Becca took a deep breath, and Clara, who loved her, could see the play of conflicting emotions across her face. “I understand,” she said at last. She spoke slowly, as she searched for just the right words. “And I have worked on several cases already. But this is serious. And this is more than a simple spell or hex. If you really think someone is trying to poison you, you really should talk to the police.”
“And tell them what? That someone put a root in my mug?” The visitor shook her jet-black bob, revealing more metal up the side of her ears. “No, someone is trying to use my own craft against me. I need another witch to help me find out who. I mean, I know wolf’s bane is supposed to have medicinal uses. I was reading up on it. But a whole root? If I’d swallowed any part of that, I’d be gone fast.”
Chapter 2
“I don’t know about this case,” Clara mewed softly, whiskers drooping with worry. Even after the new client had left, Becca remained hunched over her notepad, scribbling away as her cats looked on. Every now and then she’d look over at the root and turn it over once or twice. Still in its plastic bag, the knobby piece’s odd, musty smell was a source of discomfort to the assembled cats. “It could be dangerous.”
“How dangerous? The stench of that…thing would put off a dog.” Laurel put her ears back dismissively as she glared at the source of the offensive odor. “Only a human would be in danger of drinking anything it had been anywhere near.”
“I don’t see why Becca has to let strangers in here at all.” Harriet lay on the sofa sulking. The cookies had been brought back into the kitchen once the visitor had left. To make matters worse, Harriet’s special pillow—velvet with gold tassels—had been shoved to one side. “Just when I had the cushions arranged so perfectly, too.”
“Well, she does have to earn her living.” Clara wasn’t sure about this new person—or the strange object she had left behind—but at least she understood Becca’s motivation. Sometimes, her sisters could be so shortsighted. “She needs to buy our cans, after all.”
A slight feline shrug ruffled Harriet’s luxuriant creamsicle-colored fur, as Laurel turned away to wash one dark brown paw. Neither would openly admit that their baby sister was right, and Clara knew better than to push her point. That didn’t help them in their current dilemma, however.
“She should be able to do that without bringing such filth into the house.” Laurel bit at a recalcitrant claw, revealing a sharp white fang. Whether she was referring to the goth-y girl who had recently visited or the smelly baggie she had left behind wasn’t clear, and Clara decided the better course was to not inquire.
“Don’t expect me to do something about it.” Harriet huffed. She didn’t look at her youngest sister. She didn’t have to. While the large longhair had dispensed with unwanted items in the past simply by eating them, the odor coming off the baggie as well as its size made her draw up her already blunt snout in disgust. Besides, they all remembered how much trouble the fluffy orange and white cat had caused the last time she had used her magic.
“Nobody’s expecting you to sacrifice yourself, Harriet.” Clara, the peacemaker, decided to put the best slant on Harriet’s earlier efforts as she silently leaped up beside Becca to get a better look at the foul root. “But I do wish that strange-looking girl hadn’t brought it. If only we could get rid of this somehow…”
The idea wasn’t entirely far-fetched. The sisters had come to their person’s aid before. It was, of course, the feline way—cats always help their people, using techniques their humans rarely understood—and these three cats had an edge. Although they might not look related, through their mother they were descendants of a long line of magical cats. As different as they appeared, all three had specific skills beyond the scope of even the usual feline magic. They also, as they all knew, were expressly forbidden by the laws of their kind from revealing their powers to their human companions.
“We don’t have to be blatant about it.” Thanks to the Siamese in her background, Laurel tended to be chatty. “I could put it in her mind that that Miss Glitter Shoes was full of it, and that she should simply toss that disgusting thing.” Her distinctive yowl was muffled by fur as she reached around to lick her café au lait back. Not, Clara suspected, because her sleek torso needed grooming, but to show off how agile she was. Laurel was the slimmest of the three siblings and as proud of her figure as she was of her ability to “suggest” ideas into the minds of susceptible humans. “It wouldn’t be too difficult.”
“I don’t know if that will do any good.” Clara’s skills ran more toward invisibility, as well as the ability to pass through closed doors. Her distinguishing characteristic, though, was her deep loyalty to the young woman who had taken them all in. “She thinks her new blue necklace lets her spot a liar when she’s wearing it. She thinks she’ll hear them or they’ll make her ears itch of something.”
Loyalty didn’t mean that Clara fooled herself about her person’s abilities. “Besides,” she added, “she has to take on clients.”
“She wouldn’t have to if you let me give her some better ideas.” Laurel had railed at the restrictions on feline interference. “Like letting some nice young man take care of her.”
“Laurel, please, no,” Clara pleaded. After having her heart broken the previous spring, Becca had gone on a few dates, but she was, to the calico, understandably reluctant to rush into anything. “She’s just beginning to date again. We don’t want her to settle down with someone who isn’t right for her.”
“Humph!” Laurel spit out a tuft of fur, expression enough of her disgust.
Harriet, by then, had fallen asleep, but Clara continued to watch their person. Becca, as she often did, had opened her laptop. Jumping soundlessly to the back of the sofa, Clara could see that she had opened the homepage of Charm and Cherish, the shop the new client had mentioned as her workplace. More New Age boutique than old-fashioned botanica, the shop sold everything from magic kits to pricey amulets. Becca’s computer also confirmed what Clara remembered, that the shop had a wide selection of various plant products as well, though without the aid of scent, Clara was hard pressed to distinguish one saw-toothed leaf from another.
“Enough of that.” Becca closed the laptop before Clara could examine further. It didn’t matter. Her cats knew what came next. Ever since Becca had started working as a witch detective three months before, she’d developed a ritual. She’d light some sage to clear the air and then sit, cross-legged, on the floor. Usually, the fragrant smoke sent Harriet and Laurel off to the bedroom, but Clara, who always wanted to help, had learned not to try to climb into her lap during these moments. This was her “clarifying time,” she’d explained to her pet, lifting the plump calico off and depositing her on the floor. That really meant she was gathering her thoughts, Clara suspected. Although if she knew that her three pets were the ones who had the magical powers that she so desired, Becca might have felt differently about rejecting Clara’s help during her ritual.
As it was, both Laurel and Harriet trotted off as Becca reverently removed the bundle of twigs from its earthenware container—a splurge from Charm and Cherish, Clara knew. The sisters could be heard tussling in the bedroom by the time Becca got it lit and began making sweeping motions through the living room.