Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  How long did they intend to keep me like this? A day, a week, a month? Would I turn back into a woman at the break of dawn? Maybe I was to remain like this for as long as I drew breath.

  No. I would not let that happen. They had to turn me back, give me back my own body. Anger rose and surged, replacing the despair. I looked up at them and bared my teeth. The hissing snarl which came out of my mouth took me by surprise. Claws shot out, so many tiny daggers. I wanted to rend and tear them both, to spag the eyes from their sockets, shred their furless skin, and keep slicing until the blood flowed in torrents and I had lapped my fill of it.

  A gasp from Arlette. The two women stood side-by-side, enthralled, their mouths open, eyes wide. Herleva still clutched the now-empty bowl.

  Herleva! She was the one responsible, with her searching greedy eyes which had sought me out across seas and mountains. I attacked, paws and claws outstretched, teeth bared, ears laid back, and tail fluffed, and launched myself at her head.

  Within a fraction of an inch of her face, my body twisted in mid-air, tail thrashing for balance, and I fell to the ground. Four cat-legs saved me from smashing into the slate floor, and absorbed the impact.

  Arlette darted behind Herleva. I was not interested in her, though her time would come. She had played her part and I would have my revenge. Herleva deserved my attention first.

  ‘Turn me back!’ I yelled. A flesh-rending snarl issued from my mouth instead of words.

  ‘I will fetch the cage,’ Arlette said, her pretty face creased with worry.

  ‘Wait.’ Herleva reached behind and placed a hand on Arlette’s arm. ‘She cannot harm me.’

  We will see about that. I might be small but I had weapons, as anyone who had ever been scratched by a cat could testify. I might not be able to kill her with them, but I could blind her. With teeth bared and ears laid flat against my head, I spat and hissed, fury engulfing me.

  I tried again, leaping at her, only to fall back well before I reached her. I took a swipe anyway and fought to keep my balance as I fell, twisting in mid-air to land safely once more.

  She said, ‘See?’

  At her smug, self-satisfied tone, I lost whatever was left of my senses. For a long time I slashed and clawed, bit and snarled, aiming to destroy anything and everything which lay in my path. I leapt from floor to bench, toppling jars and bowls, and from bench to shelves, scattering their contents to smash on the flagstones. Pungent smells swirled and eddied, some raw and acrid, others softer and kinder to my nose.

  A sneeze caught me by surprise, bringing me back to myself. I stood, panting and spent, amidst the wreckage of Herleva’s embalming room. Herleva had not moved, had not spoken one word, nor made any attempt to stop the destruction. Instead, she regarded me with a half-smile on her lips.

  ‘Finished?’ she asked.

  I glared at her, fury and impotence sparking from my eyes in equal measure.

  She waved a hand at the mess. ‘All this can be repaired or replaced. You, however…’ she paused making sure she had my attention, ‘are my most valuable possession.’

  Still glaring, I retreated to the hearth and sat. My tail curled around my paws of its own accord. It seemed my cat-body knew what to do with itself even if my mind did not.

  ‘I expect you have many questions. I will attempt to answer them, in time. For now, you need to understand that though you have the body, the reactions, and maybe the instincts of a cat, you are still Caitlyn.’

  No, I clearly was not Caitlyn. I was a God-forsaken cat. The witch, as evil and powerful as she was, had lost her senses. How could I be me, and be a cat at the same time?

  ‘As for your display of temper, you will have learnt by now you cannot harm me. The spell will simply not allow it. You are a witch’s familiar, bound to protect and serve your mistress. Me.’ She jabbed a finger at her own chest. ‘You will do my bidding, and however much you do not like what I command you to do, you will do it regardless. Do you understand?’

  I turned my head away, full of stubborn defiance.

  ‘Never mind, you will come to understand all too clearly,’ she added and her laugh hurt my ears.

  Arlette cleared her throat. ‘It will be dawn soon. The sleeping potion will wear off and my father will want his breakfast. Do we cage her now?’

  ‘I said no cage. It is her turn to sleep. My little missy has had a long night. Go to your bed Caitlyn, get some rest.’

  They expected me to walk around like this? To be seen in public? What if someone guessed the little grey cat was more than it seemed. They would shoot me through with an arrow, or stick me in a sack and drown me. I shot her a horrified look.

  She interpreted it correctly. Or perhaps she read my mind? Please God no, leave me some dignity.

  ‘All anyone will see, is a cat. Try and act like one.’ She laughed again. ‘It might take some practise.’

  My cat-body rose gracefully to its feet all on its own, without any direction from my mind, and stalked to the door. Arlette opened it. I paused. Maybe the spell did not extend to her, only to the one to whom I was bound.

  ‘Oops. You nearly caught me out,’ Herleva said. ‘You will not do harm to Arlette, you will not allow harm to come to her. You will protect her as if she were me. Have I missed anything?’ she asked the younger woman.

  ‘What about obeying me?’

  ‘I think not. One mistress will suffice for the moment. Two will simply confuse her. Your turn will come. You need to grow and develop your powers before you have the strength to control a familiar.’

  ‘I thought creating one was the most difficult part?’

  ‘Oh, it is. Most difficult indeed. Caitlyn and I are now bound together, and only death will sever the bond.’

  I stalked back to my bed on four unfamiliar legs and hoped the death she spoke about would be her own.

  And the sooner the better.

  Chapter 18

  The crow of the cockerel woke me as it did every morning. The darned thing started before the sun had risen, and if it was in the mood it would carry on for most of the day. Keeping my eyes closed to eke out the last remnants of sleep, I stretched, easing out bed-stiffened muscles. The smell of oatcakes lingered, and my stomach rumbled in response. I adored Herleva’s oatcakes. She made them with honey and those tiny dried-up fruits they called raisins. I had not seen them before I came to Normandy, for we did not grow grapes in Wales. Too wet and cold for them, apparently.

  Giving in to the cockerel’s insistence and the need to start the fire before Fulbert and his sons demanded their breakfasts, I opened my reluctant lids. The light was wrong, the shadows slanting, hard and crisp across the floor. Early morning light in high summer was softer, more delicate.

  ‘Hello?’ I called.

  I sat up.

  Silence. Not even the cockerel answered and the hearth was similarly quiet, the fire almost out. Someone must have been up early and lit it. I wondered why I had not been woken, if not deliberately, then by the noise of Herleva baking her oatcakes.

  Pushing back the thin blanket, I saw I was still fully dressed, though my boots were paired neatly beside the pallet. The last thing I remembered was Arlette waking me to help with a cow in calf. I recalled I had put on my work dress, followed Arlette outside, and then felt unwell. Everything afterwards descended into dream-fuelled delirium. A cat, indeed. Huh! At least they had let me sleep off my fever, and had left me a plate of oatcakes. The kindness was from Herleva, I suspected. Arlette was not at all thoughtful and the men of the house ignored me, for the most part.

  Stiff and a little sore, my muscles trembling with remembered ache, I got to my feet. Two of them, not four. The dream had been so real, so vivid, even clearer than the ones I’d had of Herleva before I arrived in Normandy. The ones I had called visions.

  Herleva had said in my dream we had a connection, that I was bound to her. Maybe she was right. My mother and I had been the same. I would dream of her, only for her to confirm the truth later. My drea
ms had not been dreams at all, but visions, so she claimed. I had so wanted to be like her, but Father was a Christian, and Mother insisted I was not to follow in her footsteps. Her religion was a dying one, fraught with danger if discovered. Heretics and pagans were hung if caught. But the connection was there, all the same, regardless of our different gods.

  Was Herleva a follower of the pagan ways I wondered, as I bit into an oatcake. Sweetness exploded in my mouth and I moaned with delight. I could not recall the last time I had felt such hunger. My belly was a hollow ball beneath my ribcage and it rumbled expectantly as I chewed. I gobbled the first and started on the second, then the third, pushing each one into my mouth as if I had not seen food for a fortnight. Once the plate was empty I considered my thirst.

  It took mere moments to rekindle the fire and set the water to boil. A jar on a nearby shelf contained dried camomile flowers. For some reason I felt uneasy, and camomile tea would help. Mayhap it was my moon time. If so, it would explain the vague aches and pains, and the apprehension in my mind. I always became a little fraught before I bled. Later I would assemble the rags we used to soak up the anticipated flow, but for now, tea.

  All that was left in the jar was a couple of flattened heads in the bottom. I sighed, and got to my feet. Herleva had more in the embalming room. She often scattered them on the floor to perfume the air. I preferred to drink them in tea rather than to crush them underfoot.

  I pushed open the door and nearly cried out in surprise. Herleva stood at her workbench brushing leaves into a pan. She had been so quiet I assumed I had the house to myself.

  Without meaning to, I shot a quick glance at the table. It looked as it always had; four holes, one at each corner, joined by drainage channels. No straps. I rubbed a hand across my face, to scrub away the image of those leather bindings. How ridiculous. Whoever heard of the dead needing to be restrained.

  ‘Thank you for letting me sleep, though I cannot explain why I failed to wake when you made breakfast.’ I was sheepish and a tad embarrassed, not liking to appear weak and vulnerable in front of her. I got the feeling that, like a wolf, if she sensed weakness of any kind she would attack. Or at least, take advantage of it.

  ‘You clearly needed your rest,’ she said, emptying the dustpan into a half-barrel filled with broken crockery and mounds of dried leaves. She bent to pick up a bunch of lavender, most of the stems missing their flowers, and dropped it in the barrel.

  I took a moment to look around. A good look, not a cursory glance. I did not like what I saw, nor the conclusion I arrived at.

  ‘What happened here?’ I asked. A tremble started in my knee. I locked it straight, putting most of my weight on it to try to keep it still.

  The other shook instead.

  As did my hands.

  I put them behind my back.

  ‘Do you not remember?’ she asked, then went on before I had a chance to answer. ‘Of course not, otherwise you wouldn’t be so calm.’

  Remember? What exactly did happen last night? A few images swam through my mind, and I kept coming back to the dream. It had been so vivid, so real.

  But it could not have been, because when I awoke I was exactly the same as when I fell asleep.

  ‘I had a strange dream,’ I said, watching her continue with her cleaning.

  ‘Did you?’ She paused and gave me her full attention. ‘What makes you think it was a dream?’

  ‘It must have been. There is no other explanation.’

  ‘Can dreams make a mess such as this?’

  No, it could not be. I did not want it to be. She was toying with me. In the short time I had known her, I understood Herleva liked playing games, with her significant looks and her inscrutable comments.

  ‘Who did this?’ I whispered. It could not have been me.

  ‘You did.’

  ‘I did not.’ My denial was half-hearted, as my head filled with images of leaping from shelf to shelf, swiping and clawing.

  ‘If not you – who?’ she insisted.

  ‘I do not know.’

  The door opened, sunlight streaming in behind Arlette. She stopped when she saw me. ‘She is a woman,’ she cried.

  ‘She is,’ was Herleva’s calm reply.

  ‘What happened to the cat?’ Arlette’s hands were on her hips and she looked a picture of outrage with her lips set in a line and a frown on her brow.

  I swallowed. This conversation was too strange for comfort.

  Herleva smiled at her. ‘Caitlyn will not always be a cat. She will assume the form only when necessary.’

  ‘Oh, I see. What do we do with her now?’

  ‘Nothing for the moment. She will take time to adjust – if she ever does.’

  Arlette stepped further into the room, closing the door as she did so, and peered at me. ‘She looks suitably adjusted. I expected another tantrum,’ she said.

  ‘She does not yet believe what she has become.’

  I wished they would stop talking about me as if I was not there.

  ‘What if she does not adjust?’ Arlette persisted.

  ‘Then she will go mad, and will be of no use to us.’

  I must be mad already to listen to this ridiculous talk. ‘You are the mad ones, both of you,’ I said.

  Herleva pinned me down with her stare. ‘It is time you became a cat again, missy.’

  ‘Stop this silliness! I have to get to the trenches. Fulbert will be asking for me. He will not like it if I fail to do any work for him today. It is well past midday. I have to go.’

  Before I could turn to leave, an agonising pain shot through me. From head to foot I was engulfed in searing flame, the fires of hell licking every inch of me, inside and out.

  With a scream I fell to the floor, writhing.

  ‘Help me,’ I called, but my voice was not my own and when the agony finally faded I was no longer myself and I did not have the strength to move.

  The two women stared at me, one in satisfaction, the other with naked curiosity and more than a little abhorrence.

  ‘The change will become easier the more she practices it,’ Herleva explained, ‘though it will always cause her some pain.’

  ‘It is not pretty to watch,’ Arlette said.

  ‘Better to watch it, than to experience it,’ Herleva countered dryly.

  The older woman came closer and knelt on the flagstones. Their coolness soothed my fire-scorched body as I flattened myself into the floor. She reached out and I flinched, hating the idea of her hands touching me. She used those same hands to root around the innards of corpses. The image of the dead woman with a cat sewn up inside her came into my mind and I shuddered.

  She withdrew her hand. ‘I do not blame you,’ she said. ‘It is a hard thing to accept. For all intents and purposes you become a cat. You look like a cat, you have a feline’s senses and abilities, but your mind is your own. Oh, I expect the odd cat instinct will come through, but you are still a woman in there,’ she poked my forehead and I shrank back, ‘where it matters.’

  My cat-heart pounded in its little chest, and I panted hard. I am not a cat, I am not a cat, I am not a cat…the mantra circled through my mind.

  ‘What about her clothes?’ Arlette asked.

  A giggle jabbered in my soul. What did clothes matter? I was a cat, I had no need of clothes. The giggle grew louder, closer to the surface. If I let it loose, my mind would go with it. I mewled, a pitiful sound. My heart threatened to jump out of my chest. Herleva leaned back onto her heels, concern on her face.

  ‘When she takes the shape of a cat what happens to her clothes?’ Arlette persevered. ‘They were not left behind on the table when the spell took hold of her the first time, and they are nowhere to be seen now.’

  Who cares about clothes? Look at what she has done to me. A trembling took hold, starting in my whiskers. My whiskers!

  ‘Magic is a strange and wondrous thing, and often there is no accounting for what it does,’ Herleva said. She sounded distracted, watching me with a wor
ried intensity. ‘I am going to turn her back.’

  For all her assurances that the pain would lessen with practice, I still felt as though I was being hung, drawn, and quartered. The pain rendered me useless for a long moment after I returned to woman-form. I sat on the cold floor, knees up to my chest, arms wrapped around them, forehead resting on my arms. I swear, if I had to go through it again, I would die.

  ‘My clothes,’ I croaked, without raising my head. I knew I was wearing them, they had reappeared, as if by magic. I giggled, then clamped my lips shut, holding the hysteria back with effort.

  ‘The spell only changes your outward appearance. You remain Caitlyn inside.’

  I found the courage to raise my head. Herleva had the grace to look concerned. And so she should, after what she had done to me.

  ‘I do not understand.’ It was true – I understood none of this, not why she had done it, or how she had done it, or what she hoped to achieve. Nothing made sense. Perhaps I was already mad and all this was the product of a fractured mind.

  ‘When you dressed in a boy’s garb to escape from Lord Wulfstan, you were still a woman, were you not?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ How did she know about that? I shook my head.

  ‘As you are when you transform into a familiar, so you are when you change back. All remains the same, from the braid in your hair to the dress you are wearing. If you are naked when you become a cat, you will be naked when you transform back into a woman. If you are wearing your best gown when you become-’ She stopped, clearly fed up with my stupidity. ‘Do I need to carry on?’

  I shook my head again, the ability to speak seemed to have fled. This was all too much.

  ‘When you become a cat your form changes but your mind does not.’

  ‘Why not?’ Arlette asked. I had forgotten she was there.

  ‘Cats are cunning but I need more than cunning, which is why I made Caitlyn a familiar, and did not simply train a cat to do my bidding.’ Herleva’s tone was sharp and sarcastic. ‘Arlette, you must take heed of everything I show you and tell you, if you want to succeed. You have an innate ability, the magic is strong in you, but you have to learn how to control it, to direct it. You must pay greater attention. I told you all about what a witch’s familiar can do. Have you forgotten?’