by Jill Nojack
I don't care who sees. I duck into an alley and before I'm fully hidden, I shift. I run out the back of it in a blaze of feline fury.
***
I blast toward the action, catching glimpses as I duck around the legs that get in my way. There's a rift in front of Cassie, and she's being dragged down the street toward it by an invisible force. She has her feet clamped against the pavement, sitting and leaning back, but she's still moving forward, inch by inch. Another world, sunnier than I would have thought, shows through in the spot where the veil is torn, a few curious dead lining up on the other side, some of them daring to cross over.
Cassie tries to stand but her feet are pulled out from under her again as she slides slowly toward rip in reality.
Why are the living just standing around? Why aren't they screaming and running? In fact, when I glance over my shoulder to look back down the street, it looks like the crowd has gotten denser since I came though it. Yes. It is. People are coming from the center of town, gathering to watch.
They must think it's all part of the show! They're still killing time until the drawing at the gazebo. I'm sure no one wants to have their name drawn, not be present to claim it, and have it pass to someone else.
Still, maybe it's better for everyone if they think it's a play put on by the council. Panic isn't going to help. But I sure would like more of them to be on their way back out of town, just in case Anat finally has her way with all of us.
Looks like some of the witches are catching on. There's a little exodus happening at the back of the crowd now. It's subtle. They're backing off, but they're keeping an eye on it. Maybe some of them will help if we need it. They see Gillian as an ally, so why should they think she's a danger now?
Gillian's eyes fix on the thickening strand of magic in the sky, but when it reaches her outstretched hand, she drops the hand toward Cassie and skewers her with a thin stream of magic, accelerating her forward movement. Cassie resists—her own palms glow as she holds them up against the force. But she can't beat Gillian and Natalie's magic combined, she isn't strong enough. And she may even be holding back because she doesn't want to hurt a friend.
From behind it all, the inky black bitch with the bright red eyes gives new meaning to the expression "never trust a smiling dog." Anat can smile all she wants, but her plan for this town isn't going to happen. Not with me and Cat on the scene.
I've cleared the last of the onlookers now, and with a new burst of speed, I blast around the filmy rift and leap onto the dog's back, getting my sharp, sharp teeth into one floppy, smelly canine ear. She tries to shake me off, but I keep my grip, anchoring myself with claws dug in tight. I can distract her, but once I do, it's up to Gillian and Cassie to free themselves.
The dog yelps when I rake across its sensitive nose with one angry paw that swipes out from my stranglehold around its head and neck. I hope it's Anat who feels the pain.
It snaps and growls and shakes its head, but its teeth never reach me as I hang tough, swinging loose and falling to the side, but regaining my grip at the nape of her neck, teeth still dug in, giving me a firm hold. I pull my head back and grip the dog's ear even tighter, sending the animal into another frenzy of yelps as my teeth come through its soft flesh on the other side.
I could shift now and ring its neck with my strong man hands, but I'm not sure I could keep my grip through the transformation. I'd be vulnerable if it didn't work. Cassie would be vulnerable. I can't risk it.
Cat isn't strong enough to do much damage. I'm going to have to hope that my efforts are loosening Anat's grip on Cass and Gillian. Or that Nat gets here to help. Because the wind keeps building around me, rushing toward the hole between the worlds. It isn't long before all of us are going to have to find an anchor and hunker down or be pulled in.
***
"Anat!" a female voice cuts above the rush of the wind. "You lopsided, feral, old canker! Come pick on someone who can put up a decent fight. Kittens and puppies? Dear, dear me."
Man, am I glad to hear that voice. The dog's yelping and shaking is scrambling my brain. Just once I'd like to hear Nat cut loose with a bona-fide cuss word, because when she does it's going to be a doozy. But for now, lopsided canker will do.
The dog's head snaps to where Nat's voice came from. I wobble as she turns, but when her head stops, I see Nat in front of us, just to the side of the rift, blindfolded but giving every evidence that she can see just fine as she strides toward us.
"I'll bet those eyes of yours are a bloody red right about now, trying to dig into mine, aren't they?"
A deep growl sounds from the throat my front legs are wrapped around. Anat's attention is fully on Nat now.
I drop off and hit the ground running toward Gillian, who's dropped the hand she held pointed at Cassie. Her chubby face is a mask of alarm. The rift Cassie was sliding toward vanishes. Cassie stands up and backs quickly away. She puts her hands to her mouth and her eyes fill with tears, but I can't go to her and comfort her yet.
Darrin has, though, and is pulling her back away from whatever specter upset her. She might still be in danger—I need to get her out of here—but Gillian has no one to help her.
Gillian stands still, breathing deeply. As I rush to her, I see the cogs turning for her again now that Anat has let go. But a huge ball of magic is building up on the hand she's no longer pointing at Cassie. That stream has to go somewhere. She's supposed to turn it, to make the point of the star. And that's the one thing she cannot do. If she does, the small rifts happening all over town will join into one big dance party of the dead.
That magic has to go somewhere harmless.
Up in the sky, the tips of four other streams have been caught and deflected back. They travel again toward the center, picking up speed. If Anat turns her attention back to controlling Gillian, or any other witch in the vicinity, we're all going to hell.
Not me. No, I'm not going anywhere. Not when I have so much to live for. After one last glance at Cassie, I rush to Gilly and rub against her legs to get her attention. If my idea works, it'll probably make a mess, but it won't destroy the town. I can't waste precious time shifting so I can tell her directly. I have to make her understand me before that big ball of danger she's burdened with decides to make its own move.
I start digging at the ground like I'm burying something untidy. This is one that we're not going to want to see again. I lift my eyes to hers—no, she's not getting it.
I dig furiously at the asphalt with my paws again and lift my eyes to hers one more time. She smiles.
"Move! She shouts.
I don't hang around to find out what happens when she buries it: this mess is gonna need a big hole.
From a safe distance, I turn, and the stream of magic is disappearing into the ground, blasting through the asphalt, the edges burning like lava. As it does, the power behind it begins to drain away. The stream thins, dims—all of the streams do—as the lines that cross above downtown begin to slowly snuff out. Relief washes over me.
I look down the street to the small rifts that dotted the way, and the dead are beginning to fade. I recognize one of them just before he goes, his eyes locked on Gillian, his face infused with joy. I wonder if I should tell her that if she'd turned just in that moment, she would have seen Martin, too.
With Gillian safe, I rush to join Nat in her battle against the cause of all of this. My former enslaver, the goddess Anat, proof positive that the gods must be crazy. Once I stop her, Cassie's finally out of danger.
Nat's standing her ground, still blindfolded, her hands held out in front on her, moving as Anat moves, tracking her. They fizz with a blue charge that isn't electricity. I think she's using magic to "see" what's around her in a way that doesn't put her at the risk of whatever bad juju Anat pumps out with those neon eyes of hers.
I take my place at her side, ready to dart in if she needs me. Somehow, she knows I'm there. "Stay put, Tom. I have a plan, but that doesn't mean it won't go south."
I
twitch my tail and yowl in response. Best I can do under the circumstances.
Nat reaches a hand out to where Gillian is stuffing the last of the magic stream into what is now a wide hole in the street. She motions the magic toward her, nonchalantly, and it leaps from Gillian's control to her own. "Now let's just see who'll send who to the underworld," she says to her slobbering enemy.
She doesn't get a chance to start another taunt. The dog leaps, horrifically fast. Natalie doesn't react. Maybe she doesn't see it. Maybe Anat can block the magic Natalie is using to sense what's around her.
Cat never thinks of consequences. Our body crouches, springs, and flies up into the dog's face, all claws and vengeance. A distraction. To give Natalie time to complete what she began when she took back control of the spell she started on the Magical Shoppe roof.
How many times is Anat going to snap Cat's neck before he learns?
The answer to that question comes to me on a wave of regret, as it all fades to black: twice. She's only going to snap his neck twice. This time, we've run out our full nine lives.
"Darrin, I'm fine. My hands hurt, but it's no biggie. I need to help with Anat."
"Cassie…" he says to me, shaking his head, but probably already knowing he's lost. He's not keeping me in the shelter of this alley when my friends need me. "Let me just finish dressing this before you go out and get more." He bandages the scrape he'd just gently cleaned asphalt dust out of and opens his hands in a gesture of submission. "Go on…"
I dash back toward where I last saw Gillian and Anat. Natalie's there now, and the lines of magic in the sky are dissipating. The last strand rushes toward her waiting hand and she compresses it into a ball in the other. It's difficult moving toward them—people are starting to realize now that something isn't right. They're hustling down the street away from the scene, a sound of raising voices rising over the street, building into a murmuring wave of confusion. I have to duck and weave as I make my way against the tide.
I don't know what Natalie's planning, but I'm pretty sure Anat isn't going to like it. I don't want to see some innocent, possessed dog wiped out when all it probably really wanted in life was a warm place to sleep, regular meals, and a stick to fetch. But the raging animal it has been turned into isn't going to be pacified with a rawhide chew toy.
I take in the scene. Cat is at Nat's side. Nat is blindfolded, but definitely in command of all her faculties. A silver thread of magic curls in her hand as she pulls it from the sky. Gillian is peering down into a big hole in the street, looking weak and used up. I start to detour toward her so she can bring me up to speed and maybe tell me how I can best help, but before I do, the Anat-dog takes a giant leap at Natalie. It's like it can fly—it almost covers the fifteen feet between them until a much smaller black ball of fur flies up to meet it.
It all happens so fast.
The dog's front feet hit the ground, still a few feet from Natalie. A small black body flies from it's mouth when it shakes its head and flings it away like it's nothing.
My scream drowns out the sound of Natalie opening a rift around the dog with the magic she called down from the sky. The dog slides backward toward the underworld, taking Anat along into the land of the dead, where dead things like her belong.
Too late to save Cat.
Too late to save Tom.
Natalie gets to him before I do, and she tries to grab me, to keep me from seeing, but she's still dealing with Anat with one hand while she reaches for me, one hand toward the rift, the wind tearing at us, roaring around us. I push her aside and get down on my knees next to his limp body. His neck lies at an impossible angle from his body, red trailing from one ear to wet his sleek, black fur. "He said nine lives. Nine lives. That's all Anat gave him." As the sobs shake me, I raise my head to Natalie, screaming, "Why didn't you stop him?"
"It happened too fast. I didn't know what he was going to do."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up. I don't care. He's gone. Anat finally got what she wanted. She destroyed everything that was good in this town!"
Gillian appears at my side, reaching out to me, but I push her away. I can barely breathe. I gasp for air, curled over Cat's small body. Why does she think she can comfort me? I turn to them, hysterical, sobbing, "He's got to come back, he's got to! It's just taking longer is all. It's just different somehow from the other times…"
Gillian shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "Cassie, I think…I'm sorry…I think he really did only have nine lives." She reaches out for me again, but I slap her hands away. She looks stunned.
I turn to her, screaming, "Fix him! What good is all your magic if you can't fix him!"
She doesn't have an answer. She just backs away. And then her eyes are drawn behind me, and they open wide.
She whispers, "Cass?"
I turn back to Cat.
And it's weird. Like beyond weird. My sobs stop dead. There's a guy growing out of Cat's shell, tiny at first, pushing his way out of Cat's mouth, the skull breaking and fur stretching thin, tearing apart, dropping off in bloody red globs. It's obviously Tom's head pushing its way out as he gets bigger, and then his shoulders appear, then all the rest of him, full-size. And all I can really think is—no matter how relieved and full of joy I am—I never want to see anything so freaky again.
I laugh hysterically with tears still streaming down my cheeks while Tom becomes Tom again.
When it's done, the cat-skin lies on the ground, stretched, shredded, nothing cat-like left. I throw myself at him and cover Tom's body with mine, getting sticky in the goop that sticks to his skin, which is probably Cat's insides. But I can't be sad for Cat right now. I smother his bloody mouth with kisses.
When he opens his eyes, he asks, "Is this Giles or the Summerlands?"
"It's Giles. Anat lied. It was only Cat who had nine lives."
He smiles, looking tired but otherwise unaffected, his brown eyes fixed on mine. "When I saw you, I assumed it had to be heaven."
"I think you might get a break and land there with clothes on if this was heaven." I smile and dig through my backpack. I pull out a pair of shorts. He pulls them on quickly and I pull him close to me. He shivers. His sexy flannel boxers aren't going to keep him warm in this weather.
Our reunion is cut short when Nat shouts behind us. Tom bolts up, unsteady. We turn as one to the sound. Gillian and Nat are sliding along the street in a repeat of my own performance, their shouts for help blowing away as they scrape along the asphalt, picking up speed, toward the rift that gets larger and larger as the black mist of Anat's soul leaves the dog and her magic pulls them toward her. She's the one holding the rift open now. She must have latched onto Natalie's magic somehow and turned it to her own use.
Tom streaks toward them and grabs Gilly by one hand and Nat by the other, then pulls back, but he can barely hold them. He fights the pull as he walks sideways toward a lamp post, the women's feet still pointing toward the hole in the world as he goes. He helps them get a grip on it and they cling there. I run to join them, fighting the same pull, my hair blocking my eyes, leaning left to stay upright. When I get there, all of us hang on to the cold metal post against the force coming from down the street. Natalie pulls her blindfold off and it flies down the street into the widening crack in the universe.
"My purse, Tom, my purse," Natalie shouts above the sucking sound of the wind, "Open and aim it toward her. Don't let go of it or close it until every speck of her is inside and my chant is done."
Tom slides the purse down Nat's arm and she lets go of the pole briefly with that hand as Tom snatches the purse away.
"Hold it open, Tom. Both hands. It will close if you don't." His eyes cut to mine.
"No. Don't let go," I plead.
Natalie's voice cuts through the roar of the wind again. "Do you think this pole will hold against her? Do it, or we'll all go together when it's uprooted and pulled in."
As if to illustrate her point, one of the lamp posts in front of us crashes to the ground
and flings up showers of sparks as it scrapes along the ground in a rush, disappearing into the chasm at the end of the street.
Tom uncrooks his other arm from around the pole and turns to face the dark smoke that's arranged itself into the form of the goddess. She looms in front of the hole into the underworld, smiling. Tom leans further and further back against the gale force that's pulling at him, nearly sitting now, his feet still sliding. He maneuvers Nat's purse so that the mouth faces Anat when he opens it. Makeup and potions and a flapping pair of black cotton gloves fly out into the mouth of the underworld and are gone.
Natalie begins chanting. It's nothing I understand. And it's so quiet. How can it possibly save us?
And then…
The wind eases—not stopping, being itself sucked toward the opening of Nat's purse when an opposite force pulls back at it. Tom lands on his butt hard when the pull stops and the smoke-demon Anat is stretched into a streaming funnel of black rushing toward the open maw of the purse.
With a whoosh, it sucks her in. The gale stops when the last wisp of smoke disappears into the bright red purse and the threat is gone. Nat's chant goes silent.
Tom snaps the purse shut, then turns back to us, handbag hanging from one arm now. He's grinning a lot more broadly than most men would who've been left minding a purse.
The rift closes as though it had never been, although Giles looks like it's just weathered the worst nor'easter in history.
Nat, Gillian, and I let go of the pole, our hair and clothes in disarray but still stuck to living bodies. We exchange relieved looks as Nat bitches, "I'm really going to miss that purse."
Yep. Everything back to normal.
***
"Might as well enjoy the rest of the Faire," Nat says, smoothing her hair back into a tidy bob and straightening her clothing. "And there's still the small matter of a mansion to be raffled. I certainly don't want to miss that. Though, with its history, I can't imagine why anyone would want it."
