Cat's Quill

by Anne Barwell

  "Yes." Cathal frowned and let go of Tomas's hand. His voice was even but a little flatter than it had been. "Why?'

  "What was your cousin's name, Cat? You never told me."

  "You never asked." Cathal absently petted Blackthorn when she rubbed herself against him, meowing softly. "You haven't told me why you suddenly need to know." His expression shadowed, a stiffness coming over it Tomas hadn't seen before. "It was a long time ago. You don't know him."

  "Humor me." Tomas tried to keep his voice nonchalant, his expression neutral, wondering exactly what Cathal meant by "a long time ago."

  "His name is Christian." Cathal's gaze didn't falter, although his eyes glazed over briefly. His voice softened. "You don't know him, Tomas."

  "Obviously not." Tomas's brain tried to process the thoughts running through it and his jumbled emotions. "After all, that would be difficult, considering he lived over eighty years ago, now wouldn't it?"

  "Excuse me?" Cathal went pale, his hand poised in midair from where he was stroking Blackthorn's back. He swallowed.

  "You heard me." There was nothing better Tomas wanted than for Cathal to explain why this couldn't be true. "Alice Edmonds and her husband Christian lived in the inn in 1918." He did the math. "Actually, make that ninety years."

  Cathal opened his mouth and closed it again. "No," he whispered, backing away and hugging his knees. "It couldn't be that long ago."

  For a moment, Tomas's resolve to get to the bottom of whatever was going on weakened. Cathal's reaction didn't seem quite right for just a simple denial. What the hell was he hiding? He went to move closer to Cathal, but Cathal shook his head.

  "Cat, please. I need to know what's going on. They aren't the same people, are they? They can't be." This was all falling to pieces because of some crazy theory that couldn't be true. "People have the same names, especially in families." He tried to laugh it off, but all that came out was a choking noise; common sense and a need to know warring with a gut feeling that in this case his crazy-sounding theories were the truth.

  Cathal met Tomas's eyes again; there was a mixture of wistfulness, regret, and guilt in his own. His voice was very calm. "What do you want to believe, Tomas? That they are the same people, or that it's just that they share the same names?"

  The realization of what he did want hit at the same time the words tumbled out. "I want to believe in you. I need to be able to trust you." His words trailed off.

  "I have never lied to you, and I'm not about to start now." Cathal sighed, stretched out and edged closer to Tomas, resting one hand on his knee. "However, I also refuse to put you at risk, and there are things I can't tell you." Blackthorn rubbed herself up against Cathal again. He glanced at her and then back at Tomas, his gaze finally focusing on a small square of grass between them. "I know it's not fair to expect you to trust me, although you don't really know me, but I need you to be able to believe in and trust me too."

  "This is crazy, isn't it?" Tomas rested his hand over Cathal's. "I'm accusing you of knowing people who lived nearly a century ago." He managed a small smile.

  "I'm sure my cousin and his wife were not the only people to have those names. After all, weren't they also used in the book you loaned me?" Cathal's head came up, but he still didn't quite meet Tomas's eyes directly.

  "They were." Tomas had to admit that. "See, that's the thing that I can't get my head around. I don't believe in coincidences, and this is too much of one." He wanted to believe Cathal. Fantasy was for stories, and the stuff of myths and legends; it was what he wrote about, not what he lived. The two were separate. They had to be.

  "Writers often use names of people they know. The Alice and Christian who lived in the inn might have been friends of the author who wrote the book. Maybe the names were supposed to be changed but the first draft got published by mistake by someone else? It happens." Cathal was watching Tomas very carefully.

  "I suppose." Tomas stroked Cathal's hand with his thumb, freezing suddenly when a thought struck. "That still doesn't explain why they shared the same last name as your cousin, though."

  Cathal was silent for a few moments. "They might have been related," he said slowly. "Christian's father wasn't local; he moved into my... area from somewhere else. He never spoke much about his family." He smiled ruefully. "Names are also passed down between generations. I know I certainly never asked for mine. It's one of the reasons I asked you to call me 'Cat'."

  "That's also possible." The way Cathal explained it made sense, although Tomas felt a little disappointed as to the reason why he'd been asked to use the name. He'd hoped it was something special just between them. "If I find out any more about the Alice and Christian who lived in the inn, do you want me to let you know? Just in case they are family?"

  "I'd like that, thank you." Cathal frowned. "Are you researching their background, and can I ask why?"

  Tomas owed Cathal the decency of an explanation for that, at least. "It started because of the book I loaned you." He had the grace to look a little sheepish. "I still think there's a sequel."

  "There's not." Cathal shook his head and sighed. "I wish there was, Tomas. They needed a happily ever after, and what happened was very unfair, but sometimes life is like that." He noticed the Thermos on the grass next to Tomas's bag. "Is that coffee?"

  "Yes, Heidi wouldn't let me leave without it." Tomas began unscrewing the lid. "Would you like some?" He peered into his bag, frowning. "I only have one cup. Is it okay if we share?"

  "I don't mind if we do." Cathal smiled. "I don't have anything nasty that you might catch." He blushed suddenly. "I'm sure after that kiss, we can at least share a coffee cup without any ill effects."

  "I enjoyed the kiss," Tomas said softly. He poured some coffee into the cup and handed it to Cathal. The pink dusting suited his pale complexion. Watching Cathal sip the hot liquid, a thought suddenly struck Tomas. He frowned. "Are you trying to change the subject?"

  "I noticed you had coffee." Cathal put the cup down to rest on one knee. One hand picked a few blades of grass, twisting them around his finger. "Tell me, then, how did looking for a sequel that didn't exist lead you to Alice and Christian?"

  "I found a copy of the original book in the library." Tomas hesitated and then pulled his journal out of his bag, flipping through it until he got to the page which kept the postcard safe. "This was in it." Carefully, he handed it to Cathal.

  "It's Alice." Cathal smiled sadly, running his fingers over the photograph. He turned it over, reading the dates. "People are often remembered for what they did in life rather than who they were." His voice softened. "Only the good die young. I sometimes wish that wasn't true."

  "It's not always," Tomas disagreed. "I don't think it matters how you live your life. When it's time, there's nothing you can do about it." Watching Cathal with the postcard, he had a weird feeling he was missing something. Reaching out to take the postcard back, it suddenly hit him, his tone more accusing than he intended. "You knew who she was before you turned the photograph over."

  "Yes, I did." Cathal handed back the postcard. "The picture on it is a photograph of a portrait. I saw it hanging in the inn once, but the last time I was there it was gone."

  "I've never seen it in the inn." Tomas frowned. The picture looked like a photograph rather than a painting, but his knowledge of painting and photography was very limited.

  "As I said, it was gone the last time I was there," Cathal repeated patiently. "It used to hang on the second floor outside the master bedroom."

  "The second floor?" Tomas frowned. "That's the one above mine. There's another painting there now. It's of this tree and the field." Cathal paused, his cup mid-sip. "Maybe you could come with me and I'll show you. It's very haunting. I think you'd like it."

  "I can't." Cathal shook his head slowly.

  "We could go when Heidi and Donovan are out, if you don't want to talk to them." Tomas was quite happy not to have to share Cathal with anyone just yet. "How long
has it been since you've been there?" Cathal had said when they'd first met that he didn't get to talk to people very often. Yet he didn't strike Tomas as antisocial; quite the opposite, in fact, especially with the conversation they'd shared though they'd only known each other a short time.

  "I'm not sure." Cathal drained the coffee from the cup and handed it to Tomas, their fingers brushing, the touch lingering between them. "I don't seem to be as good at keeping track of time as I thought I was." He frowned, his eyes glazing over in memory. "There was a storm, quite a bad one, in the middle of the day. The weather was very wild, more so than I'd seen in the area for many years." Blackthorn rubbed against him, climbing into his lap. He stroked the top of her head absently. "It was the day Blackthorn and I found each other...." His voice trailed off.

  Heidi had said that Blackthorn had come to them after a storm after they'd first moved in five years ago. Could it have been the same one? "Donovan said there are rumors of the inn being haunted. He mentioned a bad storm too."

  "Do you think it is?" Blackthorn lifted her head, and Cathal obediently shifted his fingers to under her chin. "Haunted, I mean?"

  "I don't believe in ghosts," Tomas said firmly. "They only exist in books or people's imaginations. They're a way of explaining what we don't know yet." He ignored the fact he was sounding a little too much like his friend, Ethan, who was practical and down to earth to the extreme. If something couldn't be explained, it didn't exist and therefore wasn't something to concern himself with. "Magic is merely science that we don't know about yet."

  "That sounds like a quote from someone else, rather than something you believe." Cathal nodded toward the Thermos. "I've had enough, if you want some, thank you."

  "It is." Tomas opened the Thermos again, refilling the cup. "A quote from someone else, I mean. I can't remember who, though." Balancing the cup between his legs, he refastened the screw-top lid. "That doesn't mean I don't believe it."

  "You believe in muses. Some would say they are magic, or at the very least, a figment of an overactive imagination." Cathal stretched his legs, shifting the weight of the cat, who seemed to have no intention of moving. Tomas felt a momentary pang of aggression toward the animal at the way in which it was taking some of Cathal's attention.

  "I believe my characters exist in my mind, so they are real in there." Tomas retrieved his coffee and crossed his legs, balancing it between them to let it cool. "I never said that Deimos was a muse, just that he hadn't told me yet."

  Cathal grinned smugly. "Ah yes, but he could tell you he is, and therefore that would make it true, wouldn't it?" Blackthorn's tail jerked up and down a few times. She glanced lazily in Tomas's direction, climbed off Cathal's lap, and settled down on the grass between them.

  "You're clutching at straws." Tomas snorted, not ready to give in, although he was enjoying the discussion. "Muses aren't magic; they're a fact of life."

  Cathal laughed, a light sound that echoed around them. His eyes sparkled. "So what do you do when you find something you can't explain? Ignore it and hope it will go away because it can't possibly exist?"

  "Of course not," Tomas retorted indignantly. "That would be irresponsible, and besides, I'm not Ethan." At Cathal's blank expression, he explained quickly. "He's a friend I met at college. One of the few I've kept in touch with." Tomas would be very interested in listening to Cathal attempting to argue this point of view with Ethan.

  "I see." Cathal smiled. "It's important to keep in contact with and be there for your friends. Is he planning to visit while you are here?"

  "Probably not," Tomas said in part relief and part regret. "He's a teacher, and it's in the middle of the school term, so he can't get time off."

  "That is unfortunate. I'd like to meet him." Cathal frowned, growing quiet. "Maybe I should talk to Donovan and Heidi sometime." He reached over to steady the coffee cup when it almost tipped, handing it to Tomas. The sleeve on his shirt rode up, and he pulled it back down, but not before Tomas saw a bracelet of what appeared to be twigs around his wrist. "I can't remember the last time I sat in the field like this and talked to someone. Watching from a distance isn't the same. I'm feeling very much like an outsider, both from my people and yours. It's as though I don't belong anywhere anymore."

  "That's not true, Cat." Tomas took a couple of gulps of coffee before putting the cup down again, this time to the side on an even piece of ground. He moved closer, ignoring the growl in the back of Blackthorn's throat. "You can belong wherever you want to." He hesitated, placing one hand on Cathal's knee. "With whomever you want."

  "It's not that easy, Tomas." Cathal placed one hand over Tomas's. "I wish I could explain why, but I can't." He shuffled nearer, closing the distance between them, his hand still on Tomas's. Blackthorn huffed at both of them, glared at Cathal, but moved away a distance when he gave her a stern look, one which softened immediately when he turned his attention back to Tomas. "You said that you don't believe in magic."

  "No, I said that it is science we don't know about yet," Tomas corrected gently. Without thinking, he reached out one hand to stroke Cathal's cheek, the skin warm under his fingertips. Cathal turned his head slightly, kissing one of Tomas's fingers, leaning into the touch.

  "I believe in magic. I don't think it's necessarily just about such things as are written in fantasy stories but that it takes all shapes and forms." Cathal smiled. "In nature, the world around us, in the words we speak and in the friendships and relationships that grow between people."

  "You sound like one of the romantic poets." Tomas couldn't help but smile.

  "Do I?" Cathal sighed. "I had a friend once who loved them. She used to bring poetry books with her, and we'd sit for hours and read to each other."

  "What happened to her?"

  "I don't know. One day she just stopped coming." Cathal moved still closer, seeking comfort on some level. "The last time we talked, she was so happy, and full of plans for the life ahead of her and the baby she carried." Tomas put his arm around Cathal instinctively, only half-aware that he was doing so. "Why do people leave, Tomas?"

  "I don't know." It wasn't a question he could answer. "Perhaps I could find out about her for you." He trailed his lips across Cathal's forehead, wishing he could do something to help yet suspecting he couldn't. Discovering the truth behind why people left didn't make the grief of that loss any less. "What was her name?"

  "It doesn't matter. People move on. I had hoped she wouldn't." Cathal rested his head on Tomas's shoulder, threading his fingers through Tomas's. He sighed. "Perhaps the inn is really haunted and it's her ghost. I really don't know."

  "I doubt it." Tomas ran his other hand through Cathal's hair, marveling at the softness of it. "I'm going to the church later this week to look through their records. If you tell me her name, I'll look for you. The baby's birth is probably listed as well."

  "I don't remember her married name. We never discussed it." Cathal closed his eyes. "I called her Libby, but that wasn't her real name." He smiled at a memory. "I told her my name was Cat, and she said, well, I'll be Libby then, and we both laughed. I never asked her for any other, and she didn't either in return."

  "Do you want to come with me? We could look together." The information Cathal had given wasn't much to go on, but that wasn't going to stop Tomas from looking. Libby could be short for something, or just a nickname. "Do you know her maiden name?"

  "Edmonds." Cathal opened his eyes with a start, meeting Tomas's. For a moment, they seemed almost wild, fearful, before he leaned back against Tomas. "She was related to my cousin; they shared the same last name."

  Tomas nodded. "Another cousin?" He realized he'd never asked Cathal whether he was the same age as his Alice and Christian.

  "I suppose she was, yes." Cathal squeezed Tomas's hand. "I can't come with you to the church. I'm sorry, but it's not possible. I would if I could."

  "Okay." Tomas had been about to ask why not but then decided against it. For now, he needed to
just enjoy this time together, with Cathal in his arms. This was something he could get used to very easily. Conversation and closeness, both were rarities, and he was reluctant to let either, or Cathal, go just yet.

  "Sorry," Cathal repeated, this time in a whisper. He tilted his head up to meet Tomas's eyes again, searching them for something. A reaction, perhaps?

  "It's okay." Tomas bent his head to meet Cathal halfway. He could smell the coffee on Cathal's breath. What would it be like to taste it? Would it be the same as their first or different this time? Taking a deep breath, he closed the distance between them, threading his fingers through Cathal's hair, and kissed him on the lips.

  Not letting go of Tomas's hand, Cathal deepened the kiss, his lips moist, inviting. Breaking it briefly, he moved so that they were facing properly, licked Tomas's lips, and kissed him again. Tomas moaned softly into it, tasting coffee and Cathal, pulling him closer, wanting more.

  Finally breaking the kiss, Cathal smiled, his fingers tracing the outline of Tomas's mouth. "You taste good," he said. "Very good. I think this is definitely something that gets better each time we practice."

  "We'll have to practice more often then." Tomas returned the smile, warmth flooding through him. He kissed Cathal's fingers. "You taste good too."

  "I like the idea of practicing." Cathal ran one hand up and down Tomas's leg, lightly caressing it through the heavy denim. He edged closer still, sliding one of his legs over Tomas's so that he was nearly straddling him. Leaning in, he kissed Tomas again, pulling at his shirt.

  Somewhere in the back of Tomas's mind, the annoying little voice pointed out that they were in the middle of an open field where anyone could see. Tomas's shirt free, Cathal's hand explored underneath, fingers splaying and then contracting against bare skin. The little voice was quickly told to go take a running jump at itself. Tomas whimpered into the kiss.

  Blackthorn meowed loudly. Tomas ignored her. "Not now," Cathal mumbled, breaking the kiss briefly, just long enough to wriggle up Tomas still further.