“Friendly, aren’t you?” Smoothing his hand over the cat’s silky fur, Tony couldn’t help but think of Penelope’s satiny skin, and of the way she’d purred under his touch when they’d made love.
He’d seen the hint of fire in her eyes, sensed that under her starchy exterior lay a woman of passion, and yesterday’s lovemaking had only confirmed that. How she had remained a virgin as long as she had, he couldn’t understand. Were the other men she’d met blind?
“Meowwwwww.” The cat cried plaintively and butted its head against his hand.
Tony realized his hand had stopped. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” His hand went back to petting the cat, his mind to picturing Penelope. Trouble was, the more he thought of her, the more excited he got. He found it hard to believe he’d actually mustered the will to have been so cruel to her yesterday with his “nooner” line. But he’d had to hurt her enough to keep her away from him. For her own safety.
The cat had started purring and kneading its paws just above Tony’s knees. Fortunately the cat didn’t have front claws.
Tony ran one finger under the cat’s jaw, scratching the narrow edge of its chin, remembering Hinson saying that Penelope was to be his wife. Did she intend to marry Hinson? His hand stilled as an alarming idea came to him. Had Penelope lied? Was she playing some game with him and Hinson, the way she played at shoplifting?
The cat stopped its paw massage and turned its head to look at him.
Staring into those blue eyes, eyes so weirdly similar to Penelope’s, Tony almost felt like the cat was trying to answer his question.
“So she’s innocent? That’s your vote?”
The cat meowed and ran its tongue over his finger. The soft, sandpapery effect tickled slightly and made Tony wish he was holding Penelope on his lap and lapping at her body in exactly the same way.
He’d start with her ear, circling the incredibly soft skin of her lobe, then dart in with his tongue, just enough to tease her into one of those gaspy moans she’d made so often yesterday.
The cat settled onto his lap, purring loudly. At least someone was getting some satisfaction, he thought, shifting his position on the porch, aching to feel Penelope beneath him.
Stroking under its chin, he realized that buried in the fuzzy fur was a delicate silver chain circling the cat’s neck. Gently, he worked it around to see if it held an identification tag. As tame and friendly as the cat was to Tony, a complete stranger, this animal surely belonged to someone and had merely strayed from home.
“Not that I wouldn’t mind keeping you, kitty,” Tony murmured, as he turned over a miniature silver oval.
Fine prickles ran up the back of his neck as he stared at the engraved P on the silver pendant, a pendant exactly like the one Penelope wore.
“I hope you realize how terribly
complicated it is to undo things when you’ve created this degree of transmutation,” Alistair Gotho said in a stem voice as he held open the door to the Vieux Carré District police station for Mrs. Merlin.
“There’s no need to lecture,” Mrs. Merlin replied, pausing to close the purple umbrella she carried as a sunshade.
“No, I suppose not,” he murmured, knowing full well that even though she claimed to listen to his advice, she always acted on the impulse of the moment.
A group of tourists in shorts and T-shirts emblazoned with French Quarter motifs trundled out the open door of the station, which also served as a clearinghouse for tourist information.
By the time they passed, Mrs. Merlin had her umbrella under control and the two of them entered, Mrs. Merlin muttering under her breath what sounded like, “We’ve got to hurry.”
She’d insisted they go straight to the police station nearby on Royal Street to locate Tony Olano, saying she felt it in her bones that it was the thing to do. Find this man Tony and we’ll find Mr. M and Penelope, Mrs. Merlin had informed him, pretty much all in one breath.
Alistair favored a more studied approach to the issue. He failed to see why the confusions in Mrs. Merlin’s spell should necessarily involve Olano. But, despite Mrs. Merlin’s habit of getting herself into magickal jams, she had an unerring sixth sense about certain essences.
So he’d followed along; once they had the necessary data, someone had to perform the spell of retroactivity.
Someone who was qualified.
Out of a well-developed instinct to expect the unexpected where Mrs. Merlin was concerned, before he’d left his shop, Alistair had grabbed his portable magick kit that he kept packed for emergencies.