Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Over on the sofa, Harriet’s head jerked up as if she’d been shocked. The crunch, as Trent bit again into one of the cookies, had brought her to her feet. Harriet, like most cats, could summon food, as she did with that pillow. But like that pillow, it would be pulled from the ether—with about as much flavor. And Harriet had a particular weakness for sweets. That, Clara knew, could mean trouble.

“So, this spell…” Larissa’s foot swung under the table. She had those pointy-toed heels on, but Clara scooted out of the way in time, losing sight of Harriet. “I want to hear the details.”

“I’m not sure exactly what I did—or did differently.” Becca had tucked her red sneakers under her chair, as she did when she was nervous. Looking at all the shoes around her, Clara didn’t blame the tender human. This was scary territory. And Harriet wasn’t likely to make it any easier. The calico crept forward while Becca explained. “I was reciting the Ars Advocabit —the summoning spell—from the book, just like we’ve all done. And then—there it was.”

“There what was?” Larissa’s tone matched those shoes.

“A pillow.” Becca’s voice went soft. “I’d summoned a pillow. And before you say anything, yes, it really was a new pillow. Not anything I had in the house before. It was gold velvet and very soft.”

From her new vantage point, Clara could see Harriet stretch with satisfaction, and she relaxed a little. “And it has tassels!” Her oldest sister was purring with pride.

“Can we see it?” Ande, ignoring the cat as people usually do, sounded skeptical.

“Yes.” Becca pushed her chair back. “I left it where it was. I thought, maybe, the placement was important.”

More purrs from Harriet, although when Becca slid the pillow from beneath her warm bulk, the contented rumble faded. If Becca truly had any sensitivities, supernatural or otherwise, she would have been burned by the intensity of Harriet’s stare as she brought the pillow back to the table.

“It is very soft.” Ande kneaded it with her long fingers.

“Let me.” Harriet sat up as the pillow was passed to Suzanne and then Marcia, and finally Kathy, the cat’s yellow eyes focused like lasers as it moved from hand to hand.

“Why did you summon something so tacky?” Kathy’s freckled nose wrinkled as she flicked a tassel.

Harriet’s ears went flat, a low growl beginning deep in her cream-colored chest as her back began to arch.

“Becca!” Suzanne sounded alarmed. “Is something wrong with your cat?”

“What?” Becca’s chair scraped the floor. “Oh, Harriet! I’m afraid she’s adopted that pillow as her own. It does kind of match her fur. Doesn’t it?”

The murmured responses didn’t sound that convinced, but Harriet seemed to accept them. At any rate, once Kathy had relinquished the pillow, she sank back down on the sofa and her ears resumed their natural perkiness.

“The problem,” Becca continued, stroking the plush object, “is that I haven’t been able to duplicate it. I was wondering if there was something about the moon last Thursday? Or maybe an astral projection?”

“Let me consult the chart.” Trent’s low voice calmed the assembled women like a warm hand on fur, and as the gathering fell back into its usual rhythms, Clara closed her eyes. Even Harriet seemed to calm down once the pillow was returned to its rightful place on the sofa. And although Becca tried reading the summoning spell several times, no further furnishings appeared, which Clara found a relief—and which left Harriet feeling rather smug.

“ Oh, please…” Laurel extended one paw, the better to admire her claws, as the meeting droned on. “ If these humans don’t move on soon… ”

Clara glared, but just then a familiar chant broke in.

“And by the rule of three, blessed be.” And with that, the chairs scraped back and the coven members began to rise. Out of habit, the calico accompanied Becca into the kitchen, the now empty teapot in hand. Suzanne followed with the mugs.

“Becca.” Suzanne deposited the mugs on the counter. “What I wanted to ask you about—”

Before she could finish, Larissa walked in and Suzanne turned to face her.

“Do you have something I can put the leftover cookies in?” The older woman opened one of the cabinets without waiting for an answer. “I want my plate back.”

“Sure.” Becca looked around. “I’ve got a clean Tupperware here somewhere.”

“Can’t you just summon one?” Marcia had crowded in too.

“I wish.” Becca’s smile was beginning to look forced. Clara, meanwhile, wrapped her tail around her forepaws. Lashing it would have fit her mood better, but with this many feet in the kitchen, she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Marcia, please.” Trent, standing in the doorway, came to the rescue. “You know Becca did her best.”

“She wasn’t—” Ande, playing peacemaker again. “She was just teasing. You know that, don’t you, Becca?”

“Of course.” Becca’s voice was close to cracking as she wiped off Suzanne’s cake knife, taking extra care over its inlaid handle. “Oh, thanks.” Ande had found the errant plastic container and was passing it over.

“Silly.” A low hiss—Harriet had waddled up behind her sister. “You could’ve tripped her.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Clara turned to face her, confused.

“Cookies!” Harriet’s yellow eyes flashed as she crowded in. “There were some left. It’s too late now.” True enough, the plastic lid snapped shut.

“Would you like a ride too?” Trent was herding the women out. “I’ve got room.”

“No, thanks.” Not all. Suzanne was hanging back, the loaf pan and her knife clasped close. “I’ll walk,” she said.

“If you’re sure…” Trent’s voice sounded like a purr, and Clara leaned forward, eager to catch more.

“There are crumbs on the table.” Laurel sauntered in, licking her chops. “What ? ” She looked at her sisters, who had both turned on her.

“I was trying to hear what they were saying , ” Clara nearly hissed.

“The clown was eavesdropping , ” said Harriet as she peered around the corner. She was peeved, it was obvious. Not only that her youngest sister had failed to trip the cookie carrier but that Laurel had found the crumbs before she could.

“I’m concerned about Becca .” Clara’s mew was too soft for their person to hear, she was pretty sure, but still she looked up in concern. Laurel sniffed and began to wash, removing the last trace of baked goods from her sleek tan fur, while Harriet waddled back into the living room in the obvious hope that her fastidious sister had left something behind.

“So, Suzanne, what’s going on?” Becca was looking at her guest. From the living room, she could hear Trent’s deep, warm voice and an answering torrent of giggles. “I should see them out.”

“They’re fine.” Suzanne’s voice had an edge it hadn’t before. Shaking her head, she wiped the few remaining crumbs from the cake plate into the sink before sliding it and the inlaid server into her bag.

“Suzanne!” a voice, half laughing, called. “You promised!”

“Ande.” Suzanne sighed. “I forgot. Look, Becca. I need to talk to you.”

“Train’s leaving the station!” More laughter, and this time it was Larissa who called. “Zany, come on!”

“Coming!” Suzanne called, loud enough that Clara flicked her ears—only to be momentarily distracted by the snuffling of Harriet as she hoovered up the last remaining crumbs.