Cat's Quill

by Anne Barwell

  "Writers put something of themselves into their work." Cathal sighed. "I told you that I would prefer to speak of something else." He tilted his head again. "They grow impatient. I have no time."

  "Time is merely a concept." Tomas wasn't ready to end this conversation yet.

  "Are you always this argumentative when someone disagrees with you?" Cathal sounded more amused than annoyed. Tomas muttered something under his breath, but Cathal just smiled. "I will presume that is yes."

  "Maybe." It had been a while since someone had stood his or her ground like this with Tomas in a conversation, refusing to back down and yet remaining polite.

  "Could you bring me another book to read?" For someone so annoyingly evasive, Cathal had no qualms in getting straight to the point when he was asking the questions. "Please."

  Tomas stood, picking up his bag. If Cathal was leaving, Tomas would walk him home and at least find out where that was. "All I have with me is one of mine.. I'm sorry." He hesitated, knowing the words weren't exactly true.

  "I would like to read one of your books."

  "It's not as good as what you've just read," Tomas mumbled. He had reread his last book on the train journey down, hoping it might inspire him to write again, and had thrown it into his bag this morning, not sure why he had done so.

  "Let that be my decision, rather than yours." Cathal shivered, although the air around them was growing warmer as the sun rose higher in the sky. "Please, Tomas. I have to go."

  "Okay, but on the condition that I walk you home. I'd like to see some of the area, and I'm guessing you must be from around here." Tomas fished the book out of his bag, holding it back, waiting for Cathal to agree.

  "You already have." Cathal's fingers brushed Tomas's as Tomas relinquished the book. His voice dropped to a whisper, his skin warm to the touch. "This is as far as you are allowed to go. I cannot take you any further."

  Tomas frowned. "You're not making any sense. I don't understand."

  "No, you don't." Cathal looked up at the sun. "No time," he said sadly, his voice growing quiet. "I will come tomorrow. Will you be here?"

  "I will," Tomas promised. He risked a smile. Although they had disagreed, he had enjoyed the conversation and wanted more.

  "Thank you." Cathal smiled, but he was still watching the sky. Tomas looked up to see what Cathal was looking at, his eyes watering against the light. "Tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow." Tomas rubbed at his eyes. Cathal appeared to be fading, disappearing into nothing. "Cat?" He closed his hand around Cathal's, sure that he must be seeing things.

  But Cathal was already slipping through Tomas's grasp, intangible, a shadow he could not hold onto.

  "Tomorrow." Cathal's hand came up to brush Tomas's face, his voice a whisper caught in a wisp of morning wind, of something imagined in a dream.

  Tomas stood alone, his hand cupping his cheek, fingers curled over the touch of a dream, a reality that no longer existed, if it ever had.

  In the distance a car engine spluttered into life, birds squawking in protest, the combined noise jolting Tomas back into his present with a start. He shook his head, but it was still as clear as it had been moments before. At his feet, Blackthorn stirred, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

  Sitting back down against the tree, Tomas reached into his bag for his sandwiches, deciding that even if this had been his imagination, which he doubted, he would at least have breakfast before giving in to the suspicion that he had finally crossed that line between sanity and whatever lay beyond.

  The book Cathal had returned lay on top of the bag, although Tomas had sworn he had tucked it farther down. There was something peeking out of one of the pages. Opening it, he found, pressed and perfectly intact, a single white daisy.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  Four hours later, his stomach was grumbling about the lack of food, the sandwiches he'd consumed merely a memory. Reluctantly deciding to leave the welcoming shade of the tree, Tomas pulled Blackthorn off his lap and stood. She meowed in protest, giving him a glare only a cat could manage. Stretching out to full length to enjoy the warm spot he'd left, she purred loudly. The sun was much higher in the sky, the rise in temperature making him uncomfortably hot. Stripping off his jumper, he linked his fingers together behind his head, waiting until he heard a familiar popping noise, and then yawned. There was a reason he did not do mornings, namely the grogginess that was beginning to set in now his coffee was wearing off. Bending to pick up the Thermos from where it was leaning against the base of the tree, he unscrewed the lid and upended it. A couple of sad-looking drips of grey, almost white, disappeared into the grass, confirming the fact that there was no more.

  The thought crossed his mind, not for the first time, as to whether lack of sleep and coffee deprivation could cause hallucinations. Memories of blurred images of piles of books, of dust coating his fingertips, merged with that of a computer screen and a stack of reference books. He'd always been interested in the obscure, a few of those less-than-useful facts making it into his novels. Research was a wonderful thing, even if most of it would only ever be to satisfy his own curiosity. He was sure he had read something about the effects of coffee once, a long time ago, but he couldn't remember where. Four cups of coffee over two hours could be considered deprivation, especially in comparison with his normal intake. Donovan's brew was very good though, and a lot stronger than what Tomas was used to. He decided to scratch that idea, even if it was preferable to the thought that he just might be losing his mind.

  Sighing, he tucked the empty Thermos into his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. People did not usually disappear into thin air the way Cathal had. It made no sense. Tomas loved reading fantasy, but he knew the difference between that and reality.

  He would ignore this, and it would go away. In theory, yes, but in practice that less-than-bright idea had lasted all of five minutes, if that. Closing his eyes, he could see Cathal, his smile and the way in which he had caressed the book as though it was as precious to him as it was to Tomas. Cathal understood. Tomas wasn't sure how he knew that or why he believed it, but it was the truth. Even if Cathal had argued the point, he had seen that this was more than just a story. It had touched him, moved him. Tomas had never felt like this after a mere conversation before. While it had been frustrating with questions unanswered, it was, at the same time, exciting, knowing there were further discussions to look forward to. Topics to explore, answers to find, a world to discover seen through a point of view that was not his own.

  "Idiot," Tomas muttered under his breath. He didn't know Cathal, was not even sure he was real, and it was ridiculous to make conclusions about what had touched him or not. Tomas snorted. Yes, he was finally losing it. Lack of sleep and too much coffee was addling his brain, giving it the excuse to go into hyper drive just like Kathleen had always warned him it would. That must be it.

  From her place under the tree, Blackthorn growled low in her throat, blinking at him, and began washing one paw. She, at least, had seemed very unfazed by Cathal's disappearance. A rooster crowed from several fields over, having missed the memo about dawn being several hours ago. Another answered. Tomas's stomach rumbled, adding to the chorus of noise, although he was not hungry; it obviously had a mind of its own. Something caught the corner of his eye, brown against green, tucked into the long grass on the other side of the tree. Blackthorn sauntered over and sat on the object, tucking her head under her paw as she focused on cleaning an ear.

  Walking closer, Tomas dropped to his knees to examine it more closely, swearing softly under his breath when he realized it was his writing journal. He could have sworn he had put it back in his bag when he had finished his last cup of coffee. Ignoring her protests, he pushed the cat off, shifting to stand again. Tucking the notebook under his arm, he couldn't help but run his finger over the leather, smiling when he realized he was mimicking Cathal's earlier action.

  It didn't matter w
hether Cathal was a part of his imagination or not. Tomas liked it here; it made him feel alive and inspired him to write. That was more than he'd had in months, and he should be thankful for it. He would worry about the rest later.

  * * * *

  It took several more bacon sandwiches and approving looks before Heidi was satisfied that Tomas had eaten enough. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this hungry, even taking into account the fact that he had a tendency to forget to eat when he became absorbed in whatever he was working on. Ethan had sent him a box of energy bars once, each labeled breakfast, lunch, or dinner with a date and a threat of what would happen if Tomas did not adhere to a decent eating schedule. Kathleen had giggled and written something in her diary. Tomas suspected she and Ethan were working together but had never proved it. He had, however, spent an evening unwrapping each bar and sending the wrappers back by post at the end of each week as Ethan's instructions had dictated. Thinking outside the box was something in which Tomas had always taken pride, and if that was what it took to make his friend happy, that was what he would do. Besides, it had the added bonus of stopping those monotonous lectures.

  Heidi and Donovan exchanged a glance, and Donovan shrugged. She glared at him. Tomas pretended to ignore them. If they chose to carry on a conversation without words in his presence, that was their business, not his. He had a full stomach, topped up by caffeine, and plans to write that afternoon.

  "I'm heading into the village to pick up some stuff," Donovan said. "Do you want to come along? I'll be a couple of hours, which would give you a chance to look around." He paused, giving Heidi another look which read suspiciously like "why am I even bothering." "If you're interested, that is."

  It was an intriguing invitation. Tomas was curious as to what lay beyond this inn. An online search of the area had revealed a decent-sized library, which would be a good place to start looking for the sequel for In Hidden Places. Cathal might believe that one did not exist for their book, but Tomas was not quite ready to give up yet. Just because he had already spent several years hunting for it didn't mean it wasn't out there somewhere. He'd found the original in an old out-of-the-way bookshop collecting dust; the sequel could be in a similar place. Or on the shelf in a village library. Besides, giving Donovan the answer he was not expecting would be more than worth putting up with his company for the half hour or so trip into town.

  "Thank you. I'd like that." Tomas even managed a smile for the occasion, although it was difficult to fight the urge to make it a smirk instead.

  Donovan stared at him and then grinned. "I'm heading out in ten minutes. If you haven't changed your mind by then, be waiting by the car. You can buy me a pint at the pub."

  That presumption was met by a loud snort. "I didn't realize there was a charge. I'll walk." Tomas had better things to do with his afternoon than sitting in a pub with Donovan.

  "He's being a smartass, Tomas." Heidi leapt into the conversation quickly. "Of course there is no charge." Her tone lowered. "Right, Donovan?"

  "He owes me a beer," Donovan said, shrugging.

  "Right, Donovan?" Heidi's tone didn't budge. While she was shorter than Donovan by at least several inches, it was very clear who was in charge and that she was very used to standing her ground with him. "Of course if you boys are going to argue like a couple of five-year-olds, I'll just have to do the village run myself. Your precious library books can wait another week."

  Donovan muttered something under his breath. "Geez, Heidi. Hit a guy where it hurts, why don't you?" He mumbled something under his breath. She kicked him under the table. "There's no charge, okay? I wouldn't want to force you to actually show some manners." Donovan stood, pointedly ignoring both of them, and walked out of the kitchen.

  "I'll find a bus," mumbled Tomas. Even the school bus would be better than half an hour with Donovan now.

  "No, you won't," Heidi said firmly, shaking her head. "He hates it when people are rude, especially when he's going out of his way for them." Now Tomas was at the receiving end of that look and tone. It was not a pleasant feeling. "I don't know what the hell your problem is, but I suggest you do something about it. Donovan is my friend, and if you pull that again I will not hesitate to throw you out, bags and all."

  "I've paid you two months in advance," Tomas pointed out, knowing full well he was treading on very thin ice in doing so. He took a gulp of coffee, focusing on the taste and aroma rather than Heidi's growing annoyance.

  "It can be refunded." She fixed her glare on him, eyeing him up and down like he was something the cat had dragged in. "Donovan's leaving in ten minutes. Be there and apologize. He'll probably accept it. If you're lucky. Otherwise it's a long walk into town. You should be back for dinner. If not, you have a key."

  The thought crossed Tomas's mind that she and Kathleen would get along a little too well. Idly he wondered if they had the same speechwriter. He opened his mouth to inform her of that fact and then closed it again. Sighing, he drained his coffee, stood, and walked out of the kitchen. He really did want to explore the village now the offer had been made, and he had ten minutes to brush up on his groveling skills.

  Five minutes later, after following the sound of a steady stream of curse words, Tomas was just in time to see Donovan's feet disappearing underneath the Morris Minor, which was propped up on a jack in the middle of the garage. "Hand me a wrench, will you, babe?" Donovan asked, his voice muffled, his hand peeking out the other side of the car.

  The toolbox wasn't particularly well organized, and it took Tomas a few moments to find what Donovan had asked for. Hoping it was the right size, he placed it in Donovan's outstretched hand. "I came to apologize," he said, "but I wasn't expecting quite that response."

  Another curse word followed, and Donovan rolled out from under the car, rubbing his head. "Crap," he muttered. "Give a guy some warning before you do that."

  Tomas smirked. "Do what?" he asked, glancing around. The garage was a decent size, but only for one vehicle. A sturdy wooden bench lined the back of it, an assortment of tools scattered across it, the air heavy with the smell of oil. Taking a deep breath had not been a wise idea. "You have quite the setup here."

  "Old girl needs it," Donovan admitted. He stood, wiping his hands on an old rag. "She's temperamental as hell, but I love her anyway."

  "And a temper to boot, judging from the dressing-down we both got in the kitchen," Tomas agreed.

  Laughing, Donovan rolled his eyes. "I was talking about the car. Heidi's something else. The sister I never had. Probably long-lost or something, the way she carries on. She seems to think it's her job to mother everything that moves, and she's darn good at it too." Donovan sighed and threw the rag onto the bench. "Came to apologize, huh?"

  A glimpse of black caught Tomas's eye, and he frowned, turning just as it disappeared from view. Was there anywhere that damn cat didn't go? "Yes," he said absently. Donovan coughed loudly. "Umm, yes," Tomas repeated. "I don't like owing anything to anyone, and I'll buy you that beer on my terms when I'm ready, okay?"

  "And?" Donovan gestured with his hands for more.

  Tomas looked at him blankly. "And what?" He had said all that was needed and explained the reason for his earlier behavior.

  "Usually an apology contains the words 'I'm sorry'," Donovan said, shaking his head. "You really do suck at social skills, don't you?"

  "Usually when someone apologizes, you say thank you," Tomas countered, wondering why the hell he had bothered. He wanted this trip into town, and on a scale of one to ten, this had only rated about a level four grovel. It could have been a lot worse. "Sorry," Tomas mumbled under his breath.

  "Not the greatest, but it will do," Donovan said. "You'll just have to practice. I've heard it gets easier the more you do it. Louder too."

  "Don't push it," Tomas snorted. He gestured toward the car. It appeared his groveling skills had been put to use for no reason. "Just how temperamental is she today?"

  "We're not go
ing anywhere in her," Donovan sighed, and then shuddered. "I guess you're not the only one who's going to have to grovel." He looked at Tomas hopefully. "If you're really, really sorry, you could ask Heidi if we could use her Land Rover."

  Tomas shook his head. "I've apologized, and you were the one who offered me the lift into town." He shrugged, keeping his expression carefully nonchalant. "I can wait until your car is fixed." His self-preservation skills were more finely honed than his need to see the village today. Groveling to Donovan was one thing; doing the same to Heidi was quite another story.

  "Crap," muttered Donovan, "I'll have to ask, then, and I still haven't heard the end of it after the last time I had to borrow that damn thing." He rolled his eyes, his voice shifting up an octave into an imitation of Heidi's. "Bring it home in one piece, Donovan. I've had it a long time, Donovan, and I've seen the way you drive." He mumbled something under his breath. "Wait for me by the barn. I'll be there in about ten minutes." Stomping toward the door, he paused when he reached it to add one last comment. "If you've got a pair of dark glasses, grab them. I swear the thing gets brighter every time I look at it!"

  "Brighter?" Tomas arched one eyebrow, but Donovan was gone, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders slumped, already priming himself for the task at hand. Tomas's mind conjured up a helpful image of a battered, not exactly new Land Rover, struggled to connect it with the word bright, and failed. Land Rovers were nothing special out in the country, a dime a dozen, and Heidi struck him as a very practical person.

  A meow interrupted his thoughts. Blackthorn sat on the bonnet of the Morris Minor, washing herself. She met Tomas's gaze straight on and stared at him. After several minutes he admitted defeat and headed for the door of the garage. One day he would find a cat he could outstare, but she was obviously not going to be it. Stepping out into the sun, he went to pull the roller door down behind him. Blackthorn stretched, jumped off the car, and sauntered toward him, taking her time. Once she reached the door, she meowed again, walked through with her tail in the air, broke into a run until she reached the hedgerow, and then dived through one of the gaps beneath it into the field beyond.