Клеа Саймон - An Incantation Of Cats

The running water also covered a sound that immediately put Clara’s fur on edge. A sound that Becca’s less sensitive ears were likely to miss. The scrape of metal on metal, followed by the slide of a bolt.

Someone was unlocking the shop’s front door.

Clara whirled around as the door creaked ever so faintly, her tail fluffing as her multicolored fur spiked in alarm. She and Becca would make a run for it. They would fight. They would … but Becca did not react. Whoever was out there was being careful, opening the door carefully so as to not cause the bells to jingle. Was it possible that Becca really hadn’t heard anything? How could she not be aware, as the cat at her side was, of the slow footsteps making their way into the front room?

To Clara’s horror, Becca appeared lost in thought—or in contemplation of the paper towel she was using to dry her hands—and no amount of concentration on her cat’s part was getting her attention. To make matters worse, Becca had pulled her phone from her pocket and had begun fussing with it.

“ This is no time to check your messages!” Clara’s urgent warning went unheeded. As the footsteps approached, the calico considered her meager options. Should she run to the front room? Perhaps if she dropped her shading, she could startle the intruder into making some sound. Or better yet, trip the person and also slow her—his?—approach.

If only Laurel were here…

“Move over!” The hiss startled Clara so badly, she nearly fell. But as she scrambled back, she was able to see a chocolate-tipped shadow leap to the sink. Blue eyes blazed down at her for a split second, then turned upward to focus on the pale and distracted face of their human.

“Becca! Listen! Someone’s coming!” Laurel’s thoughts were so loud, even Clara could hear them. “You’ve got to get out of here. Now!”

It wasn’t a tone Clara would ever take with Becca. Even as a silent suggestion, her sister’s distinctive Siamese yowl was sharp enough to pin Clara’s ears back. But whether it was that psychic caterwaul or Becca had finally come to her own senses, it broke through their person’s preoccupied daze. Suddenly alert, Becca started, staring wide-eyed at the open bathroom door.

“She’s going to close it.” Clara began to panic. “She’s going to try and hide!”

“No!” Laurel’s silent cry stretched out into three syllables, and Clara could have sworn she heard the rasp of claws. “Na-oh-wow!”

Becca turned at last back toward the window. From the toilet to the sill, she clambered, almost as graceful as a cat herself. And then through the window and out.

“Thank you!” Clara turned to her sister once Becca was safely through.

“No more sense than a kitten!” Those blue eyes flashed, and then Laurel, too, was gone.

Chapter 33

Clara didn’t even stop to smooth her fur before she leaped too, emerging in the lot behind the store in time to see Becca dashing for the dumpster. After a quick grooming—necessary for her nerves as well as comfort and appearance—Clara joined her, slipping behind the metal container to where her person was crouching.

“Laurel?” Clara cast about for any sense that her sister was still around. “Are you here?”

A faint shimmer in the air made her turn. But when neither Laurel’s blue eyes nor her distinctive yowl emerged from the darkness around them, she settled back. Her sister had come to the rescue of their person, Clara told herself. She had heard her call and done what Clara could not. For that, the plump calico knew, she should be grateful.

If only she could get Becca to move on. Although her sensitive feline ears could pick up movement from inside the building, all appeared still out here. And yet Becca remained in what had to be an uncomfortable position for a human, squatting behind the dumpster like she was stalking prey.

“Of course!” Clara turned toward Becca with a new appreciation. Now that her person was out of danger, she would want to gather information and find out what was going on.

She didn’t have long to wait. With a squeak like a frightened rodent, the back door swung open. Although Clara’s eyes were trained on the entrance, she could hear the intake of breath as Becca saw the door swing open. Maybe it was the shadow that reached across the lot as the back room’s light spilled out. Maybe it was the way the figure paused, scanning the empty space and seeming to settle, if briefly, on the dumpster, where Becca had frozen motionless following that one quick gasp.

Or maybe it was who had stepped into the darkness, holding the back door open behind her. Elizabeth Sherman, a scowl on her hawk-like face, stared into the darkness as if she could see the young woman and the cat hidden there. Then, without a word, she stepped back inside and closed the door. A moment later, the light went out, and all was still.

“Elizabeth.” Becca said the name out loud, like she was trying out the taste in her mouth. “She can’t know…” Her voice dropped off as her awareness of her surroundings grew, but Clara could fill in what her person left unsaid. Becca had been careful during her brief exploration of the store’s back room. It was unlikely that the older woman would be able to tell if anyone had been there—a light could have so easily been left on by accident. There was certainly no way for Margaret’s sister to know that Becca had been the trespasser. And yet, the way she had stared at the dumpster had been unnerving, reminding Clara of how the woman had apparently seen her the day they had first met, despite the magical shading that cloaked her from others’ eyes.

After a few more minutes went by, Becca rose cautiously and, hanging close to the wall, made her way to the street. She walked slowly, and at first Clara wondered if the prolonged hiding had left her stiff. But a glimpse of her person’s face revealed Becca’s preoccupation. Clara couldn’t be sure if Becca had been able to see how the older woman had stared, with almost cat-like focus, at their hiding place. But Becca was certainly mulling over the ramifications of that plant—proof, it seemed, of a dangerous lie.

A metallic shriek had them both spinning around, and Clara’s back arched in fear.

“Tiger!” Despite her excitement, Becca kept her outcry to a whisper, for which Clara was grateful. Still, the little cat eyed the black bicycle, which had come to an abrupt halt by the curb, warily. “You were right!”

“You checked out the shop?” He sounded impressed. “They let you in?”

“I snuck in, to be honest.” Becca sounded half ashamed and half proud of her feat.

“Wow, good for you!” Smiling, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “You’re getting good at this.”

“Thanks.” Becca didn’t bother to hide her answering grin. “When you told me that Gaia used to sneak in, I realized it was possible to get in through the back window.” She stood up straight, head back. “She’s a little taller than me, but not by much. And you were right. I found the wolf’s bane in the bathroom. Up on the ledge, where it could get some light.”

“You think the cops will believe you?”

“They have to.” Becca was beaming. “I’ve got proof. I broke off a branch for evidence.”

“This is so great.” He laughed, showing those white teeth. “You’re brilliant, Becca!”

“Thanks.” Becca looked down, blushing, though whether because of the young man’s praise or the way he was looking at her, Clara couldn’t tell.

“I couldn’t have done it better myself.” He reached for her hand. To Clara’s surprise, Becca stepped away.