Clara watched them, willing them to stay quiet. Becca needed her rest. There was no way to explain the chaos that had exploded in that upstairs apartment. How Becca had been roused from her stupor by Trent entering the room, and how, when he’d tried to hold her, she had pulled away screaming as he sputtered some kind of explanation about retrieving something the dead girl had borrowed and a key from a house-sitting stint. How her coven leader had wrapped his arms around her then, turning her from the bloody sight until he had finally gotten her calmed down enough to call for help. And how that had backfired as the cops had hustled the two of them out to the street and pulled Becca away from the dark-eyed warlock. How she had tried to answer all their questions until it all got to be too much and she had suddenly felt dizzy. How she had woken with an oxygen mask over her face and someone yelling. No, she had been the one yelling—it had just taken her a few moments to realize it.
“The poor girl,” Clara muttered in a softchirrup. Surely, her sisters could understand.“It was a shock.”
“Shock shlock.” Laurel yawned and stretched. Her claws caught the afternoon light, and she began to groom.“I want to hear more. A body is meat,” she said as she bit the tip of one claw. There had definitely been an edge to her purr.“And that blood…did you taste it? Did she?”
“No!”Clara swiveled her one black ear to check. Becca’s breathing remained even and calm.“Can’t you think of anything beyond your appetite?”
“Huh.” Another bite and the seal point closed her eyes. Clara watched, unsure if her nearest sister was sleeping or simply ignoring her, then closed hers too. Whatever Laurel was up to, the little calico needed to think.
It was all because of that stupid pillow. Clara didn’t know for sure why Suzanne had cornered Becca, but it had to be because of her supposed success with the summoning spell. She’d seen the way the other coven members had looked at her person. They’d all be wanting something from her now, and not just cans and cream.
As if on cue, Becca’s phone rang, startling her from sleep.
“Hang on.” Becca sat up, and Clara slid in a rather inelegant move down to her lap. “Maddy?”
“Are you all right?” Even from her new perch, Clara could hear the big woman’s panicked tone.
“Yeah. Thanks.” Becca closed her eyes as she spoke and shook her head.
Maddy must have heard the lie in her voice.“I’m coming over,” she said, loud enough to earn a harsh look from Laurel. Harriet, of course, slept on.
“You don’t have to.” Becca’s complaint was barely a mew. Clara jumped to the floor. If company was coming over, she didn’t want to be caught unawares.
“Is it time for dinner?” Harriet looked up as Becca reached for her shoes.
“No,” Clara rumbled softly.“A visitor.”
“Visitors aren’t bad.” Harriet yawned.“Visitors mean treats.”
“This isn’t about you—”Clara broke off. Becca was heading to the kitchen, closely trailed by their middle sister. As they walked by, Harriet and Laurel exchanged a glance, and when Harriet flicked her tail, Clara cringed, wrapping her own tail around her forepaws. More magic was on the way, and that meant more trouble. With an audible thud, Harriet plopped to the floor to join Becca and Laurel in the kitchen. With a sigh, Clara followed.
“Oh, kitties! What would I do without you?” Becca sniffled as she spoke, but at least she was sounding a bit more like herself again. Clara began to relax, and then, out of nowhere, “Would you like some treats?”
Laurel turned toward her sisters with what Clara thought of as her Siamese smirk. Mind control was such simple magic, her tilted whiskers seemed to say, even though what Laurel did was more like implanting a suggestion than an actual direction. Harriet, of course, was too mesmerized by Becca to even bother to gloat.
Chapter 7
The tea Becca served her old friend was a lot kinder on the nose than what she brewed for her coven, and the almond cookies Maddy had brought were Clara’s favorites. Their delicious aroma—nutty and sweet—announced her presence even before the doorbell rang.
That wasn’t why the agile calico jumped up on the table, though when she sauntered over to sniff at the pot, nobody shooed her off. The day was too topsy-turvy for that, the sunny afternoon already forgotten.
Becca had begun crying again, retelling the story having brought back all the fear and the horror from earlier in the day, and Clara had wanted to check on her. Maddy, in her motherly way, was doing her bit even beyond the cookies, leaning over and patting her friend in a rather hearty manner that none of the resident felines would have appreciated.
“There, there,” she kept repeating, though it didn’t seem to be doing any good. “Let it out.”
“What’s up there? I can’t see!” Harriet’s plaintive meow—as close to a whimper as she got—reached Clara on the tabletop. She had thought both her siblings were napping post snack, but Harriet’s gluttony knew no bounds.“Is it cookies?”
“Shh,” Clara hissed back, and immediately regretted it. Harriet was not only her oldest sister, she could cause trouble when she wanted to—and even when she didn’t, as the whole fiasco with the pillow had proved. Clara needed to stay on her good side, and so the calico leaned over the table’s side to call to her, in a gentler tone. “Come on up, if you want.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Harriet turned away with a disdainful sniff.“I don’t jump on tables.”
Clara winced at her own mistake. Of course, the big creamsicle of a cat had never been what anyone would call athletic, and what was an easy leap for the compact calico would have been unduly strenuous for her sister. To make amends, Clara knocked one of the cookies off its plate with a swift paw strike. It flew off the table and landed with a soft thud, although that could have been Harriet pouncing on her“prey.” Becca was crying too hard to notice, and if her friend saw anything, she knew better than to comment. Nobody likes to be told their pets have poor manners, especially when they’ve just encountered a dead body.
“So you didn’t get to talk to her?” Becca was blowing her nose and looked up at Maddy’s question. “Suzanne, I mean?”
“No, she was—” Becca sat up, curiosity overcoming her grief. “Why?”
“Nothing.” Suddenly, Maddy was interested in the cookies too.
“No, there’s something on your mind.” Becca blinked, clearing her eyes, as she focused on her friend—and missed Clara taking a furtive lick at the nearest cookie.
“I was curious.” Maddy reached out, picking the very cookie the cat had just tasted. “I wanted to get a sense of the chronology.”
“I told you.” Becca also took a cookie, but left it on her napkin. “I had trouble with the door, and the painter let me in. Then I—oh, I did forget something. Jeff called as I was climbing the stairs. I was supposed to call him back.” She started to stand, but her friend put out a hand torestrain her.
“Jeff can wait.” Maddy put her cookie down after one bite. A first for her, and Clara craned to see if the chubby visitor had eaten the side the calico had licked. She hadn’t. “In fact…what did he say?”
“Jeff? Oh, nothing.” Becca picked up her cookie again, but it was obvious she wasn’t really interested in its sugary goodness. “He said he wanted to get together.”
“To get together or to talk?” Her friend’s voice had gone strangely low and even.
“To get together.” Becca paused. “I think the whole thing was so fast—and so strange. And did I tell you Trent came in?”