This is a trick many cats can do. It’s why humans can never find their pets when they first come home, and why those pets always look so pleased as they come out to meet their people. As the descendent of a long line of magical cats, however, Clara had a facility that surpassed most other felines. Inhaling a deep breath and taking a supernatural leap, she made quick work of the apartment stairs and the building’s front door to catch up with her person on the pavement outside.
Becca must have felt something—a breeze or the lightest brush of whiskers—because she paused and looked down at the sidewalk, where Clara had landed. Just in time, the calico shaded herself so that her orange spots looked like the splashes of the afternoon sun and the grey whorl on her side its growing shadows. Shaking her head, Becca began walking once more, and if her pace could have been in response to the hour or the growing chill of autumn, the grim set of her mouth revealed both her discomfort and her determination.
Despite the risk of discovery, Clara stayed close to her person as she made her way along the city streets to Charm and Cherish. The Wiccan-themed shop had opened a few months ago to the delight of Becca’s coven. Clara had first heard of it during one of their weekly gatherings around Becca’s table. The group, which had shrunk to just a few close friends, had been overjoyed to have a nearby source for the candles and incense they so enjoyed. But even though the little shop was convenient, its placement in the heart of busy Central Square made it problematic for a feline, even one who could shade herself into near invisibility when she needed.
As it was, she had several close calls. Becca was walking quickly, and in her effort to keep up, Clara had to weave through the busy weekend crowd. Twice she saw feet only seconds before they came her way, avoiding a nasty, if unintentional, kick only by the kind of agile leaps Laurel would be proud of. After the second time, she even considered dropping her shading. She was a good ten feet behind Becca at this point. Only when she looked up did she realize that being visible would have done her no good. The pedestrian whose boot had nearly caught her in the ribs was so glued to her phone it was amazing she hadn’t walked into a lamp post.
Dashing to catch up, she saw that even Becca wasn’t immune. At the blast of a car horn, a bicyclist dashed up on the sidewalk, nearly colliding with her person. As Becca stumbled backward, the cyclist, his face hidden beneath a black helmet, reared up on one tire and turned back into the street.
“They’re a menace.” Becca jumped as another pedestrian took her elbow to steady her. “Are you okay?”
Becca turned to look into warm brown eyes set in a plain, kind face. “Yeah, thanks.”
“You be careful.” A warm voice, too. Becca glimpsed down as the plain man quickly withdrew his hand. “Sorry. I’m a bit spooked.” As he apologized, an awkward smile brought out a dimple in his long, pale face. “There was an accident last night, only a few blocks from here. It was pretty awful.”
“I’m sorry. I’d heard something about that.” Becca must have recognized something in his face, because she softened her tone. “You were there?”
“Right after.” He closed his eyes remembering, and the dimple disappeared. “An older man, a homeless vet, I think, was hurt. The driver had disappeared—just left him. I think he’ll be okay, but it was touch and go.”
“How awful. I hope you’re right.” To cement her good wishes, Becca managed a smile, and for a moment Clara thought she was going to take the man’s hand. “Thanks.”
He reached for hers then and gave it a quick squeeze. “My pleasure. Only, please, I deal with enough accidents,” he said. “Be alert.”
Becca murmured her assent, but to Clara it seemed her person was even more distracted after that, barely registering the street around her as she started to walk again, her eyes following the stranger as he crossed and turned away. So it was with a sigh of relief that Clara saw Becca came to a halt before a glass storefront in the middle of a commercial block, set between a dry cleaner and a convenience store. Even without being able to read the signage, Clara could have distinguished the magic shop by the colorful zodiac symbols painted on its windows, as well as the funky herbal scent that leaked out despite the closed door.
“Nothing for it,” Becca murmured to herself, peering between a bright red lion and a blue crab that appeared to be dancing over an unevenly drawn star. Clara looked up with concern as her person took a deep breath before pulling open the front door. Braving the nasty smells she knew would only intensify, Clara followed her inside as a tinkling bell announced their arrival.
“Hello!” a voice called out from somewhere unseen. “I’m in the back. I’ll be right out.”
As Becca walked over to the glass-topped counter, loosening her coat, Clara took in her surroundings. Despite its small size, the shop was packed. Below that colorful front window, piles of newsletters—notices of circles and classes—yellowed in the afternoon sun beside a gold-painted Ganesh. Bookshelves along the wall reached to the ceiling, packed with a variety of multicolored bindings. A rack that ran down the center held candles and more books, along with a few strange metal objects—balances and weights, Clara realized, having seen something like that in Becca’s kitchen—along with some knives that looked more ceremonial than functional.
Ducking around a table with some small figures—another version of the elephant-headed god, a fat bald man, and, rather to Clara’s surprise, a series of felines—she saw Becca leaning over the glass counter. She seemed to be examining the shelves on the wall behind it, where a row of glass jars were displayed. These, one sniff confirmed, were the source of those odd odors, their tight-fitting lids not quite containing the strange and spicy aromas of the leaves and twigs and, yes, roots within.
“Hello, oh!” Becca and Clara both turned to see a familiar black-clad figure—Gaia—step into the room. “Becca, I didn’t expect you.” She came forward, pulling a door closed behind her. “Did you want to speak with me again about my case?” Even though there was nobody else in the store, her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. Her black-lined eyes darted back and forth. “You don’t have anything yet, do you?”
“No.” Becca gathered herself up. “Why? Has anything else happened?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I’ve been extra careful, lately. My boyfriend—well, he’s really just a friend—said he thought he saw someone hanging around the shop.”
“He did?” Becca seemed to slide right over Gaia’s redefinition of the relationship. Among humans, it could be hard to tell. Clara knew that. Still, she’d heard her person’s quick intake of breath. “Maybe I should speak with him?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Gaia stepped back behind the counter. “Tiger wouldn’t want to be involved in any of this. I know him.”
“Oh.” Becca tilted her head, looking amazingly like Laurel as she pondered. “But if this Tiger saw someone suspicious and can describe him…or her… What’s Tiger’s full name?”
“Look, I shouldn’t have mentioned him. He’s just being protective. I mean, there’s never anyone in here.” With that, she turned to examine the shelves of jars behind her, shutting Becca out. But the young woman Clara knew and loved was not without her resources. “Hardly ever. It’s safe as a tomb.”