by Jill Nojack
Gilly holds my gaze for a long moment. I can almost see the gears turning. Then, she shakes herself free of whatever thoughts had her frozen and says, "Interesting. Well, Tom is a good name. I was once close with someone named Tom. Although he didn't purr quite so prettily."
Gillian pets me absently as her eyes move up to look behind Cassie. She leans in and says, sotto voce, "Don't look now, but that wanker Kevin is making his way over here."
"Is he? He stopped by earlier this week. He was nice until Tom decided to make a meal of his ankle."
"Well, he would be, love, you're a very attractive girl. Just be wary of him is what I'm saying. Your little Tom seems to have good sense." Gillian leans back and speaks again at normal volume as she turns to the intruder, "Oh, hello, Kevin. Is your father with you?"
"No, no, he's not. He asked me to make his apologies. He had urgent business to see to after the service and will be unable to attend the wake."
Urgent business? More like drowning puppies or evicting the poor from their tenements. Maybe just some gloating and hand-rubbing as he anticipates the nefarious way he'll get his hands on Cassie's property. Having either one of them in the private living area of the house makes me want to spit and hiss, but Gillian soothes my hackles down with a stroke and sets me on the floor, where I sit sentinel. I'm not blinking until he's gone.
Kevin turns to Cassie, "By the way, I know it's still early days, but have you made any firmer plans about whether or not you're staying? I do hope you will."
"Nah, I'm still thinking things over. I always enjoyed working in the shop when I was a kid, but I'm not sure I want to do it as an adult. I just got a degree in Arts Administration, and I'm looking for an opportunity to use it."
"I didn't know that—I'm sure you know our gallery here in town?"
"Absolutely! The Giles Gallery of the Arts was my favorite place when I stayed with Granny Eunice. Mr. Simmons always took time with me to explain about the exhibits and how the art world works. He's the one who inspired me."
"It isn't well-known, but poor Simmons fell on hard times a while back, and my father was good enough to help him through it so that he didn't lose the gallery. Dad and I now own an 80% share. If you're interested in a position there, well—Simmons is getting long in the tooth and would be happy to have help."
"Really? He seemed to still be so full of enthusiasm the last time I visited."
"Oh yes, tired of the working world, as I understand it. Although he wouldn't say that to a potential customer, I'm sure."
Kevin knows much more about those "hard times" than he'd let Cassie in on. He created them for the purpose of him getting his hands on the gallery. Eunice had me do the dirty work in exchange for Kevin making sure his local fuzz buddies look the other way when questionable deliveries come to the shop.
It took me a long time to find something on Simmons. The only thing he's interested in is art, which doesn't normally lead to obvious depravity. Still, you'd be surprised what an enterprising cat can catch a glimpse of in a locked, humidity and temperature controlled room in the basement of an art gallery if he's a stealthy stalker. It turns out Simmons was willing to pay a high price to retrieve a painting that shouldn't have existed, but despite that, magically disappeared from his vault. To get it back, he needed a loan. A hush-hush one which Robert, at Kevin's insistence, was more than happy to make with the lion's share of the gallery as collateral.
When Simmons was eventually unable to repay the loan's steep interest, Robert became the majority partner in the business. I guess Kevin is already anticipating his father's death when he says he owns it.
"If he's really thinking about retiring, I can't think of anything I'd like more than the chance to learn from someone as knowledgeable as Dash Simmons. I'd be thrilled to do it!"
"Of course, something like that wouldn't leave time to run a shop. Or much time for the upkeep on a big, old Vicky like this one. You'd want to sell it and move to one of the modern homes a little farther from town."
If Cassie moves and takes me with her, I'll be Cat permanently. Nothing can shift me when I'm outside this house. I start to move, but Cassie reaches down to grab me and pulls me into her lap. Maybe she knows I'll be heading for the bastard's leg again. She keeps a firm grip.
Gillian interrupts. She's got a tone of command now that she didn't have when she was young. "Kevin, Cassie's old enough to know her own mind. I'm sure she can sort out her work and living arrangements just fine without any help from you or your father."
"I'm only trying to be supportive, Gillian."
"Of course you are," she replies. Only a trace of sarcasm betrays her.
Natalie and her gang drift closer during the exchange. If they were cats, their ears would have pricked up and swiveled in Kevin's direction to home in on every word coming out of his mouth. From the corner of my eye, I see Natalie's face briefly register disappointment as Kevin heads toward the hall to the kitchenette where the food is laid out. Maybe she wanted to see him get into it with Gillian as much as I did. But Gillian has far too much class to ruin a funeral.
I don't. I'd shut his mouth quick if I could.
As soon as Cassie forgets me and her grip loosens, I slip off her lap and wend my way carefully around the edge of the room, ducking under furniture to avoid the witches tramping around with no concern for the furry familiar at their feet. Kevin is still standing near the food table, in conversation with one of the other witches who was part of the black moon events. Their talk is a low murmur. I don't pick any of it up over the subdued hubbub in the room. Kevin moves off, and I keep him in sight. He's heading for the hall. Could be he needs the bathroom. It could also be he's up to no good.
I track him from a safe distance, waiting a minute before I follow him around the corner, but I find I'm not as stealthy as I think I am. I run right up on his shiny black dress shoes then rise swiftly into the air when he grasps me roughly by the skin at the back of my neck. Cats. Born with handles. Still, it's better than being lifted by the throat.
I dangle half a foot away from his mean, stupid face as he laughs.
"Well, look at that. I've got a tail." He smirks. It reminds me of Eunice. "I'm sure you'll excuse the pun? Now, cat, what do you think I should do with you?"
I hiss, spit, and swish my paws helplessly through the air, my head pulled back at a useless angle from the pressure at the back of my neck. I flail with the white thorns of my claws out, helpless and exposed, and feeling very small. What kind of man feels threatened by a fluffy kitten?
"Kevin? What are you doing?" Cassie hurries to us, although for a moment there, I'd hoped it was Eunice back from the grave so the bastard would get what he deserves. "Give him to me, now!" she demands.
Kevin shoves me toward her, making an excuse, but she won't have it. "You need to leave. This is a funeral. This is my Granny's funeral, and you're hurting a helpless kitten. You're not welcome here today." She pulls me close to cuddle me, tears dropping steadily into my fur, and I watch him go with a feeling of relief.
He shouldn't be here. He should never be here.
Cassie dusts the shelves and rearranges an item here, an item there.
"Well, Tom, I'm leaning toward opening the shop today. I don't think I can go through one more box of old photos, and I can't even think about starting in Granny's room with all her personal things yet."
Even though I want her to find the carefully prepared words I've left for her on Eunice's vanity, I almost hope she's never ready to go through Granny's possessions. A nice girl like Cassie won't even know the names of many of the "personal things" she'll find there. While it's about time Cassie stops thinking of Eunice as a pillar of society, I don't think coming across the adult toys, surveillance equipment, restraints, and other unsavory stuff is the ideal way for it to happen. I'm angry at Eunice for a lot of reasons, but right now, I'm especially angry at her for dying without wiping away the evidence of her hidden life so that innocent Cassie has to be the one who discovers i
t.
Cassie opens the till of the old-fashioned cash register and lays out the bills in piles. "There are enough ones and coins here to be able to handle a day's worth of making change. I'm going to take that as a good omen. I guess I should do this thing." She picks me up and plops me in the basket on the counter that has been reserved for "Cat" for over forty years and then walks to the door to turn the lock and flip the sign from "Closed" to "Open.”
As she walks back to the counter, she says, "So, are you ready for the onslaught? I'm sure the customers will come crowding in now, right?" Before she finishes her sentence, the door opens behind her, and the shop bell rings. She turns to greet her customer, but I can't see her expression when she identifies him.
"Kevin.”
If I were her, I'd add, “And how can we make you turn around and go away?” And then I'd give him a thump on the head for emphasis. Why is he here, lurking around her after she caught him being his awful self in public?
"I'm purchasing, not visiting. My housekeeper swears by Eunice's headache powder, so I like to keep a supply of it available. The poor woman suffers terribly from migraines.” When she doesn't respond, he continues, “And I'm also here to give you my heartfelt apology. Your kitten and I don't get along, but an animal can't help acting like an animal. I can. Will you forgive me?”
She shrugs. "Granny made a good headache powder, that's for sure. If your housekeeper needs it, I wouldn't keep her from getting it.”
"Thank you. You have to do what you can to help the people who help you. It's just common decency, isn't it?" Kevin smoothes the lonely strands of hair across the top of his head and gives her an oily smile. "Let's see, valerian, and I'll also need a packet of mayapple. For the garden pests, obviously. Natural remedies are best, aren't they?"
"Sure, let's see—headache powder should be over here—yes, I've got it. Valerian and mayapple will be in the herbal remedies section. Do you need the large or the small packets?"
"Large, please. I want to make sure I have enough to get the job done."
If Eunice had taught Cassie more about magic she might have deduced from Kevin's order that the housekeeper's need for headache powder was more than likely caused by Kevin dosing her with a potion of the other two. I remember Eunice having a laugh she didn't bother to hide from him when he bought his first batch of those three powders together. Maybe his order today was a test. If it was, he left the shop knowing just how innocent Cassie is of the goings on in Giles.
While Cassie bags Kevin's purchases, a young Asian man enters the shop. I recognize him as one of Eunice's less reputable customers. He goes directly to the counter and says in a heavy Chinese accent, "I'm here for Mr. Liu's package." Kevin moves off to the side, his transaction complete, but waits while the man and Cassie talk.
Cassie replies, "I'm sorry. My grandmother, who owned the shop, died last week. I haven't seen a package." Cassie stops for a second, taking a deep breath as tears begin to well up again. "I'll be happy to prepare Mr. Liu's package if you can tell me what he ordered."
The young man looks at her stonily. "No. I need to talk to Mr. Liu before I talk more to you. Mr. Liu may make another arrangement, or he may send me back." He turns and leaves briskly.
Kevin is suddenly in a hurry. He waves a quick goodbye to Cassie and follows the man out of the shop. I scurry after him and coast out the door in his wake. He calls to the man, and they talk briefly, then Kevin hands him his card. It's worse than I thought—Kevin is definitely following through on his plan to move in on the darker side of the business now that Eunice is gone. Too bad for him he doesn't have either the client or supplier list. All that illicit business Eunice keeps locked in the storage room is about to come to an end, and I can't see how Kevin is going to manage to keep it going without some very bad juju going down for Cassie. She has no idea, none at all, how dangerous things could get.
Kevin turns back toward the shop and looks me right in the eye before I scramble back into the recessed doorway. His eyes narrow as he hurries toward me. I mewl like my tail's on fire to get Cassie's attention, and it works. She opens the door and scoops me up, scolding me for ducking out. Back on the counter I go before Kevin can get to me. He peers in the window briefly, then moves on.
***
"Granny never let me in to the smaller storeroom, Tom. What do you think I'll find there? Fairy dust? Voodoo dolls?" She smiles weakly at her own attempt at a joke. Her spirits are brighter tonight. It must be a relief to have the funeral out of the way.
What's in the closet, Cassie? A whole lot of trouble, that's what. Without any way to know what Kevin is up to, and, trapped as a cuddly kitten, I've got no way to protect her from what's going to go down if someone comes for the treasure Eunice locked up in there. When an interested party comes to take it, I sincerely hope it's cowardly Kevin instead of a more dangerous threat.
Cassie tries every key on the big metal ring. None of them fit, but I already know that. Eunice used a spell not a lock. The spell won't stop someone who's determined to get in and would remove the door to do it, but it will prevent casual snoopers such as a curious granddaughter or a business rival with a roving eye.
Cassie gives up on the lock and scoops me up on her way upstairs.
***
It's cozy in the upstairs parlor, cuddled up in Cassie's lap while we watch TV. But my thoughts, when I can put a non-Cat thought together, are starting to focus almost entirely around two little words: say it.
I tried the jumping-on-the-table manipulation on Cassie as soon as she knew my real name, but she hasn't had the same response again. Frustrating. I was so sure I'd be freed with a couple of quick jumps. Or failing that, she'd have to go to Eunice's room for something and read the words out loud as I follow her in. But she hasn't ventured into that room. I know. I've been her shadow.
To keep the pressure on, I've been at my most adorable for days, bringing Cassie presents whenever I find something new she might appreciate—mostly things I've batted under furniture over time and Eunice never went searching for. Why in the world can't she just say it? I'm being as good as I know how to be.
All I get as I drop off my packages is:
"Tom, how sweet! I've always wanted a ball of rubber bands."
"Tom, you shouldn't have! A dusty old spool of thread? Thank you."
"Would you look at that—this must be at least twenty years old. Where did you find it?"
Then, Eureka! I remember something that has to work. I leap from her lap and race into the guest bedroom, then return to the parlor and drop a gold ring on the table in front of her. I just rank a "Where did you get this, Tom? Was it Eunice's?" She slips it idly onto her pinky and twists it as she finishes watching her show.
Why can't she just say it? Just one "good Tom.” How hard is that?
I can't tell her that the ring was payment for a potion to precipitate miscarriage. The desperate woman had nothing but her wedding ring to pay with, and the baby she was carrying would have been the wrong color for her husband's genetic background. I thought she would have been better off with the father of the child—the one who cared about her—instead of the one who'd have killed both her and the baby if she'd delivered him a mixed-race child. She lost her ring but got to keep her marriage. I hid it in a fit of pique after watching the glee it gave Eunice. But I can't tell Cassie that. I can't tell her anything.
The longer things go on this way, the fuzzier I feel: I constantly lose focus and get distracted by all the things a cat can find under counters and couches and crawling up the walls. I want to focus on Cassie, but she's becoming less and less interesting unless she's giving me a meal or a scratch.
Cat even gets in on my gift selections because I'm now too instinct driven to stop him. He dropped a dead spider in front of her on the counter this morning. That one earned a "Yuck!" and a quick cleanup.
I crawl back into her lap, discouraged. The words are never going to happen. Never.
“Well, come on Tom, might as wel
l put this ring in Granny's jewelry box for safekeeping.” Cassie holds me close as she gets up and turns the TV off.
Eunice's jewelry box is on the vanity. It's finally happening. I feel like I'm floating as we travel along the short upstairs hall together.
And the words are still there, perfectly shaped. I know they are.
Cassie stops dead about three feet from the vanity. “What the?”
I hold my breath. She reads the words.
“6000 ton? This wasn't here before! Who would have snuck in here to write something stupid like that? Are they trying to scare me, make me think Granny's trying to communicate? What does it even mean?”
That's it. I'm done with her. She's a moron.
I get a nice chunk of her arm between my teeth, and she drops me, looking surprised. I show her my backside as I run down the stairs, heading for something satisfying to break or, even better, something to kill.
Movement under the bed. I leap to it. It's nothing. Wait...behind me. A crawly. A meal. I bat at it, hold it down, let it up, let it run, bat at it, hold it down, let it up, let it run.
The fun is gone. Crunch it up.
Shine from the window. Warm. Wait...what is it? I turn, I pounce, I turn, I pounce, I turn, I pounce.
"Come on, Tom, stop chasing your own tail. Breakfast time."
I look at her. I know my name. My name is Tom. Good Tom. Say it! Say Good Tom.
I jump along behind her down and down.
Each step down means say it.
Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it. Say it.
***
I stalk shiny head. He talks. I stalk.
Shoelaces. Pounce. I arch. I spit.
"Tom! What's gotten into you?"
Grabbed. In my cage now.
I'm alert. I keep my eye out. Shiny head talks. Talks and talks.
Cassie helps girl. Shiny head looks. I know you, shiny head. Do you know me?
