Cat in the Flock (Dreamslippers Book 1)

by Lisa Brunette

  He waved his clipboard at her as he said it, and a beam of light bounced off the metal clip and illuminated a strange shape behind him, something she'd missed before. It had a face.

  "No," she admitted. "Not exactly." She'd read about methamphetamine addicts in her senior synthesis class, and there had been some role-playing sessions in class as they debated current drug statutes, but as with a long list of real-world things, her knowledge was strictly textbook.

  "Well, it's not a pleasant experience," he warned. He took his own flashlight and shined it at a spot on his temple where she could see a starburst-shaped scar. "See that? It's from a broken beer bottle, hurled at me by a tweaker."

  "Wow," she said, stalling for time. "That had to hurt." Cat shifted her posture and leaned to the side to get a better look at the face behind him, though she made it look as if she were leaning in to admire his scar. The face was smaller than an adult's, and it looked askew, as if it were lying at a strange angle. It was a doll, she realized.

  "Almost lost an eye," said Mr. M&O.

  "What happened to the tweaker?"

  "Oh, you don't want to know that," he said. "I was the least of that guy's worries. He used to sleep in one of the old library buildings where he'd spend all night rearranging the books they'd left that had been damaged by rain. Those tweakers are like that. Obsessive-compulsive. Had his own goddamn Dewey decimal system all set up in there. He didn't throw the bottle at me because I was arresting him or anything. He threw it because I was messing up his books."

  Cat seized the opportunity to try to gain his trust, since she and Mr. M&O were on storytelling terms, to ask something she'd been wondering all week. "It does get really dull out here all night," she said. "Would it be all right if I brought a book or something?"

  "A book?!" he exclaimed rhetorically. "Whaddya wanna read for?"

  Cat turned the question over in her mind. Then she turned it over again. Nope, she thought, there was no way to answer that question that made any sense at all.

  Mr. M&O must have felt Cat's confusion, as something seemed to soften in his voice, though she couldn't see his face. "I thought you were going to ask if you could have friends in the hut. The answer to that would be no. But a book... Do you think you could pay attention okay to the building if you had your nose in a book?" he asked. It was a genuine question, only halfway rhetorical this time.

  "Oh, yes," explained Cat. "I'm an ace at multitasking. I wrote my graduation thesis in one night while babysitting triplets."

  "Is that so," he said. In the wan light Cat could feel him warm to her. "C'mon, bookworm. Let's get you back to the guard booth. Yeah, you can bring a book. It might help you stay awake. But the next time you hear something, you call us on the radio. Don't go messing around with tweakers all by yourself. What would you do, hit 'em with your flashlight?" He chuckled.

  "I hadn't thought that far ahead," Cat said, and there was truth in her words. "I majored in criminal justice, so I guess I thought I knew what to do. But I'll call you for help next time," she promised, playing up to him a bit. As soon as his back was turned to open the door, she crouched down, scooped up the doll, and stuffed it into the pocket of her jacket.

  Outside, Mr. M&O secured the padlock on the chain around the handles. "Maybe one of the construction crew left this open," he speculated. "They're always coming back for stuff they left behind."

  Once he climbed into his red company van and left, she fished out the doll and took a look at it. It was a Raggedy Ann doll, like a newer version of the one she had as a child, but well worn. Raggedy Ann's dress was stained with what looked like chocolate ice cream. Some of her red yarn hair had been pulled out at the roots, and her freckles were sun-faded.

  Chapter 4

  Cat stepped onto the platform with her ticket in one white-gloved hand. The deckhands had secured the moorings, and at last she could board the riverboat. It was a grand steamboat with a paddle wheel the height of a six-story building. She smoothed down the front of her dress, shifting her corset deftly with one hand so that the other passengers wouldn't notice her adjustment.

  "All aboard, St. Louis," said the lead deckhand, who reached out to assist Cat as she stepped up. But his arm suddenly turned to feathers, and Cat couldn't get a firm grip. She slipped and fell backward, and instead of the platform rising up to meet her bottom, she plunged into the cold waters of the Mississippi River.

  "Stupid girl," the deckhand yelled, screwing up his face and shaking a finger at her. "I've got half a mind to let you drown." She recognized him then. It was Tony from M&O Security. Cat felt a strong tug as the current started to pull her away from the boat, away from shore. She looked out toward the opposite bank, but it wasn't there; the water turned blue before her eyes and unfolded itself for miles. She could see the Olympic mountain range in the distance. The pull was so strong. She could just let go and allow it to carry her away...

  "Cathedral!" Someone was yelling her name from shore. She turned. A tall, silver-haired woman with a frilly parasol was waving at her. Granny Grace! Her grandmother reached out with the parasol, which magically extended itself far out into the waters right within Cat's reach. She grabbed on and let herself be pulled to shore. When she reached her grandmother, the woman smiled and said, "Cat, I slipped into your dream."

  Cat woke, startled. "Granny Grace?" she called. "Granny Grace!" No answer. She launched herself out of bed and ran in sock feet up the stairs to the third floor, to her grandmother's room, the Sumptuous Scarlett O'Hara. The room was bathed in red, from the rose-red walls to the velvet bedspread. Granny was napping on a chaise lounge in the corner. Cat gently nudged her awake.

  "Oh, is that you, Cat?" Granny rubbed her eyes and sat up on the chaise lounge.

  "It's me."

  "What's the matter, Cat? You look upset." She moved over on the chaise, clearing a space, and motioned for Cat to sit down. Cat remained standing.

  "Grandmother," she said, drawing out her syllables. "Were you—do you know how—oh, balls," she cursed. "Were you walking around and talking to me in my dream?"

  Granny Grace smiled. "Maybe. I don't know. Why don't you describe it to me, and I'll tell you if I was there."

  "This isn't funny," Cat frowned. She didn't like being toyed with by anyone, not even her grandmother.

  "Oh, you're upset. Sit down, Cat. It's all right."

  Cat sat down but continued to glare at her. "You talked to me, didn't you? You said, 'Cat, I've slipped into your dream.' Plus, I could see you. You weren't inside my head. I could see you."

  "Well, yes. I suppose I did that. By the way, why didn't you tell me you were homesick?"

  "Homesick? What are you talking about?"

  "Oh, all that nostalgic St. Louis riverboat nonsense. I half expected Huck Finn himself to make an appearance."

  "I'm not homesick. And answer my question. How did you do that?"

  "I think you are. It's okay, you know, if you are." Granny Grace put her arm around Cat, who wouldn't allow herself to be distracted, although she had to admit a feeling of homesick longing was welling up inside her just now.

  "How. Did. You. Do. That?" she repeated.

  "Do what?" Granny Grace took the rubber band out of her hair, smoothed the errant strands back, and secured it again.

  "Step outside of me. Show up in my dream. Rescue me. Talk to me. Take your pick, Gran. I want to know how you did all of it."

  Her grandmother smiled with self-satisfaction. "Well, then you'll have to come back to my meditation class, won't you?"

  Cat groaned. She'd been putting off the class easily all week because of her new job. "Don't tell me I have to sit for hours saying nothing but om in order to learn how to do that stuff."

  "It would help, Cat. Your mind is too westernized. Meditation would get you to still the chatter. It's like a bunch of monkeys in there, isn't it?"

  "I'm about to howl like one." Cat was feeling grumpy, put out, and frustrated. She crossed her arms over her chest.

&nbs
p; "Don't pout, Cat. It's not very becoming."

  Cat sat in silence.

  "Here, let me teach you something." Granny Grace took her hand, placed her palm facing hers so they were palm-to-palm. "Do you feel where we meet? There's you, and there's me. We are connected, but we will always be separate. No matter how hard I press," she explained, pushing into Cat's palm with her own, "we'll always be separate. Our minds are the same way. When you dreamslip, you're stuck to the dreamer's consciousness, but you never lose yours. You're both there, just like our palms."

  "So when you're dreamslipping next time, Cat, focus on the place where your minds meet, and move them apart. Once there is space between your minds," she emphasized, moving her palm away from Cat's, "You can walk about freely." She waved her hand in the air.

  "Okay, I don't know what any of that means, but I will try it." Cat yawned.

  "You're still tired, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, I can't get used to this sleeping-all-day thing."

  "Why don't you go rest for a bit longer, and I'll bring you some food."

  "You don't have to do that," Cat protested. But it did sound tempting.

  A couple hours later, Cat woke after a stretch of thankfully dreamless sleep to find Granny Grace in her doorway with a tray of food and an announcement.

  "Our presence has been requested at the Fletcher-Bander residence," she said, plopping down on the edge of the bed and placing the tray of food on Cat's lap. The movement upset the Raggedy Ann doll, which had been lying next to Cat on the bed. It fell to the far side of the bed, and Cat ignored it. She didn't feel like talking about the doll and the condo dream with Granny Grace just yet. Her grandmother had made poached eggs, Cat's favorite, with extra-crispy bacon and one of her homemade blue cornmeal biscuits. Cat's mouth watered greedily at the sight of the fig preserves, also homemade.

  She sat up in bed and feasted on her grandmother's food.

  "Simon and Dave really know how to throw a party. It's a good thing we got you that cocktail dress," said Granny Grace. "I can't let you wear what you wore to the City Goats party." Cat had attended wearing jeans with clogs and, her nod to the formality of the evening, a men's black velvet dinner jacket. "You looked like a kindergarten teacher," she muttered.

  The cocktail dress that Cat had bought while out with Granny Grace was red and formfitting, with spaghetti straps. She put that on with a pair of black heels. Granny Grace thought the look was incomplete, so she went to her room and came back with a strand of black pearls.

  "I've been saving these for you," she said. Cat's heart melted. "Just look at yourself," Granny Grace said, turning her to face a mirror. The pearls accented her slender neck, brought out the deep, mysterious quality of her dark eyes. Cat couldn't believe how sophisticated she looked. Granny Grace put her arms around Cat, both of them gazing into the mirror. Cat saw that she had her grandmother's heart-shaped chin, and though her grandmother was much fairer, they both had the same bow-shaped lips.

  "Your old friend Lee is going to be there, by the way," Granny Grace said, and hearing his name made Cat's heart jump. It'd been three years since she'd seen him last. The problem was, well, it was complicated. She and Lee Stone went back a long way.

  The Stone family used to live in Granny Grace's neighborhood, but Lee's parents had recently retired to Arizona. Lee had been Cat's first kiss, when she was fourteen and he sixteen, over one of the summers she had stayed with her grandmother.

  He'd been drinking a grape soda of all things, and to this day she couldn't drink anything grape-flavored without the memory of that kiss washing over her. She was standing on the landing step of her grandmother's house, Lee a few steps down to match her height. She could feel his heat, his nearness; the air around them changed, and her heart fluttered. Then his mouth was on hers, sending threads of electricity down through her body. He broke away from her and smiled. She teetered on the step, and he caught her.

  "Easy, girl," he said. "It's a long way down when you fall from up here." She couldn't have agreed more.

  But she'd always had to go back to St. Louis at the end of the summer. Lee said she was too smart for him, that she'd go on to college but he wouldn't. When she was still in high school, he enlisted in the military. Once his parents began spending their winters in Arizona, they might have drifted apart except that Granny Grace was really good at staying in touch with everyone. Her grandmother must have made sure Dave and Simon invited the whole Stone family to the party, and Cat wouldn't put it past her to have done this for Cat's benefit, knowing that Lee would accept the invitation as well.

  Simon Fletcher and Dave Bander lived in one of those modern, sustainably built houses very popular among the progressive, wealthy set in Seattle. Simon, a well-respected architect whose credits included a video-game company's headquarters and an alternative shopping mall in Vancouver, BC, had designed it himself. The roof of their house was made of plants. Cat had never seen anything like it before.

  "It's a mixture of sedums and fescue," he'd told her at the City Goats fundraiser, saying it as if he expected her to recognize the plant names. Presumably, most Seattleites would have.

  As Cat and her grandmother looked for a place to park Siddhartha on the crowded street, Cat remembered Simon's description of the house, though she'd never been there before. Every detail had been thought of in the ecologically friendly, sustainable sense, from the tile floors, reclaimed when an old school was demolished, to the system Simon had designed to capture rain and funnel it into their balcony water garden.

  Such a house did not have an obvious main entrance, apparently. Even though Granny Grace had been many times a guest at the Fletcher-Bander home, they had to poke around a bit to find it. There were swales to absorb runoff instead of a front yard. The hanging gardens of Babylon had nothing on these two.

  "It's the lovely Cathedral Grace," Simon intoned as he swung open the front door (a section of reclaimed marine pier). Cat didn't mind his use of her full name. He was an architect, after all; he studied cathedrals for a living. His voice had a musicality that made the name sing. He and Dave were both members of the Seattle Men's Choir.

  "We're so glad you could make it." Dave swept down the stairs (reclaimed bowling alley planks) and motioned for his two newest arrivals to join the party near the fireplace, which was powered by biofuel. The only downside (or maybe this was an upside?) to the fireplace was that it smelled faintly of french fries, as the fuel came mainly from used oil from restaurant fryers.

  Dave and Simon settled down beside Cat and Grace on a modern couch that wrapped in a perfect crescent so that all four of them could sit on it and still carry on a conversation. There were clusters of people in various levels of Seattle evening attire spread throughout the open-plan living space, wearing everything from jeans and Birkenstocks to cocktail dresses like the ones Granny Grace insisted they wear. It was her grandmother's persistent complaint that Seattleites dressed entirely too casually for almost every occasion.

  Tonight, in less formal attire, Simon and Dave were a study in contrasts. Dave wore Seattle active wear, which meant expensive casual clothes from REI that would give him ease of movement, breathability, and water repellancy, should he suddenly feel the need to venture out into the wilds for a hike or trail run. On his feet were shoes that Cat felt didn't actually qualify as shoes. They fit like gloves, with full separations for all ten toes, and only a pad for the sole. Simon, always the more tailored dresser, wore khakis and a button-down shirt.

  "So tell us, Cat," Simon inquired, "how's the security guard gig going?"

  "It's great," she answered brightly. "I've got lots of time to read." She winked.

  "Oh, good," piped up Dave. "We were afraid you'd be bored."

  "Cat's never bored," said Grace. "She has an active mind. Besides, she has to pass her PI exam."

  "That's right," said Cat. She continued, "And actually, there has been a bit of excitement at the condo." She told them about hearing noises, going to investigate, and f
inding the doll. She eliminated the part about the dreamslipping, of course.

  Grace listened intently. "Did this just happen last night? You haven't told me about it."

  "Yes, and no. I hadn't had the chance."

  "Well, M&O hasn't said anything to us about it," said Simon. "Have they called you, Dave?"

  "No."

  Cat thought to herself that maybe Mr. M&O hadn't reported the incident. But why? Maybe he was protecting her from Tony's wrath. She had gone off protocol by wandering around inside the condo building, and he seemed to like her.

  "Well, this is no good," frowned Simon. "It sounds like something's going on there."

  "I agree," said Dave. "I don't like it at all."

  At that point, none other than the mayor of Seattle himself drifted over. He was a reformed hippie who had shaved his beard but still rode a bike to work every day, just to make a point. He commended Grace on her work with City Goats, reaching down to kiss her hand with reverence. Granny Grace introduced Cat to him, and the three of them exchanged polite pleasantries until the mayor said, "Amazing Grace, may I speak with you in private? I've got a personal matter I'd like to discuss with you."

  The two of them drifted off to Simon's home office, leaving Cat to navigate the crowd alone. Simon and Dave had resumed their hosting duties in the kitchen and bar.

  Cat felt a hand, gentle, on the small of her back. She spun around to see Lee Stone, in full military regalia. "Sergeant Stone," as his troops called him. Cat took in his incredibly impressive physique, which had to be well beyond even the military's requirements for elite Rangers.

  "How's my girl?" he asked.

  She simultaneously bristled and warmed to the "my girl" reference. "As well as can be expected, sir," she said, giving a mock salute.

  "At ease," he said, laughing. "I see you're just as snappy on your feet as you used to be."

  "Only when I'm surprised by a soldier in dress uniform," she said. It was all she could do to resist flinging herself into his strong arms. His parents were in attendance, too, she now noticed. She smiled at them across the room—two excessively tan retirees.