“It is very soft.” Ande kneaded it with her long fingers.
“Let me.” Harriet sat up as the pillow was passed to Suzanne and then Marcia, and finally Kathy, the cat’s yellow eyes focused like lasers as it moved from hand to hand.
“Why did you summon something so tacky?” Kathy’s freckled nose wrinkled as she flicked a tassel.
Harriet’s ears went flat, a low growl beginning deep in her cream-colored chest as her back began to arch.
“Becca!” Suzanne sounded alarmed. “Is something wrong with your cat?”
“What?” Becca’s chair scraped the floor. “Oh, Harriet! I’m afraid she’s adopted that pillow as her own. It does kind of match her fur. Doesn’t it?”
The murmured responses didn’t sound that convinced, but Harriet seemed to accept them. At any rate, once Kathy had relinquished the pillow, she sank back down on the sofa and her ears resumed their natural perkiness.
“The problem,” Becca continued, stroking the plush object, “is that I haven’t been able to duplicate it. I was wondering if there was something about the moon last Thursday? Or maybe an astral projection?”
“Let me consult the chart.” Trent’s low voice calmed the assembled women like a warm hand on fur, and as the gathering fell back into its usual rhythms, Clara closed her eyes. Even Harriet seemed to calm down once the pillow was returned to its rightful place on the sofa. And although Becca tried reading the summoning spell several times, no further furnishings appeared, which Clara found a relief—and which left Harriet feeling rather smug.
“Oh, please…” Laurel extended one paw, the better to admire her claws, as the meeting droned on.“If these humans don’t move on soon…”
Clara glared, but just then a familiar chant broke in.
“And by the rule of three, blessed be.” And with that, the chairs scraped back and the coven members began to rise. Out of habit, the calico accompanied Becca into the kitchen, the now empty teapot in hand. Suzanne followed with the mugs.
“Becca.” Suzanne deposited the mugs on the counter. “What I wanted to ask you about—”
Before she could finish, Larissa walked in and Suzanne turned to face her.
“Do you have something I can put the leftover cookies in?” The older woman opened one of the cabinets without waiting for an answer. “I want my plate back.”
“Sure.” Becca looked around. “I’ve got a clean Tupperware here somewhere.”
“Can’t you justsummon one?” Marcia had crowded in too.
“I wish.” Becca’s smile was beginning to look forced. Clara, meanwhile, wrapped her tail around her forepaws. Lashing it would have fit her mood better, but with this many feet in the kitchen, she wasn’t going to take any chances.
“Marcia, please.” Trent, standing in the doorway, came to the rescue. “You know Becca did her best.”
“She wasn’t—” Ande, playing peacemaker again. “She was just teasing. You know that, don’t you, Becca?”
“Of course.” Becca’s voice was close to cracking as she wiped off Suzanne’s cake knife, taking extra care over its inlaid handle. “Oh, thanks.” Ande had found the errant plastic container and was passing it over.
“Silly.”A low hiss—Harriet had waddled up behind her sister.“You could’ve tripped her.”
“Why would I want to do that?” Clara turned to face her, confused.
“Cookies!” Harriet’s yellow eyes flashed as she crowded in.“There were some left. It’s too late now.” True enough, the plastic lid snapped shut.
“Would you like a ride too?” Trent was herding the women out. “I’ve got room.”
“No, thanks.” Not all. Suzanne was hanging back, the loaf pan and her knife clasped close. “I’ll walk,” she said.
“If you’re sure…” Trent’s voice sounded like a purr, and Clara leaned forward, eager to catch more.
“There are crumbs on the table.”Laurel sauntered in, licking her chops.“What?” She looked at her sisters, who had both turned on her.
“I was trying to hear what they were saying,” Clara nearly hissed.
“The clown was eavesdropping,” said Harriet as she peered around the corner. She was peeved, it was obvious. Not only that her youngest sister had failed to trip the cookie carrier but that Laurel had found the crumbs before she could.
“I’m concerned about Becca.” Clara’s mew was too soft for their person to hear, she was pretty sure, but still she looked up in concern. Laurel sniffed and began to wash, removing the last trace of baked goods from her sleek tan fur, while Harriet waddled back into the living room in the obvious hope that her fastidious sister had left something behind.
“So, Suzanne, what’s going on?” Becca was looking at her guest. From the living room, she could hear Trent’s deep, warm voice and an answering torrent of giggles. “I should see them out.”
“They’re fine.” Suzanne’s voice had an edge it hadn’t before. Shaking her head, she wiped the few remaining crumbs from the cake plate into the sink before sliding it and the inlaid server into her bag.
“Suzanne!” a voice, half laughing, called. “You promised!”
“Ande.” Suzanne sighed. “I forgot. Look, Becca. I need to talk to you.”
“Train’s leaving the station!” More laughter, and this time it was Larissa who called. “Zany, come on!”
“Coming!” Suzanne called, loud enough that Clara flicked her ears—only to be momentarily distracted by the snuffling of Harriet as she hoovered up the last remaining crumbs.
“—not where they can hear.” Suzanne had lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “Look, I’ll explain more—Saturday at my place. Noonish? Please, Becca. It’s important.”
“Saturday at your place.” Becca sounded tired. “But if it involves the entire coven…”
“Just trust me, Becca.” Suzanne turned back one final time, her face drawn. “This is—this could be—big. And, please, for the Goddess’s sake, be careful.”
Chapter 4
The following two days passed with no more magic, but no catastrophes either, whether feline or human. Saturday dawned with all the sunny promise of the season, and the intoxicating scent of flowers and damp new grass through the open window had all three cats’ whiskers bristling. Only Clara noticed that Becca didn’t seem pleased by the beauty of the day. It was hours until Becca was due to meet Suzanne, but clearly, something was on her mind. Not that she forgot to feed the cats—she’d never do that—but she did almost mix up their bowls, putting the lion’s—or the lioness’—portion in Clara’s multicolored dish instead of Harriet’s before she caught her error. And when she committed the cardinal sin of laying down Clara’s dish ahead of Harriet’s, the calico stepped back before her big sister could even turn to glare, knowingthat the first bites of breakfast were worth sacrificing for peace.
Once her own dish, with both her name and a golden crown motif, was set down, Harriet moved over. But Clara had barely gotten a few bites of what remained of her own breakfast before Becca set out. Worried as she was about the young woman, her pet knew she had to follow.
It wasn’t hard. While an otherwise intelligent and observant human, Becca was limited—Clara knew—by the preconceptions of her species. In particular, that meant she considered the cats with whom she cohabited to be house pets, unconscious of their real powers. Being indoors was fine for most felines, especially during what had been a rainy April, and Harriet particularly enjoyed being catered to. But although Clara observed the feline rule about hiding this ability, the fact is that without too much effort, she, like all her kind, could pass through most solid objects, at least if she could get a good focus on them.