Клеа Саймон - A Spell Of Murder

Clara ducked the falling footwear and jumped up to claim her place on the sofa. Laurel and Harriet were already there, Laurel cozying up to Becca’s side and Harriet down by her stocking feet—and the pillow. They both turned to stare at their youngest sister, as if she were an interloper, and so she carefully mounted the back of the sofa and waited for an opening.

“I…once I realized what I was seeing, I just wanted to get away…” Becca was saying. The repetition seemed to soothe her, as a purr would, but Clara remained concerned. “They had all these questions…”

“Of course they did.” Laurel reached one velvet paw up toward Becca’s arm, as if she were petting her. Clara knew better. Laurel wanted to see Becca’s eyes as she spoke. Even her purr had an edge to it. “A body and all. Dead.”

“Cut it out.” Clara batted down at her. Unlike her seal-point sister, Clara was trying to listen to the poor girl who lay beside them. She’d missed something in that awful room, what with her worry over Becca and the sudden appearance of the warlock, just as she’d missed the beginning of Suzanne’s explanation for why she needed Becca to come visit, and she was hoping that if she paid attention, she’d figure it out.

“Oh, Clara.” The movement had caught Becca’s attention, and the distraught young woman reached up for the little calico. At that, Clara’s prime directive—to be Becca’s pet—overwhelmed any other concerns, and she tumbled onto her prostrate person and began to purr in earnest.

“Oh, great.” Harriet looked up and tilted her ears back . “Now you’ve pinned her down. She came back to feed us, obviously.”

“She’s upset.” Clara glared, but her oldest sister turned her back, fluffing out her creamsicle coat as she settled down again at Becca’s feet. Laurel, meanwhile, had stretched to her full length and started to doze. If Becca wasn’t going to share grisly details, the brown-tipped cat wasn’t interested. Clara, however, began to gently knead Becca’s belly. Making sure to keep her claws sheathed, she kept the motion even and light, the rhythm in sync with the rumble of her purr, until she felt the tension begin to leave the girl’s slim frame. Until she heard an answering purr as Becca slipped into sleep.

Only then did Clara relax and let her own eyes begin to close. She wasn’t sleepy. The feline propensity toward napping aside, there were too many thoughts racing through her brain for her to give over to a catnap. No, she simply needed to focus on what she had seen and heard out in the bright world, in that walkup apartment. To figure out what had happened—and why—and how she could get Becca through it without any further complications.

A soft snort startled her, and Clara looked up to see Harriet twitching, restless in her sleep. As she watched, the larger cat muttered “cream” and her pink tongue darted out to moisten her nose. Then she lay still again, having satisfied her dream appetite. Laurel, as well, napped peacefully, her dark paws stretched luxuriantly along Becca’s side. The two were deep in feline slumber, untroubled by anything outside their small world.

Clara watched them, willing them to stay quiet. Becca needed her rest. There was no way to explain the chaos that had exploded in that upstairs apartment. How Becca had been roused from her stupor by Trent entering the room, and how, when he’d tried to hold her, she had pulled away screaming as he sputtered some kind of explanation about retrieving something the dead girl had borrowed and a key from a house-sitting stint. How her coven leader had wrapped his arms around her then, turning her from the bloody sight until he had finally gotten her calmed down enough to call for help. And how that had backfired as the cops had hustled the two of them out to the street and pulled Becca away from the dark-eyed warlock. How she had tried to answer all their questions until it all got to be too much and she had suddenly felt dizzy. How she had woken with an oxygen mask over her face and someone yelling. No, she had been the one yelling—it had just taken her a few moments to realize it.

“The poor girl,” Clara muttered in a soft chirrup . Surely, her sisters could understand. “It was a shock.”

“Shock shlock.” Laurel yawned and stretched. Her claws caught the afternoon light, and she began to groom. “I want to hear more. A body is meat,” she said as she bit the tip of one claw. There had definitely been an edge to her purr. “And that blood…did you taste it? Did she?”

“No!” Clara swiveled her one black ear to check. Becca’s breathing remained even and calm. “Can’t you think of anything beyond your appetite?”

“Huh.” Another bite and the seal point closed her eyes. Clara watched, unsure if her nearest sister was sleeping or simply ignoring her, then closed hers too. Whatever Laurel was up to, the little calico needed to think.

It was all because of that stupid pillow. Clara didn’t know for sure why Suzanne had cornered Becca, but it had to be because of her supposed success with the summoning spell. She’d seen the way the other coven members had looked at her person. They’d all be wanting something from her now, and not just cans and cream.

As if on cue, Becca’s phone rang, startling her from sleep.

“Hang on.” Becca sat up, and Clara slid in a rather inelegant move down to her lap. “Maddy?”

“Are you all right?” Even from her new perch, Clara could hear the big woman’s panicked tone.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Becca closed her eyes as she spoke and shook her head.

Maddy must have heard the lie in her voice. “I’m coming over,” she said, loud enough to earn a harsh look from Laurel. Harriet, of course, slept on.

“You don’t have to.” Becca’s complaint was barely a mew. Clara jumped to the floor. If company was coming over, she didn’t want to be caught unawares.

“Is it time for dinner?” Harriet looked up as Becca reached for her shoes.

“No,” Clara rumbled softly. “A visitor.”

“Visitors aren’t bad.” Harriet yawned. “Visitors mean treats.”

“This isn’t about you — ” Clara broke off. Becca was heading to the kitchen, closely trailed by their middle sister. As they walked by, Harriet and Laurel exchanged a glance, and when Harriet flicked her tail, Clara cringed, wrapping her own tail around her forepaws. More magic was on the way, and that meant more trouble. With an audible thud, Harriet plopped to the floor to join Becca and Laurel in the kitchen. With a sigh, Clara followed.

“Oh, kitties! What would I do without you?” Becca sniffled as she spoke, but at least she was sounding a bit more like herself again. Clara began to relax, and then, out of nowhere, “Would you like some treats?”

Laurel turned toward her sisters with what Clara thought of as her Siamese smirk. Mind control was such simple magic, her tilted whiskers seemed to say, even though what Laurel did was more like implanting a suggestion than an actual direction. Harriet, of course, was too mesmerized by Becca to even bother to gloat.

Chapter 7

The tea Becca served her old friend was a lot kinder on the nose than what she brewed for her coven, and the almond cookies Maddy had brought were Clara’s favorites. Their delicious aroma—nutty and sweet—announced her presence even before the doorbell rang.

That wasn’t why the agile calico jumped up on the table, though when she sauntered over to sniff at the pot, nobody shooed her off. The day was too topsy-turvy for that, the sunny afternoon already forgotten.