Клеа Саймон - An Incantation Of Cats

“Yeah, I know, only the police might not see it that way.” Becca was walking slowly down the block as she spoke with her friend, her mind on the conversation she’d just had. “If they still think Gaia made herself sick, they might not be looking at all the implications.”

“What implications? That woman Elizabeth said she was cleaning the place out, and I bet that means that stupid plant is gone. But don’t they have tests? Can’t they find traces of things like poisons?” Maddy watched a lot of TV.

“I don’t know, Maddy.” Becca stopped to look up at the late afternoon sky. “They might just dismiss that, or say that’s where Gaia was hiding it. I mean, it was Tiger who told me Elizabeth took it. And honestly? I don’t know how reliable he is on this. He’s told me he’s over Gaia, but I think there’s still something there. He’s more upset about all of this than he’s letting on this, and I’m not entirely sure what to believe.”

***

By the time they hung up, Becca had promised her friend that she would at least seriously think about calling Detective Abrams to fill him in on what Tiger had said. “Really seriously, Maddy,” she vowed. “Even though it’s all hearsay.”

But by then, she’d lost her newfound equanimity. As Clara trotted alongside her, she could see that her person’s focus had turned inward, bringing with it a frown and the kind of bunched brows that the little calico associated with ruffled fur.

When Becca slowed on the walk up to the library, Clara knew her worst fears were being realized. As much as she didn’t want her person looking too closely into her family’s long history with magical felines, she really didn’t want her getting more involved with this case. Although Clara was loath to take any human’s side against Becca’s, for once, she had to admit that Maddy was right. A person had died, and this was no longer a case for an amateur. Becca needed to leave it to the police.

Once again, Clara wished she had Laurel’s gift. Not for anything as trivial as her choice of clothing, but to make her see the sense in Maddy’s words—and to make her as careful of her own life as she was of her pets’. Even if she could simply eavesdrop like her sister did on her person’s thoughts, she’d be grateful. What was her dear person thinking about? Clara looked up anxiously, trying to read Becca’s face, and almost collided with her as Becca’s steps slowed.

Only then did Clara look around her with an almost imperceptible feline sigh of relief. Becca had come to a halt not ten feet from a familiar modern structure, its glass walls revealing the kind of benign busy-ness that Clara would wish her person engaged in full time. Even unable to read the words spelled out over the foyer in oversized letters, she recognized this as one of Becca’s regular haunts: the Cambridge public library.

Eager for her person to enter, Clara gazed inside to where a young boy was checking out two books as his father looked on and an employee pushed a cart loaded with oversized hardcovers. All of this would usually be as irresistible as catnip to Becca, and Clara waited for her person to pull open the great glass doors.

When she didn’t, Clara looked back with growing concern. Becca had her phone out, something she never did inside the building. Which, the cat told herself, must be why she had turned away.

“Tiger? It’s Becca.” Clara felt her whiskers sag. “I was wondering if you could tell me more about the plant you saw. Would you call me?” And with that, she hung up, but if Clara had any remaining hope that her person had put the matter to rest and would proceed inside the library, that soon dissipated. As she watched, Becca began to chew her lower lip and stare off into the distance. Since there was nothing out there beyond a rather drab brown oak, Clara began to fear the worst. When Becca turned her phone off and began to walk back toward the street, picking up her pace as she left the library behind, she knew what to expect.

“ Becca, no!” Clara trotted to keep up. When it became clear that Becca was heading once more into Central Square, the calico began to panic. There was a reason Becca had been adopted by the three cats. She needed the gifts of all three, and just then, Clara felt the burden of being the only cat to accompany her person sorely.

“Please…” She did her best to project her thought, her ears twitching back with the effort. “Laurel, if you can hear me, can you help us out?”

Surely, her sister could pick up on her thoughts. She had already revealed her ability to travel shaded, much as Clara herself did. Ears up and every guard hair alert, Clara waited, hoping to get some sense that her slinky middle sister had heard her call and would respond. All she heard was the twittering of birds, though, and so she scurried to follow as Becca began walking even more quickly away from the library and the safety of the known.

Chapter 32

As the familiar storefront came into view, Clara let herself hope. While she didn’t like the idea of Becca asking more questions—certainly didn’t like the way that that woman Elizabeth seemed to know more than she should—at least she could understand such an action. Her person was thorough, a researcher at heart. Maybe Becca wanted something clarified. Maybe she had forgotten some important information. Maybe she had left her hat. But a quick glance to the velvet cloche that still topped Becca’s brown curls killed that hope.

Still, as Becca approached the storefront, Clara dared to believe. The store’s darkened interior showed no sign of life, and Becca knocked and waited—normal behavior, her cat told herself. Not rash at all. Only Becca wasn’t giving up. After trying to peer inside, her face pressed against the painted glass, she tried again, rapping on the window, to no avail. And so when Becca ducked around the back of the building, hurrying down the alley like some small and timid animal, the little cat began to feel ill.

“No, Becca!” She tried once again to project her thoughts. To implant the idea of the library, so safe and warm. Or, even better, of the cozy sofa at home. Maybe she had too much imagination, however, and she could see all too well where this was all heading. Because Becca, despite Clara’s fervent desire to warn her, appeared to be doing just what her pet feared most. She was going to try to duplicate her stunt of the previous day—only, this time, without a friend to stand guard. Not a friend who could call out to warn her, at any rate.

If she needed to, she would alert Becca somehow, Clara promised herself. Sure enough, as Clara watched, tail whipping in anxiety, Becca stared up at a high inset window with the intensity Laurel would use to gauge the jump to the top of the bookshelf. But Becca was no cat, and when her bottom didn’t twitch in anticipation, Clara began to breathe easier. Until, that is, she saw that Becca’s gaze had been distracted and she remembered. What Becca lacked in feline grace, she more than made up for in logic. Sure enough, a quick exploration of the back lot uncovered that plastic milk crate over by the dumpster, and it occurred to Clara that someone might have left it for just such an illicit entrance. Someone like Gaia, who wanted an easy way in and out. And although Becca was a good three inches shorter than the goth shop girl, when she stood on the milk crate and raised herself on tiptoe, she was able to reach the window.

“Now if only…” Clara’s ears perked up as Becca spoke, more to herself than to any possible passerby, her pet realized. “Yes!” Her agile fingers, so much more flexible than any talon, had managed to raise the edge of the window and from there it slid easily. With a grunt and a bit of a squeal, Becca pulled herself up, her sneakers finding purchase on the brick. And a moment later, she was inside.