Catspell

by Colleen Shannon

  She must have slept longer than she realized, because it was dark. She hesitated, not wanting to fetch a carriage because she knew that would alert the household, but somewhat afraid of walking to the main road where she could catch a Hansom cab. Then, her chin lifting, she took the shortcut through the woods of the estate, seeing as brightly as day under the tall presence of the trees as the day grew short and dim.

  Just as Arielle was disappearing into the woods, Ethan and Shelly met in the upper study before a cozy fire. She held the battered tome that had been Isis’s favorite book. It had been most instructive, translated into English from the Arabic, but it was the passages about a lion-headed warrior god that most pertained to this case. The fact that the words were circled and the book fell open to the spot was proof enough that Isis, too, had been obsessed with cat men.

  Not bothering to sit down, agitated by the passage she’d just found, Shelly related, “This legend says that the first Mihos was a warrior god who could transform into a great lion at will. But he strayed from the way of truth, drunk on power, and became a devourer of women.”

  Ethan’s gaze fixed on her face. “Go on.”

  “When he died, despite his elaborate funerary arrangements, the council of his elders condemned him to wander forever a twilight world, neither fully human nor fully feline, until he found his destiny in the loins of the descendant of Cleopatra.”

  They exchanged an even grimmer look. Ethan grabbed the book out of Shelly’s unresisting hands to finish, “Once they united as one flesh, each feeding the power of the other, they would reign the night invincible, forever on the earthly vale, but the cost would be high: their kas.” Ethan scanned ahead, turned a page forward and back, and then he put the book aside with a sigh. “That’s the only reference to him. This explains much, but opens a whole host of other questions. Namely, do Seth and Luke both consider themselves reborn of this Mihos character? And if so, how do we stop them from turning Arielle to this dark fate and losing her ka?”

  Shelly shuddered, knowing by now the Egyptian word for soul. “It’s only a myth.”

  “The deaths of these women, the ability to change into cats, these we have seen for ourselves. Often myths have historical precedent.”

  Ethan set the book aside. Both of them were so embroiled in their argument that they didn’t notice the way the rear pages of the volume, where the quotes lay from the Book of the Dead, were even more worn than the portion that recounted the myths.

  “We may have to retain Madame Aurora again,” Shelly reflected, staring into the fire. “I have a feeling only Isis can guide us through this mystery to the maat, or truth as the Egyptians would say.” Shelly turned away, noticing for the first time the two brandy snifters, the tray of cheese and crackers, and the soft fur rug gleaming over a sofa. She took the tallest, primmest chair she could find.

  Ethan patted the sofa beside him, his solemnity lightened by the little devils dancing in his green eyes. “I don’t bite. Much. You, on the other hand, are welcome to do so.”

  She stayed put. Shelly wasn’t sure quite what to make of that devilish smile, but she knew she didn’t trust the emotions behind it, whatever they were. She couldn’t shake the strange feeling that somehow he knew of her powers, and was trying to discombobulate her with his teasing. But that was nonsensical. He could not possibly know of her affliction from either direct observation or evidence. She’d been too careful.

  “Let’s stay to the facts, if you please. I’d like to know everything that happened this morning when the three of you went to Whitefriars. How did Seth behave?”

  Ethan’s open mouth closed. He sprawled his long legs toward the fire and said bluntly, “He was flirting with her in a blatantly sexual manner.”

  Shelly frowned, unsurprised. “But he made no unseemly gestures?”

  “Well, he kissed her. But she invited it. In fact, he declared his intentions as honorable in a roundabout way. And then he did something even odder, something I certainly cannot equate with any creature who would kill as the cat creature has.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A kindness. An extreme kindness performed for a stranger that I would swear he did not want anyone to see, especially Arielle. It was as if he were determined to do the right thing not to emulate or to impress, but because he wanted to reach out to someone he sympathized with. Human to human.”

  Shelly stared into the fire. This news was unexpected. The flirtation, yes, but sympathy for a poor ill woman, a total stranger? On the other hand, perhaps he fully intended for Arielle to discover his largess and Ethan was mistaken.

  “No, I’m not mistaken.”

  Shelly’s eyes snapped to his face. “Did I say you were?”

  “No, but you were thinking it.”

  No force in nature or civilization would make her admit that he had somehow read her mind, so she merely looked back at him stonily.

  “Oh very well, be difficult.” Ethan put one ankle over his other knee, looking quite put out. “You excel at it. Now, what else did you find out from the book that might be helpful in understanding the link between Mihos and Isis, and thence, Arielle?”

  Shelly drew a soundless sigh of relief. Finally, a safe subject. “How much do you know of Egyptian mythology?”

  “The basics, certainly. Land and sea birthed the gods. Osiris and Seth were brothers, Isis their sister and also Osiris’s consort. Indeed, intermarriage among Egyptian royals quite possibly led to the misshapen heads seen from the Akhenaten period, according to some of my Archaeology brethren in the Royal Society.”

  Shelly’s eyes kindled. “I suspected you knew much more of Egyptian history and rites than you let on.” When it was his turn to stare back inflexibly, she decided he was an exhausting man and it was time to get to the point of her research. “Then you know that according to virtually every legend, Seth killed Osiris?”

  “Hmmm. So it is written.” He lifted his eyes piously to the ceiling. “Do you know the rest of the tale?”

  Shelly’s teeth began to grind together, but when he cast that wicked, teasing glint on her, she forced herself to breathe through her nose. “May we keep to the cogent subject, please? There is one picture of the god with the head of a lion.” Shelly opened the book. “Mihos. The lion god of the pharaohs sent to smite his enemies. A fierce warrior.” She flipped to an engraved foldout of a beautiful, hand colored depiction of an Egyptian funerary scene.

  Mihos was a powerful being with the muscular body of a warrior clad only in a loin cloth, but he had the head of a lion. He stood before the Pharaoh Ramses the Great holding the head of an enemy as an offering. Beautiful young women bowed at his feet, worshiping, according to the historian, both Mihos and their pharaoh.

  “No wonder the killer has a superiority predilection, if he thinks he’s this god reincarnated. Was Mihos friend or foe to Isis?”

  “I cannot tell from the lore. So many of the stories vary according to the dynasty and the interpreter’s motivation. However, I suspect he could be either friend or foe according to whom had his allegiance. And during the seance, you say Isis spoke of warring gods and then hailed Seth as a lion god?”

  Ethan nodded.

  Shelly looked troubled. “One of the most famous of the Egyptian myths is the story of the battle between the brothers Osiris and Seth, birthed by their parents the sky and the earth. In most of the recounts, the evil Seth overcomes the good Osiris by tricking him into a chest and tossing him into the Nile.”

  Ethan nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard it. And you think our Seth could be evil, too, and trying to lure Arielle to his way of life?”

  “I do not know, but the parallels are troubling. To continue, in the myth it is Isis who saves Osiris not once, but twice, by recovering the chest from a faraway land where it has drifted, and then the second time when Seth dismembers Osiris’s body into fourteen pieces, Isis collects them one by one except…except…”

  Ethan’s lazy smile replaced the studious light in his ey
es with a twinkle. “Yes. Do be thorough, my very dear Miss Holmes The Perfectionist.”

  “You know which part. As I was saying…”

  “How would a woman go about replicating her husband’s penis, do you suppose?” Ethan shuddered. “Poor chap. How he must have felt to awaken as Lord of the Underworld but sporting only a golden penis.”

  Shelly pretended not to feel the hot flush in her cheeks. “Must you reduce every scientific discussion to base matters?”

  “Base?” Ethan sat up straighter, his outrage seemingly genuine. “A man does not consider that part of himself base, I can tell you.”

  “Indubitably. Instead you consider it divine.”

  Ethan chuckled. “Well, that’s perhaps a slight exaggeration, but I do opine that most men like to have that part praised from time to time.”

  “Yes, well, as I was saying--”

  “Do you know what your problem is Miss Holmes?”

  “Mihos was in service to the Pharaoh in the myths, but--”

  “You have not praised enough of these uh, divine, portions of a man’s anatomy.”

  As she rose, Shelly whacked the book down on the table so hard that it pinched her thumb, still between the pages, but she was so flustered she scarcely felt it. “And I apprise you offer yourself to fill in the appalling gaps in my education.” Shelly flushed a brighter hue as she realized the way her ‘fill in’ remark could be interpreted, especially given the bawdy nature of their banter, but mercifully Ethan let that bon mot stand for itself.

  He said solemnly, the wicked smile at his mouth ruining his homily, “As you are so fond of pointing out, knowledge is kin to experience. Mere observation can take a scientist only so far. The more one ah, empirically observes, the more one learns.”

  Hiding her fury and confusion, Shelly tapped her long fingertips on her chin. “Perhaps you are right. There is a particular footman who has been eyeing me in a most improper way. I shouldn’t doubt that he will be happy to, ah, fill in those gaps in my education.” She turned to flounce out of the room, adding over her shoulder, “And when you are ready to give our investigation the weight it deserves instead of reducing it to frivolity, you can so inform me.”

  She didn’t even hear him, which said much of the measure of her agitation, heart racing and breath accelerated.

  One minute he was lounging at the library table, long legs spread before him and crossed at the ankles, the next he was pulling her away from the door into his arms. “How is this for frivolity?” He put his mouth to her ear. He was scented of brandy and expensive cigars, and promised huskily, “If you go near another man when you have me veritably panting at your skirts, I shall paddle that enticing arse.”

  While Shelly gawked up at him, astounded, for never in all her life had any man dared so address her, including Jeremy, he kissed her. She was so stunned at his effrontery that she was passive at first, even her instinctual predatory skills latent while she learned the first touch and taste of him. His kiss began hard, demanding, but when she was still, he lifted her unresisting arms about his neck and really bent to his art.

  Once again, Ethan Perot did everything with both verve and passion, a true Renaissance man. That long mouth that was so fluent in verbiage displayed facility in ‘frivolous’ matters as well.

  His mouth was so soft, unlike the unexpected strength in his long, gangly body. He was pure muscle beneath the fine clothes, despite his slimness, but as she’d known since laying eyes on him for the first time, the true power of the most charismatic man she’d ever met came from his mind, his positive attitude, and his curiosity. He exhibited all those characteristics holding her in his arms, murmuring arousing love words in Latin and Arabic against her tingling mouth, urging her to open wider to him.

  Meanwhile, his curious hands stroked her from back to hips, stopping just short of impropriety. His lips were so sweet, so soft and reverential on hers. She’d never been kissed like this, sensually, his mouth rubbing from side to side like thistledown, yet with a promise of passion in the barest stroke of his tongue against the sensitive corners of her mouth. There was no other word for it: he wooed her. She could have shoved him away at any point, and perversely, his gentle control made her long to make him lose it.

  He started this on his terms, but she’d end it on hers. Where was the harm in one kiss?

  Opening her mouth, she teasingly traced the corners of his lips with her own tongue. His hands froze on her back. He stood still and let her take the lead. She used the very tips of her fingers to draw circles on the pleasing musculature of his back, testing his sensitivity by going progressively lower. When she reached the indentations at the top of his buttocks, he tensed those muscles, proving that even through the layers of clothing, he reveled in her touch.

  With a shuddering breath, he broke the long, luxurious kiss and trailed a fiery path of nibbles and suckles down the side of her neck. It was her turn to tense with pleasure. She arched into him, pressing her formidable bosom to his chest. He accepted the unspoken invitation, mirroring her actions by using the very tip of his fingertip to trace the aureole hidden from him. So expertly he balanced the art of teasing with torment.

  Her nipples hardened. He brushed one so gently she barely felt it, yet pleasure radiated from her greatest sexual organ–her brain–to the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes.

  She growled, deep in her throat, in pleasure.

  Her eyes slitted open to find him watching her avidly.

  “Your eyes are glowing, my very dear Miss Holmes. Now why would that be?”

  Just like that, she had shoved him away and fled across the room to the door, knowing she left him victorious in this battle of wills.

  As the door slammed shut behind her, Ethan smiled. A smile she would have recognized, for it was often her own expression when, as a werewolf, she began the pleasure of the hunt…

  Naked, fresh from his bath, Luke Simball was prowling his apartment, feeling the fangs sprout with the need to feed, when an image flashed through his brain: Arielle, in her emerald cloak, a new determination in her glowing blue eyes as she daintily made her way through the woods outside her father’s house. The same woods Luke had prowled before.

  Finally it was time.

  “Come to me, my love,” he whispered. “I will be waiting.”

  Tonight would be the night. He’d prepared her carefully enough, with the wooing, and kissing, and catnip. Tonight Arielle would come to him as her true self and join him in the hunt. First he would initiate her into the ancient blood rites that were her birthright as well as his, and then he would initiate her into womanhood, sealing her fate and their bond, just as the legends foretold.

  Dressing quickly, he called for his closed phaeton.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In his own rooms, Seth shoved back his half eaten dinner, his heart pounding with a sudden vision: Arielle, in a green cloak, sneaking through the estate grounds to the main road, where she hailed a closed Hansom cab.

  Next Seth saw Luke, his golden hair wet from a bath, indicating the haste with which he’d dressed, driving his horses around a bend. The phaeton almost tipped over before a skillful snap of the whip and adjustment of the steeds stabilized the vehicle again.

  Seth leaped up so quickly he overturned the tray his manservant had prepared for him. Arielle was alone and unprotected and Luke was after her in a tearing hurry. Where were they going?

  Seth called for his Arabian stallion, reaching out with his mind to Arielle as he hauled on a pair of boots and made sure he had his cane. “Arielle, speak to me…”

  At that exact moment, inside the Hansom cab, Arielle sank back against the squabs, rubbing her throbbing temples on each side with two fingers. These probings into her heart and mind were powerful enough when she was asleep but now, fully awake, she felt…invaded. Furthermore, she was pretty sure she knew who dared this psychic ravishment, demanding, “Speak to me…” The presence trying to penetrate her mind was bold, arrogant, like
Seth, and behind her closed eyes she caught a flashing glimpse of fierce golden orbs piercing into every scintilla of heart and mind she’d held sacrosanct.

  Just as fiercely, she tried to block him out. She didn’t want him to know where she was going. This was a journey she had to make alone, without his dubious protection or even Luke’s laughing encouragement. If she were to become the true descendant of Cleopatra in name as well as deed, she had to learn, on her own terms, in her own way, what her mother was trying to warn her about. Only then could she figure out which of these men, if either, were her destiny And she’d brook no more interference from anyone in that quest, even Shelly.

  Opening her eyes, lowering a mental curtain over her wayward thoughts, she picked up the travel book kept in the pocket of the carriage and read a boring recount of the many picturesque sights around Bath.

  When the presence still circled like a predatory cat, she began to read aloud, the same passage over and over until she felt stupefied with boredom, her senses becoming slow and lethargic. Gradually, the image of the golden eyes faded. She thought about putting the tome aside, but she didn’t dare, so she continued to read all the way to her destination.

  When she stepped down at the head of the alley that led to Madame Aurora’s, for the first time misgivings struck her. It was almost ten of the clock, terribly late to come calling with no appointment. Yet the medium must be used to unconventional hours, for the lights in her small flat blazed.

  Taking a deep breath, Arielle used the door knocker as loudly as she dared, letting the insistence of the sound speak for itself.

  Luke reached the main post road long ahead of Seth, but even at this late hour it was crowded with party goers, lured by the unusually fine fall weather, and cabs. They all looked the same, ugly black coaches, occupants shielded behind drawn curtains.