By third period Emma was thoroughly miserable. She never should have opened her big mouth, especially today. Knowing it was Helena’s birthday just made everything worse. The teacher took them to the library so they could look up stuff about faerie influence on art during the Renaissance, but Emma didn’t feel like it. She went to CragWiki so it looked like she was doing work and searched for “Cat Pride-Heart.”
The school’s computers were old, and it took a minute for the page to load:
The Pride-Heart is both the leader of a pride of cats, and the source of that pride’s magic. They are exclusively female. Though a few males have attempted to gain this status, there is no evidence that any have succeeded. The Pride-Heart also dispenses justice and protects her pride in war.
She scrolled down and stopped when she saw the heading “Humans as Pride-Hearts in Myth.”
Nowadays, Pride-Hearts are almost exclusively feline (though cross-species Pride-Hearts have been seen on rare occasions), but there are numerous myths and legends in which a human, or part human, takes on the role of the Pride-Heart. One of the most well known is UGLY EMMA VU SMELLS LIKE POO!!!
Emma stared at the screen. Someone had edited the article. The pain in her hand grew worse. She clicked around, trying to ignore it, until she found the edit button. Then she selected the entire article and hit delete.
Click. The article was gone.
But it didn’t make her feel any better. She just felt angry, and the more she thought about what they’d done, the angrier she got and the more her hand hurt. It’s probably Matt. It’s just the kind of stupid joke he’d think was funny. And now he might have made me delete something that could help me find Helena. She was furious with him.
When the bell rang, Emma made her way to the cafeteria with her head held high. She got her food and sat down at an empty table. She drank the milk first and immediately wished she could get another. The fruit she’d gotten tasted weird, and she didn’t like her fries, but the chicken sandwich tasted amazing. She didn’t even bother with the bread.
“If you’re so good at cat magic,” Matt said from behind her, “why don’t you turn yourself into someone that isn’t such a dork?”
“Does Her Majesty want some milk?” said one of Matt’s friends.
Emma looked up right as they all emptied cartons of milk on her tray. She stared for a moment, watching her chicken sandwich turn into chicken soup. The milk sloshed onto the table. She stood, trying to keep from getting milk on her jeans, but Matt’s friends had her boxed in.
She wanted to hit him, to wipe that smirk off his face, to make him pay for making her hate Marie, make him pay for turning everyone against her, for her having to move to the trailer park, for Helena’s disappearance. He should be afraid of her. They all should.
Emma tried to curl her hand into a fist, but she couldn’t: The pain in her palm grew worse and worse — and suddenly she knew why.
Because a sharp, curved claw protruded from the base of each finger.
The pain was gone. The fear was gone. Everything became simple, animal fury.
Matt leaned in close. “You shouldn’t be eating human food anyway, cat-freak. We’ll bring you some nice troll food tomorrow and make you eat that, okay?”
Without even thinking about it, she swiped at his face, a quick flick of her hand. And then she felt her claws dig into his cheek.
Matt pulled away in surprise. For a moment it almost looked like he was going to laugh at her. His friends giggled. Then he reached up to touch his face, and all at once the blood began to pour out between his fingers. He started to scream.
“Matt, are you okay? What happened?” One of his friends tried to pry his fingers away from his face, but couldn’t get a good grip. Another friend shouted for a teacher.
“What did you do to him?” asked someone else.
Nothing, Emma meant to say. I was just trying to punch him. But then she looked down at her hand. It was covered in blood. The metallic smell of it overwhelmed her. Her stomach heaved and she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from throwing up.
People were pointing at her, shouting, but she couldn’t hear. I have to put them away, she kept thinking. They had to retract somehow. She tried to flex her hand, but the claws just twitched dangerously.
Mr. Shuttleworth, the algebra teacher, shoved through the crowd and pushed Emma aside. “Back off,” he yelled, and he knelt beside Matt. “Stop crying, I have to take a look.” He swore under his breath and pulled out his cell phone. “Everyone quiet down. I need to call the nurse’s office. He’ll need a couple of stitches.”
Stitches? She couldn’t have hurt him that badly. It wasn’t her fault. It was an accident.
Mr. Shuttleworth was off the phone now and talking to Matt’s friends. They pointed at her and made clawing motions. Emma tried to cover her bloody hand with her shirt. The points of the claws were like needles against her skin.
Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see the principal, Ms. Keyes, looking down at her. Her voice seemed to come from very far away.
“Please come with me, Miss Vu,” Ms. Keyes said, and pushed her steadily out of the cafeteria to the main office. A cop was waiting for them, holding a pair of heavy iron handcuffs inscribed with runes.
“You’ll have to wear them as long as you’re armed,” Ms. Keyes said. “We’ve called your mother. She’s on her way.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt him. I mean, I wanted to hit him, but not . . . I didn’t mean to.” Or had she? It had all happened too fast. Her hand had felt strange just before she hit him, but not in a bad way. It had felt right. Hitting him felt right. If he’d just backed down, if he’d been afraid of her, she wouldn’t have had to do anything. He made her do it. He’d threatened her.
The cop and Ms. Keyes were both staring at her, disgust on their faces. To her horror Emma realized she was grinning. What was happening to her? Was she becoming like Jack, like every other cat, not caring about anyone?
“Do you think this is funny?” Ms. Keyes demanded. “Because let me assure you, this is deadly serious. You’re in a lot of trouble.”
“No, I don’t,” Emma said miserably. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it.”
“I’m sorry, too,” Ms. Keyes said. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to go call Matt’s mother to tell her what’s happened.” She went into her private office, leaving Emma alone with the cop.
The cuffs made Emma’s hands and arms feel numb. She fidgeted in the hard plastic chair. The cop kept looking at her like she was some kind of rabid animal. Maybe I am, she thought.
Emma’s mom came into the office. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. The cop pointed at the empty chair next to Emma. Her mom went to sit down, but stopped short.
“Are the handcuffs really necessary? She’s only twelve.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we have to in situations like this,” said the cop, but he didn’t sound sorry at all.
Emma’s mom sat beside her. Emma tried to hide her hand, but it was no use. Her mom’s eyes went wide when she saw the claws. “Emma, what’s happened to you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Emma didn’t answer. She didn’t know what to say. She looked at the floor.
“What if you go to jail? Did you think about that before playing around with magic? Did you have any clue at all what you were doing?”
“They don’t send kids to jail,” Emma said softly. She knew that much.
“They don’t send human kids to jail,” her mom whispered. Then she started to cry.
The cop sighed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the claws.” Emma didn’t know what else to say. She wished they’d go away so she didn’t have to look at them. So that her mom didn’t have to look at them. So that the cop would stop scowling at her. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, they had to believe that. Maybe she could get them taken out, or filed down. She forced herself to look at them. Why was it so hard to remember what her hand had felt l
ike without claws? She tried harder, recalling what it was like to move her fingers, to curl her hand up and open it again.
Finally, the claws slid back into her palm, leaving ugly slits where they’d pierced her skin.
The door to the principal’s office opened. “Mrs. Vu?” Ms. Keyes called. “Please come in.”
Emma, her mom, and the cop all followed Ms. Keyes into her office and sat down in front of her desk.
“We’ve just heard from the nurse that Matthew’s eye wasn’t damaged in the attack. He may, unfortunately, have scars, though she doesn’t know how bad they’ll be. As I’m sure Emma has told you, Mrs. Vu, we have a strict zero-tolerance weapons policy. The consequences of that are expulsion and a mark on her permanent record.”
Ms. Keyes held up a hand to stop Emma’s mom’s protests. “I may be able to convince the board to overlook the weapons charge, since the claws are clearly part of Emma’s hand: She couldn’t very well leave them at home. So I’ll see what I can do to keep this incident off the record, if you agree to withdraw Emma from school. We pride ourselves on running a simple school, Mrs. Vu. We’re not equipped to deal with a . . .” Ms. Keyes hesitated “. . . child like Emma. I have the paperwork all ready.” She slid a stack of forms across the desk. Her voice softened. “I think this is best for Emma and the other students, don’t you?”
“But where’s she supposed to go?” Emma’s mom asked, her voice fierce. “She still has to go to school. She still has the right to an education.”
“Homeschooling is one option,” Ms. Keyes said. “There are also alternative schools for children like Emma.”
“Crag schools, you mean,” Emma’s mom said.
“I never used the word crag, Mrs. Vu. However, clearly an all-human environment such as this is not the best place for Emma. Think about it, please. It’s a better alternative than expulsion.”
“Mom, let’s just go,” Emma said before her mom could argue more. “Dad can homeschool me.”
Emma’s mom glared at Ms. Keyes, then looked down at Emma. Her mouth was tight with anger. “We’ll talk about it when we get home,” her mom said. She turned back to the principal. “Just tell me where I need to sign.”
A few minutes later, the cop escorted Emma and her mom out of the building. Only after they were off school property did he remove the handcuffs. “Don’t let me catch you near a school zone again. Understand?”
Emma nodded. Her hands tingled with pins and needles as she tried to move her fingers again.
She and her mom got into the car. They didn’t look at each other.
“It was an accident,” Emma said.
Her mom put the car into gear and started driving.
After several minutes of silence, Emma tried again. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, okay? I really didn’t know about the claws.”
Her mom wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady again. “That cat’s not going to get away with this. I’m going to call the police, have him hunted down. You know better than to mess with magic. Do you have any idea what could have happened if —”
She broke off as they drove up to their trailer.
There were cats everywhere. All of them were small now, but still they were all different shapes and sizes. Emma saw gray fur, white fur, ginger, brown, and black. They sprawled across the lawn and driveway. They lounged on the steps. A few even stared down from the roof of the trailer. Green and yellow eyes watched Emma with a still, stalking intensity.
The Heart’s Blood was working. Her pride was back.
CRAG FACT OF THE DAY:
“It’s not a good idea to wear clothes made out of satyr fur if there’s a chance you might run into an actual living satyr. It tends to make them angry.”
CragWiki.org
“Emma, stay in the car,” her mom said, then rolled down her window a few inches. “Mr. Simbi?” she called.
Mr. Simbi’s head broke the surface of the water in his hot tub, tail flapping wildly. “You have to do something about these cats!” he yelled. “I already told them to go, but they just ignored me. That’s the problem with cats, they’re rude and lazy. They shed everywhere, too. Look, there’s cat hair in my water. It’s unsanitary!”
“Do you have a phone?” Emma’s mom interrupted. “We need to call the police.”
Mr. Simbi shook his head. “I don’t need a phone. And neither do you, because the police won’t come here. They never do. Well, not unless they’re disturbing hardworking residents with questions about things we know nothing about. But the moment there’s any real trouble, there’s not an officer to be found.”
“Mom, I don’t think they’re here to hurt us,” Emma said. “I just need to talk to them.”
“Have you forgotten where talking to cats has gotten you so far?” her mom said. “You are going to stay in this car, and you are not to move until —”
A gray cat climbed onto the hood of the car. Emma recognized him from the day before, the one called Fat Leon. “This is not human business,” he said, staring at her mom through the windshield. “We’re here to see our Pride-Heart.”
Emma’s mom pursed her lips and slammed the heel of her palm on the horn. “I don’t care what you want!” she yelled, punctuating each word with another blast of the car horn. “Get! Off! My! Property! Get! Away! From! My! Child!”
Fat Leon’s ears twitched with irritation, but he didn’t bother to move.
“Mom, stop!” Emma yelled, her hands over her ears. “I have to talk to them. I’m their Pride-Heart now!”
“No, you’re a twelve-year-old girl,” her mom cried. “And whatever that Jack did to you doesn’t change that.”
Fat Leon’s ears perked up. “Are you hunting him, too? Then we want the same thing. He’s hiding out in your trailer right now, like a coward. He knows we don’t have the magic to tear it open, or he’d already be dead.”
“No!” Emma said. “You can’t hurt him. I order you, as your Pride-Heart.”
Fat Leon licked his paw. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea. He’s a Heart-Killer. You’re not safe with him.”
“Emma, what’s going on? What’s a Heart-Killer? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Just stop talking to it. We’re driving to the police station.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Emma said. She yanked open the passenger door and jumped out. Fat Leon hopped off the car.
Emma stood in the middle of her pride. A faint breeze blew, and she smelled them all. She felt calm.
“Emma, get away from them!” her mom yelled.
“It’s fine, Mom.” Emma said. “They’re not going to hurt me, right?” She glanced around at the cats. “Right?”
“Not if you’re really our Pride-Heart,” a thin black cat said.
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” Fat Leon said. “You have the Heart’s Blood, and it’s obviously beginning to work on you, otherwise we wouldn’t have been drawn here.” He looked at her keenly. “Something just happened, didn’t it?” He went on without waiting for her answer. “But the question is: Can you give us magic? Cricket said you’re just a human, that we’ll never get true magic from you, and that killing you wouldn’t make any of us a Heart-Killer. But she’s not exactly volunteering for the job, so she must have her doubts.”
That was more than Emma’s mom could take. She got out of the car and waded through the cats, ignoring their hisses. Then she grabbed Emma’s arm and started to pull her toward the trailer.
“Mom, stop! They can’t do anything to me; they don’t have any magic.”
More cats hissed behind them on the steps. Emma realized there were enough of them to be dangerous even without magic.
“Is this old human absolutely necessary?” asked the black cat.
“She does seem pretty annoying,” the gray cat agreed.
Emma’s mom sputtered indignantly.
“Yes,” Emma said quickly. “Everyone is necessary! Don’t hurt anyone or do anything unless I
say so, okay?” She turned to her mom. “They won’t leave us alone unless I talk to them. Please, I just need five minutes. It’s my fault they’re here — it has to do with my claws. I’ll explain later, I promise. You can leave the door open, just . . . let me try to fix this. Okay?”
Her mom looked at her for a long moment, then at the cats. She seemed to wilt, as though she didn’t have any strength left for arguing. “I trust you,” she said quietly. “You have two minutes.” She let her hand fall away from Emma’s arm, and walked up the metal steps and into the trailer.
Emma faced the cats. “I’ll figure out a way to give you magic.”
The cats watched her, completely still.
“Try it now,” Fat Leon purred.
Emma swallowed and nodded. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it had felt like when she first took the Heart’s Blood. Feeling light as air and strong as a rock. Wanting to laugh and scream at the same time. The tugging in her gut that meant the cats were drawing magic from her. She felt all of it, for just a moment — and then she remembered her claws, and the anger she’d felt before she clawed Matt’s face. She’d wanted to hurt him. That’s when the magic had worked. But I don’t want that! she thought desperately.
And just like that, the feeling was gone.
For a moment when she opened her eyes Fat Leon looked as though he’d grown somewhat, then he was his small, round self again.
“Well,” he purred, “maybe there’s some hope after all. A little bit. We’ll do as you say for now, human.”
“Emma. My name is Emma.”
“Fat Leon,” he said. Then he began introducing every cat in the pride. Emma tried to keep up, but it was just a sea of fur and ears and glaring eyes.
“What about that one?” Emma asked, pointing to the small tabby, who was sitting a few yards away, chewing on his feet. The only cat not paying any attention to her or anything else.
“Oh, him,” Fat Leon said. “He doesn’t have a name. We call him the Toe-Chewer. But what do you want us to do about Jack? We need to deal with him.”
Claws (9780545469678) Page 6
