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Maybe some of that cautious optimism got through to Becca. Or maybe, the calico realized, there were other powers at work, because Becca looked around and then down at her favorite pet.

“Besides,” she said as her grin grew wider, “Charm and Cherish is a great resource—and I’ll get an employee discount.”

Chapter 41

“Dear Becca.”

Laurel was right! If she concentrated, she could “hear” Becca’s thoughts.

“How lovely to hear from you. I’ve been hoping you would contact me. I have so much to tell you, but, of course, I had to wait for you to ask…”

Clara’s eavesdropping was interrupted by Harriet.

“What’s going on?”

“She’s reading.” Clara tried to step around her sister. Contact, it seemed, was necessary for her to exercise this particular skill. “Something about her family.”

“Huh.” Harriet plopped down and began grooming her snowy belly fur, blocking her calico sibling.

“What’s up with you two?” Becca turned to look. “You’d think you want to read over my shoulder.” She paused and looked back at the screen. “Aunt Tabby does say I should pay attention to my cats. Funny, Elizabeth says that, too.”

“What are we doing?” Laurel appeared on Becca’s other side and stepped over her lap.

“Watch the…” Becca grabbed up the laptop. “Well, I guess that’s the universe giving me a clue.”

She set the computer aside and reached to rub Clara’s ear, even as the two older cats nudged her for a position.

“Laurel, it worked.” Clara looked up, excited. “I wonder if I could try…”

“I know what you three want.” Becca extricated herself from the fur pile. “Treats, coming up.”

“Wait.” Clara looked from Laurel to Harriet. “Did one of you do that?”

“Family meeting.” Laurel lashed her tail and then, distracted by the movement, began to lick it. Hours later, the treats had all been eaten and Becca gone to bed. All three cats had accompanied her, of course, and now lounged around their person in various stages of repose. “It’s time!”

Ahem.” Harriet, who had been napping, puffed herself up. Turning from Laurel to Clara, she pulled her large head back into her considerable marmalade ruff and began. “It has come to my attention that perhaps we have been lax in our lessons. Granted, we’ve had other concerns.”

“Like the pursuit of treats.” Laurel’s muttered aside was nearly muffled as she dug into one brown bootie.

Clara, who lay by Becca’s side, felt her whiskers twitch. Harriet didn’t often speak of anything at such length—anything but food, that is. Something was up.

“While we have been hoping that your natural feline intelligence would clue you in, it has become increasingly obvious that you have missed our role in your adventures.” Harriet’s voice rumbled with an almost growl-like solemnity that alarmed her baby sister.

“Your role? I’ve seen Laurel, but…” Clara turned to her littermate, but Laurel only shrugged, her café au lait fur shimmering in the moonlight.

“Our role,” Harriet repeated, slowly closing her round gold eyes for emphasis. “While you certainly have incipient powers, Laurel and I have been doing our best to boost those powers. Partly to aid you in your work, and partly to foster your independence.”

“My independence?”

A true growl, or it could have been the start of a furball, cut her off.

“Clearly, our person has chosen you as her familiar. For reasons of history and heritage, this makes sense. However, you must understand that the care of a human is a serious obligation, and all three of us must do our bit. So, while we’ve tried to encourage your strengths and your independence, it will not do for you to disparage or try to disown your family. We are your family, Clara, for good or ill. Your sisters.”

“So… you’ve been helping me?” Clara nearly squeaked. So much began to make sense—the failures of her shading, Laurel’s aid. Even Harriet’s magical grooming, which had healed her wounds. A warmth that could not be attributed only to her sleeping person’s proximity began to fill her, and she could feel the purr begin to start, deep in her chest. “Both of you?”

“Of course we’ve been helping you.” Laurel focused on her bootie and refusing to meet Clara’s eye, even as Becca sighed in a dream and nestled closer. Harriet, by her feet, was once more sound asleep. “We’re family.” Laurel’s distinctive yowl, softer now. “And that means we love you, Clown.”

Acknowledgments

It may take three cats to help one witch detective, but many more are required to get a book out. Readers like Karen Schlosberg, Brett Milano, Lisa Susser, and Chris Mesarch; editor and Polis publisher Jason Pinter, who took a chance on my quirky cats; Frank Garelick, Lisa Jones, and our beloved Sophie Garelick for boundless support and encouragement; the Sisters in Crime/Mystery Writers of America community, and all the readers who have reached out over the years. Gratitude and love as well to my friend and longtime agent Colleen Mohyde and her wonderful spouse John McDonough, himself a source for all things police procedural, for your continued, sustaining belief. And always, always my beloved Jon S. Garelick, without whom none of this would be any fun, if it were even possible at all.

About the Author

A former journalist and music critic, Clea Simon wrote three nonfiction books, including the Boston Globe bestseller The Feline Mystique, before turning to a life of crime (fiction). Her more than two dozen mysterious usually involve cats or rock and roll, or some combination thereof, including the first Witch Cats of Cambridge mystery, A Spell of Murder.

A native of New York, she moved to Massachussetts to attend Harvard and now lives nearby in Somerville.

Visit her at www.CleaSimon.com or at @CleaSimon.