by Clea Simon
Maddy gulped down hers. “You know you can always…”
“Sorry I even mentioned it.” Becca broke in, rising from the table. “I wonder if I have any chips?”
“Why did she want to hire you anyway?” Maddy had waited until her friend shook the bag out on a plate, but clearly she wasn’t going to let the matter drop.
“You mean as a witch detective? She thinks her violin is haunted or something. I doubt it.” Becca ate a chip and licked her fingers. Almost, thought Clara, like a cat. “But it did occur to me that perhaps Ruby was the intended victim of the killer next door.”
Chapter 16.
Maddy had a lot to say to that. If she were a cat, Clara knew, her back would be arched and she would be spitting, she was so upset. Only before she could marshal a response, Clara and her sisters went on the alert. Someone – or something – was approaching.
“What’s with your cats?” That wasn’t what Maddy had intended to say. Clara would have bet on that, had felines been the kind of animals that gambled. Still, she cocked an ear toward the round brunette, even as she loped after Laurel toward the door. Even Harriet came forward, parading at a stately pace that befitted her dignity.
“About time.” Harriet took a seat by the door and began arranging her fur. “Now perhaps this silliness will cease.”
“Doubt it.” Laurel looked back over her shoulder at the two humans. “Sometimes I despair of our Becca.”
“She’s doing the best she can.” Even at the risk of angering her siblings, Clara felt the need to stand up for their person. The fact that she had her own doubts did nibble away at her confidence.
“See?” Laurel’s blue eyes were on her now, and her sister was concentrating so hard she had gone cross-eyed. “You’re wondering too.”
“Do you think it’s mice?” Maddy’s question interrupted Clara’s attempt at a response. From the quaver in her voice, it almost sounded as if Becca’s friend was more afraid of vermin than of a killer in the building. “I mean, your cats seem obsessed.”
Before Becca could answer, the sound of footsteps – audible even to human ears – and then of a key in the lock had them both stepping back.
“Oh!” Ruby opened the door to find the two humans and three cats staring at her. “I’m sorry. I would have knocked, only I thought–”
“That you’d have the place to yourself?” Maddy no longer sounded afraid.
“What happened, Ruby?” Becca took her visitor’s arm and led her back into the living room. “Didn’t you get my message?”
“No, I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I thought I saw someone – I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter, but you gave me – us – a scare.” She shot a look at her friend.
“Because of my violin?” She followed Becca’s gaze. “You told her?”
“I did. Maddy, Ruby. Ruby – this is Maddy. But no, Ruby. Not because of the violin. Because of what happened next door.”
“You don’t think…” Ruby suddenly swayed, and Becca found herself supporting her.
“Maddy, help me.” Together they walked the young woman over to the sofa. “Here, lie down.”
“I’m sorry.” Ruby allowed herself to be led over to the couch, even letting Becca slip off her shoes as she lay back on the pillows. “I’m just … tired.”
“You must be exhausted.” Becca pulled the old afghan off the sofa’s back and laid it over the prone girl. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep.”
Becca gave Maddy a pointed look, but her friend shook her head – and shook off Becca’s hand. As Clara watched, the two retreated to the kitchen.
“Convenient, don’t you think?” Maddy’s whisper was more of a hiss.
“She’s exhausted. Jet lag, not sleeping last night – and shock as well.” Becca’s voice was soft, but Clara could hear the pain in it. “Have some sympathy.”
“Have some sense.” Her friend countered. If Maddy had a tail, it would be lashing.
“Look, I don’t know anything about her.” Becca glanced back into the living room, where Laurel perched on the sofa’s back, surveying the girl who lay motionless below her. “But I’m not entirely defenseless. You might think it’s crazy, but I trust my cats. They’d let me know if anything was wrong. They’re good judges of character.”
“Your cats?” Maddy was no longer whispering, and Becca shushed her. Clara glanced at her sister, but Laurel was concentrating too hard on Ruby to respond. Even from the kitchen, however, her sensitive ears picked up a soft snore.
“You don’t know, but I do. Please, Maddy, you’ve got to trust me on this.”
Maddy only shook her head. “I can’t stay, Becca. But I don’t like this. I don’t like any of this. Look, at least take your laptop and any jewelry you’ve got. Okay?”
“The most valuable thing in this apartment is the violin.” Becca smiled. “And that belongs to Ruby.”
Bowing to her friend’s request, Becca packed her laptop as well as her small jewelry box in her bag as she readied to leave. She also wrote a note, which – thanks to Maddy’s comments – Clara learned was about the oven and the shower, which could be tricky.
“Do not tell her when you’re going to be home.” Maddy insisted. “You might as well give her a deadline for clearing you out.”
Becca only sighed at that, but Clara figured she must have acquiesced from her friend’s satisfied snort. Only then did she leave the apartment, watching as her friend locked the door behind her.
“Talk about barn door and all that. I don’t know why you’re bothering.”
“She asked me for my help, Maddy.” Becca was losing her patience. “She’s alone in a strange city, and she happens to be asleep on my sofa. I’m not going to leave her in an unlocked apartment. Especially not when there may have been a murder next door.”
Maddy was muttering something as the two descended the stairs. But although Clara’s inclination was to follow her person, she wanted to check in with Laurel first.
“What did you get?” Clara might not have quite Laurel’s grace. Laurel was, after all, a slightly longer and leaner feline, but the calico did make it up to the sofa back in one leap. “Can you read her thoughts?”
“Of course I can.” Laurel sat back and folded her tail neatly around her brown toes, and Clara’s heart sank. When her sister assumed that rather superior look, she had learned, it was a sure bet she had failed at whatever mental feat she had attempted. “Do you think you could have done better?” Laurel whined, her eyes narrowing to slits. If nothing else, she could read Clara’s thoughts with no problem.
“I’m sorry.” Clara ducked her head submissively. “Only so much is riding on what we can find out about this girl.”
“I know.” Laurel turned to look at the sleeping Ruby, attitude temporarily at bay. “Only all I’m getting are images of that stupid instrument.”
Clara waited as patiently as she could. Finally, she broke. “Does she know anything about how it showed up here?”
“No.” Laurel’s tail lashed. Frustration, her sister realized. Not temper. “She’s dreaming about playing it. Only, there’s something wrong.”
Clara cocked her head at an inquisitive angle. Laurel always did like to play up the drama. This time, though, her baby sister really thought she was trying to puzzle something out. “She’s playing it, and then she’s putting it in its case. She’s sad. I can feel that.”
“Because she’s putting it away?”
Laurel’s tail flicked in annoyance. The sealpoint hated to be interrupted. “No, silly, it’s memory. The violin makes her sad, but it also scares her.”
Clara waited, her own tail twitching with the strain of keeping silent. “She did tell Becca she thinks it may be haunted.”
“Bast, you’re annoying.” Laurel was a master of side eye. “You should know by now that humans don’t have any sense of what may be haunted or not. For all I know, it’s Harriet’s pillow that’s giving her the
se dreams. Our big sister sheds like nobody’s business.”
With that she turned and jumped to the floor, sauntering off to the bedroom with her chocolate-tipped tail held high and leaving Clara to observe the young woman sleeping on the sofa.
“If only I could read her thoughts.” Clara stared down at the pale face and concentrated. All she managed to do, however, was make one dark-lashed lid twitch a bit. For all Clara knew, Harriet’s dander might have been responsible. There was an awful lot of it.
“I beg your pardon.” The calico looked over to see Harriet, staring at her icily from the ottoman. “I happen to have a most luxuriant coat.”
“And beautiful fur it is, too.” Clara leaped over the sleeping girl to land on the rug below Harriet. There was no use in antagonizing her sister further. Harriet had clearly heard her thoughts. Plus, the sleeping girl’s head was resting on the marmalade longhair’s special pillow. With a slight grunt, the big cat turned to glare at Ruby, concentrating so hard that Clara thought she could feel it. All she succeeded in doing, though, was to make the sleeping girl shift and turn on her side.
Harriet’s ears flicked back.
“Would you tell me more?” Clara wasn’t sure why she wanted to protect Ruby. The girl was an interloper, and she appeared to have brought trouble into their quiet world. Maybe it was that Becca had spoken up for her. Maybe it was some feeling of kinship with a smaller creature, alone in the world. “About our family history.”
Harriet shot her a glance, her yellow eyes hooded with suspicion. “You’re trying to distract me.”
Clara couldn’t directly disagree. Not when it seemed like her sister would know. Instead, she offered an alternative explanation. “I’m worried about Becca. About who she chooses to trust. And I had a dream....”
Harriet closed her eyes, settling down on the ottoman. For a moment, Clara thought she had fallen asleep, and although she had asked her sister about their shared history as a distraction she found she was disappointed. Not only was she concerned about Becca, the little calico did want to know more.
“Always so impatient.” A rumble from the white and orange cat, more growl than purr. “Yes, there have been lapses. Times when we failed in our duty, at times with tragic consequences.”
Clara could feel the fur rise along her back in horror, but she kept silent.
“Often – as in great-great-granddam’s time – it would begin when someone would seek our aid. Strangers, coming to our people, asking them to intercede. Now, in the old days, these requests were made in the proper fashion.”
A scent like pine resin flooded Clara’s mind. Smoky, only infinitely more pleasing than the incense Becca’s coven sometimes burned. At the same time, tastes – meat, milk, and … was that honey? – had her licking her chops. She felt once more the warmth of the desert sun. Only that heat was muted now, held back by the thickness of stone walls around her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the only illumination coming from the small glowing braziers, she could make out pictures on the painted stone. Images of – yes – her sisters, their eyes painted large and bright in vibrant blues and greens, the enamel reflecting back the firelight, sparkling amid the shadows.
“We were respected. Even feared.” Harriet’s voice took on a rumbling resonance, filling Clara’s head. “Only after we followed our people north and west, traveling over the oceans, did the troubles begin.”
Clara felt the rug pitch beneath her, as if she were being tossed on a stormy sea. So her family had traveled from another land. Rather like Ruby, who now lay on her side, her breath gentle and even.
“Not like this stranger!” Harriet’s anger cut in. “We journeyed out of loyalty and a sense of exploration. We had worlds to conquer. We were not fleeing danger. We embraced it.”
Clara ducked her head, acknowledging her sister’s rebuke, and as she did, she felt the cool wind off the water. The warmth of a more moderate sun. A new home, more green than gold. A place of safety and community. Her person respected for her learning. Her understanding of the plants that grew there. The rhythms of nature. Until…
“The first strangers respected this. They respected us. Only they grew jealous. Suspicious of our powers, which they wrongfully attributed to our people, Our great-great-granddam’s person, in particular.”
The marmalade fell silent once more. Only this time, her breathing became as even as the girl’s, her stub nose emitting a gentle snort that let Clara know that Harriet had, in fact, fallen asleep. Already, the calico was picking up dream images, and she felt her own head begin to nod.
Chapter 17.
She’s walking alongside a woman. The woman’s scent is familiar. Her warmth is welcome, but when she looks up, she sees it is a different person than that other – in the other dream. This woman is lighter skinned than she remembers, her hair a rich russet, like the leaves she holds in her open palm.
“Here,” she is saying, as she folds the leaves into a cloth. “This will help your cramp, and then, next time…”
A terrible sadness. Her companion, a younger woman, still weak from the loss of blood, accepts the bundle, her eyes searching the older woman’s face. She wants more, the cat can clearly see. That need is so sharp it frightens her, but she makes herself sit still. Wills her tail to wrap around her white front paws. A useful mouser, nothing more.
“Can you promise me a next time?” Her eyes are wide and pleading.
“I cannot promise more than my aid.” A smile softens the words, but the younger woman doesn’t see it. She is staring down at the ground. She is growing angry.
“I thought you had power.” She speaks softly, but her words are audible to the cat. Her bitterness as well. “If you chose…”
The cat moves closer to her person. Leans her soft fur side into her shin, as if she could turn her aside. The younger woman may be weak, but there is a note in her voice that alarms the cat. She looks up to see the young woman staring. Her eyes smoldering with – frustration? Anger? Whatever, it is veiled, as if by smoke.
She looks around for her sisters. Surely, they are here. They will aid her. For now, however, she is alone.
She feels … guilt?
Clara woke with a start and bristled, shaking off the dream – the vision – as if it were a pesky bug. Was this a memory? A warning? She had always been told to shade her magic, as she did herself. To keep her person from seeing what she could do. Could it be that others saw and felt – what? Jealous? Afraid?
She needed to know more.
A snort drew her attention to the big cat by her side, still sleeping. Still dreaming, possibly, of the distant past. Harriet could explain, Clara knew, but she also knew how irritable her sister could be when she was woken. Besides, her biggest sister would deny napping, even in the service of sharing memories, and her embarrassment would make her grumpier still. For the space of a minute, Clara considered her options, but none of them involved jollying either of her sisters into helping her out. And so with a last look at the sleeping Ruby, Clara hunkered down, wiggled her hindquarters in preparation for a leap, and launched herself through the apartment’s locked front door in pursuit of Becca.
She was halfway down the apartment stairs when a muffled shriek made her jump. Turning, she realized she was passing the landing by Deborah Miles’ apartment. Her timing couldn’t have been worse, as the nosy neighbor had apparently just left her apartment. Keys in hand, she stared, frozen, the pink blush on her cheeks standing out on unnaturally white cheeks and her false lashes frozen open in shock. A flash of fear. The dream, the memory. Cursing herself silently for her stupidity, Clara quickly shaded, only to see those oversized lashes blink like frightened birds.
“What?” One syllable squeaked out, as her manicured nails clenched around her keys. But Clara knew that there was no way to explain. Vowing to be more careful – in all ways – she went on her way.
Becca hadn’t gotten far. In fact, Clara’s person was walking so slowly by
the time she caught up with her that the calico looked up, worried. What if something were really wrong?
No, she realized. Becca simply wanted to make a phone call. But after fishing her device out of her bag and staring at it, she stowed it once again. Shaking her head, she kept walking, picking up her pace as she turned onto Mass Ave. Middle of the day, on a weekday, the street was always busy, but Clara heard her person gasp as they neared the little storefront.
A small crowd had gathered out front, and at first Clara worried that Becca blamed herself. Certainly, she shouldn’t have closed the shop at midday. But she had been worried, and besides, hours often went by without anyone coming in at all. Although Clara had grown accustomed to the incense and herbs Charm and Cherish sold, she’d come to realize that it was the dust – especially on the bookshelves – that tickled her whiskers the worst. Not that Becca could be expected to clean what her inferior human senses couldn’t detect. No, Clara thought as she trotted to keep up. Whatever that buzzing crowd might be on about, none of it could be Becca’s fault.
“There you are!” A familiar caw broke the crowd, and Clara looked up to see Margaret – the store’s owner – emerge from the assembled pack. Despite her short stature, she parted them like curtains, her fierce gaze and lipsticked glower causing bystanders to draw back even before her arms reached up to push them aside. “Elizabeth said you’d be back any minute, but the police wouldn’t wait.”
“The police?” Becca stopped so quickly Clara had to scramble not to run into her.
“Didn’t you get my message?” The painted-on brow sank into an angry V.
“I’m sorry.” Becca reached for her phone. “I was trying to reach a friend, and…”
“Never mind.” Margaret waved her off. “Maybe it’s just as well you weren’t here. You could’ve gotten hurt. Come on, then.”
Without any further explanation, she turned as if to dive back into the crowd and, after a moment’s pause, Becca followed. Shoving her phone back in her bag, she pulled out the keys. Not that she would need them. As the crowd once more parted for the diminutive owner, Clara could see that the door of the little store was propped open. A tech wearing gloves was busy examining the frame – as well as the broken glass within. Becca’s sign – Back in an hour! – still clung to a jagged fragment and swiveled back and forth in the breeze.