What God and Cats Know

by Sheryl Nantus

  “Right.” He poured himself the last of the coffee, cringing as the liquid got darker and darker. “Kelly was pretty pissed, that’s true.”

  I cradled the cooling mug in both hands, leaning on my elbows. The marble island was a cool oasis compared to the heated discussions that had just occurred. “But not surprising. Married for what, twenty years? And now she finds out there’s a bastard son out there.”

  “In slight defence of Frank...” He grinned. “Very slight defence—he thought it was impossible for a human female to get pregnant.” Bran tugged at his shirt, removing a single white cat hair from his right arm while ignoring the huge clump on his left. “You’d think that more Felis men would be out there getting it on the side. Instant birth control.”

  I chuckled into my coffee. “You just saw how his wife reacted. Think of that happening without Jess around to ‘save’ you.”

  Bran sucked in his breath over clenched teeth, sending out a whistle that startled the white cat on the couch. She paused then returned to her cleaning routine after assessing for danger.

  “That...would be scary.” Lifting the white ceramic mug to his mouth, he mumbled into the coffee, almost too low for me to hear. “Not that you’d ever have to worry ’bout that.”

  I ignored the opening. “Problem is, how do we find Kathy Wright?” Picking my mug up off the counter I walked to one of the windows and looked down.

  A streetcar ran by, clanging the bell as it trundled along the steel tracks. The long cables ran down to the back of the metal bullet, providing power for the lumbering mammoth. Around it smaller cars zipped and dodged, looking for a way to sneak around and in front of the monster as it dumped commuters and picked up new ammunition. “All we have is a name and even that might not be real.” A trail of young children toddled down the sidewalk, hanging onto a piece of rope with a teacher at the lead. A small caravan of clothing racks rumbled behind them, brightly coloured blouses and scarves waving in the wind and threatening to break away and smother the streetcar in a revolution of colour. The gears began to grind, albeit slowly, in my addled brain.

  Grabbing the phone, I dialled Mike Winters. He picked it up on the third ring.

  “Hello?” His voice had a nasal tone.

  “Mike, it’s Rebecca Desjardin. I just need one quick answer from you—did Janey mention anything about her students? Any problems, any kids who were a handful for her?”

  “No.” The confusion was evident in his voice. “She had just transferred to that school, actually. It was an emergency assignment. The old teacher was hospitalised with a stroke. She took over his class.”

  I waved my hands in the air, mimicking writing. Bran scrambled around the apartment as I kept talking. “What school was this? And what course?”

  “David Thomson High School. She took over his history classes just a few days before she died.” He stumbled over the words for a minute. “Do you think it was one of her students?” The words tumbled out one after the other. “One of those kids? She wasn’t even there long enough to find the teachers’ lounge, never mind start a fight with a student or give one a reason to have a grudge against her.”

  “I’m exploring all possibilities.” I put on my soothing tone. “Just following up some leads.”

  “It was just a temp assignment. It wasn’t planned.”

  “"It's just routine." My fingers itched to have something to do. “I’ll let you know when I have something concrete to report.”

  “The kids went out to the Farm.” His words were clipped and terse. “They went a bit wild. A lot of crying and yelling.”

  I nodded. “Can’t blame them.”

  “I wanted to, you know. I wanted to.” Mike wheezed into the receiver. “We didn’t go to Ruth’s funeral because it would have been too much. I haven’t even told them that she’s dead. They can’t handle it.”

  “I understand.” I closed my eyes. “I’ll be in touch.” A few more mumbled sympathies and I hung up the phone.

  Bran shoved a pen and notepad at me. “Write.” While I scribbled the information, he peered over the countertop at me. “A student, hmm?”

  “Roll with me here.” My writing moved across the empty pad in huge, looping spirals. “One of the first things every kit learns about is how to control ourselves, how to not Change when it’s not a good time. When it’s not safe. How to deal with the overwhelming amount of odours in the air around us and how not to react to them.”

  “Like what?” He stared down at the wild lines.

  “For example, when a woman’s... Well, at that time of the month when she’s most fertile.” My face went red. “Maybe you’ve noticed or maybe not—we smell pretty good. Well, multiply that by a thousand and you get what an average Felis male has to deal with. The rush and emotions...” I closed my eyes and waved one hand in the air. “It’s not as bad for the women, but we get pretty horny at times. To put it bluntly.”

  “And when you hit puberty...”

  “You learn how to control yourself. It’s the same as with humans, but a bit harder.” I jabbed the pen down at the words scribbled on the paper. “If this kid’s grown up with little or no training in self-control he’s a ticking time bomb ready to go off.”

  “And when he walked into that classroom and spotted Janey Winters...” Bran nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “It must have been pretty overwhelming.”

  “Exactly.” I picked up the phone and dialled Information. “But I don’t think he attacked Janey to rape her. I think he was looking for a kindred spirit. He knew she was different, like him.”

  “He might have just wanted someone to talk to.” Picking up the empty coffee cups, Brandon put them in the sink. “Raging hormones and all.”

  “Even as adults we have trouble with control.” I scribbled down a number. “How many horny teenage boys chase after girls daily and vice versa? Compound that with a Felis bloodline...” I shook my head. “Odds stacked against him double.”

  Bran nodded, watching while I spoke briefly to the operator then to the school secretary. He flinched when I turned the air blue with my swearing and hung up.

  “They won’t give me any information. Seems they’re concerned about privacy issues.”

  “Well, can’t blame them.” Bran shrugged when I glared at him. “Hey, they’re worried about psychos and stalkers these days. Not the same as we grew up in.”

  “Speak for yourself. I spent more time playing in the long grass stalking imaginary monsters than you did, I bet.” I rapped the end of the pen on the table. “Mind you, it might be all for naught. She may not have even told Frank her real name or changed it.”

  Brandon turned the water on briefly, splashing liquid into the cups. “Or gotten married. Remember, it’s not the sin it used to be to have a child out of wedlock or whatever it’s called these days. Lots of men out there who don’t mind being stepfathers.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, those wacky kids these days.”

  “Shut up and grab your jacket.” I strode across the room, eyes darting about as I looked for my own.

  He didn’t move, leaning on the counter. “It’s almost five o’clock, girl. Ain’t no schooling going on.”

  My eyes went to the window again. True enough, the shadows were beginning to creep across the street. The streetcars continued to grumble and groan their way across the intersection but with more and more weary people just wanting to get home.

  “Damn.” I shook my head. “No wonder the secretary sounded so pissy. Must have caught her on the way out the door.”

  “Probably.” Opening the freezer door, Hanover began to dig deep. “How about steaks for dinner? Get you geared up for hitting the school in the morning.” I opened my mouth to protest but he overran me. “Look, there’s no good going to the school right now—aside from showing your cards too soon. Take it from a gambler, you don’t flash your hand before you know what the other guy’s got.” Tossing the frozen slabs on the counter he gestured toward the computer table. “Go play
on that while I get these defrosted and on the grill.”

  “Might as well research the area.” I grumbled, sitting down with a thump in the chair. The keyboard beckoned with the well-worn keys urging me to just take a breather from the marathon I’d been running for the past few hours.

  “Tell me about Ruth.” His words drifted over to me from the kitchen area along with the enticing sizzle of a good hot grill.

  My fingers ran over the keyboard, as I accessed various databases. Anyone who’s got a whit of paranoia in their soul will tell you that thanks to the internet your entire life is an open book—and they’re not far from wrong. Depending on who you are and what you do and who’s looking, you can pretty well dig up a lot of dirt on anyone. Add in a few little back doors I had managed to accumulate over the years through my investigative work and I usually was able to find something, anything on a person.

  “She was a really nice woman. Takes someone with a lot of patience to keep the kits in line.” I frowned as the data flashed across the screen. “Kathy Wright seems to not exist, at least not in any format I can find.”

  “Go figure.” The moist slap of meat hitting the grill started my mouth watering. Some instincts you can’t fight or even want to. “Raising the kits?”

  “Well, you have to understand that from birth, we’re a pretty rowdy bunch. Takes a strong hand to handle a baby to start with, never mind one who can change into a kitten at any time. More like a baby bobcat, to be honest.” The screen flickered and changed, coughing up new information. “There’s been no unexplained rise in crime in the area. That’s good.”

  “So he’s not just indiscriminately killing and attacking. That’s something.” The scent of melted butter and sliced peppers hit my nostrils. “So Ruth kept you kids in line?”

  “So to speak. More of corralling us to make sure we didn’t kill ourselves.” My stomach gave an answering growl to the aromas floating around us. “She had the patience of a saint.”

  “To deal with you, probably.” The snicker was accompanied by a resurgence of sizzling as the steaks were flipped over. “What do you think will happen to Davis?”

  “If he lives? Probably retired to a nice house somewhere with a caretaker.” I took a deep breath, wishing my stomach would stop rumbling. “Jess won’t want anyone else to know what’s going on. Put him someplace safe, make up a story and everyone’s happy.”

  “Really? You think they’d buy that?” The sound of a cork popping. “Got me a good bottle of red wine here. I think we both need a drink after today.”

  “True but I’d rather have a beer, if you have any. Don’t really feel in a wine mood” The screen flashed again. “People buy anything if they want to. You buy what the media tells you, what’s the difference?”

  “Point.” The clink of silverware. “Food is ready. I assume you’re comfortable with medium rare.”

  Spinning around in the chair, I grinned at him across the apartment. “You know me way too well.”

  Jazz let out a plaintive cry from her perch on the couch when I pushed the chair back, glancing toward her full food dish. I wagged a finger at her. “Not going to happen.” She cocked her head to one side, rolling her front paw outward. “Okay, maybe after dinner.”

  Outside a streetcar’s brakes wailed and screamed, but there was no answering crash of steel on steel. Jazz responded by twisting onto her back and ignoring us.

  We ate dinner in silence, two bottles of cold beer sitting between us. Finally Brandon looked over at where I had efficiently dissected the bloody slab of meat.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “What?” I ripped a mouthful of steak free with my fork.

  “You’re not upset.” He waved the knife toward my plate. “You just lost your home, your surrogate mother and witnessed a whole lot of gore within a day or two. Not to mention that entire scene at the Farm.” He daintily put a small piece of steak into his mouth, chewing slowly. “That might just be a bit much for some people to deal with.”

  “I guess.” I pushed one of the roasted red pepper slices through a small puddle of blood. “I suppose I’m not that flustered because I knew it’d be like this. It’s part of the Felis lifestyle, the fighting and the consequences.” The small line of fat running along the edge of the steak fought hard when I pressed the knife down. “I guess I never really got used to it not being there. If that makes any sense.”

  He nodded. “I can see that. It’s a strange, strange world.”

  I peered over the dark brown bottle at him. “No, just different. Different rules, different lifestyle. Just different.”

  Bran nodded slowly. “Agreed.” He pointed at the couch. “Am I there or in my own bed tonight?”

  “Are we fighting?” I smiled, tipping the bottle toward my mouth.

  “I don’t know.” He chuckled. “Are we?”

  “Only if it’s foreplay.” I waved my fork. “And before you even go there, no—Felis are not more prone to S&M than anyone else.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.” His right eyebrow arched upward. “But, now that you mention it...”

  I glanced at Jazz. “You’re on guard duty tonight. Don’t mess up.” She answered with a long, leisurely stretch of each toe to its full extent, reaching out with one leg then the other. I turned back to Bran. “We’re good.”

  He tipped back his own bottle of beer, finishing it off. “Bet I can make you purr.”

  “Felis don’t purr.”

  “Bet I can.” He leered at me, sending a tingle up my spine.

  “Just don’t forget to set the alarm clock.”

  Chapter 17

  The next morning we were standing in front of David Thomson High School at seven o’clock, both of us bleary-eyed and less than bushy-tailed. Brandon handed me a Starbuck’s cup of coffee, shuffling his feet from side to side.

  “Your own fault.” I shook myself awake again.

  “Well, I think it was worth it.” He grinned at me. “Now I know what makes you purr.” His attention returned to the scene in front of us, ignoring my blush. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he mumbled, taking a sip of his own brew.

  “No. But it’s a good place to start.” I gestured toward the empty school parking lot. “As long as I stay upwind of this kid, I’ll be fine. He won’t be able to tell that I’m anyone other than just another adult.”

  “Except that we’re technically trespassing,” Bran said. “Sooner or later someone’s going to tell the office that there are two people hanging out near the parking lot and we’re going to be chatting to the police about how we’re not predators.”

  “Except by then we should know who the kid is.” I pointed at the parking lot. “Besides, we’ve got identification and a good reason to be here. Cops won’t mind. Much.”

  “When we know who the kid is...” Bran took another sip, adjusting the light jacket lying across his shoulders. “What do we do? Can’t just walk to the cops and tell them that he’s the killer ’cause he smells bad.”

  I looked at Bran. “He doesn’t smell ‘bad’. Each Felis has their own individual scent.” Turning my attention back to the parking lot I leant on the telephone pole beside us. “You’ve got one. You just don’t know it.”

  He sniffed his armpits, making a scene of it. “Oh, I can tell.” His hand reached over and down to pinch my bottom. “And you smell pretty darned good yourself at times.”

  I slapped the hand away. “Work, Bran. Work.” The coffee was hot and fresh. “I’m hoping we can just talk to this kid and reason him into custody.”

  “How do you figure that?” Bran shook the injured hand. “He’s killed one woman and attacked you, as far as we know.”

  “But he’s a lost, confused kid.” The school buses had begun to arrive, accompanied by a fleet of minivans as parents dropped off their precious cargoes—that couldn’t or wouldn’t ride the buses. “It’s likely he’s got no self-control to start with, no idea of what’s going on. Like I said—puberty’s tough enoug
h without being a Felis.”

  “Yeah. I remember those days. Except I wasn’t running amok and killing my teacher.” Bran nodded when a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls strutted by, ignoring us with a toss of their collective heads. “Just as I remember.”

  “Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t miss it a whit.” The yellow buses began to discharge their cargo. I looked up, sniffing the air. “Still good. As long as the wind doesn’t change, we’re good.”

  Bran nodded, scanning the growing crowd of students. “I hope you’re right. Otherwise this could be a bloodbath.”

  Turning my head, I caught the familiar odour. “There.” I pointed toward a cluster of young men, jocks by the looks of them. Varsity jackets with the usual stream of lettered patches down one arm, a bunch of surly faced, pimply annoying little men, and one of them was my boy.

  The wind shifted, sweeping my breath away as the different scents dragged over my senses. And vice versa to any Felis nearby.

  A tall young man peeled out of the crew, standing to one side, dropping his backpack to the ground. He was just a little taller than Brandon, jet-black hair cut into a shaggy mass and long, lanky arms pushing the limits of his team jacket. He began to spin around, his dark brown eyes searching for the source. His nose was twitching, pulling in the familiar scent of a Felis and the unfamiliar scent of a stranger, possibly an attacker.

  He saw me.

  I saw him.

  He broke into a run, sprinting away from the student crowd. I followed, ignoring Brandon who had no chance to catch up.

  A herd of clucking seniors appeared in my path when I charged down the sidewalk, nattering about some reality show. I pushed my way through despite their cursing and gestures, knocking more than one expensive electronic gadget to the ground.

  He was picking up speed. I dashed out onto the road, hoping the pavement would help me make up the distance. It’d been a long, long time since I’d done any long-distance running and longer since I’d tracked any prey but the choice wasn’t there, so I ignored the shards of pain shooting up my right hamstring and the heaviness in my chest, focusing on keeping him in sight.