Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Harriet sometimes said that they were descended from feline royalty, from the great Queen of Cats herself, and Clara knew that often other cats did treat them with a certain respect. But whether the claim of royal lineage had any basis in fact or was merely another of Harriet’s ploys for getting the best treats, her youngest sibling couldn’t tell for sure. Clara’s one distinct memory of their mother was of being licked by a warm, rough tongue. However, her injunction against revealing their power had stayed with Clara, even if her sisters chose to ignore it. The loyal calico could still clearly recall their tabby mother purring it into her ear even as she sent them off to the shelter to be adopted by the young woman they now served.

“ Serve indeed!” Laurel was wakeful too. Needless to say, her memories—and her understanding of the injunction—differed from Clara’s, much as her ease at reading her sister’s thoughts illustrated the range of their powers. “ It was pure chance Becca picked us,” said the seal-point beauty as she leaped to the kitchen table, where Becca had abandoned her breakfast to peck away at her computer. “I knew I should have hissed at her. Then maybe some handsome banker would have taken us in.”

“Taken you, you mean.” Clara couldn’t help responding. “We were lucky to stay together.”

Laurel blinked her blue eyes demurely, which was as close to an acknowledgment as she would give, and leaned forward to sniff at Becca’s cereal bowl.

Becca, too intent on her computer, didn’t notice, not even when Laurel extended her pink tongue and began to lap up the leftover milk. Harriet did, though, and after a grunt of effort, landed with a thud by Clara’s side.

“Is that the Fruit Loops?” She nudged Laurel aside. Some things were worth the effort. “Are there any left?”

“What do you mean, ‘blocked’? ” Becca’s question didn’t even merit a tail flick from the sisters, seeing as how it wasn’t accompanied by any move to unseat them. Instead, her hands went to work on the keyboard in front of her. “I’ll show you ‘blocked,’” she muttered, typing furiously.

With her sisters occupied finishing Becca’s breakfast, Clara was free to study her face. For a human, Becca was almost cat-like. Although she was significantly larger than they were, she was small for her kind, and her short, brown hair lay close to her head, much like their fur did. It was the expression on her face, however, that held Clara this morning. When she focused, as she was doing, her lips pursed slightly. If she’d had whiskers, they’d be bristling, the calico thought. Pointing forward, almost. And as if she were truly one of their litter, her intense stare made it evident that she was on the prowl—though how she could trace anything through her computer was beyond the feline who watched her so closely. True, it was warm and at times it purred, but Clara didn’t think that even Becca’s constant stroking and murmuring could make the silver machine give forth the kind of prey that would interest one of her own kind.

“There!” With a final, triumphant slap at the keyboard, Becca sat back, and realization dawned on Clara. Whatever kind of hunt the young woman before her had managed, using this device and her own rather closely cropped claws, she had made a successful pounce.

“So much for wanting me back, Jeff Blakey. So much for nothing serious…” A few more keystrokes followed and then a sudden intake of breath. “Oh!” Her voice was soft. “Oh.”

“What?” Laurel looked up, a rime of milk around her brown snout. “Is she okay?”

“Like you care.” Clara rubbed up against Becca’s hand, partly to comfort her and partly to gain access. As Laurel licked her chops and began to bathe, Clara focused in on the picture in front of her. Sure enough, up on the screen was Becca’s ex-boyfriend, posed in front of the software startup where he spent his days. Even in this flat miniature, with none of the reassuring confirmation of scent, the calico cat recognized those floppy bangs, the broad, easy grin that her person had thought so charming. With a slow blink of her round, green eyes, Clara also realized that she recognized the woman in the picture—the one he had his arm around. Tall, blonde, slim. Suzanne.

“Oh, Clara.” An arm swept the cat off the table before she could see more, and Becca held her close, burying her face in the multicolored fur. “Maddy was right. It wasn’t just a few dates. Jeff even changed his status to ‘in a relationship.’ It was Suzanne, and I didn’t even know.”

Clara felt the warm wet of tears begin to seep through her fur but held still. She knew her sisters scoffed at her sometimes, but the youngest cat saw comforting their person as much of a sacred duty as, well, keeping rodents away or kicking litter on the bathroom floor.

After a few minutes had passed, Becca’s sobs subsided, and she freed the cat to wipe her face. Clara stayed on her lap, though, aware of how her presence had helped. Besides, she had a great view of the computer from here, and she could see where the melancholy girl was now manipulating the image.

“April,” Becca read aloud. With a tingle in her whiskers, Clara could almost feel her thinking. April had been the bad month—the month on the sofa… “So this was from a month ago. Maybe he really did break up with her…”

A few more clicks, and his page was replaced by one that featured Becca’s slender blonde colleague, only in a lot better shape than when Becca had just seen her. Clara’s ears pricked up as Becca began to type some more, her fingers patting at the keys as if they were catnip mice.

“That’s strange.” She rested her chin on the top of Clara’s head, a sure sign that she was thinking. A flurry of typing followed, but the picture on the screen didn’t change. “How can someone on social media have no recent photos?” Clara swished her tail in the hope that Becca wasn’t talking to her. Because of all the mysteries to which the feline was privy, this was one question for which she had no answer.

***

Becca did not answer any of Jeff’s calls that morning, and there were enough of them that they had become annoying.

“I could break it.” Laurel sat atop the bookshelf, looking at the buzzing device. “Just a little push…” One dark chocolate paw rose in the air, ready to dab.

“You can’t,” Clara hissed. Sometimes, she felt like she was the oldest sister. “She needs it.”

“Needs it, huh?” Laurel turned and began licking her tail. She didn’t have to bathe, but she did like to show off her flexibility on the high, narrow shelf.

“You know what I mean.” Clara tried a conciliatory tone. “It’s how she reaches out without having to actually go outside.”

“I thought she was trying to learn how we do that,” the seal-point sister responded, her mew muffled by a mouthful of fur. “Get into people’s minds. Like old what’s his face is — at least now.”

True enough, Jeff had been calling since Becca had turned her phone back on. The voicemail kept piling up, though, and even Harriet could tell they were weighing on Becca. So, Clara at least was glad when Becca had ducked out for a run. She came back glowing and warm. And if her exuberance had been forced, at least she seemed to have an appetite finally, although Clara suspected that Laurel had a paw in that—implanting such an idea was kitten’s play for the seal point, at least with a person as open as Becca.

Whatever the initial impetus, Becca poured more cereal into that bowl and topped it off with more milk as the three felines looked on. That she held the bowl and began to eat before hitting “play all” on her message app did nothing to dissuade Laurel, who circled the young woman like a shark in shallow water.