Kat Among The Pigeons

by Lazette Gifford

  Kat Among The Pigeons

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kat Among the Pigeons

  By

  Lazette Gifford

  Copyright 2011 Lazette Gifford

  An ACOA Publication

  www.aconspiracyofauthors.com

  ISBN: 978-1-936507-04-7

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  Chapter One

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The incessant drumming of small bird beaks against the bedroom window brought me out of a deep, blissful sleep.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  "Go 'way." I pushed my head under the pillow. Cato, a big lazy lump of a yellow cat made a sound of protest and burrowed his head into the blankets. I started to fall back asleep. . . .

  Then I began to hear little voices.

  "Big wings! Big Wings!"

  Tap, tap, tap.

  "Don't care," I mumbled.

  Tap, tap, tap-tap-tap-tap. "Big-big-big wings!"

  I rolled over, pausing for a moment to stare at the ceiling as I considered what kind of ecological disaster the earth would suffer if I wiped out the nuthatches.

  "Big-big-big-wings-wings-wings!"

  Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

  It sounded like a badly sung round robin, with a drummer out of beat as well. This was not the sound a person could sleep through. I sat up, brushing hair from my eyes. In the dull, first light of dawn, I could barely make out a dozen or more panicked nuthatches holding to the wooden frame of the window. Some of them hung upside down, and all of them tapped ceaselessly at the glass. Their voices rose in high-pitched cries of frantic worry.

  Tap-tap-tap-tap.

  "Yes, yes. I got the idea. I'm getting up!"

  I climbed out of the warm bed and yanked on my robe as I stood. Pale, grey light drifted through the window; it couldn't be more than a few minutes past dawn. Cato pulled his head from the blankets, blinking sleepily.

  "What's wrong with the nuts?" he asked and yawned.

  "Not nuts," I answered batting at his head as I went past. I missed as he stretched. "Nuthatches."

  "All the same to me." Cato settled back down, his tail curled around his nose. "Do you think you could quiet them down a bit?"

  "Sure. I could throw you out the window. They'd probably find that interesting enough to shut up about the eagle or hawk or plane that upset them this morning."

  Cato snorted and mumbled something I didn't quite hear. Probably just as well.

  Understanding animals is fairly common among the fae. This is part of what makes us good at our work, even on this side of The Edge. There is a problem, though. I'm not blessed with the ability to understand all animals the way most of the fae can. No, I got lucky enough to catch only two: birds and cats.

  It's not a good combination.

  I work as a border guard; all of my clan does. We watch over parts of the human world where The Edge is unstable -- usually wilderness areas, since magic abhors technology, so wild magic like The Edge stays clear of large settlements. I've been here on the outskirts of Estes Park for the last four years, living in a pretty A-Frame house on land which has belonged to my family for generations. Down at the base of the hill is the main road to Rocky Mountain National Park. My location is lovely, usually quiet and peaceful.

  Except sometimes things upset little birds, especially at this time of the year, with the seasons changing from winter to spring, and the migrations coming back through. It's not their fault a big bird of some sort came sweeping over the trees terrifying the little guys.

  I buried my anger about waking me at dawn as I cranked the window open. Nuthatches held on to the frame, some of them upside down as they stared in at me.

  "Big wings, very very very very big big big wings."

  "Everything is okay guys," I said. They stopped tapping on the window, at least. "The big wings aren't here."

  Dozens of feathered heads turned, craning around to glance at the sky between towering pines and where the mountains come down in graceful cliffs behind my house. They scanned left, right and back again.

  "What are the guys saying?" Cato asked. I looked back as he pulled his head out of the blanket. His nose twitched a couple times.

  "Something big frightened them, but it's not here." I looked out into the gray light of the yard and saw quite a few more nuthatches on the trees. "Something really set them off."

  "Ah." I glanced back to see his nose twitch again. "Do invite the little ones in for breakfast, Kat."

  "Why? You're so lazy you couldn't catch one if it landed on your head."

  "I resent that," he replied with the prissy sound only an annoyed cat can get. "And I'd like to see you catch one."

  "Would you?" I asked, holding out my hand. Four swept down to grab hold of my fingers.

  "Show off." He put his tail back over his head.

  I spent the next few minutes doing my best to calm the birds. More than a dozen came to my fingers while I stood there. The day brightened into a gorgeous dawn of dark blues, fleeting clouds and fog. No big wings came around the house and eventually the birds settled down.

  Nuthatches, like most of the tiny birds, panic at everything. If I weren't here they'd fly off in all directions. Unfortunately, I'm a beacon to birds. And cats. I could see three of the local stray cats lolling near the pine at the edge of the yard, eyeing breakfast on the wing if the birds weren't careful.

  "Don't do it, guys," I said to the cats. They'd been hanging around for over a year now, and I saw them turn my way with a moment of 'dare I pretend I don't understand?' in their eyes. "I'll bring food out food in a few minutes."

  "Some of the canned stuff," a big grey tom called Pawford said with a flick of his tail. "If we're not going to get the birds, I don't want the dry crap."

  I leaned out the window, staring at him. Most of the nuthatches headed upward on the tree, except for a few clustering on the side of my house. Two suddenly burrowed into my hair. I plucked them back out while I kept my eyes on the cats. Ears flickered; tails twitched. Pawford gave a great sigh as he dropped down into the dirt, his head on his paws, with apparent dejection.

  "Food would be nice," he mumbled. "Anything you can spare. Thank you."

  I smiled and drew my head back into the room. Cato had sat up once he heard the other cats and seemed far less interested in the birds. He and Pawford had faced off in a few clashes over the last year and he two nicks out of his left ear. I think Cato surpr
ised Pawford when he proved he could hold his own. He may live in the house, but he's not soft.

  I'm not even certain how he got to be a house cat. He wandered in one day and I found the company . . . well, nice enough for a cat.

  Not lonely here. Nope.

  "Everything is all right," I told the nuthatches, brushing my finger over all the tiny heads that came my way. I used a whisper of magic to settle them. "Everything is fine now. The big wings are gone."

  They did scan the sky again, this time including the trees and even the cats, as though they would suddenly sprout wings to come after them.

  I leaned back away from the window, waiting a moment to make certain the poor guys remained settled before I cranked it shut. I pulled several feathers from my hair and dropped two in front of Cato's nose.

  "Tease." He didn't open his eyes or move his tail.

  I laughed as I headed for the kitchen where I grabbed the cat food, including a couple cans for the guys outside. They were good for strays, and they knew how to behave around the house. I can't stop them from doing what's natural elsewhere, but here -- where I can understand the screams -- well, they know better than to go after the birds.

  As I leaned down to open the cabinet I felt a surge of magic in the area so strong that the feel almost made me ill. I stood and spun, startling Cato who had followed me into the kitchen.

  "What!" His ears went back and his fur fluffed out, making him appear twice his normal size.

  "Magic," I whispered, as though afraid a loud noise would bring the power back. The surge had unsettled me. Free magic running through the ether doesn't feel right and makes me twitchy.

  "Is it all right?" he asked, eyes narrowed and ears slanted back still.

  "I can't feel anything solid out there. The magic came from far back in the park -- a lot of magic from out of nowhere. I hate it when The Edge starts acting up!"

  Cato made sounds of agreement, but he'd noticed the open cabinet and at the sight of food he would pretty much agree he was a bird and could fly if that would get me to open one of the coveted cans for him.

  I closed my eyes while I reached out with magic. I didn't find anything out of place, which relieved me of a great deal of stress.

  Most of the time, I love my job. I adore living here, meeting tourists and talking with humans. Yes, I miss home. However, we all have to work this side of The Edge for a few years and there are far worse places to be. This is a relatively stable area. They gave this location to me because I'm not the strongest person in my clan. The rest of them were out in the tough areas: the Sahara, the Gobi and places that make Antarctica seem like an easily accessible vacation destination.

  Free magic can play havoc with the weather, though, and we were already having a stormy April. If The Edge continued having problems, I feared things would get worse for a while.

  "Meow?" Cato said, drawing my attention back to the kitchen.

  "Very funny." I tried not to smile.

  "Hey, you're standing in the magic place." He purred as he rubbed against my legs. "I needed to get your attention before I fell faint from lack of food."

  "Oh yeah, you look as though you're going to starve, pudge."

  "Huh."

  I got the food out and gave him a can of his own because I wanted him to be in a good mood. A happy cat makes me happy. Cato may be a sarcastic furry pain in the ass, but he's a good guy.

  "Thanks," he said as I put the plate down on the floor.

  Polite, too, which is more than I can say for many humans -- or fae -- these days.

  I pulled down more paper plates, spread two cans of food out on them, and grabbed a huge dipper full of dry cat food. I did a quick inventory of the refrigerator, which I hadn't done in a few days. I found a few things I wasn't going to eat before they went bad. I dropped them into the mix, adding a piece of ham to Cato's food.

  "Ah, food of the gods!" he said with delight.

  I laughed and gathered the plates, using magic to balance them on my left hand. I may not be the strongest of my family when it comes to magic, however I am not powerless. There are some nice easy things you can do with a bit of reality nudging, which is easier on this side of The Edge where there's so little magic in the air to work against you.

  I do have to be careful going past my TV and phone, though. The brush of technology can upset magic -- and magic can play havoc with technology. If I use any piece of technology, I have to lock my powers down and bury the magic.

  You have to learn to do that on this side of The Edge. I wouldn't even have the items in the house, except I needed to seem as normal as possible for my neighbors and friends. Besides, this was good practice for me whenever I went near them in other places.

  As I came out of the kitchen I glanced over at Shakespeare, a lovely African Grey parrot I'd acquired a few months before. There's just one problem with him --

  "I have not always been as now, the fever'd diadem on my brow."

  That's the problem. Shakespeare doesn't speak parrot. He only speaks human words and those in odd bits of verse. I can talk to any bird in the world, except for this one. If he would speak in parrot, I could find out what's bothering him -- other than having been turned loose in the Rocky Mountains and not exactly being the kind of bird that would do well in the local climate. Rangers found him before he froze to death. They brought him to me.

  Shakespeare nodded and preened. He'd been horribly shy the first few weeks, given to shouting things at odd times of the day or night. Lately I think I've seen resignation in his eyes.

  "Not hell shall make me fear again!" he suddenly shouted, startling me.

  "Right. Good."

  I glanced outside the big plate glass window where a bit of mist wreathed the trees in front of my home. From here you couldn't see more than a few roofs in Estes Park, though I could hear the sounds of cars headed toward Rocky Mountain National Park, despite the early hour. I didn't blame them: I loved to be there at first light and watch the valleys come awake. The big horns would head down to Sheep Lakes this morning; I loved to watch them go bounding down the mountain side. Beautiful animals.

  I couldn't see anyone nearby, so I scurried out in my robe and bare feet, using magic to brush away the pine needles before I stabbed myself. Pawford stood sniffing as I came closer, and his tail went straight up in the air with delight. He even rubbed against my legs, his matted fur rough. I brushed some of burrs out with a quick sweep of magic.

  "Thank you!" he said with real enthusiasm as I dropped the several plates around. Abbie, a small black and white cat and Trouble, a young pure black tom, mumbled 'thank you' as well, a little shyer than Pawford, as they turned their attention to the food. Anywhere else they would have been at each other, but I enforce calm between the cats.

  I could still see quite a few nuthatches hanging around, mingling with some house sparrows and dark-eyed juncos. They all acted agitated, which often happens with the smaller birds. It's as though they're psychic or something -- or maybe psychotic. If one gets upset, and panic spreads through every tiny bird brain in the area.

  And they come to me. It's just part of the job.

  Chapter Two

  Just as well I was awake this early since I had an important meeting this morning. I'm not usually worried about first impressions. This time, though, David Carter's reputation as a world class photographer made me a bit uneasy. He is a Professional; yes, with a capital P. He's won awards, has his own studio out in Arizona, and rarely works on assignment. I write, and I've sold a number of articles on this area. I never thought a magazine would team me with a photographer of his caliber.

  I went back inside and spent some extra time getting ready. Magic makes even my mass of brown curls manageable. I tried a few different styles -- the Shirley Temple look was right out, as well as the 'no I'm not hiding antennae under this mass of hydra-esque curls.' I finally settled for simplicity -- waves down over my shoulders with the top pulled back. Add a touch makeup and some nice hiking clothes
, and I was ready for an adventure.

  I made a cup of coffee and sat on the front porch for a while, watching as the sun burnt away some of the early morning fog. I could clearly see the trees in front of the house and the encircling arms of the mountain where the cliffs, boulders and trees come down on both sides of my lovely piece of land. I felt protected here and that came from more than the wards I had in place.

  I settled on the rocker, sipped the coffee, calming before I started reaching out towards The Edge. I could feel there in the distance, far up in the mountains. I needed to examine the boundary between here and . . . elsewhere.

  Every few years, the borders move too close together causing problems, though rarely as rough as this year's display. Surges like the one earlier aren't uncommon during such an occurrence. Someone needs to keep an eye The Edge and make certain the magic remains well-hidden. That's the big reason they need guards here on the human side. We do more than watch for the rare magical creature that slips through.

  I could feel several places where The Edge felt thin. I brushed them with magic, feeding some into the weaker spots. Normally doing magic at a distance would be difficult for any fae, and probably impossible for me. When I moved here, my father set up a sort of relay system to amplify my weaker powers. I didn't have any trouble.

  I could also feel odd bulges, as though something pressed against the other side. I thought the bulges might be pools of magic, and hoped they dispersed on the fae side. Sometimes, though, a powerful gathering of magic can become corporal, causing problems. They can become things. Many of the creatures on the other side are little more than pools of magic within a shell. You don't want them to take shape on this side. Bad things can happen.

  I found nothing seriously wrong this morning, though. I leaned back, feeling quite happy. Cato -- having gone out the magic kitty door at the side of the house -- climbed into my lap. He sniffed.

  "Perfume? What's the occasion?"

  "Meeting the photographer today." I tried not to sound nervous. "We'll be scoping out what we want to work on for the article."