by S E Holmes
“I, I, don’t understand,” Nic stammered, too shocked for a more coherent sentence. He couldn’t get the shakes under control. There was a woman. But he’d killed a cat! It was a cat!
“Murderer,” Sasha jeered. He raised his phone and clicked pictures. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll bury you in a deep, dark ditch where no-one aside from your sex-deprived gorilla of a cell-mate will ever find you.” His handsome features crumpled in dismay. “Oh, Katya.”
Nic’s mind kicked in, belatedly grasping the point of the photos. Sasha’s eyes slid to the knife and in an instant they were both diving for it, viciously gouging, punching and kicking at each other. Nic swiped it across the floor, beyond his enemy’s reach, and received a boot to the cheek for his troubles.
As they writhed, Nic grabbed fistfuls of Sasha’s clothing, seeking for the phone he’d secreted in a pocket. He retaliated, ripping shirt buttons, and the amulet Nic had forgotten flung free. Sasha paused and squinted, staring at it with an incredulous look on his face.
“She gave you that? Mira actually gave you that?”
“I want that goddamned phone!”
The scuffle recommenced with added ferocity. A low growl halted their exertions. Scar slunk into view. With a giant shove, Sasha extricated himself and scrambled from the barn, fleeing into the darkness. Nic couldn’t fail to recognise the emotion playing on his face: fear. He was deadly afraid of the ginger tom now daintily licking blood from the discarded knife. What Nic had failed at was obliterating those incriminating shots. Or maybe he deserved what he got -- he’d committed homicide after all, and the consequences slammed the breath from his lungs.
He hyperventilated, rocking where he sat. He might as well have stabbed his dreams; they were as dead as the slaughtered woman he couldn’t bear to look at. Scar twined around him purring. Was he taunting Nic?
“Get away you stupid cat!” he bellowed, fatigued passed endurance.
Scar ran off with an offended yowl. And just in case the thought matters could not get any worse dared interrupt, Jonathon shouted from the back porch, accompanied by the tramp of boots approaching. “Nic!”
Ebon’s distress finally penetrated. Nic jumped up, panicking. He had to get rid of the body! But reality hit home. What was the point? Plenty of stories over the years taught that crimes were virtually impossible to conceal from modern Forensics, and right now, Nic wore a torn, bloodied billboard advertising blame. His attention wandered to the point of struggle. He gasped: Katya had disappeared. Quickly, he kicked straw over the scene and tossed the knife in a bucket of chaff, stripping down to his singlet. The shirt followed the knife and he jammed on the lid. Deliberating over this night’s eerie turn of events would bring him undone.
“Nicky? Are you in there?”
“Yep!” he called, running to undo the bolt and swing the stall door wide. Nic stroked Ebon’s forehead and she nuzzled his neck. He felt her distended belly and checked behind. “You’d better ring the vet. I think Ebon’s in labour. Maybe in breech.” He popped his head out, relief predominant, until recalling Sasha’s insta-pics. Nic had to retrieve that mobile.
Jonathon muttered from the barn entrance, “Fine time for Hank to go gallivanting.” He proceeded within, jabbing buttons. “No sign of that cat?”
“Nah, it must have been a false alarm.” There’d be no sign of her ever again.
“You look terrible. Is that blood? And scratches?”
Nic gulped, scrambling madly for an excuse. “Er, Ebon’s waters have broken. I fell down a gully full of lantana.”
Jonathon nodded. “Get some sleep, Nic. I’ve got this. You’ve done enough tonight. Martha’s very grateful.”
Yep, he sure had done enough. Not willing to risk further incriminating conversation, Nic fled for the sanctuary of his room, straight into the ensuite. He scrubbed himself raw under boiling jets, resting his head against cold tile and feeling a lot like Lady Macbeth, whose sins weren’t easily expunged either. Just as his head finally hit the pillow, there was a tap at the door.
“Nic, it’s me,” said Sam.
He sighed. “Enter.”
Sam came in and perched on the end of the bed, hair tousled and eyes puffy. “Barney drove Martha and the kids home.”
“You came to tell me that at three a.m.? Are they okay?”
Sam nodded, compulsively rubbing the jacquard of the quilt with a thumb. “Anatoly phoned and told me they found Katya dead in her pen.”
Nic sat up. “They did?” He so wanted to ask ‘the woman or the cat?’. “What did she die of?”
“Natural causes, apparently. She was awfully old.” Sam’s expression was shrewd. “Mira called as well.”
“Busy bunch aren’t they? Do they ever sleep?”
“You’re pretty busy too, aren’t you, Nic?” His brother’s tone conveyed an undercurrent of hurt. “Why don’t you talk to me anymore? Tell me what’s happening with you? You’ve listened to my crazy shit for years.”
“I’m super tired, Welly. I don’t have the energy for riddles.”
“You killed Katya in our barn. Stabbed her to death.”
There was no point lying. “That monster tried to kill me!”
“Oh, I don’t blame you. Mira asked me to pass on a message. She has the photos. If you want them, come up in the morning and she’ll hand them over.”
“She will?”
Sam nodded and stood to leave. “It doesn’t seem like it, but they’re on your side, Nic. They’re trying as hard as they can to help you.”
Nic’s temper exploded. “Why?! Some Felid crap about me being the reigning heir? Get a grip, Sam. Those people are lunatics. And they don’t care about who they hurt upholding their delusions.”
“You still don’t believe, after all you’ve seen? You’re wearing the Bast amulet. Not just anyone can do that. It helps you see them in their true form. You can’t ignore the curse, Nic. It won’t ignore you.”
Nic reefed the ankh from his neck and hurled it to the carpet. “You’re quoting their slogans now? I’ll have t-shirts made-up.”
“Nic, please! You have to take this seriously.”
“It’s screwed-up in twelve ways from normal.” He scrunched down beneath the covers and made a point of grabbing the lamp switch. “Leave me alone, Sam. If you want to badger me, do it tomorrow.” He lingered in the frame, arms crossed stubbornly. “Should I have taken you off the meds, Sam? Have I done the wrong thing?”
“She was relieved, at the end. You saved her, Nic, and I’m certain Katya was thankful. No-one but the rightful Bast successor can take a Felid life.”
***
Chapter Thirty-Two