What the Cat Knew

by P. D. Workman

  He dropped back to all fours and sat back.

  Reg ignored his glare and continued to make her supper. In a few minutes, she was sitting down at her table to have a bite to eat. The cat followed her and sat on the floor beside her, staring up at her reproachfully. At least he didn’t jump up on the table or try to snatch it away.

  “Oh, alright,” Reg grumbled. She used her finger to scoop out a little of the filling, and flicked it onto the floor. The cat went after it immediately, licking it up in two bites and then cleaning the floor where it had landed with his long, raspy tongue. Reg ate the rest of the sandwich without looking at him, not wanting to end up giving him the whole thing.

  She had found Erin’s cat both funny and annoying, but hadn’t really seen the point of owning a cat in the time she had stayed there. But Orange Blossom wasn’t anything like Reg’s new little tux. Not even close.

  After the food was cleared away, Reg sat down in front of the TV to relax and fill her mind with junk. But she couldn’t seem to get into any of her regular shows. Everything was reruns, and even the shows that she could normally watch over and over again held no appeal.

  She muted the TV during a commercial and looked at the black and white cat as he painstakingly cleaned his fur.

  “You need a name. I can’t just keep calling you the cat or Kitty, and I expect Tux is way too common. So, what’s it going to be?”

  The cat stopped washing and looked at her. Reg snapped her fingers for him, and he approached her and sniffed at her fingers before accepting an ear scratch.

  “Mittens or Socks?” Reg suggested. She had looked up the cat’s other markings, getting to know the lingo. “Puss in Boots?”

  He gave his head a shake, rattling his ears again.

  “No?”

  He bumped his head against her hand, begging for more ear and chin scratches. Reg stroked his white chest.

  “Oreo? Penguin?”

  He rubbed his head against her, and Reg rubbed his “third eye” white spot with the tip of her finger.

  “Spot? Snowflake? Star?”

  He stopped rubbing her, staring. Reg frowned.

  “Star?” she repeated.

  He didn’t move.

  “Stardust? Starlight?”

  He bumped her again.

  “Starlight?”

  He nipped playfully at her fingers and then danced away from her. Reg watched his antics for a minute, and nodded.

  “Starlight it is, then.”

  It was evening when there was a knock on her door, and Reg opened it without looking out the peephole, assuming that it would be Sarah with some new gossip or another client booking.

  But it certainly wasn’t Sarah.

  It was a man Reg had never seen before. She just about had to bite her tongue to keep from asking him “Where have you been all my life?” A handsome man in his thirties or forties with movie-star good looks. His hair was neatly moussed back, beard trimmed short, and gorgeous dark eyes that she could have climbed right into.

  “Hello,” the man greeted, his mouth quirking up in one corner in a slight smile.

  Reg closed her mouth. She hoped she hadn’t looked too much like an idiot with her mouth open wide enough to catch flies.

  But he was probably used to women reacting like that to him. He probably expected it. His smile said it was nothing new.

  “Hi.”

  “My name is Corvin Hunter. I heard that Sarah had a new tenant, and I thought I would come around and welcome you to our community.”

  Reg nodded, grinning. “Thank you, I’m glad you came.”

  He stood there for a moment waiting, then indicated the interior with his eyes and a slight nod of his head. “Do you think I could come in?”

  Reg choked back a silly laugh and opened the door farther. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  He entered and looked around. His glance was casual; he had, in all likelihood, been there before to see Sarah’s previous tenants. Reg hadn’t really added anything of her own, so there was nothing that would be of great interest to him.

  He sat down on the wicker sofa. Reg picked up the cold tea service. “Sorry, this has been here for hours…”

  “There are usually drinks in the cupboard nearest the window.”

  Reg hadn’t even explored that far. Sarah had been the one to put away her groceries, and Reg had only opened enough of the cupboards and drawers to find what she needed to make her sandwich. Why in the name of all that was good had she decided to have a tuna sandwich for supper? She hoped her breath didn’t still smell of it. When she opened the cupboard nearest the window, she found Corvin was right; there was a varied selection of bottles.

  “What would you like?”

  “Jack Daniels?”

  Reg opened the next cupboard over and found the glasses. She poured Corvin a couple of fingers of Jack.

  “Ice?”

  “Just a bit. It’s blasted hot out there today.”

  Reg complied. She poured the same for herself and sat down across from him, though she would have been happier snuggling with him on the couch. Corvin took a sip of his drink, smiled his approval, and set it down.

  “So… tell me about yourself,” he told Reg.

  She shrugged. She’d never been good at talking about herself, and she hadn’t invented much of a backstory for her medium persona yet.

  “My name is Reg. Just moved here. Not really much to tell.”

  “Everybody has a story to tell. You’re clairvoyant?”

  “Word certainly spreads fast here.”

  “It does,” Corvin nodded his agreement. “Word is you blew Amy Calvert away, and that’s not easy to do. How long have you been doing this?”

  “Not very long.” She hadn’t been doing the medium gig for very long, that was true. But running cons? All her life. The trouble she was having with meeting the members of the supernatural community in Black Sands was telling the difference between the people who really believed in their paranormal abilities, and those who were simply running scams like Reg. She couldn’t exactly ask them, and every conversation ended up being a little dance as she tried to figure out whether they were like her or whether they were real loons.

  “When did you discover you had psychic abilities?” Corvin asked.

  Reg closed her eyes partway, examining him. Con or crazy? “I’ve always been different than everyone else. But it’s taken time to… find my gifts.”

  “You don’t actually believe in spiritual gifts.”

  Corvin’s voice was flat. Not emotion-packed. Not accusatory. Just a statement, like he could see straight into her mind. He was brilliant at cold reading. She knew she had controlled her gaze and her breathing. He shouldn’t have been able to detect any stress in her voice. Reg could fool even the most sensitive equipment. So how had Corvin figured it out in just a few words?

  Reg sipped at her drink. She had an almost-immediate head rush, which she never experienced with alcohol. Had he managed to spike her drink right there in front of her? It would take incredible sleight of hand, but she hadn’t been watching him for it. Maybe when he had leaned forward to pick up his own drink… Reg put her tumbler back down again. No point in helping him accomplish whatever he had in mind by finishing the drink. Should she call for help? Was there really something in the drink, or was she just fighting a head cold? She had needed a nap; maybe her body was fighting off some virus and she didn’t even know it.

  “What makes you think I don’t believe in spiritual gifts?” she returned coolly.

  “I have gifts of my own. You might not believe that, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “Oh, I believe you have gifts.” The gift of good looks. The ability to read her. An animal magnetism like she had rarely experienced before. And maybe really good sleight of hand. “So what is it you do?”

  “I’m a warlock.”

  At least he didn’t say he was a vampire. It could have been worse.

  “I see. So you’re like Sar
ah. The male version of a witch.”

  He raised his eyebrows and didn’t give her any further details. He had another sip of his Jack Daniels, watching her over the brim of the glass the whole time.

  “The spiritual energy in this room is very high. And yet, you don’t believe in yourself. How can that be?”

  “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to be the expert here.”

  Corvin’s eyes went around the room. Starlight came out of one of the bedrooms and positioned himself directly in front of Reg, as if guarding her from Corvin. Corvin’s eyes glittered.

  “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

  The cat and the warlock stared at each other. As usual, Starlight won the staring contest.

  “This is Starlight.”

  “Sarah didn’t mention that you had a familiar.”

  “It’s a recent development.”

  “He’s very protective of you.”

  “I feed him.” Reg pointed out the obvious.

  Corvin chuckled. “They are corporeal beings.”

  “So what is it you do for people?” Reg asked, turning the conversation back to him to get herself out of the spotlight. “Do you make potions?”

  “Sometimes. I cast spells. Help to remove curses. Bless houses or other items.”

  “All good? You don’t cast curses?”

  “You have a lot to learn about the world you inhabit.”

  “I’ve read up. I’m no expert, but I know the basics. Obviously, if you can remove curses, then curses exist, and you must know something about casting them.”

  “Accusing someone of casting curses is tantamount to a slap in the face. I wouldn’t recommend you start throwing suggestions like that around without some kind of proof.”

  “I didn’t say that you did curse anyone. I asked you.”

  “And do you go around lying to old ladies and bilking them out of their money?”

  Reg’s face suffused with heat. “I’m not bilking anyone—”

  “I just asked a question. I didn’t accuse you.”

  Reg let her anger subside. Score one for the warlock. He’d gotten under her skin and definitely hit a nerve with that one.

  “Hmph,” she grunted. “Okay, I see your point. I apologize for the offense.”

  Corvin leaned forward, reaching toward her. For a split second, Reg thought he was going to take her drink or to grab her, but he was aiming for Starlight, extending his hand to scratch the cat behind the ears.

  Starlight flattened his ears back and hunched down, puffing out his fur and hissing at Corvin.

  “What are you worried about?” Corvin reproached. “I haven’t done anything to hurt you.

  But Reg thought the cat had the right idea. She’d been too quick to let the handsome warlock into her house, attracted by his astonishingly good looks and reassured by his mention of Sarah. She’d assumed that he meant her no harm. But that hadn’t been smart. He could read her, might have spiked her drink, and he was bigger and stronger than she was. Did she think that nothing could happen to her with Sarah being so close? The older woman was not within sight or earshot of the cottage. And even if she had been, what could she do to protect Reg other than call the police?

  “It’s been a tiring day,” she told him. “I really hate to cut our conversation short—” that, at least, was true, “—but I think we’re going to have to finish it some other time.”

  “How about setting a date and time?”

  How about when pigs could fly?

  “Saturday,” Reg suggested. “Why don’t we meet for dinner at The Crystal Ballroom?”

  “The Crystal Bowl,” Corvin corrected. “Okay, it’s a date. Don’t break it.”

  He drained his glass and stood. Reg rose as if attached to him by a string. He extended his hand and Reg grasped it to tell him goodbye.

  An electric shock ran through her, tingling all the way from her fingertips to her heart and brain. Reg gaped at him. She’d thought that she could fall into those lovely dark eyes, and she did. Deep into the uncharted depths.

  Then suddenly, Reg’s leg was on fire.

  “Ow! Oh!” She looked down, trying to shake off Starlight, who had inexplicably attached himself to her leg with all four paws, ripping into her tender skin with all of his claws.

  Reg bent down to remove the cat.

  “Bad cat! What was that for?”

  Corvin was laughing. He headed for the door. “I’ll see you Saturday. Without the cat.”

  ⋆ Chapter Five ⋆

  Reg was assembling her breakfast of cold cereal when she saw Starlight’s head go up, and he looked sharply at the door. She walked to the door and checked through the peephole to make sure she wasn’t getting any unexpected visitors. She saw Sarah coming down the stone path to the cottage door. Reg opened the door, startling Sarah. Sarah put her hand over her heart, blowing and puffing dramatically.

  “How did you know I was there?” she asked, as Reg allowed her in.

  “I’m psychic,” Reg said, tapping her temple.

  Sarah laughed. “Yes, of course! I brought you a copy of our community calendar. There are some meetings and mixers you might want to attend. Get to know people and have a voice in how things are managed around here.”

  She handed Reg a photocopied green flyer. Reg turned to put it on the counter, and when she turned back around, Sarah was sniffing at the air, a frown on her face. Reg thought immediately of the cat litter, which she hadn’t yet had a chance to deal with.

  “What’s that smell?” Sarah mused.

  Reg took a tentative sniff herself. If it was obviously cat box or tuna fish, Sarah wouldn’t be asking. Reg did smell a vaguely floral scent, very faint. Maybe flowers in the garden outside the cottage? But the flowers were in Sarah’s own yard, so presumably she would know what they were.

  “Roses,” Sarah decided. Then her expression sharpened. “You didn’t have Corvin Hunter here, did you?”

  Reg blinked at her. “Yes, he was here last night. Didn’t you send him?”

  “Me send him. Why would I send Corvin here?”

  Reg thought about it. “I thought he said… maybe he didn’t say he had talked to you. Maybe he just said he heard I was renting from you. But I thought he said you had sent him.”

  “Don’t let him glamour you,” Sarah warned. “You let his good looks and roses get the better of you, and…” she trailed off. “You didn’t let him stay the night, did you?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” Reg thought about the strong attraction she’d felt to Corvin the night before and the electricity that had seemed to flow between them when Corvin had touched her. If Starlight hadn’t unaccountably attacked her leg, would they have ended up together? Corvin did have a strong “glamour” about him. Must be pheromones. Maybe something in his rose scented cologne.

  Sarah breathed out. “You must have strong willpower to resist him. Even with how old I am, I still find him… tempting.”

  “You’re not that old,” Reg said with a laugh. There were plenty of seniors who still had healthy libidos.

  Sarah gave a little smile. “Don’t be fooled by my youthful good looks,” she advised. “I’m older than I look.”

  Reg looked at Sarah critically. She couldn’t see anything that would indicate that her original estimate of somewhere in her fifties or sixties was wrong. “How old are you?”

  “A lady never tells.”

  Reg rolled her eyes. “Well, thank you for this.” She fluttered the flyer at Sarah. “I’ll take a look and see what I want to go to. You’ve been very helpful to me up until now, so I’m sure I can rely on you if I need anything.”

  “Of course,” Sarah agreed. She looked around the cottage one last time, her eyes lingering for a moment on the hall to the bedrooms. “And you’ll be careful of that Corvin. He’s… a very dangerous man.”

  “Dangerous?” Reg laughed. “He puts on a good show, but he’s probably as harmless as a kitten on the inside. These guys
who like to role play villains… they rarely are. More likely geeks who never got a date in high school.”

  “This is not a game,” Sarah warned. “Corvin is not playing a role. He is very serious about his craft, and he is very good at what he does.”

  “Which is…?”

  Sarah averted her eyes. “He’s a warlock,” she said flatly. “A warlock who is only going to get stronger. Don’t underestimate him, Reg. Don’t be taken in.”

  Reg sat down with her bowl of cereal. Starlight had apparently been unimpressed with his kibble. He sniffed at it a little, crunched one or two bits, and trailed Reg around like he was waiting for the real food to show up.

  She put the flyer from Sarah beside her and studied it for a moment, but it was so densely written that she pushed it aside, irritated. Sarah would tell her if there were things she should go to.

  Sarah’s words still rang in her ears. Corvin’s powers were real. In spite of being absolutely sure that there was not really any such thing as magic or sorcery, Reg was a little shaken by Sarah’s insistence that Corvin was dangerous.

  Certainly he had an aura about him. He exuded confidence and charm. But those were carefully cultivated personality traits, not magical properties. She could feel the same thing from the president of a tech company, royalty, or the pope. People were intuitively drawn to those magnetic qualities of leadership and power. But that was all it was. Intuition. Unconsciously reading a person’s body language and small details about them. Observable qualities, nothing magical about it.

  Sarah might be right about Corvin being powerful and dangerous, but it wasn’t because of any special magical powers.

  She was just a foolish old woman.

  Reg was just contemplating the joys of owning a cat, in relation to having to clean the kitty litter and deal with picky eaters and sharp claws, when there was a knock on her door. It was soft at first, and she wasn’t sure she had really heard anything. Then the knock came again, louder. Reg eagerly left the kitty litter box and went to the front door of the cottage to see who was there.