Hellcats: Anthology

by Kate Pickford

  The front door glided open as I touched the handle, and we were in a hallway. The colored lights, like jewels beneath water, ran around the walls from the chandeliers and across the partygoers’ skin.

  Guests stood in pairs and smallish groups, holding their drinks and smiling, their laser-whitened teeth blazing against dark skin and sun-blackened moles.

  I assessed the atmosphere as the Reverend and I walked among them. No one was intoxicated, despite their drinks. A crowd like this wouldn’t get drunk. Drinks were “calories.” This guest list abstained from anything that would mar the starved look.

  So much straining for opulence in surroundings and anorexia in appearances. I would never understand modern-day Americans.

  I led us toward the room where the colored lights seemed to emanate.

  As we moved, I got barely one scant look from any man or woman. Usually, I’m the object of desire and envy. Or both. And it wasn’t just me. Despite so much emphasis on appearance, judging from the designer clothing and skin on display, nobody paid any attention to anyone else’s look.

  That didn’t seem right.

  In the darkened room, some couples were slow dancing. Still holding the Reverend’s hand, I led her toward the back of the house. More people were there, and I wanted to get their vibe.

  I saw the black Steinway grand piano first. Its long, shiny lines caught my eye and I followed them to the young woman who stood leaning on it.

  At one and the same time, she looked so much like the Reverend beside me and so much like my princess of 2,000 years ago, I wanted to cry out and run to her. I turned away.

  Events, magical happenings, were falling into place. There were powers that guided my following the drug dealer to the Reverend’s, finding this house, looping back to pick up the Reverend’s trail, meeting her, and bringing her here.

  I knew the answer to my question for the Reverend before I asked. I got into her line of sight, between her and the piano. "Do you know that girl?"

  The Reverend’s gaze darted past me. She startled, covering her mouth for a second, but had the sense to gather herself quickly. The glamour I'd put into the dress she wore was helping her remember who and what she was.

  Looking down at the Reverend, I could see some of the girl's same face. Older, wiser. The girl was more withdrawn, guarded, yet more forceful. "She’s very pretty,” I said.

  The Reverend nodded once, seeming to understand that I didn't want the girl to see her. She turned away and walked back toward the darkened room. I stayed behind to shield her.

  "Was she wearing a black dress? Black leather jacket?" she said over her shoulder.

  "Yes."

  "Heavily made up, close to geisha-style, but with pale lips?"

  That was a detailed observation for someone who had seen the girl for a moment. "I take it you know her."

  "She's my daughter. Summer."

  My princess's name had been Chhaya. "Light."

  A thought occurred. “Reverend, may I ask, does your daughter have Asian ancestry? I know you don’t, but...”

  We stopped under the rainbow-hued, crystalline drops of light spinning around the walls from a chandelier, and the Reverend turned to me. We started to sway to Amy Winehouse’s “Some Unholy War.”

  “Her father. His mother is Thai. Thai-Mon, to be exact.”

  I nodded, not wanting to say more. I could feel her defensiveness where the girl was concerned. Asking more would set off her alarms. Hearing more would make me break down with joy that I’d found my princess, that she still lived, too.

  I changed the subject. “Interesting song for this party.” I took her hand and put my arm around her waist.

  “Why do you ask about her father?” she said.

  I took a breath. If she was going to open that door a little further, I’d go through. “Mmm, her energy is different from yours.”

  “No. Her father had none of it in him. Magick with the ‘k’ is on the female line.”

  “Yes, well. Your energy is fjords, runes, and longboats. But there’s a Roman Catholic strand, I see a crucifix there, too.”

  “No, there’s not,” she said. “In fact, I’ll tell you a secret.”

  “Oh, do. I love secrets.”

  “My compass?”

  “Yes...?”

  “Has a sigil on the bottom.”

  “I knew it pulled power from the North!” I got it now, the compass she carried made more sense. “That’s the lineage of your power. Most of it.” I had to correct her slightly—the crucifix was real. And her daughter’s lineage was slightly different again, but I wasn’t going to push it.

  She leaned into me, her head on my shoulder, and whispered in my ear. "How did you know to bring me here to see Summer?"

  "I didn't. This is where I'd planned to come tonight before I met you."

  "Why?"

  I turned her in another slow circle. "I'm looking for someone. He might not be here, but I’m looking for proof of what he’s up to."

  And then I caught another break.

  Lira was here. Right in front of me. His back was to me, as involved with his dance partner as I was with mine.

  His pastel-pink sports coat made him stand out in the crowd of evening clothes.

  "Still no fashion sense," I said to myself.

  "What?" said the Reverend.

  I’d found him, just after I’d found the witch in my arms. On the same night that I found my Chhaya again.

  The alignment was real to anyone with eyes to see. I had to make a move while everything was right.

  "How long has it been since you practiced magic?" I said.

  She snorted, her breath hot on my neck. "Yonks. Ages. Can't remember. Why?"

  "I'm about to use mine. I'm good at this trick, I won't need help, but once I do it, you’ll have to be your own practitioner."

  "I don't understand—"

  "You don't need to understand." I squeezed her hand gently. She had five witchy rings on the left, and at her house, I'd picked two more from her jewelry box for her right hand, strong energy to draw down if she needed it. "Rely on the rings. I can feel their power, they’re excited to be out of that box. Let them lead, like you’re dancing with me. Don’t overthink it. Do keep in mind, I’ll have some limitations."

  "Maurice, I'm not ready—"

  I nuzzled her cheek, and when she looked up at me, I kissed her. That was bold to do to a witch with her power, even if she’d forgotten who she was. But I felt my true nature, full of sass, rising in me.

  "Pick me up," I whispered, and I looked around, saw that everyone was enthralled with the dance, and with a stretch and a roll of my shoulders, I landed on all fours in front of her.

  She obeyed, as humans are meant to do. I rewarded her with a “Yow!” and a purr.

  The Reverend turned me to look at my face. “You’re gorgeous! Your eyes are crossed!”

  I rubbed my head on her cheek. I am the Ur of all Siamese, royalty, the first Wichien-Maat, the sire of all moon diamonds.

  Boop.

  “Okay,” she said. “Now we have a cat, let’s set it among the pigeons. If you would, Maurice, go over to my daughter, have her pick you up, and—this might be hard, so I’ll cast a spell on you—harvest her memories.”

  That wouldn’t be hard. I am a shape-shifting Siamese of ancient origin, bred to delight no one less than the women of a royal line. I think I can read the memories of a twenty-some-year-old witch.

  I jumped from the Reverend’s arms.

  She bent down to pet me, and I ran my back along her hand. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Summer is always suspicious.”

  I growled.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” she said.

  Satisfaction brought him back, I thought, and strutted away, enjoying the cool marble floor under my velveteen toes.

  I took the measure of Summer as I approached. She had straight black hair, but the tone made me think it was dyed. Straightened, as well.

  Her face, thoug
h, was naturally perfect. Her cheeks were full and round, and she held her plump lips tight, in a prim expression. There was self-awareness there.

  She was Chhaya, and somewhere inside herself, she would recognize me.

  Plus I’m pretty.

  I wound my body around her leg and trailed the tip of my kinked tail against her knee.

  “Look at you!” She picked me up and turned me to gaze at my face, just like her mother. I crossed my eyes harder, trying to link to her through touch.

  Joining with her was easy. Almost too easy. She put me on her arm and held me over her heart, like she knew what to do, and the images in her memory pushed into me with every beat of her blood.

  It was summer sunlight, pure and yellow. She blinked, pulled the crystal away from her eye, and looked over it at Lira. He smiled, and she held it out to him. Her skin looked waxy against his tanned hand with four golden rings.

  He took the crystal and pulled over a full-length mirror. Summer stepped behind it. It was a double-sided mirror. She put both hands on her side of it and stared at her reflection. Her green eyes were hard, as if she hated something. Herself? And then a light shone through the other side of the mirror, erasing her image, and Summer stared at it. The light moved in concert with her eyes, and she began to see colors. Bright, jewel tones. They poured out of her and into the light, into the mirror. When she took her hands away, her skin was white and dry.

  I wanted to see what he was doing on the other side, but Summer never looked.

  She didn’t need to. She already knew.

  Summer was living in the moment now, so I blinked slowly and gazed at the entire space. From where Summer and I stood, we surveyed everything and everyone.

  People move slowly to me when I’m a cat. They shifted, measured, metronome-like, back and forth, foot to foot, but slow.

  Something was missing. I flexed both my front paws, digging my claws into Summer’s arm a little. “Ouch!” she said and laughed.

  Lazily, I turned and looked at her again. Her aura was yellow, but it wasn’t pure. Auras are meant to be one color. When I’m a man, mine is pale blue. The aura’s presence with us magicals is a means of control, a way to pull ourselves together and maintain.

  Summer’s wasn’t right. Its color wasn’t singular. It had pieces of other colors randomly through it. Not in successive bands like a rainbow. These were broken chunks of other colors.

  I’d never seen another aura like it.

  I looked back out at the party guests, and what was missing hit me.

  No one had an aura.

  Not magical auras. I didn’t expect any of those. They’re rare these days.

  There were no ordinary auras, no light bands of energy around anyone.

  No wonder they appeared to be so slow to my cat’s eye.

  Then, a movement caught my attention. It was one of the glimmers from a chandelier, going around the walls of the room. It fascinated me. I wanted to chase it, and I struggled against Summer.

  She tightened her hold.

  I struggled against her again, and this time, she let me jump.

  The bright jewel tones were swimming on the ceiling and walls, all over the house. With my crossed eyes and cat sense, I saw inside them.

  Little movements, bashing themselves against the colors.

  Trapped magic.

  The chandelier crystals held magic captive, jailed it behind glass walls. In its frustration, magic’s essence spent itself and painted the room with light. Magic could see out, could see its way back to the world and to people, but it couldn’t reach us.

  I had to find the Reverend. As magicals, we were in danger if we stayed here another minute, and I was very sorry that I’d brought her here at all.

  Weaving through legs, dodging dancers’ feet, I looked for her.

  But Summer followed me. I couldn’t shake her. She kept trailing me, panicking me as I ran.

  I went into a room where I thought I’d left the Reverend. She wasn’t there. I tried to smell her dark vanilla scent, but she was nowhere to be found.

  All the while, I held onto Summer’s memories. Remembering what I knew about the house’s layout and remembering what I’d seen in Summer and trying to think about the colored lights was too confusing. I couldn’t place where I’d left the Reverend.

  Now I wished that I’d taken a spell from her. Her magic would be a homing beacon.

  Stopping in the middle of the dance floor, I yowled.

  I felt a hand under my belly, lifting me, and I knew who it was. I would know my Chhaya’s spirit anywhere.

  She kissed my head as she walked through the crowd. When she pushed open a swinging door to a service kitchen, I was surprised because there was no scent of food or drink, yet people were busy.

  They were all dressed in T-shirts and jeans in various stages of wear—not very professional for a catering company.

  And they were silent. Absolutely celibate from speech. Humans are usually like Siamese cats, always talking. I moved my head this way and that, trying to see all the staff.

  Each one of them looked like their mouth was stuffed full. Their cheeks were distended, their jaws dropped down, but their lips were sealed.

  Sometimes, when one turned, a swelling the size of an apple appeared in the throat, then disappeared.

  Demon possession. A mass of demon manifestations, all of them exactly like the street-level dealer I’d followed today.

  And they weren’t making cocktails and canapés. They were working with syringes, loading them from sealed glass vials. They loaded the needles’ chambers with shots of rainbow-colored lights. With magic.

  There was a servants’ staircase on the far side of the kitchen, and Summer was carrying me toward it when I smelled fresh air mixed with cigarette smoke. It came from outdoors.

  I bared all my claws, twisted, and lunged. As a sliding glass door closed, I fitted myself through the gap, and I ran.

  At the back of the house, there was a long, open, gas fire pit next to the pool’s swim-up bar. The Reverend stood in the orange firelight. My relief at seeing her swept me under the lounge chairs, where it was dark.

  She was talking to Lira in his horrid pink sport coat. She was animated, smiling, but every time he tried to touch her elbow or arm, she kept away.

  We had to get back together, the Reverend and I. It was going to take all our power to get us out of here.

  I strutted over to her, and when she saw me, she drew a ragged, tense breath. She picked me up, held me over her heart and cooed. “Puss-Puss! How did you get out of the car, darling?”

  Without wasting a moment, I showed her what I’d gathered from Summer. She stiffened, but held her cheek to me and said, “I must’ve left a window open.”

  Of all things, Lira started a lecture. “This is Florida, Cassandra, you can’t leave animals in hot cars, even at night! Why, my little dog—”

  And he reached with both hands, to grab the Reverend and me at the same time.

  He suspected us. Witches and their cats, after all.

  She slipped out of his way like mercury, and I hissed at him. Commoner.

  The Reverend’s move backward stopped. We’d bumped into something, and as she turned and I saw why, my heart overflowed.

  My princess. Chhaya.

  I purred.

  “Mom.” Summer put her hand square in the middle of the Reverend’s back.

  The Reverend’s shock at the contact went through me.

  “Mom, I’d like you to meet Señor Manuel Miguel Lira.”

  With her touch, Summer was pulling the glamour out of the Reverend—the glamour I’d put into her dress and the glamour that naturally belonged to her—and my own power was going with it. Chhaya knew me, even if Summer didn’t realize it, so by instinct, she knew how to take my power. After all, I was bred for her.

  It was hard to fight Chhaya. I wanted to be in her arms, sitting on her lap.

  She was my princess.

  The Reverend’s arms were
going slack around me. She was losing the ability to defend herself.

  But I belonged with Chhaya. If she had my power, I should stay with her. Shouldn’t I?

  Looking up at the Reverend, I saw an older Chhaya’s face. One that had known loss and sadness. I, too, knew sorrow. I knew too well the shapes that loss makes us take.

  I looked back at Chhaya. I meant Summer. She wasn’t Chhaya. There was an anger in her that my princess never possessed. I wanted to rescue her from it because the hatred was ruining her. But she was wrapped in it, taking everything from her mother.

  And she was gloating.

  The look in her emerald-green eyes was cruel, and I knew where the barbarism came from. It came from Lira.

  We had to get out of his clutches.

  I growled, and then yowled at the top of my Siamese lungs. I jumped straight for his face, and he batted me away. I spun in the air, heading for Summer where she dug her fingers into her stunned mother, wrestling for the power that she had no right to.

  Was the Reverend going to just let the girl take it? I could not let that happen. The magic trapped in the chandelier crystals was enough. It frightened me that Summer could give even more to Lira. All of the colors, all of the lights we’d seen tonight belonged to Lira. He already had too much.

  I yowled again, landed in front of the girl, turned, and flicked my behind. Then I did what tomcats do. Jittering my tail, pushing my butt in her direction, I let the urine fly.

  “Gross!” she yelled and kicked at me, losing her concentration on her mother.

  When the girl let her go, the Reverend ran, and Lira tried to grab me. I was too quick for that.

  I looked back. The Reverend was behind me, pulling something out of her bra. Her compass, she must’ve brought her compass.

  But she was depleted, so even if she had enough magic to work it, she would need my help. I had to do away with my four-legged limitations.

  We were the only ones out here by the pool. We all knew magic. So arching my back, I brought my humanity front and center and stood on my hind legs again. I was Maurice, and I had glamour, piles and piles of glamour. I threw it, glistening and soft blue, and confused everyone’s sight as I ran to grab the Reverend’s hand.