by Jill Nojack
Really? Who am I kidding? Eunice notices everything.
No, maybe not. Gillian bought me some new, modern clothes that my former mistress has never seen. If I only take some of those, even if she did notice them, she might not realize they've disappeared or even that they belonged to me. She'd miss one of my dashikis, but she wouldn't miss a plain v-neck t-shirt. I work to make my panic subside. I need my brain back.
I find my wallet in the back pocket of my pants as I slide into them. That's a stroke of luck. I hope it means Eunice didn't find it.
Once I'm dressed, I creep quietly up the stairs, although I don't know why I feel the need for silence. There's no one here, and if there was, silence wouldn't help me. Even with Nat's cloaking spell, I'm terrified Eunice will sense me.
But she's not here. She's not here. Say it, rinse, repeat.
She's not here.
Big breath. Let it go slowly. And then one more. Continue up the stairs like a man. You can do this for Cassie.
I stop on the stairs before I enter the attic. The tension weighs me down. I keep flashing to the image of Cassie standing there, reading the words on the lid of the box…and then…Eunice laughing at me from Cassie's face with a promise of pain.
It's pitch black up here and smells like dust and abandonment. I grope for the string of the bulb to the left of the door. I feel like Cat, batting at invisible combatants in a beam of sunlight.
Then I find the string and tug.
Light fills the dark corners of the room. My adrenalin levels start to drop.
I walk to where Cassie found the box. There's nothing here now except a clean rectangle in the dust, a place that had been covered and now is not. Eunice moved it. But where could it be?
I open every trunk, every box of old-lady junk, careful to memorize the location of each item so that I can return it to its exact place when I'm done. I can't have Eunice knowing I've been here if I don't find what I've come for. I'd never get back in the house for a second look.
After a half hour or so, I run out of patience. It's not in the attic. I've explored every inch.
A thud, followed by the sound of footsteps downstairs, turns my frustration to fear.
***
I'm paralyzed, visualizing Eunice coming up the stairs, visualizing her preventing me from shifting myself and trapping me forever as Cat, forever separate from Cassie. Not to mention bleeding out from Cat's injury while she capers around doing a victory dance.
It's not Eunice. It can't be her. I listen for more clues.
It's a male voice—no, two male voices. I hear a riser creak as at least one of them starts up the stairs to the second floor. Then another follows.
A whisper. "It's clear." It sounds official. Sounds like the fuzz.
At least it's not Eunice. Not that I can let them find me. I'm not afraid of them—I have a right to be in this house, assuming Eunice hasn't told anyone that Cassie's new boyfriend has moved out. And with Robert's help, after what may have been unnecessary blackmail, I've got government-issued ID, too.
Still, I don't want anyone mentioning to Eunice that I was here. And how do I explain the broken window?
I strip and throw my clothes and tennis shoes behind a box, then lay on my side until I hear the officers stopping at the open door to the attic stairs. I leave the light on because turning it off now will only alert them that someone must be up here.
I think bad Tom, and by the time the cop's head pops over the top of the landing, following the barrel of his pistol, the only living thing that greets him is a sleeping cat. He comes all the way up the stairs, probably wondering what that light's doing on in an otherwise dark house. I pretend to wake, and he bends over to scratch beneath my chin when I give him Cat's friendly stare.
"Nobody up here but the cat. Whoever broke the window is long gone. Maybe it wasn't even a break-in. I'll get my brother-in-law out to board it up and we can sort it out with the owner when she surfaces."
When he leaves, I bring Cat's damaged paw out from underneath me where I'd kept it hidden, and the floor and my fur are slick with his blood.
I feel woozy. They're still downstairs when I shift again, but I can't wait for them to leave. Cat is losing blood way too fast. He's on his seventh life now. He's only got the two lives left, and Eunice always made it clear to me that when his last life is used up, my one life goes with it. I'm not going to waste any more of the time I have left.
I breathe a sigh of relief when they're gone, but I can't linger and search the rest of the house now. They've got someone on the way to board up the window, and I can't be here when he arrives.
Once I'm clothed, and I've mopped up every bit of Cat's blood from the attic and shoved the paper towels I used into a pocket, I get all the way to the back door before I remember the perfect thing to get me back to Robert's without being detected by the cops. I can hear them talking through the broken window, probably keeping an eye on things from outside while waiting for the brother-in-law to arrive. I may have learned a lot about stealth from Cat, but it's a lot easier for a Cat to go undetected than it is for an over-six-foot guy.
I hurry back upstairs and reach under my bed for what looks like an empty paper bag and put on Kevin's invisibility suit by feel, pulling the flap on the hood down over my face after I find it by exploring along the top of the hood with my fingers. It's filmy, but I can see out fine. I rush downstairs, dash through the back door, and make sure to lock it up on my way out.
I slip out the back and head home without fear of being spotted by the watchful eye of the police.
But heading back undetected isn't much consolation: I didn't find anything. I failed Cassie again.
***
Robert sets a cup of hot tea in front of me and takes the opposite seat at the kitchen table. Goddess knows what's in this batch of his herbal brew. It smells like a stink bug. "I'm sorry to hear you weren't successful, Tom. But why didn't you let any of us know?" He pushes the cream and sugar over on its tray. I don't think it's going to help. "If something happens to you, it won't help Cassie."
"I didn't want Gillian talking me out of it, and I know her well enough to know she would have. It's that simple." I would have preferred to regale him in the morning, but I don't have a key, and I couldn't slip in through the gap in the window without risking Cat's health. I didn't have a choice. I had to make a ruckus at the back door until I woke him up.
"Understood. But just let me in on it next time. Maybe I can help." His head moves slightly, and the light from the lamp over the table glints off his bald scalp. "Can Cat heal on his own?"
"No, when one of us is active, it's like the other one of us goes into that suspended animation all the science fiction books used to talk about. It's why I didn't age much over the years. My body was in storage a lot." I can see Robert's thinking about that, taking it in. Maybe wishing he'd had a similar arrangement for his hair. "But Cat's in storage with an injury that's going to kill him fast after he comes to if nothing gets the bleeding stopped."
"I'll get a call in to Darrin in the morning, then. You remember him? I believe he was with the choir when they gathered to free you from the shop? He's a veterinarian, which seems appropriate, as well as a fine healer on the magical side of things."
Nat must have filled him in on my recent history because no way did we ask Robert to join in on that particular ritual—I still believed he was an enemy back then. I'm not convinced he should be getting the "all clear" from me even now, but he's the coven's high priest, and Nat is the high priestess. I expect she felt she had to bring him up to speed on everything that's been going on. They spent years disliking each other, so it's odd to see them working together so well and being so friendly. It must be Cassie's influence. She does good things to people. Did good things. Oh hell, will do good things again. Guaranteed.
I'm glad Cat's going to be looked after, but it doesn't make me feel any better that I failed to get the box. The very fact that Eunice has hidden it makes me feel sure i
t's the key to freeing Cassie. I need to get back in there before she comes back. Once Cat's sorted, nothing's going to stop me.
The next morning, Darrin works fast and efficiently. As soon as Cat's body stops juddering through the shift, he's at the paw with a hypodermic, apologizing for only being able to give a tiny amount of anesthetic due to Cat's size, and has it stitched up lickety-split, stanching the flow. Despite the painkiller, there's plenty sting while he sews.
Afterward, Cat still feels weak, but he's no longer in danger.
The doc deftly grinds the ingredients for a poultice and pours the fine powder out of the mortar over two large snakeweed leaves. Then, he arranges the whole mess on a gauze bandage and wraps Cat's foot up tight with it.
He holds his hands to his heart as he chants softly. "Wrapped in cotton, bound with care, grant this healing, and suffering forbear." Short and sweet, just the way I like my healing chants.
When he moves his hands from his heart to Cat's injury, his energy stops the rest of the pain completely. I allow Cat to get up, but he gently pushes me back down.
"The wound is going to heal quickly, but not that quickly. You need to stay off that foot for 24 hours and be careful of it for several days."
That won't work for me. I need to get back into Eunice's place before she returns home. I can't sit around being Cat. I make a loud yowl of complaint.
"I can knock you out completely if you can't follow instructions." He looks over at my host. "Robert?"
Robert looks thoughtful, but I draw the vet's attention back by patting him with my good front paw. When he looks down at me, I draw the bad one into my chest protectively, roll my head over in a way that traps an ear against the table and thrusts Cat's nose upward, and close my eyes. Despite being the only thing I could think of to communicate, I bet that move looks oh-my-god-look-how-sweet-he-is adorable. At least we're all men here and nobody gets all gooey about it.
"Good. A series of cat naps is just the thing."
Cat's all for the naps. I'm stuck. I can't risk his life for my impatience.
***
If people want me to pay attention, how could anyone think it's a good idea to make Cat comfy on a chair covered with fringed pillows? And it's that good fringe too, the long, thick stuff you find on old fabrics. I try to pay attention while the coven plans, but Cat's attention is elsewhere. There's all that swingy movement to be had with a bat and a smack and a little twitch of the unbandaged claw.
My understanding of the meeting is all just "we need to decide if we should"…swap, swip, swish…"but we don't know"…fweep, fwap, shake…"well, a cleansing never really goes amiss"…flop, roll, grab…
Natalie's voice rises above the quieter ones. "Bats on a biscuit! Someone please do something about that cat."
That gets my attention. From my upside down position, I look over and she's glaring meaningfully at Gillian. Like I'm anyone's responsibility but my own.
I don't mind taking my new seat constrained against Gillian's shoulder. It's much easier to follow things now. Too bad the meeting's breaking up.
I'm going to need to read someone's notes just in case there's a quiz later.
As everyone gets up to leave, Gillian calls to Darrin, "Could you stay a bit longer? I've a favor to ask."
"Of course." He ambles over. I've got my own chair now that Cat no longer needs to be on lock down. Gillian slides a pen and piece of paper his way.
She says, "You recall we discussed how we're going to cover ourselves if Eunice discovers Tom has been working in the shop and many of us would have seen him?"
"Absolutely, the fake Tom quitting in a huff because the shop is closed? It's a great plan."
"Have you ever given Eunice anything in writing?"
"Can't say as I have…oh, I see. You need someone to write the letter!"
"Yes, someone with a masculine hand. I expect she's had letters from both Tom and Robert and could obviously recognize their writing."
"Happy to, happy to. What would you like me to say?" He picks up the pen and poises it over the paper.
"Just that you're resigning from the position because you're tired of expecting to work and finding the shop closed instead. Also that you've left your name tag and dropped your keys through the letter flap on your way out. Something like that. Then sign it 'Tom Collins' to match the name tag we've prepared."
Darrin busies himself with the letter, and Gillian looks it over when he's done.
"That's perfect. What do you think of yourself, then?" She pulls out a plastic photo name tag and hands it to him.
"Well, well, you did a nice job with that. They do look a lot alike, don't they? Just enough that if someone describes our Tom, the description would also fit this young man."
I poke my head up and take a gander at the guy in the picture. Kind of squinty. Big nose. I don't see the resemblance. He's nowhere near as good-looking as I am.
They make their goodbyes, then Gillian takes her copies of the shop keys out of her bag and places them and the name tag into a pocket. She chucks me under the chin before she leaves. "Well, that's ready to go. I'm on my way to the shop, so wish me luck."
I would wish her luck, or at least walk her to the door, but Cat suddenly remembers that there's fringe just a quick leap away.
***
The next morning, Darrin stops by and checks his handiwork. He gives Cat a clean bill of health with a warning to take it easy until the paw is fully healed, so I shift immediately.
As soon as I'm able, I grab the jeans and shirt Robert laid out for me and get Darrin moving toward the door. "Thanks, doc, really. I owe you," I say, as I steer him along toward the front door with a friendly hand on the back. He snags his bag as he goes.
"Watching you transform is mesmerizing."
"Yeah, yeah, mesmerizing. In a totally not-at-all-weird, we're-all-manly-men kind of way, right? Thanks again." I close the door in his face before he has a chance to burst into song about my painful transformation habit.
I turn and rush back to the study where Robert has his head buried in a book.
"Fill me in. Right now. What did you guys plan while I was suffering from cat brain? I know about the fake Tom, but what else?"
He holds up a finger and continues reading for a moment, then places an embossed leather bookmark and closes the book. "You didn't hear the entire thing?"
"Somebody put a cat on a chair full of fringed pillows. How much do you think I heard?"
Robert smiles at that. "I see. Then, yes, let's talk."
He leans back and holds his interlaced hands against his mouth for a moment before he begins. "Natalie is going to put Eunice to sleep in hopes that Cassie will then be in control again."
"She can do that?"
"She thinks so. And I believe she can." He inclines his head toward me, "Keep this between you and me, if you could, but I've always thought Natalie was an extremely accomplished caster. Despite our differences through the years, I admire her abilities. She's really quite a witch."
"I definitely won't pass that on. Because how long would we have to listen to her brag on and on about being a master caster after that, do you think?"
Robert returns my grin. "Two, three years, maybe?"
"In that range," I agree. "But she can just put her to sleep, and we'll have Cassie back? Just like that?"
His grin fades. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Tom. It's not that simple. Natalie wants to talk to Cassie, but she can't keep Eunice asleep forever. It won't be very long. Maybe half an hour, maybe minutes. There aren't that many coven members we know we can trust, and the fewer people involved, the less oomph behind the spell."
"It's not good enough, damn it! What good is all this magic if it won't help me save her? What good is any of it?"
He stands and moves to place a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. "Leave me alone."
"You'll get to talk to her, Tom. It's more than I got when my wife died. I don't mean to be a downer, but I would have given anythi
ng to have just a few minutes with her to tell her one last time how I feel."
"I'm not losing her, so don't even talk like that. How can you be giving up like this?" I feel my face growing hot, my anger starting to boil.
"We're not giving up. I'm just saying…"
"And I'm just not listening." I storm to my room and shed my human body. Cat is going hunting, sore paw and all.
A well-chosen spell sends the guards at the tomb's open mouth walking away into the desert accompanied by my driver. I'll have no trouble finding my way back to Cairo in the stolen cab. By the time they come to themselves with no memory of how they'd gotten there, they'll be well on their way to death by dehydration. The sands are dangerous with no place to escape the sun and no compass to point the direction home.
I can't have them describing me after I've gone, can I? Not with what I've come to do. Grave-robbing is endemic with the political upheaval in Egypt, but no one would let me just walk away with what I plan to take.
The desert air cleaves to me in a hot embrace. It's been too long. I've waited thousands of years. I've worn hundreds of bodies, some better than this one, some worse. And yet I never stopped believing this time would come.
As I go deeper into the tomb, I need light. I blow across the girl's palm and a cool flame starts there, inches above and not burning, only illuminating. I take my time as I read the hieroglyphs along the way. Usually, there would be stories of the bravery and leadership of pharaohs, but here there is no human braggadocio to interrupt the stories of gods and goddesses. All of the paintings celebrate the power of Ba'al and his sister wives. It's promising. Very promising. But all the small openings lead to side chambers which contain only uninteresting artifacts, not the main attraction.
The passage ends, but it's clear it continues on beyond the massive stone that blocks it. The stone block cuts the story-telling in half, one arm and one leg of a figure showing at the seam with the rest behind.
