The Infernal Heart

by R. L. King

  The pound was already closed that night, but Stone showed up first thing the next morning. This time he didn’t bother with the disguise—the SJPD could hardly have a problem with him checking out a cat on Death Row, no matter who the cat might have belonged to.

  Fortunately, the place wasn’t busy yet. He walked up to the counter. “I’m looking for a cat,” he announced to the woman behind it.

  She smiled at him. “We’ve got plenty of them here,” she said. “Kitten or adult?” She wore a scrub top with a Snoopy pattern and had the harried look of someone with too much to do.

  “Actually, I’m looking for a specific cat.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “Is this a lost cat you want to claim, sir?”

  “No. He belonged to a…deceased friend. He ended up here by mistake, I believe. The man who had him surrendered him for behavioral issues. His name is Raider. The cat, not the man,” he added. He showed her the photo from the files Cheng had sent him, and gave her the name of Avila’s neighbor. “He would have brought him by two days ago.”

  The woman examined the photo and jotted down the name. “Just a moment. Let me check our records.”

  Stone looked around the waiting room while she pulled up the file on her computer terminal. Colorful posters urging people to adopt, not to backyard-breed, and to spay and neuter their animals covered the walls, along with cheerful drawings of pets by local school children. The far-off sound of barking occasionally reached over the soft music from a nearby radio, and the place smelled of disinfectant with just a hint of dogginess. The door to the back opened and a grinning small boy emerged clutching the leash of an exuberant mutt puppy, followed by his stressed-looking mother.

  “Sir?”

  Stone turned back to the counter. “Yes?”

  The woman didn’t look like she had good news. “I’m sorry, sir, but I found the cat you’re looking for. I’m afraid he’s scheduled to be euthanized this morning.”

  The whole plan had been a long shot anyway—it probably wouldn’t have worked at all. But still… “Scheduled? As in, it hasn’t been done yet? Let’s stop it, then.”

  “I’m not sure whether it’s been done yet,” she said. She rubbed at her face and didn’t meet Stone’s gaze.

  “Well, can’t you check?”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” She pointed at the terminal. “It says here that the cat was surrendered for severe behavioral problems. He might not even be safe to adopt, and odds are high that you’ll just return him later even if you do. He’s not available for adoption.”

  “Perhaps if I were to make a generous donation—”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the woman said again. She didn’t look mean or hard-assed about it—in fact, she looked as if she might be on the verge of tears. He didn’t envy anyone who had to work at a place like this, especially if they liked animals. Unfortunately, since it appeared his usual go-to plans of charming or bribing people to give him the information he wanted weren’t going to work on her, he wasn’t any closer to Raider—and now the clock was counting down fast. It might already be too late. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I wish I could help you. I really do.”

  He dropped a twenty in the donation box. “Quite all right—I understand. I suppose I might as well take a look at your other cats while I’m here. Perhaps I can help out another one.”

  She brightened. “That’s a great idea. Straight through the door there, down the hall, first door on the right is kittens, second door is adults. If you find anybody you like, let us know and we’ll get you set.”

  Stone thanked her and slipped through the door, waited until a pair of shelter workers passed by, and then ducked into an unused office. He hadn’t brought one of his disguise amulets with him, so he’d have to hope his disregarding spell would be enough to keep anyone from noticing him. He used one of his crystals to power it so he didn’t have to worry about maintaining it, and then hurried out and down the hallway.

  He passed the two doors the woman had mentioned; contrary to what he’d told her, he wasn’t interested in adopting any cats today. It didn’t take long before he spotted another set of double doors bearing a stern AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY sign. Glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention, he pushed it open and went through.

  No cheerful schoolchild art or posters back here. He stood in a hallway painted institutional beige and lit by overhead fluorescents. Several doors lined it on both sides, interspersed with more utilitarian wall decorations like workplace-law posters. Occasionally people in scrubs or sweatshirts would pass him, but everyone looked busy and no one paid him any attention. Both the barking and the doggy smell were more intense back here, and even a few loud feline yowls managed to rise above the general din.

  Stone moved fast, checking out the placards on each door in turn: Clinic, Dog Isolation, Cat Isolation, Hold, Strays, Break Room, Laundry and Storage, Examination Room. It occurred to him that he wasn’t even sure what they would call the room he was looking for: Feline Death Row hardly seemed appropriate. “Where are you, Raider?” he murmured.

  He couldn’t stay too long: the crystal he was using to power the disregarding spell wouldn’t last too much longer, and if he had to power it himself he’d have to be a lot more careful not to let his concentration slip. Deciding it was the likeliest choice, he shoved open the door to the Cat Isolation room and went inside.

  It was a small room, with a disinfectant smell even stronger than outside. Double-decker steel cages lined two of the walls, about a quarter of them occupied by cats. Most lay quietly, watching him with big, wary eyes; the exception was the yowling occupant of the top-level cage at the far end of a row.

  Stone swept his gaze over each quiet cat in turn, verifying that none of them was Raider. The yowling grew more insistent. “All right,” he said, exasperated. “You can shut up now. I know you’re here.”

  He turned toward the loud cat, and found himself facing a large, rangy black-and-gray tabby sitting at the front of the cage and following him with narrowed green eyes. The cat yowled again for good measure, and then, apparently satisfied that he’d been properly acknowledged, shut up.

  “Raider? Is that you?” Stone hurried to the cage, checking to make sure nobody was coming into the room, and pulled out the photo. Comparing the picture with the cat in front of him didn’t provide a definitive answer: big gray tabbies all looked pretty much alike to him. Fortunately the placard on the cage, while not including the cat’s name, did list the date of surrender and Avila’s neighbor’s name and phone number. A quick glance with magical sight confirmed it: faint traces of the same murky red energy he’d spotted at the victim’s house and in Avila’s apartment hovered around the tabby.

  “Well. Good to make your acquaintance, Raider. Let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

  Stone paused at that; he hadn’t even thought about how he would get Raider out if he found him. Clearly, the cat wasn’t the shy and retiring type, which meant trying to carry him out through the lobby in his arms (assuming Raider even allowed that) he risked attracting attention. The disregarding spell was good at making people not notice him, but it relied on misdirection. Any odd behavior or inexplicable sounds would negate the whole effect.

  He wished he could just do his examination here, but this kind of thing, if it even worked at all, would take a long time—probably at least half an hour—and he doubted the shelter workers would leave him alone that long. Besides, he couldn’t very well take what he wanted from Raider and leave him to die. That wouldn’t be fair to the cat, whose only crime was to witness a horrific supernatural event. Kitty PTSD wasn’t a valid reason for a death sentence.

  He sighed. “Listen,” he told Raider, who watched him intently through the bars. “I don’t know if you know it, but you’re in a bad situation right now. If you work with me, we can get you out of here. But you’ve got to stay quiet. All right?�
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  Bloody hell, I’m talking to a cat.

  Glancing around the room, he spotted a stack of three cardboard cat carriers, each one emblazoned with a jaunty cartoon Garfield holding a suitcase and the words I’m Goin’ Home! He used magic to bring one to him and opened it. “All right,” he told Raider. “I’m going to open the door now and put you in here.”

  Raider didn’t reply, but at least that meant he wasn’t yowling.

  Stone carefully opened the cage door and swung it outward. Raider stayed put. Taking that as a sign, Stone reached in.

  Raider scooted to the back of the cage and crouched low.

  Brilliant. Stone was already regretting this plan. Sometimes he wished he could just let puzzles alone. His life wouldn’t be nearly as interesting, but it would also be a lot less stressful. “Come on, Raider…” he murmured, reaching in further.

  Raider tried to scrunch himself backward again, but he had nowhere to go. Stone plucked him up, wishing it hadn’t been too hot to wear his usual black overcoat. The cat wasn’t huge, but even a small cat could do a fairly good imitation of a wood chipper if he got a mind to.

  He didn’t, though. While he didn’t seem happy about being picked up, he didn’t struggle or attack. He made a token effort at resistance when Stone tried to lower him into the carrier (which was a bit small to contain him comfortably, but beggars couldn’t be choosers) but eventually settled in and allowed the lid to be closed over him.

  “Right then,” Stone said under his breath, and picked up the carrier. All they had to do was get down the hall, out through the reception area, and across the parking lot to the BMW, and they were home free.

  Easy, right?

  He’d made it to the door before he remembered that he probably shouldn’t leave the placard behind. With the amount of activity in the shelter, he guessed if the workers didn’t find an empty cage with a card indicating it should have an occupant, they probably wouldn’t even notice a missing cat—especially one scheduled for euthanasia—until it was too late. He also doubted that even if they did notice, they wouldn’t send the Cat Patrol out to retrieve him.

  But they still had to get out.

  He had another few minutes before the crystal’s energy would deplete and he’d have to power the disregarding spell himself. His other option would be to use a full-blown invisibility spell, but that would be a last resort. He’d never gotten the knack for true invisibility—it was a hard spell to maintain, exhausting him after only a couple minutes, and draining crystals even faster. He’d do it if he had to, but he hoped he wouldn’t.

  Gripping Raider’s cardboard carrier and feeling the cat shifting nervously back and forth inside, he pushed open the door to the Cat Isolation room and looked both ways down the hall. A woman in a white coat walked by, deep in conversation with a younger woman wearing a San Jose State hoodie, but neither paid him any attention, even when Raider made a tentative meow.

  He was about to head down the hallway toward the reception area when he noticed another door. It was propped open with a kitty-litter jug, and the sign above it read EXIT.

  Could he be that lucky? That didn’t happen to him very often—maybe he was due, or this was the Universe’s way of letting him know that saving Raider was the right thing to do. Either way, he didn’t ask questions. He shoved open the door and exited into the bright mid-morning sunlight.

  “Hey, man,” said a voice.

  Damn.

  Two shelter workers, a skinny, scraggly-haired man and a plump woman in a pink T-shirt, leaned against the wall outside the door, both of them holding cigarettes. The man had spoken.

  “Er…hey,” Stone said, using his American accent. His usual British one was far too memorable if he had to have a conversation. He dropped the disregarding spell, since it obviously hadn’t worked here.

  “Who’s the cat?” the guy asked, nodding toward the carrier.

  “Oh. Er—” His mind whirled, searching for a plausible answer, and latched on to the first thing that came to him. “He’s—er—adopted. Nice old lady. I’m taking him out to her car for her.”

  From inside the carrier, Raider meowed helpfully, as if to announce, “Yes, I am a cat.”

  That was the lamest excuse Stone had ever heard—he certainly wouldn’t have believed it if someone had tried it on him. But the guy merely shrugged and took another drag on his cigarette. “Cool. Have a good one.” He turned back to his companion and resumed their conversation.

  Stone forced himself to move nonchalantly away even though he wanted to take off running. He barely allowed himself to breathe until he reached the BMW, then exhaled in a rush of air. “That was bloody close, Raider.”

  The cat said nothing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the way back to Palo Alto, Stone tried calling Cheng again. This time he did leave a message—just a generic, “I’m trying to reach you, please call me back,” but every day that went by without a response reinforced his suspicion that something had happened to the detective.

  He’d made it halfway home before he realized he hadn’t thought this whole Raider plan through at all. He’d been so focused on the examination he planned to do that he’d completely forgotten about the more mundane aspects of having a cat: things like food, litter boxes, and such.

  “Well, bugger,” he said, glancing across at Raider’s carrier, which he’d belted into the front seat. The cat had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive so far—maybe he liked Pink Floyd, which moved him up a couple notches in Stone’s estimation.

  He couldn’t very well leave Raider in the car while he went searching for supplies—it was far too hot for that. He also couldn’t just let him run free in the townhouse, especially given that Avila’s neighbor had said he pissed all over everything. Coming home to find that Raider had marked his sofa or one of his favorite books wasn’t an acceptable option.

  If Jason or Verity were here, he could call them and ask them to meet him at the townhouse with supplies, but they weren’t.

  He’d reached Mountain View before the solution came to him. It wasn’t one he employed often, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He pulled out his phone again—damn, but the thing was proving more useful than he’d expected—and made a call.

  The doorbell rang fifteen minutes after he’d arrived home. He opened the door to reveal a tall, long-haired young man in a Skinny Puppy T-shirt and black cargo shorts, carrying two bags. “Hi, Dr. Stone,” he said. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Quite all right, Mr. Greene.” He waved him inside. “I appreciate your help—you’re a lifesaver.”

  Brandon Greene was one of his graduate students, an irreverent goth kid with a smartass streak as wide as Stone’s, an interest in primitive occult practices, and a strong talent for research. Stone hadn’t pulled “professor privilege” in years to ask a grad student to run an errand unrelated to academics, but he figured after all this time he could allow himself just this one.

  “So you got a cat, huh?” Greene grinned. “I kinda thought maybe you might already have one. You seem like the type.”

  “He’s not staying,” Stone said. “I’m sort of—cat-sitting. Did you get everything on my list?”

  “Yeah.” He put the two bags down. “The litter box is out in the car. Hang on and I’ll get it.” He hurried outside and ran down the front walk.

  Stone investigated the contents of the bags as Raider meowed from the sitting room. He’d left the cat in the carrier for now, with plans to set up the downstairs bathroom for him.

  Greene returned with a large blue plastic litter box and a bag of litter. “Okay, so we got box, litter, food, bowls, and a cat bed. Oh, and I threw in a scoop too, unless you want to scoop the box with your good silverware. And I got decent food, not that crap they sell at the supermarket.” He pulled a crumpled receipt from his back pocket. “Total, sixty-two
bucks and change.”

  Stone gave him eighty. “Keep the change to cover gas and whatnot. Thanks again. This whole thing was rather…sudden.”

  “No problem. Can I see him?”

  “The cat? Er…sure.” He led Greene to the sitting room and opened the carrier. Raider poked his head out and examined his surroundings.

  “Nice-looking cat. You say you’re just watching him?”

  “For a friend, yes. Not sure how long. He’s…a bit indisposed and can’t take care of him.”

  He grinned. “Don’t let old Doc Mortenson hear you’ve got one. She’ll want to come over and meet him.”

  “Oh?” That was a side of Edwina Mortenson he wasn’t aware of.

  “Oh, yeah.” Greene skritched the top of Raider’s head. “She’s crazy about ’em. I think she has like three of her own. She showed me photos once. In her wallet.”

  “She’s got photos of cats in her wallet?” That explained a lot, actually. He kept a close eye on the interaction to make sure Raider didn’t take a nip or a swipe at Greene, but the two seemed to be getting along fine.

  Greene shrugged. “Hey, I don’t judge. Anyway, I better get going—got a seminar in a half-hour. Oh! Wait. Almost forgot.” He rummaged in his backpack and handed Stone something that looked like a handle with a wide roll of tape attached. “You’re gonna want that. It’s a cat-hair roller. Trust me—from one dude who wears a lot of black to another.”

  After Greene left, Stone shut Raider back up in the carrier and took the bags into the bathroom. It wasn’t a large space, but he figured it would be big enough that the cat wouldn’t feel cramped until he figured out what to do with him. He put the litter box in the shower and filled it, set up bowls of food and water, and put the cat bed in the nook between the toilet and the wall, then examined his handiwork. He’d never had a pet before, so he hoped he wasn’t missing anything important. When everything was ready, he retrieved the carrier, set it on the floor, and opened it.