Клеа Саймон - An Incantation Of Cats

“I’ve probably told you more than I should have already, but this is all going to come out, most likely.” Becca’s forehead was creased, though if that was concern over breaking a confidence or worry about her client, Clara couldn’t tell. “The reason Gaia hired me is that she thought someone was trying to kill her. Or, maybe should I say, kill her, too.”

“And once the police hear that, they’ll wonder if they’re connected.” Marcia filled in the blanks.

“Why did she think that?” Ande, the voice of reason.

“Well, her ex-boyfriend told her that he’d seen someone hanging around, like a stalker. She said she didn’t think anything of it, but now she says she thinks someone put wolf’s bane in her tea.” Becca looked from one of her friends to the other. “An entire root. I know it sounds preposterous, but the tincture is really dangerous—a tablespoon or two can kill—and I don’t know how much would be in a raw root.”

“But who would put a root in someone’s tea?” Ande pinpointed one of the issues that Clara knew had been troubling Becca. “I mean, it’s kind of blatant. Like, wouldn’t you notice it when you lifted your mug? That sounds more like what you do to scare someone than to seriously hurt them.”

“Not only that, but I’m not convinced it’s actually wolf’s bane.” Becca looked around at her sister witches. When nobody spoke, she continued. “Gaia said it was, said she’s an herbalist. But I’ve been doing some research online. It doesn’t look right, and also, there’s something about the smell.”

“Wolf’s bane doesn’t smell,” Marcia said softly.

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t want to taste it, obviously. Hang on.” Becca ducked into the kitchen and returned with the baggie. “Smell that.”

Ande opened the bag and recoiled.

“I should have left it buried,” Harriet muttered.

“That smells familiar.” Marcia wisely didn’t put her face too close.

“I know. Asafetida, right?” Becca looked around for confirmation. “So maybe Margaret wanted to scare her. I mean, she was really upset about Frank, and if she thought Gaia was the other woman…”

“What about this ex-boyfriend?” Ande tilted her head at a quizzical angle. “He might be the one trying to scare her. Convince her that her new romance is too risky and that she should come back.”

After a moment’s thought, Becca shook her head. “Could be, he is the one who’s been looking out for her. Maybe he’s playing both sides, scaring her and then offering to take care of her. But he’s been warning her about a stalker, not poison. Plus, I get the feeling that he’s over her. Of course, that doesn’t mean the crimes aren’t connected. Gaia really thought it was wolf’s bane. Maybe Frank did, too. Sometimes, accidents can be deadly.”

Neither of her friends had a response to that.

“The first thing I have to do is get this tested.” Becca put the bag on the table. “But after that, well, I think I’ve got to hand it over to the police.”

Ande and Marcia exchanged a look. “Becs, I think you should just hand the baggie over now.” Ande spoke in the conciliatory tones of someone breaking bad news. “I know she’s a client, but this is serious.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Becca sighed. Whether it was doubt or concern over a man they only tangentially knew, a pall hung over the rest of the gathering, even as the three friends settled down to their wiccan routine. When Ande suggested a purifying ritual, Becca appeared visibly relieved. Laurel fled to the bedroom and Harriet recoiled, drawing one mitten-like paw up to her sensitive nose as Marcia waved the smoldering sage and Becca sprinkled salt. Clara made herself watch, however. These humans had no real powers, she knew that. But something about their rituals was vaguely familiar, even if it was simply that their ancestors had witnessed similar foolery through the centuries, at times with a tragic result. Clara hadn’t heard of any such nonsense in Cambridge. Not this century, anyway. But she wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, the way the three women waved their hands was positively entrancing. Almost like one of them was about to throw a toy for her to fetch.

“Look at your cat, Becca.” Clara looked up to see Ande smiling down at her, brown eyes warm with—could it be?—humor. “I swear, she’s trying to learn the ritual.”

“There is something uncanny about her.” Becca sounded unusually thoughtful as she knelt to stroke Clara’s multicolored back. “Even more than her sisters, I feel like she’s an old soul.”

In response, Clara licked Becca’s hand. Salt might not have any magic powers, but it did taste good.

Chapter 13

The ritual did not have the desired effect. Becca slept badly, tossing and turning to the point that her cats fled their regular posts by her feet long before dawn to sleep instead on the sofa.

“ I knew she shouldn’t go out!” Harriet kneaded her velvet pillow before settling down. Her complaining came more from concern for Becca than from any real discomfort. At least, that was Clara’s hope, as she nestled on a footstool. “That’s what started all of this.”

“ She could at least bring a new man home.” Laurel stretched to her full length along the sofa’s back, a luxury she could rarely indulge in when the three shared their person’s bed. “Then things might get interesting.”

Clara, knowing how her sister could get when she was overtired, didn’t comment. Bad enough the sealpoint had sussed out Becca’s exchange with Tiger, Laurel’s imagination was already a tad overheated. Hoping to keep her sister from reading her mind for more, the plump calico jumped up to the windowsill and watched as the rising sun warmed the red brick across the street to a rosy glow. Not long after, Becca herself rose, a tad rumpled, and promptly provided breakfast. But even as she brewed her own coffee, her gentle face seemed to firm into resolve.

“What’s up with Becca?” Once she’d cleaned her bowl, even Harriet noticed.

“She’s deciding something.” Laurel lashed her tail. More out of habit, Clara suspected, than because it served any purpose of concentration. Laurel was good at suggesting ideas to people. Whether she could always accurately fish them out, however, was a subject of debate. At times, Clara suspected her middle sister of inflating her own skills so Clara and Harriet would take her more seriously.

Even if it was simply a good guess, Laurel purred with pride when Becca muttered something about “getting it done,” and went to get dressed. Hoping for a bit more insight, Clara hopped down from her perch to follow the young woman as she prepared for whatever was to follow. Her usual attire of jeans and a sweater offered little clue, and even Laurel seemed disappointed when she joined Clara to observe their person from the bedroom doorway.

“So it’s not that new man yet.” The Siamese’s rumbling purr began to slow.

“Her new what?” Clara turned toward her sister in alarm. “Laurel, you can’t know—please don’t push Becca into something. We don’t know this Tiger.”

“Tiger.” The purr was back at full volume, Laurel’s whiskers bristling as her eyes closed in delight.

“What?” Harriet ambled up beside them. But Laurel was enjoying her private musing and Clara was inwardly kicking herself for feeding her middle sister’s fantasy as Becca reached for her coat and hat and, stepping over her pets, set out on her mystery mission.

“See if you can steer her toward this Tiger.” Laurel didn’t even look up as Clara summoned up the power to shimmy through the front door. “I do like the sound of him!”