An Incantation of Cats

by Clea Simon

  “No…I don’t know.” Clara answered Harriet first, as she panted to catch her breath. As the oldest, the marmalade longhair would expect that. “I ran out as she got up to leave.” In truth, the two friends had left most of that cookie, which was unlike them. A sign, Clara knew, of Maddy’s distress at her friend’s decision—and Becca’s determination to get started on the case.

  “And, no, she doesn’t seem to realize that that first woman was lying.” She turned to Laurel, whose blue eyes were so much more clear than that stone.

  “Humans!” A delicate sniff bristled Laurel’s whiskers. “So silly.” But despite her assuming a worldly-wise pose, Clara could see that chocolate-tipped tail lashing, a sure sign that her sister was as concerned as Clara herself. That was one of the other reasons Clara had rushed to get home.

  “In fact, she’s going to keep that girl Gaia’s case.” That got even Harriet’s attention, and the little calico hastily filled her sisters in, even as her sharp ears swiveled, searching for the sound of familiar footsteps on the stairs.

  “I could make this all go away.” Harriet batted idly at a toy mouse as she spoke. A sure sign, Clara knew, that her oldest sister was up to something. “If you’d let me.”

  Clara held her tongue. In the past, she’d done her best to enforce the number one rule of magical cats, that they never let their humans know about their powers. It had led to tension, at the very least.

  “What could you do?” The hint of scorn in Laurel’s Siamese-type yowl hinted at her skepticism.

  “Well, something’s missing, right?” Either Harriet didn’t hear it, or she didn’t care. “You two are so proud of what you can do. But you know that I can summon just about anything as easily as I’d twitch my tail.”

  Laurel sat back on her café au lait haunches and seemed to consider the marmalade’s proposal. It fell to Clara to break it to them.

  “It wouldn’t work,” she said, her mew softened with regret. “That lady didn’t lose a ‘thing,’ per se. Someone took money—altered the accounts somehow—and nothing any of us could conjure up would change her bank balance.”

  “Balance?” Laurel, the most athletic of the three, drew out the word, one hind leg stretched out balletically behind her.

  “It’s not…” Clara paused. Cats may be philosophers, but abstract concepts are difficult for everyone. Still, she did her best to explain about bookkeeping and the crime of embezzling from what she had heard. “Anyway,” she concluded, “that’s why the older lady thinks that girl did it, because she works for her and could have changed the numbers.”

  “Maybe she tried to poison the girl.” Laurel’s tail lashed like she was remembering a hunt. “And when it didn’t work, she came to Becca.”

  It was an interesting idea, and the three cats were busy considering it, tails twitching in contemplation, when the front door opened.

  “Hello, you three.” Becca looked down at her pets, beaming. “I’m glad to see you’re not fighting anymore.”

  “We don’t fight. We’re sisters!” Laurel twined around Becca’s legs as she removed her jacket. “We sometimes have heated discussions.”

  “Don’t distract her.” Clara looked on with concern. From the way Laurel’s whiskers were bristling, her sister knew she was working hard to implant an idea in their person’s mind. “She needs to think clearly before she gets any deeper into this.”

  “I don’t see any treats.” Harriet had stood up on her hind legs to sniff the air around Becca, in the hope that a bag of cookies might be hidden on her person. “Didn’t you say she was eating treats?”

  “You three.” Becca shook her head. “You’d think I’d been gone all day instead of just an hour. I bet you’re hungry. Am I right?”

  Laurel turned to Clara with a smirk, letting her baby sister know just who had suggested that thought. Harriet, meanwhile, ran ahead, laser focused on being the first to the kitchen.

  “You’re not going to distract her from the case forever.” Clara took up the rear.

  “Bought us time, though, didn’t I?” Laurel wrapped her chocolate-tipped tail around her feet as she waited. Harriet was brazenly begging, her wide bottom making it easy for her to sit up in a fashion that her youngest sister privately thought was rather dog-like. “Time for us to look into the whole poison thing.”

  “There you go, girls.” Becca laid down Harriet’s bowl first, knowing the orange cat would push aside her sisters to take it in any case. Then Laurel’s and then Clara’s, before washing her hands. Despite the talk of poison, all three dived in. “And now, kitties, I’ve got to get to work. I’ve got to call that Margaret Cross and tell her I can’t take her case.”

  For a moment, Clara dared hope. Even the glint of triumph in Laurel’s blue eyes didn’t bother her. If only… But then Becca turned and wiped her hands dry.

  “And then,” she said, returning the dish cloth to its hook, “I have to start figuring out how I can help poor Gaia.”

  She returned to the living room, and Clara lifted her head. Her person seemed to be fussing, her movements growing more frantic.

  “You done?” Harriet’s fuzzy snout pushed into her dish.

  “No!” Clara raised a paw, peeved at the interruption, but she stopped herself from going further. It wouldn’t do to smack Harriet. Besides, the big marmalade did need more food than the petite calico, and Clara was aware of her own well-padded form. Any more poundage, and she might have trouble passing through closed doors. “Well, okay.” She backed away, ceding the dish, even as Laurel looked at her quizzically.

  “I want to hear what Becca is doing,” Clara explained. Harriet, oblivious, kept eating. But even by the time the big cat had joined her two siblings in the living room, nothing had been resolved.

  “What’s going on?” Harriet asked as she began to wash her face.

  “A lot of fuss about nothing.” Laurel yawned as she stretched along the back of the sofa. “Becca needs to nap more.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Clara knew better than her sisters what Becca’s increasingly frenzied activity meant. “I mean, I don’t think so,” she added, in deference to her sister.

  As the three cats looked on, Becca knelt down beside the couch. Reaching, she retrieved two toy mice and a pencil that Clara hadn’t been able to resist batting around the week prior from underneath, but still she did not appear sated. If anything, she looked increasingly distraught.

  “You three didn’t…” She sat on the rug and addressed the cats. “No, you have too much sense. Even you, Harriet.”

  The big longhair blinked.

  “It must have been when she gathered her bags up to leave.” Becca rose to her feet, talking to herself as much as the three felines. “I can’t…”

  She stopped talking as she bolted into the kitchen, but a thorough examination of the trash, the teapot, and the dirty mugs didn’t seem to appease her. When she came back into the living room, she plopped down on the sofa, a dazed expression on her face.

  “Well, if this doesn’t beat all,” she said, one hand absently reaching out for Clara, who had jumped up beside her. “I’ve got one client who worries she’s being poisoned, and another who thinks that the first client is a thief. Only, unless I am very much mistaken, the second client just stole the evidence that the first client brought me.”

  Chapter 5

  “I didn’t want to go down to the store.” Becca addressed Clara’s wordless query. Becca’s smallest cat had followed her to the front door, where she was donning her coat. “I mean, I really didn’t want Margaret and Gaia to know that I’d taken cases from them both. Not when I realized they worked together. But Margaret’s not answering her phone. For all I know, she only came by here to steal that root back.

  “I should have known.” She paused, mid-button, to rest her hand on the lapis pendant. “Maybe I’m not using this right.”

  Looking on, Clara thought of her sisters. She couldn’t tell for sure
if Laurel had helped plant the idea the three cats had shared about the root—and the possibility that that nasty older woman had been behind the attempted poisoning. For a moment, Clara even toyed with asking Harriet to get rid of that stupid necklace, which Becca seemed to trust so much. They all had complementary powers, she mused. Maybe that was for a reason.

  But for any of that to be effective, the three would have to work together. And while Clara knew her sisters loved her—at least, she assumed they did—she’d been teased for too long and too often to trust them to follow her guidance. “Clara the clown,” she could hear the echo of Laurel’s distinctive Siamese yowl. If anything, they’d do the opposite, just to mess with her, not realizing how their actions affected the human they loved. No, the plump calico realized, in this, she and Becca were alone.

  Her person seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

  “Well, nothing for it.” Becca had added a hat to her ensemble. A new addition to her wardrobe, the maroon velvet cloche sported a feather that only Laurel’s sense of style had kept intact. “Don’t worry, kitties. I won’t be out too late!”

  “Cute.” Clara turned to see that Laurel had come up silently beside her. “That hat. Don’t you think?”

  “I guess.” In truth, the little calico hadn’t paid much attention to her person’s outfit. She’d been focused on her own concerns, as well as the undercurrent of concern in Becca’s voice. “That feather will make it easier to follow her. But I won’t touch it!”

  That was to Harriet, who had ambled up beside her, as much as to Laurel. Harriet considered all toys hers by right, and Clara knew she had her golden eyes on the perky plume. With a satisfied blink, Harriet accepted her little sister’s capitulation, sprawling in a fur mess on the floor. Laurel, meanwhile, had twisted around to lick the base of her tail, secure in the knowledge that neither would nab the tempting feather without her consent and seemingly unconcerned about anything else her baby sister might do. And so with a shimmy of her hindquarters, as if she were readying to jump, the calico slipped through the molecules that made up the closed door.

  This is a trick many cats can do. It’s why humans can never find their pets when they first come home, and why those pets always look so pleased as they come out to meet their people. As the descendent of a long line of magical cats, however, Clara had a facility that surpassed most other felines. Inhaling a deep breath and taking a supernatural leap, she made quick work of the apartment stairs and the building’s front door to catch up with her person on the pavement outside.

  Becca must have felt something—a breeze or the lightest brush of whiskers—because she paused and looked down at the sidewalk, where Clara had landed. Just in time, the calico shaded herself so that her orange spots looked like the splashes of the afternoon sun and the grey whorl on her side its growing shadows. Shaking her head, Becca began walking once more, and if her pace could have been in response to the hour or the growing chill of autumn, the grim set of her mouth revealed both her discomfort and her determination.

  Despite the risk of discovery, Clara stayed close to her person as she made her way along the city streets to Charm and Cherish. The Wiccan-themed shop had opened a few months ago to the delight of Becca’s coven. Clara had first heard of it during one of their weekly gatherings around Becca’s table. The group, which had shrunk to just a few close friends, had been overjoyed to have a nearby source for the candles and incense they so enjoyed. But even though the little shop was convenient, its placement in the heart of busy Central Square made it problematic for a feline, even one who could shade herself into near invisibility when she needed.

  As it was, she had several close calls. Becca was walking quickly, and in her effort to keep up, Clara had to weave through the busy weekend crowd. Twice she saw feet only seconds before they came her way, avoiding a nasty, if unintentional, kick only by the kind of agile leaps Laurel would be proud of. After the second time, she even considered dropping her shading. She was a good ten feet behind Becca at this point. Only when she looked up did she realize that being visible would have done her no good. The pedestrian whose boot had nearly caught her in the ribs was so glued to her phone it was amazing she hadn’t walked into a lamp post.

  Dashing to catch up, she saw that even Becca wasn’t immune. At the blast of a car horn, a bicyclist dashed up on the sidewalk, nearly colliding with her person. As Becca stumbled backward, the cyclist, his face hidden beneath a black helmet, reared up on one tire and turned back into the street.

  “They’re a menace.” Becca jumped as another pedestrian took her elbow to steady her. “Are you okay?”

  Becca turned to look into warm brown eyes set in a plain, kind face. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “You be careful.” A warm voice, too. Becca glimpsed down as the plain man quickly withdrew his hand. “Sorry. I’m a bit spooked.” As he apologized, an awkward smile brought out a dimple in his long, pale face. “There was an accident last night, only a few blocks from here. It was pretty awful.”

  “I’m sorry. I’d heard something about that.” Becca must have recognized something in his face, because she softened her tone. “You were there?”

  “Right after.” He closed his eyes remembering, and the dimple disappeared. “An older man, a homeless vet, I think, was hurt. The driver had disappeared—just left him. I think he’ll be okay, but it was touch and go.”

  “How awful. I hope you’re right.” To cement her good wishes, Becca managed a smile, and for a moment Clara thought she was going to take the man’s hand. “Thanks.”

  He reached for hers then and gave it a quick squeeze. “My pleasure. Only, please, I deal with enough accidents,” he said. “Be alert.”

  Becca murmured her assent, but to Clara it seemed her person was even more distracted after that, barely registering the street around her as she started to walk again, her eyes following the stranger as he crossed and turned away. So it was with a sigh of relief that Clara saw Becca came to a halt before a glass storefront in the middle of a commercial block, set between a dry cleaner and a convenience store. Even without being able to read the signage, Clara could have distinguished the magic shop by the colorful zodiac symbols painted on its windows, as well as the funky herbal scent that leaked out despite the closed door.

  “Nothing for it,” Becca murmured to herself, peering between a bright red lion and a blue crab that appeared to be dancing over an unevenly drawn star. Clara looked up with concern as her person took a deep breath before pulling open the front door. Braving the nasty smells she knew would only intensify, Clara followed her inside as a tinkling bell announced their arrival.

  “Hello!” a voice called out from somewhere unseen. “I’m in the back. I’ll be right out.”

  As Becca walked over to the glass-topped counter, loosening her coat, Clara took in her surroundings. Despite its small size, the shop was packed. Below that colorful front window, piles of newsletters—notices of circles and classes—yellowed in the afternoon sun beside a gold-painted Ganesh. Bookshelves along the wall reached to the ceiling, packed with a variety of multicolored bindings. A rack that ran down the center held candles and more books, along with a few strange metal objects—balances and weights, Clara realized, having seen something like that in Becca’s kitchen—along with some knives that looked more ceremonial than functional.

  Ducking around a table with some small figures—another version of the elephant-headed god, a fat bald man, and, rather to Clara’s surprise, a series of felines—she saw Becca leaning over the glass counter. She seemed to be examining the shelves on the wall behind it, where a row of glass jars were displayed. These, one sniff confirmed, were the source of those odd odors, their tight-fitting lids not quite containing the strange and spicy aromas of the leaves and twigs and, yes, roots within.

  “Hello, oh!” Becca and Clara both turned to see a familiar black-clad figure—Gaia—step into the room. “Becca, I didn’t expect you.” She came forward, pull
ing a door closed behind her. “Did you want to speak with me again about my case?” Even though there was nobody else in the store, her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. Her black-lined eyes darted back and forth. “You don’t have anything yet, do you?”

  “No.” Becca gathered herself up. “Why? Has anything else happened?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “But I’ve been extra careful, lately. My boyfriend—well, he’s really just a friend—said he thought he saw someone hanging around the shop.”

  “He did?” Becca seemed to slide right over Gaia’s redefinition of the relationship. Among humans, it could be hard to tell. Clara knew that. Still, she’d heard her person’s quick intake of breath. “Maybe I should speak with him?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Gaia stepped back behind the counter. “Tiger wouldn’t want to be involved in any of this. I know him.”

  “Oh.” Becca tilted her head, looking amazingly like Laurel as she pondered. “But if this Tiger saw someone suspicious and can describe him…or her… What’s Tiger’s full name?”

  “Look, I shouldn’t have mentioned him. He’s just being protective. I mean, there’s never anyone in here.” With that, she turned to examine the shelves of jars behind her, shutting Becca out. But the young woman Clara knew and loved was not without her resources. “Hardly ever. It’s safe as a tomb.”

  Becca’s silence acted like catnip on the black-clad shop girl.

  “Okay, a few things have gone missing.” The goth girl shrugged and turned once more to eye her visitor. “Not that we have any big-ticket items here. I mean, unless you count the gong.”

  “Shoplifters?”

  A tilt of her head made those ear studs flash. “Someone grabbed something out of the window. I think that’s what happened, anyway.”

  “I see.” Becca’s tone was soft, but Clara was heartened to hear the suspicion underlying those two words. “Someone took something?”