The djinn turned to me. When he spoke next, it was in a feline tongue, though a more ancient version with a thick accent.
“I know the divine when I feel it,” Rayaan said gravely. “And for this messenger to be blessed with the help of so many of your kin, his mission must be one of great importance.”
I raised my chin. “Yes.”
“I want only my freedom.” The djinn nodded to Bas. “He has no voice anymore. He cannot speak for me of what I did here. But you can. You will tell the gods that I helped you. You will ask them to let me be.”
“I will,” I answered seriously. “I will tell them you were very helpful. Helpful is good.”
The djinn nodded and walked away, disappearing into a puff of smoke before he reached the door.
I went to Bas, and he leaned down to let me onto his back again. That seemed like a good sign he wasn’t angry anymore. When he pushed himself to his feet, there was something in the heaviness of the movement. Something more than pain. I’d expected relief if not joy over our victory, but the mummy dog seemed…tired. Or sad.
Sometimes they felt like the same thing.
I would help him, I decided. I knew how to cheer him up.
“Thank you for your help,” I told my kin.
“You are welcome, little brother,” the alley cat said, licking the wizard’s blood from her paw.
“It was good to see you again,” the tortoise shell cat said kindly. “She misses you.”
“I miss her too,” I said, thinking of the woman who’d brought me to the witch. “Perhaps I will visit.”
“She would like that,” the Siamese said in unison. “As would we.”
Bas twitched, obviously ready to leave, so I finished my goodbyes.
He returned us to the old man’s house with the same speed as before, and I watched as he trotted up to the front door and pawed at it.
The old man answered the door, this time with a different cat on his shoulder. He looked down at Bas, and the mummy dog rose up, showing the man the amulet.
“You found my necklace,” the old man said, the skin around his eyes creasing as he smiled. “Thank you. My granddaughter would have been so sad if she thought I’d lost it.”
I would tell my brethren to keep an eye on it. Make sure no one else took it.
“What’s happened to you?” he asked, gently cupping Bas’s face in his hand and tilting it to get a look at his injuries. “Been to the wars, I see.” He nodded and pushed the door open wider. “Come on in then, let’s get you cleaned up. I have some bacon in the fridge. It’ll do you some good I think.”
I’d heard the witch use that tone lots of times. Usually before she cuddled me, petted me until the pain went away. And that word was familiar too. Bacon. A very yummy treat, if I remembered correctly.
Bas was in good hands.
I meowed happily as a somewhat bewildered Bas allowed the old man to lead him inside. I wondered if Bas had ever had a human care for him before. Not as a servant or a messenger, but as a beloved family member.
It was an experience I highly recommended.
I left Bas to soak in the love humans reserved for animals and headed for the shadows.
I had a message to deliver.
A month later, the witch once again bungled the magic I so helpfully provided to her. One minute she was chasing some sort of goblin down an alley, shouting at him in her “Stop or I’ll Dump All the Honey Down the Sink’’ voice, and the next the entire alley was covered in pitch blackness. My night vision was excellent, but even I couldn’t see in the inky dark the witch fueled with my magic.
I flicked my tail from side to side. I would never understand her choices.
But, I supposed I didn’t have to. I was just there to help.
As long as I was in complete darkness, now seemed as good a time as any to check on the amulet. Not that I doubted my brethren’s dedication to making sure the old man didn’t lose it again, but the old man had mentioned bacon last time I was there, and given his love for cats, there was a good chance some of it would be offered to me.
I walked into the shadows, blinking to see the paths through the shadowy plane. I found the one I wanted, and after a few wrong turns, I found myself crawling out from under the couch in the old man’s living room.
Bas’s face was the first thing I saw when I crawled out.
“Bas!” I said, racing over to leap onto his back. “You’re still here!” I rested my chin on his bandaged head between his ears and paused. “But why are you still here?”
Bas lifted his head, then made a sound. Or rather, tried to make a sound. Nothing came out.
I climbed on top of his head so I could look down into his eyes. “You still can’t speak?”
“His master doesn’t want him back.”
I looked up to see the black cat lounging on the armrest of the couch I’d crawled out from under. He indicated Bas with his chin.
“A messenger who can’t speak isn’t much good, is he?” the black cat added.
My chest tightened and I flopped down on Bas’s head, pressing close in a hug. “I’m sorry, Bas.”
Bas shook his head. He looked up at the old man puttering around in the kitchen, then looked down at the floor. I lifted my head enough to see there was a bowl on the floor. A bowl with dog food in it.
With bacon on top.
Bas wagged his tail.
“Oh,” I said slowly. I felt my own tail rising, my mood lifting—and not just because there was bacon. I patted Bas’s head with my paw. “You have a human now too. That’s good. He will take care of you.” I paused, then added, “Though I have to warn you, they don’t always show their appreciation for your help. You just have to know that they do appreciate it. Deep down.”
Bas made a sound in his nose that sounded like laughter, but was probably just an oncoming cold.
I flicked my tail from side to side, glancing back at the dog dish.
“Are you going to eat all that bacon?”
Jennifer Blackstream is a USA Today bestselling author of urban fantasy and paranormal romance. She is amazed and grateful to have made a writing career out of a Master’s degree in Psychology, hours of couch-detecting watching Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, and endless research into mythology and fairy tales. She firmly believes that whether it’s a village witch deciding she wants to be a private investigator, or a single mother having a go at being a full-time writer, it’s never too late for a new adventure.
A fervent devotee of cooperative board games, Jennifer sets aside at least two nights a week for team-based adventures such as Mice & Mystics, Sentinels of the Multiverse, or Harry Potter: Battle at Hogwarts. She uses games with dice-based mechanics to lure in her ridiculously lucky-rolling son and daughter in the hope that they too will develop a passion for cooperative escapism.
Connect with Jennifer Blackstream at https://www.jenniferblackstream.com/
Fugitive
by Jim Butcher
MY NAME IS MOUSE AND I am a very Good Boy. Everybody says so.
When My Friend, Harry Dresden, asked me to guard his little girl while she was at school, I was proud to do so. They gave me a Service Dog Test, which I passed, because My Friend told me to just do whatever the testing man told me to do, so I did.
Now I am a Service Dog, and I wear a magic vest that makes everyone think I am very important to my Maggie, so they let me go everywhere with her. That is the best, because My Maggie can become very uncertain sometimes, and it is always good to have a friend to sit with you and wag his tail when you are not certain.