Reckonings

by Carla Jablonski

  “That’s not what I—” Mr. Hunter had protested, but Mrs. O’Reilly’s sour face shut him up.

  So then Mr. Hunter agreed to punish Tim as well. Not only was Tim grounded, his skateboard had also been confiscated.

  That was two days ago. Since then Mr. Hunter had barely spoken to Tim. Tim had a feeling his dad was probably afraid that Mrs. O’Reilly thought he wasn’t a fit parent. Or maybe Mr. Hunter was annoyed that he’d gotten yelled at for something that Tim had done.

  To make things worse, spring holiday had just started, so he and Molly wouldn’t even get a chance to see each other at school. And he needed to see her, to talk to her about all that was happening. Besides, everything was different now. They were officially boyfriend and girlfriend; they’d even kissed! More than once!

  “Boyfriends and girlfriends are supposed to see each other,” Tim grumbled, catching the ball again. “It’s one of the rules.”

  He rolled off the bed and opened his bedroom door. The usual drone of the telly drifted upstairs. “Dad’s down for the night,” Tim surmised. Mr. Hunter spent a lot of time glued to the tube, particularly when some old black-and-white musical was on. “He’ll never notice if I’m not in my room.”

  Tim grabbed his rain slicker, then took the stairs slowly, careful to avoid any possibly creaky boards. He held his breath and quickly passed the door to the living room, stopping for a moment to listen. His dad hadn’t moved. If I’m caught sneaking out, what’s the worst he’ll do? He wasn’t that angry at me, Tim told himself. It was Mrs. O’Reilly who really riled him up. Besides, I’ll be back in my room before he ever notices I’m gone.

  Tim turned the doorknob, every muscle tense as he braced himself for squeaks, but the door swung open silently. As if it wants me to go see Molly, Tim decided. Excellent.

  Man, it sure is wet and dark out here. Molly only lived a few streets over, but his sneakers were soaked almost instantly, making his socks squishy. By the time he reached Molly’s house his hair was plastered to his head, and rain dripped from his glasses.

  “Hi, Filthy,” Tim greeted the gray cat perched on a nearby fence. Filthy was a stray Molly had adopted recently. “What are you doing out? I thought cats didn’t like the rain.”

  The cat ignored Tim and continued gazing intently at the window above them. Another cat sat inside on the windowsill, dry and content, peering down.

  Tim nodded knowingly. “Oh, I see. Well, if it’s any consolation, I can’t see my girlfriend either,” Tim told the cat. “Mrs. O’Reilly made that really clear. If she won’t even let me talk to Molly on the phone, there’s no way she’d let me inside.”

  Filthy flicked his tail, his yellow eyes still on the calico above them.

  “Too bad you can’t go talk to Molly for me,” Tim said, stroking the cat’s wet gray fur. He grinned down at the critter, an idea forming.

  Maybe magic can help me after all. He took a step away from the cat, studying it.

  “Tamlin could turn himself into a falcon,” Tim said. “Maybe shape-shifting is a skill that runs in the family. After all, he is my real dad.”

  Tim shut his eyes to help him concentrate. He reached out with his mind to Filthy, feeling the cat’s shape, probing it for its essence. He didn’t want to take over the cat’s body; he wanted to learn it, understand it. Once he sensed with his deepest self what it meant to be a cat, he stopped focusing on Filthy and turned his attention inward.

  “Tamlin made this look pretty easy,” he murmured, “and he had all those feathers to keep track of.”

  He took a deep breath and sent energy through his being. Cat, he thought, I am a cat. I have whiskers and a tail and four paws. He pictured himself in cat form, imagined cat moves, thought about basic catness.

  He forced himself not to panic as he felt a transformation taking place in his body. His face flattened, his ears moved to the top of his head. His skin tingled, as if electricity ran through his veins instead of blood. His center of gravity changed, causing him to tip forward, but he didn’t fall—he landed on front paws.

  Then his whole body felt one enormous unbearable itch, an itch to end all itches, and just as he thought his body would explode—fur sprang from his skin.

  While his body dramatically altered shape, Tim could feel inner changes as well. His senses all heightened, smells and sounds sending shivers of excitement through him. His thoughts about the past and the future seemed to melt away, his only interest in the right now.

  Uh oh, he thought. This transformation may be a little more complete than I anticipated.

  Don’t lose yourself completely, he warned himself. You’re going to need to remember who you are and how you did this, so that you can turn back into yourself again.

  “You are Tim Hunter!” he declared. Only it came out as a loud “Mrrroooowww!”

  Tim’s eyes burst open. He stared down and saw paws. Paws!

  He’d done it. He was a cat!

  Chapter Two

  “NOT BAD FOR A first try!” he cheered, making triumphant chirruping sounds.

  His glasses tumbled onto the ground. Cat’s faces aren’t built for glasses, I guess, Tim thought. The nose is too flat, and the ears are in the wrong place. He blinked and realized he could see even better than he could wearing glasses. Cats have such excellent vision. It’s like being automatically fitted with contacts.

  A terrified cat yowl got his attention. “Filthy, what’s wrong?” He was puzzled by Filthy’s bared teeth and flattened ears. Tim leaned in closer and Filthy hissed at him.

  Then Tim realized—he was looking at Filthy eye-to-eye—and Filthy was standing on top of a fence! Tim had turned himself into a cat all right—only he was still human size! No wonder the poor cat was freaking. Its fur was puffed out so that it was nearly as round as a balloon.

  “So I made a minor miscalculation.” Tim checked out Filthy again. The cat’s back was arched like a creature in a Halloween cartoon. “Okay, not so minor, maybe. But, hey, give me a break! I took care of the hard part—I’m a cat, for cripe’s sake. Getting the size right should be a breeze compared to starting from scratch!”

  Tim concentrated again, thinking about shrinking, getting compact. His fur bristled, and he tingled all over once more. In moments, he and Filthy were the same size.

  Filthy was still very wary. I wonder if I don’t smell quite right, Tim wondered, as Filthy yowled and ran away. “Was it something I said?” Tim called after the disappearing cat. Only it came out as “Mrrrowrrr?”

  Time to set the plan in motion, Tim determined.

  Time? What’s that? a voice in Tim’s head asked. The voice sounded like Tim’s, but it was softer and more languid.

  Is time something good to eat? To chase? Soft to lie on? the voice asked.

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Tim replied. “Why are there two of us in here?”

  Who are you? the voice asked. Tim noticed it rolled its rs, making a purring sound, and he began to get an inkling of what was going on.

  “I’m me,” Tim told the voice. “Thirteen-year-old boy magician.”

  Then who am I?

  “Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure you came with the body. You must be Cat. All cat.”

  That seemed to satisfy the voice. When will you feed me? Cat-Tim asked.

  “Later. Right now we’re going to visit Molly.” He slunk toward Molly’s back door.

  Wet. There is too much wet, Cat-Tim thought.

  “No kidding,” Tim agreed.

  I prefer my paws dry.

  “They’re not your paws,” Tim argued, “they’re my feet. And if they have to get wet, then they’ll get wet.”

  Fine, the cat part of him acquiesced. When are you going to feed me?

  “I told you. Later.” Tim pushed through the little swinging cat door in the bottom panel of the back door.

  That was an admirable slither. You’re the greatest. Will you feed me now?

  “Stop trying to butter me up. We’re not here to
eat, we’re here to see Molly.” He padded up the stairs to her room and slipped inside.

  There’s no one in here.

  “I can see that,” Tim snapped. Molly’s room was even messier than Tim’s, but despite the piles of clothes scattered across the floor, the books, notebooks, backpacks, and sneakers, Tim could see that the room was currently a Molly-free zone.

  “Why isn’t she here?” Tim knew that she’d been grounded just like he had—with probably even stricter rules. He figured her parents had not just placed her under house arrest but were forcing her to do time in solitary, trapped in her room.

  Tim spotted the open window and the thick rope tied to Molly’s bed. “She climbed out the window,” he realized. “And I bet she went to see me! She’s probably at my house right now, wondering where I am.”

  Cat-Tim yawned, making Tim wonder who was actually in charge of this shape. Why would anyone want to go out on a nasty cold wet night like this? Cat-Tim thought. The cat part of him compelled him to leap onto Molly’s bed, unsheathe its claws, and begin kneading the comforter.

  “Quit it,” Tim ordered Cat-Tim. “We have to go find Molly.” Seeing the rope assured him that she’d left the room on her own, at least. This didn’t look like a demon-induced exit.

  Cat-Tim’s tail flicked in irritation. But it’s so nice and warm and dry in here, and there’s a bowl of Yummy Treats on the floor!

  Tim used all his concentration and forced his cat body off the bed, down the stairs and back out the little swinging cat door. The rain pelted his fur, making him shiver.

  This is a very silly thing to do. Running back and forth in the rain. Not even stopping for treats.

  “Well, we’re doing it anyway,” Tim retorted. “Besides, those treats are for Filthy.”

  Why are you in charge?

  “Because you’re not even really a cat,” Tim said. “You’re just the shape I’m in.” He shook his head. “Sheesh. I’ve spent most of my life arguing with myself, but it’s never been anything like this!”

  Tim padded down the wet streets, staying close to the walls, trying to sneak through the raindrops. His cat body really hated getting wet. Interesting smells from the tall garbage cans looming above him distracted his hungry cat stomach from time to time, but Tim managed to get his cat self back to his house quickly.

  Only Molly wasn’t there. Not out front, not in the back, not on the sidewalk trying to figure out a way in. Tim scrambled up a tree and peered into his window. She wasn’t inside either.

  I thought you said she was here.

  “I thought she would be,” Tim replied. If he still had a human face, he’d be frowning with disappointment. Molly was breaking serious rules by sneaking out. Who was she breaking them to see, if not him? What was she doing?

  He dropped back down to the ground.

  You have a lot to learn about landing. You call that a leap?

  “Can you be quiet? I’m trying to decide what to do.”

  We have our nap and snack now. That’s what we do. The cat’s nose lifted into the air. I smell hamburger over there.

  “Try sniffing around for Molly instead of food,” Tim said.

  I’m not a dog. I don’t track. Besides—the cat lowered its face to the pavement—there is no Molly smell here.

  “How am I going to find her? She could be anywhere.”

  We don’t have to stay in the rain. The cat body bounded under a parked car. This is better.

  “We’re not going to find her under here,” Tim protested. “We can’t see anything but puddles!”

  But we’re dry.

  “What we need is one of those newscaster helicopters, like they have on telly. We could get a view of the whole city and find her that way.”

  There’s mud on my paws. I don’t like dirt.

  Tim felt suddenly inspired. “Be quiet,” he ordered his cat self, as he formulated a plan. He crawled out from under the car. “I need to concentrate.”

  Don’t tell me to—

  “I mean it! Unless you want to wind up with wings on your tail!”

  What?

  Tim could sense the cat’s utter astonishment, and took advantage of its momentary speechlessness. He sent a shiver of energy through his body, letting it settle along his spine. He visualized a pair of wings sprouting from his back. “Wings,” he murmured. “I want wings.”

  He heard himself let out a wild, loud yowl, and poof! The next thing he knew, he was sporting a pair of strong wings.

  He glanced around to peer at them. “Wow. I’m getting pretty good at this stuff,” he commented.

  Those are rodent wings, Cat-Tim complained.

  “I guess so,” Tim said. “Bat wings just kind of popped into my head.”

  How dare you put rodent wings on me! The cat wriggled its body, as if it could shake the wings off. All its fur puffed up in fury.

  “Would you rather have bird wings?” Tim demanded. “They’d never hold us up. These babies will give us the bird’s-eye view we need.” He gave the wings a flap. They made a satisfying whoosh sound.

  “Okay, prepare for liftoff.” He took a deep breath. “Airplanes zoom along the runway to get enough speed to take off. I’ll try the same technique.”

  I can’t talk you out of this?

  “Nope.” Tim looked up and down the empty street. The weather and time of night made it deserted: no pedestrians, no cars.

  “We are cleared for takeoff. Ready…” Tim hunkered down, preparing to spring. “Set…” He wiggled his cat backside. “Go!” He leaped into action, racing down the center of the street. Midway up the block he began flapping his wings. He felt himself lifting off the ground. He flapped harder. Harder. Within moments, Tim was flying over the city.

  “Whoo-hoo!” He gazed down at the amazing sight of the rain-soaked buildings, streets, and lights below him. “I’m a boy, a cat, and a bat all rolled into one. Talk about a split personality!”

  Not in my wildest dreams—or nightmares… the cat-voice sputtered, unable to complete the thought.

  Tim understood how the cat part of him felt. The magic of it all was nearly overwhelming. It was amazing and totally bizarre—and scary and exciting all at once. He flapped harder, and began his search for Molly.

  A boy named Daniel, wearing the garb and the grime of a Victorian chimney sweep, sat on a London rooftop, not caring that it was raining. The gloom matched his mood perfectly.

  “Oh, Marya,” he sighed sadly, as he often did. “Why can’t I forget about you? I just wants to make things right, but I don’t know how.”

  He had never meant to harm Marya or to scare her, but that was exactly what he had done. After she’d left their world, Free Country, and decided to stay in this one, Daniel had thought he would go mad with missing her. So he had followed her here and made a right mess of things.

  He clenched his fists and pounded his legs. “If only you hadn’t been so jealous,” he berated himself. But he had been, blinded by such rage that he had done foolish things. He had blamed that magician, Timothy Hunter, for stealing Marya away from him. He had tried to kill the bloke, in fact, and had lashed out at Marya, too.

  Now that he’d been on his own for weeks, scrounging around London with no one to talk to and plenty of time on his hands, he realized how wrong he had been. About everything.

  “I wonder if the poor blighter survived the tunnels,” he muttered, shivering against the rain. All the magician had done was try to help him, and how had Daniel thanked him? By leaving Tim to drown in the underground tunnels, that’s how. How could he ever face Marya after pulling a stunt like that? She’d hate him for sure, now. He had promised himself never to approach her again until he was good through and through, good enough for her. And he didn’t know if he ever would be.

  But it was so hard, knowing she was out there, somewhere. London itself was hard. He wanted to protect her, though he knew that she was probably faring far better than he was. She had friends. He had…what? Pigeons to fight for a patch o
f dry roof.

  All he could do was picture her gentle, pretty face, and it ate him up, leaving him so empty inside that no food could fill him. It would be nice if he could have some company, maybe someone who knew him, who would smile at him and let him talk or be quiet as he chose. As Marya had back in Free Country. But—

  His litany of woes and self-recrimination was halted by a startling sight. A strange movement above him caught his eye. He glanced up and gasped. “Blimey,” Daniel exclaimed. “A blooming flying cat!”

  He stood, his eyes tracking the bizarre creature, and he noticed a startling detail—as if a flying cat wasn’t startling enough. “The cat’s fur is dry. It’s not raining on the critter.”

  He let out a whooping laugh. “That’s magic if I ever saw it! If that birdie-bat-cat is Timothy Hunter, then I didn’t cause his death after all! He might have survived! Ooooh—I has to know for sure.”

  Daniel swung himself over the side of the roof and landed with a thud on the fire escape. “And maybe,” he realized, his heart pounding as he clambered down the metal steps, “just maybe, he’ll know where Marya is.”

  Chapter Three

  TIM HOPED HE’D FIND Molly soon. He was getting tired. It took an awful lot of energy to keep his cat self quiet and happy by repelling the rain, and flying was hard work.

  “The weight distribution is wrong,” Tim complained as he struggled to avoid the top branches of a tree at the entrance to a park.

  You should have listened to me. Cats stay on the ground.

  “I get that, okay?” Tim worked to get his cat-bat-boy body above the treetops. “I see now why cats don’t have wings. The back end is too heavy.”

  My back end is perfect.

  “Hang on. I think I see her.” Tim pumped his wings and fluttered toward a huge tree in the center of the park. Two girls sat beneath it. One girl was a little older than Tim, with long red hair and delicate features—Marya. The other girl was his age with thick dark hair, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and heavy work boots. That was Molly. The two girls huddled together, trying to keep dry under the massive tree branches.