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A Spell Of Murder. An Incantation Of Cats

1. A SPELL OF MURDER

Chapter 1

It was Harriet’s fault. It’s always her fault, not that she’ll ever admit it.

That was Clara’s first thought as she tried to settle on the sofa, flicking her long, grey tail with annoyance. As a cat, Clara wouldn’t usually have any trouble getting comfortable. That’s one special skill that all felines share. But even as she tried to calm her restive tail, curling it neatly around her snowy front paws, Clara, a petite, if plump, calico, couldn’t stop fretting.

Harriet was her oldest sister, a creamsicle-colored longhair with more fur than common sense. Still, despite the fluffy feline’s typical self-absorption, she and Clara and their middle sister, Laurel, had cohabited with a nice enough human for almost two years without any problems, until now. Until Harriet.

Yes, Becca, their human, had begun to believe she had psychic powers. Becca, who at twenty-six usually had more sense, was training to be a witch, as if that were something one could learn from books. But to the calico cat who now fumed quietly on the sofa, the petite brunette had always seemed a harmless soul—good with a can opener. Warm. Generous with her lap. And then, last week, Harriet—who cared only for her own comfort—conjured up a pillow.

“I was tired,” Harriet said, in that petulant mew that Clara knew so well, when asked why in the name of Bast she’d be so stupid.“Becca wasn’t even looking.”

“You could have moved!”her younger sibling hissed back, the grey whorls on her sides heaving with annoyance.“And she was!”

Harriet was taking up the sunny spot on the windowsill, as she always did that time of the morning, and Clara narrowed her mysterious green eyes to glare at her sister. Harriet was more than fluffy, she was immense, a pale orange marshmallow of a feline, whose furry bulk and predictable habits prevented her youngest sister from enjoying any of the solar bounty. Still, she probably shouldn’t have hissed. Harriet was Clara’s elder, if merely by a few minutes. As it was, the orange and white cat just shuffled a bit and turned her rounded back on her sister rather than responding.

Clara didn’t know why she even bothered asking. She already knew the answer: Harriet didn’t move unless she had to, and on a warm spring day it was easier to conjure a cushion than make the leap from the sun-warmed sill to the sofa, where Clara now fumed. The sofa where, it turned out, Becca had been trying out a summoning spell. And so now, of course, their hapless human believedshe had pulled that pillow out of the ether.

Which was a problem because Becca belonged to a coven. Had for about three months, ever since she saw a flier in the laundromat advertising an opening for“Witches: New and In Training.” That was the kind of thing that happened here, in Cambridge, where the hippies never really went away. Since then, they’d met every week to drink a foul-smelling herbal concoction and try out various spells. None of which ever produced any magic, of course. None of the humans had the basic powers of a day-old kitten, and certainly nothing like Clara and her sisters shared as the descendants of an old and royal feline line. But now, Clara feared, Becca had become obsessed, spending every waking moment trying to reproduce that one spell, while Harriet, Laurel, and Clara looked on.

“Don’t you dare…” Clara muttered in a soft mew as Laurel sashayed into the room, taking in her two sisters with one sweeping gaze. Laurel was the middle one, a troublemaker and as vain as can be. Not simply of her own glossy coat—the cream touched with brown, or, as she called it, caf? au lait—but of her powers. That she was plotting something, Clara was certain. As Laurel glanced from Harriet back to Clara again, her tail started lashing and her ears stuck out sideways like an owl’s.

“Why not?” Laurel had a streak of Siamese in her. It made her chatty, as well as giving her neat dark chocolate booties.“It’ll be fun.”

“It’ll bring more people!” Clara felt her fur begin to rise. The idea of her middle sister meddling—and possibly adding more magic to the mix—made her frantic.“Don’t you get it? They’ll never let up.”

The black, grey, and orange cat—the smallest of the three sisters—didn’t have to explain who “they” were. That night, Becca’s coven would be meeting again at their place, which, to the three felines, was bad enough. Strangers, six of them, would soon be sitting in all the good seats, with their odd smells and loud voices. What was worse was that Becca would think she had to feed them, as well as brew that horrible tea. And as the cats well knew, Becca had no money, not since she lost her job as a researcher for the local historical society.

“Redundant,” her boss had told her. “What with the budget cutbacks and the advances in technology.”

“That means they can get an intern to do a Google search.” Becca had sniffled into Clara’s parti-colored fur the day she’d gotten the news. Harriet might be the fluffiest and Laurel the sleekest, but Clara was the one Becca talked to. The one she had confided in months earlier when she found the book that had started her on this whole witchcraft obsession, a spark of excitement lighting up her face. She’d been researching land deeds, the scutwork of history, when she had stumbled on it, her eye caught by a familiar name—some old relative of hers who had been caught up in a witch trial back in the bad old days in Salem. Then, when she’d seen the flier by the coin machine at the Wash ‘N Dry, she’d been so exhilarated, she’d raced back to tell Clara, leaving her sheets in the drier. And now, without the distraction of her job, Becca had thrown herself into the study of magic and sorcery, spending her days in the library or on her computer, trying to track down the full story of that great-great whatever, and sharing her fears and, increasingly, her hopes with Clara.

Maybe it was because Clara was a calico that Becca whispered into the black-tipped ears of her littlest cat. Calicos had a reputation for being more intelligent and curious than other felines. Plus, that uneven look—a gray patch over one eye and an orange one over the other—made her appear approachable. Inquisitive. Becca couldn’t know that her youngest cat was often teased for her markings. “Goofy,” her sister Laurel said in her distinctive yowl. “Clara the calico? Clara the clown!” Recently, Harriet had taken up calling her that too.

Clara didn’t mind, as long as Becca kept confiding in her. The young woman didn’t really think her cats understood about her being laid off, but, in truth, they were all quite aware of the straitened circumstances. Not that Laurel and Harriet always sympathized. There was that one time three weeks ago that Becca tried cutting back on the cats’ food, getting the generic cans from the market instead of the tiny ones with the pretty labels. After wolfing down hers, Harriet had barfed all over the sofa. She didn’t have to. She was just making a point about what she considered an affront to her dignity.

Tonight, when Becca took credit for conjuring that cushion, Clara didn’t know what her haughty sister would do. Interrupt, most likely. Jump onto the table and begin bathing, if she had to, to be the center of attention. If she tried anything further—like pulling more pillows out of the ether—or if Laurel got up to her own tricks, Clara would have to get involved, she vowed with a final flick of the tail. And that, she knew, just wouldn’t end well.

Chapter 2

“Bad Clara!” Becca called softly as she clapped her hands at the calico cat. “Bad girl.”

The cat glanced up from her perch on the counter and blinked, the picture of innocence except for the pink petal that hung from one fang. Her harsh words softened by a gentle smile, Becca reached over and scooped up the multicolored feline, depositing her on the floor.“Now, you know better than that!”

“Is anything wrong?” Trent appeared in the doorway, a slight frown pulling his goatee into a pout.

“It’s Clara.” Becca sighed, shaking her head. “She’s eating the flowers.”

“You have another cat?” Trent’s voice was neutral, but Becca knew he’d been disconcerted to find Harriet, her largest feline, stretched out over most of the sofa.

“Three, actually,” Becca admitted. “They were littermates, and I didn’t want to separate them.”

“Of course.” He nodded, his voice as warm as his dark brown eyes. “Besides, they’re your familiars.”

Becca turned to hide her flustered smile, as well as the blush that was creeping up from her chest. Trent was a self-professed warlock, the leader of the coven, the small group of would-be witches she had joined a few months before. More to the point, he was devastatingly handsome, with those flashing eyes and a devilish smile played up by that goatee. And he had brought over the bouquet that her cat, Clara, had begun to nibble.

Willing her color back to normal, Becca reached into the cabinet for her one good vase. Officially, the flowers were for the table—a touch of nature to bless the May full moon, the “Flower Moon,” Trent had said—but the dark-eyed warlock hadn’t had to arrive early to give them to her, she knew. Besides, Becca had felt a slight charge when Trent had handed them to her, a certain warmth behind that smile.

Still, she had to get ahold of herself. Any minute now, the doorbell would ring again. The group was meeting at her place this week, as it had the last four. Partly because her apartment was central, a Cambridgeport walk-up not too far from the T. But the main reason the coven was gathering here tonight was in the hope that Becca could replicate the group’s one successful act of magic thus far: the conjuring of a pillow out of thin air. She was going to have to concentrate.

“Do you feel your power?” Trent nearly purred, coming up close behind her.

“I don’t…I don’t know.” Becca almost stuttered. “I hope so.” In truth, she was beginning to despair. She had tried countless times since that day—donning the same jeans and sweater, letting her mint tea cool in the same mug beside her—as she read over the words of the spell. But she had been unable to make the magic work again. Now, Harriet was lying on the gold velvet pillow, one paw idly batting at its fringes, as if it were just another bit of home furnishing. “Maybe one pillow is the limit of my power,” she said, voicing her deepest fear.

“Nonsense.” Trent sounded confident—and so close she could feel his warm breath.Maybe, she thought,magic of another sort was brewing. But just then she heard the unmistakable hiss and squeal of a cat fight beginning in the other room.

“Clara!” Becca ducked around her guest, clapping her hands again to get the cats’ attention. “Harriet!”

The smaller of the two felines glanced up at her, wide-eyed, and Harriet used the distraction to push Clara off the couch.

“It’s the pillow,” Becca said, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice. Trent had followed her into the other room with—she was glad to see—an amused half smile on his lips. “They’ve been fighting over it since it appeared.”

“They sense its power.” He sounded serious and reached down absently to stroke Laurel, who had begun to twine around his ankles. Clara, meanwhile, peered up into Becca’s face, as if willing her to respond. But just then, the doorbell rang and Trent stepped back, neatly disengaging himself from Laurel, and gave Becca a gentle pat on the arm.

“Go,” he said, the smile carrying through to his voice. “I’ll finish up in the kitchen.”

Maybe it was that pat—or the man’s apparent preference for Laurel—but Clara decided to watch him and took up a position by the kitchen counter from which to observe this strange, dark-haired man who had made his way into their private space.

Sure enough, as soon as Becca had left the kitchen—with an affronted Laurel in tow—Trent began opening drawers.Aha! Clara thought.I’ve got you. But all he did was fish out a pair of shears and cut the blossoms loose from their wrapping. After he trimmed their stems and placed them in the vase Becca had set out, he even cleaned up after himself, and the cat began to wonder if, perhaps, her suspicions were unfounded.

“You’re so na?ve.” Harriet sauntered in, and although she immediately buried her face in her food dish, she must have seen how her youngest sister was watching the newcomer.“You’re not used to male attention.”

“It’s not that…” her calico sibling started to argue as Harriet swiped her plume of a tail.“It’s that I don’t want Becca to be hurt again.” Another swipe. Harriet didn’t seem to care that their person had had her heart broken a scant two months ago. To the older cat, it was a plus when Becca began spending every night at home again. And when she lost her job, that was even better—until the incident with the store brand cans.“We don’t know this new man,” Clara said, blinking those green eyes.

“Jealous.” Even with her mouth full, Harriet couldn’t stand not having the last word. But by then, other voices had joined Becca’s in the living room, and so Clara followed Trent as he carried out the ever-so-tasty bouquet.

“Suzanne, Kathy, merry meet.” He nodded at the two women who’d come in together, each as unlike as Clara and Laurel, whose almond-shaped blue eyes gazed up in frank, feline appraisal. Tall and slender, Suzanne had a nervous habit of running her hands over her long blonde hair that made Clara think she wanted to groom. Tonight, though, they were occupied, holding a covered loaf pan, which had Laurel sniffing delicately, dark brown nose in the air.

“Lemon poppy seed,” the willowy woman was saying as she handed the pan to Becca. “To celebrate the full moon tonight, as well as our triumph.”

“Oh, I didn’t think to bring anything.” Kathy, on the other hand, was short and as plump as Harriet, although her curly hair was penny-bright auburn and not nearly as silky as the cat’s. The youngest member of the coven, she was generally considered the pet, a designation that she appeared to enjoy even as it annoyed Harriet, perhaps because of the similarity in their shape and coloring. “I mean, merry meeting,” Kathy corrected herself with a giggle. “Are you sure that’s okay? We all chip in for the tea and the crystals and everything.”

“We have more than enough,” said Becca, taking the pan and the serrated knife that her guest had wrapped in a tea towel beneath it. “But this is lovely. Thank you, Suzanne.”

Kathy had already turned away.“Trent!” She chirped with a happy smile. “Now we can get started.” But her progress back into the living room was stopped as she noticed the flowers.

“Oh,” she recoiled, taking in the collection of pink daisies and chrysanthemums that surrounded one red rose. “A bouquet?”

“A celebration of the Flower Moon,” Trent corrected her with a warm smile as he placed the vase on Becca’s all-purpose table. “As well as a hostess gift. After all, we’ve been meeting at Becca’s every week for a month now.”

Before Kathy could respond, the doorbell rang again.

“Please,” said Trent, nodding at Becca. “Let me.”

“Thanks.” She looked relieved, as Kathy trotted after him. “I forgot to put the kettle on.”

Clara followed Becca back into the kitchen, trying to read her expression and understand this strange nervousness of hers.

“Becca, I can’t believe you did it. I mean, I’m really impressed.” Suzanne had come up behind the cat, who sidestepped quickly to protect her tail. “In fact, I’m wondering if now maybe you can help me with something.”

“I’d love to. Can you grab those mugs first?” Becca asked, filling the kettle. “I got a little behind this afternoon.”

“Tea can wait.” Suzanne stepped closer, as the cat scooted back to the counter. The skinny woman didn’t seem like much of a threat—Harriet could probably knock her over—but she was wearing hard-soled shoes. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about something, Becca. It’s…well, it’s kind of private, only, it might affect all of us.”

“Really?” Becca wasn’t listening, as her cat could tell. Instead, she was counting spoonfuls of that foul tea into her big teapot, and so the calico emerged to brush against her, willing her to pay attention. “Oh, Clara.” She paused to look down at that grey and orange face. “Did Harriet eat your dinner again too? Hang on.”

Leaving off her counting, she fetched the bag of kibble from beneath the sink and poured some into the now-empty dish. But while the smallest of her pets appreciated her concern, that wasn’t what she’d been on about. Nor, it seemed, was it what had preoccupied Suzanne.

“I’m serious, Becca.” She leaned in, speaking softly as she toyed nervously with the crystal teardrop pendant she wore. “Especially if you can—”

“Becca, darling!” An exaggerated theatrical voice interrupted them as Larissa swanned into the kitchen, scarves trailing behind her and a plate of cookies in her outstretched, beringed hand. “Oh, that’s a pretty piece.” She reared back as she eyed Suzanne’s necklace. “Is that new?”

Suzanne glanced down at the pendant, as if she’d forgotten what she held. “I’ve had it for a while,” she said with a nervous smile, and tucked it beneath her collar.

With a sniff, Larissa turned, once more, to their host.

“What’s this I’ve been hearing about a summoning spell?”

“A summoning?” Kathy had appeared, as if flagged down by those colorful scarves.

“It was…I’ll tell you all about it.” Becca looked down at the kettle, as if the burgeoning steam could explain her own reddening cheeks. “I’m not sure what exactly happened.”

Turning off the heat, Becca went back to scooping tea leaves as Ande, tall and elegant with a complexion like milk caramel, entered the kitchen. The other new arrival, Marcia, must have caught her on the way in.

“Luz got a new client today.” Petite Marcia had to look up to address Ande, whose dark curls added an inch to her height. “Going into private practice was the best thing she ever did, for so many reasons.”

As she always did when Marcia—a paralegal with startlingly large, dark eyes—brought up her pretty Latina roommate, Larissa rolled her own eyes, heavy with mascara. “I’m sure, darling,” she drawled. “But we were talking about Becca’sremarkable success.”

“I wasn’t talking to—oh, never mind.” Marcia shook her head, as if to free her dark pageboy, and shoved her ever-present Red Sox cap in the pocket of her overalls. “But, yeah, I want to hear about the spell.”

“What spell?” Ande asked in a stage whisper before someone Clara couldn’t see—Marcia?—shushed her.

“I’ve been trying to reproduce my results,” Becca explained. “That’s why I don’t have anything set up, and the tea…”

“Darling Becca,” Larissa’s voice dripped with her usual condescension. “Magic isn’t an exact science, you know. You can’t expect to use the same techniques.” She waved one hand and set her bangles clanking, and Clara retreated to the corner. It wasn’t just the noise, though. Larissawas the oldest member of the coven, by a good ten years, and too vain to wear glasses. Thinking of this, the cautious calico pulled her tail in closer.

“Here, let me.” Becca turned to take the plate and place it safely on the counter, just as a low, sleek shadow slipped in. If this crew left the kitchen without taking those cookies, Laurel would be on them in a second. The sealpoint cat was as omnivorous as Harriet, only she was a better jumper.

“She’s right, you know.” The women all turned, making room for Trent. “We can’t account for factors beyond our perception—cosmic vibrations, or even atmospheric pressure. But your instincts were dead on.” His smile provoked a low murmur, almost a purr, from all of the women except Marcia. Becca’s blush had deepened, and she turned away as if to hide it.

“Bother,” she said, looking at the pot in her hands. “I’ve lost count. Now I’ve got to start all over again.”

Chapter 3

Harriet and Laurel had already grabbed the prime seating in the living room—Laurel on Becca’s overstuffed armchair and Harriet stretched out on the sofa where everyone could admire her coat. And so, Clara followed Becca once the tea was steeping and hunkered down beneath the table. It wasn’t as comfy there, but she liked being close to her person. More importantly, from this vantage point, she could keep an eye on Harriet.

“So Becca has had a momentous breakthrough,” Trent began once the customary invocation had been recited. “I don’t know if everyone has heard.”

“How could we help it?” Kathy’s voice wasn’t as soft as she thought it was, and from where Clara sat, she could see one of the other women—Marcia, probably, considering the high-tops—surreptitiously kick her. “I mean, it sounds so exciting.” Kathy didn’t sound convinced. “Oh, cool necklace, Suzanne.”

“Thanks.” The nervous hands suddenly appeared in the thin woman’s lap, as if she’d forced them down.

“Well, I want to hear the details,” Marcia piped up. “Shall I pour?”

“I rather think that’s Becca’s prerogative tonight, don’t you?” Larissa, in her grand dame role. “By the way, Becca, did you call my friend about the position?”

“I don’t have a master’s, Larissa.” Becca, standing, seemed to be struggling with the full pot. “And it sounds like your friend is looking for a PhD.”

“Bosh.” Even from under the table, Clara could picture the dismissive wave.

“I might have a lead for you.” Kathy was trying to make up for her, well, cattiness. Clara lashed her tail. “What are you looking for again?”

“I did online and library research.” Becca sounded tired, though it wasn’t clear if that was because of the heavy teapot or the subject. “I’ve been hoping to finish my library sciences degree, but…” A sigh and the thud. At least the pouring was done. “I can type too, but I’m hoping to find something in my field before unemployment runs out.”

“We should talk.” Clara could almost hear Kathy nodding, but when she tried to poke her head up to catch Becca’s reaction, she found herself blocked by a foot.

“These are good.” Trent again. “Did you make these, Larissa?”

Over on the sofa, Harriet’s head jerked up as if she’d been shocked. The crunch, as Trent bit again into one of the cookies, had brought her to her feet. Harriet, like most cats, could summon food, as she did with that pillow. But like that pillow, it would be pulled from the ether—with about as much flavor. And Harriet had a particular weakness for sweets. That, Clara knew, could mean trouble.

“So, this spell…” Larissa’s foot swung under the table. She had those pointy-toed heels on, but Clara scooted out of the way in time, losing sight of Harriet. “I want to hear the details.”

“I’m not sure exactly what I did—or did differently.” Becca had tucked her red sneakers under her chair, as she did when she was nervous. Looking at all the shoes around her, Clara didn’t blame the tender human. This was scary territory. And Harriet wasn’t likely to make it any easier. The calico crept forward while Becca explained. “I was reciting theArs Advocabit—the summoning spell—from the book, just like we’ve all done. And then—there it was.”

“Therewhatwas?” Larissa’s tone matched those shoes.

“A pillow.” Becca’s voice went soft. “I’d summoned a pillow. And before you say anything, yes, it really was a new pillow. Not anything I had in the house before. It was gold velvet and very soft.”

From her new vantage point, Clara could see Harriet stretch with satisfaction, and she relaxed a little.“And it has tassels!” Her oldest sister was purring with pride.

“Can we see it?” Ande, ignoring the cat as people usually do, sounded skeptical.

“Yes.” Becca pushed her chair back. “I left it where it was. I thought, maybe, the placement was important.”

More purrs from Harriet, although when Becca slid the pillow from beneath her warm bulk, the contented rumble faded. If Becca truly had any sensitivities, supernatural or otherwise, she would have been burned by the intensity of Harriet’s stare as she brought the pillow back to the table.

“It is very soft.” Ande kneaded it with her long fingers.

“Let me.” Harriet sat up as the pillow was passed to Suzanne and then Marcia, and finally Kathy, the cat’s yellow eyes focused like lasers as it moved from hand to hand.

“Why did you summon something so tacky?” Kathy’s freckled nose wrinkled as she flicked a tassel.

Harriet’s ears went flat, a low growl beginning deep in her cream-colored chest as her back began to arch.

“Becca!” Suzanne sounded alarmed. “Is something wrong with your cat?”

“What?” Becca’s chair scraped the floor. “Oh, Harriet! I’m afraid she’s adopted that pillow as her own. It does kind of match her fur. Doesn’t it?”

The murmured responses didn’t sound that convinced, but Harriet seemed to accept them. At any rate, once Kathy had relinquished the pillow, she sank back down on the sofa and her ears resumed their natural perkiness.

“The problem,” Becca continued, stroking the plush object, “is that I haven’t been able to duplicate it. I was wondering if there was something about the moon last Thursday? Or maybe an astral projection?”

“Let me consult the chart.” Trent’s low voice calmed the assembled women like a warm hand on fur, and as the gathering fell back into its usual rhythms, Clara closed her eyes. Even Harriet seemed to calm down once the pillow was returned to its rightful place on the sofa. And although Becca tried reading the summoning spell several times, no further furnishings appeared, which Clara found a relief—and which left Harriet feeling rather smug.

“Oh, please…” Laurel extended one paw, the better to admire her claws, as the meeting droned on.“If these humans don’t move on soon…”

Clara glared, but just then a familiar chant broke in.

“And by the rule of three, blessed be.” And with that, the chairs scraped back and the coven members began to rise. Out of habit, the calico accompanied Becca into the kitchen, the now empty teapot in hand. Suzanne followed with the mugs.

“Becca.” Suzanne deposited the mugs on the counter. “What I wanted to ask you about—”

Before she could finish, Larissa walked in and Suzanne turned to face her.

“Do you have something I can put the leftover cookies in?” The older woman opened one of the cabinets without waiting for an answer. “I want my plate back.”

“Sure.” Becca looked around. “I’ve got a clean Tupperware here somewhere.”

“Can’t you justsummon one?” Marcia had crowded in too.

“I wish.” Becca’s smile was beginning to look forced. Clara, meanwhile, wrapped her tail around her forepaws. Lashing it would have fit her mood better, but with this many feet in the kitchen, she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Marcia, please.” Trent, standing in the doorway, came to the rescue. “You know Becca did her best.”

“She wasn’t—” Ande, playing peacemaker again. “She was just teasing. You know that, don’t you, Becca?”

“Of course.” Becca’s voice was close to cracking as she wiped off Suzanne’s cake knife, taking extra care over its inlaid handle. “Oh, thanks.” Ande had found the errant plastic container and was passing it over.

“Silly.”A low hiss—Harriet had waddled up behind her sister.“You could’ve tripped her.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Clara turned to face her, confused.

“Cookies!” Harriet’s yellow eyes flashed as she crowded in.“There were some left. It’s too late now.” True enough, the plastic lid snapped shut.

“Would you like a ride too?” Trent was herding the women out. “I’ve got room.”

“No, thanks.” Not all. Suzanne was hanging back, the loaf pan and her knife clasped close. “I’ll walk,” she said.

“If you’re sure…” Trent’s voice sounded like a purr, and Clara leaned forward, eager to catch more.

“There are crumbs on the table.”Laurel sauntered in, licking her chops.“What?” She looked at her sisters, who had both turned on her.

“I was trying to hear what they were saying,” Clara nearly hissed.

“The clown was eavesdropping,” said Harriet as she peered around the corner. She was peeved, it was obvious. Not only that her youngest sister had failed to trip the cookie carrier but that Laurel had found the crumbs before she could.

“I’m concerned about Becca.” Clara’s mew was too soft for their person to hear, she was pretty sure, but still she looked up in concern. Laurel sniffed and began to wash, removing the last trace of baked goods from her sleek tan fur, while Harriet waddled back into the living room in the obvious hope that her fastidious sister had left something behind.

“So, Suzanne, what’s going on?” Becca was looking at her guest. From the living room, she could hear Trent’s deep, warm voice and an answering torrent of giggles. “I should see them out.”

“They’re fine.” Suzanne’s voice had an edge it hadn’t before. Shaking her head, she wiped the few remaining crumbs from the cake plate into the sink before sliding it and the inlaid server into her bag.

“Suzanne!” a voice, half laughing, called. “You promised!”

“Ande.” Suzanne sighed. “I forgot. Look, Becca. I need to talk to you.”

“Train’s leaving the station!” More laughter, and this time it was Larissa who called. “Zany, come on!”

“Coming!” Suzanne called, loud enough that Clara flicked her ears—only to be momentarily distracted by the snuffling of Harriet as she hoovered up the last remaining crumbs.

“—not where they can hear.” Suzanne had lowered her voice to an urgent whisper. “Look, I’ll explain more—Saturday at my place. Noonish? Please, Becca. It’s important.”

“Saturday at your place.” Becca sounded tired. “But if it involves the entire coven…”

“Just trust me, Becca.” Suzanne turned back one final time, her face drawn. “This is—this could be—big. And, please, for the Goddess’s sake, be careful.”

Chapter 4

The following two days passed with no more magic, but no catastrophes either, whether feline or human. Saturday dawned with all the sunny promise of the season, and the intoxicating scent of flowers and damp new grass through the open window had all three cats’ whiskers bristling. Only Clara noticed that Becca didn’t seem pleased by the beauty of the day. It was hours until Becca was due to meet Suzanne, but clearly, something was on her mind. Not that she forgot to feed the cats—she’d never do that—but she did almost mix up their bowls, putting the lion’s—or the lioness’—portion in Clara’s multicolored dish instead of Harriet’s before she caught her error. And when she committed the cardinal sin of laying down Clara’s dish ahead of Harriet’s, the calico stepped back before her big sister could even turn to glare, knowingthat the first bites of breakfast were worth sacrificing for peace.

Once her own dish, with both her name and a golden crown motif, was set down, Harriet moved over. But Clara had barely gotten a few bites of what remained of her own breakfast before Becca set out. Worried as she was about the young woman, her pet knew she had to follow.

It wasn’t hard. While an otherwise intelligent and observant human, Becca was limited—Clara knew—by the preconceptions of her species. In particular, that meant she considered the cats with whom she cohabited to be house pets, unconscious of their real powers. Being indoors was fine for most felines, especially during what had been a rainy April, and Harriet particularly enjoyed being catered to. But although Clara observed the feline rule about hiding this ability, the fact is that without too much effort, she, like all her kind, could pass through most solid objects, at least if she could get a good focus on them.

And so as soon as Becca had locked the apartment door behind her, the multicolored kitty had hunkered down and stared at the closed door. Distracted as she was, the pretty brunette was just vaguely aware of the calico’s appearance as she passed through the door and manifested on the street behind her. Half in the shadows of that early spring morning and half a shadow herself, her mottled coloring adding an extra layer of camouflage, the little cat found it easy to trail Becca in her somewhat ethereal fashion.And although Clara did stop to nibble on an intriguing green—it was spring, after all—she easily caught up with her person by the time she had snagged a table at the local coffee house and settled in with a muffin and mug of something steamy.

“Maddy, over here!” Becca rose and waved, and Clara ducked beneath the table before she could be spotted.

“Becca!” A pleasantly large woman made her way over from the counter, her own mug in one hand, a slab of coffee cake in the other. “What’s up? You look good. Did you find a new job?”

“No, but…” Something akin to a purr warmed Becca’s voice as her friend took the seat opposite.

“Pity,” Maddy mumbled, her mouth full of cake. In some ways, Clara thought, Becca’s old friend resembled Harriet. “’Cause if you find something good, I’m going to follow you. Work stress is making me eat.”

Becca nodded. She’d been hearing about Maddy’s work troubles for as long as her friend had been at Reynolds and Associates, a market research firm in Cambridge’s Central Square.

“Reynolds has been in a mood recently. It’s enough to make me start smoking again too.” She took another bite of cake, as if in response. “Oh, you know it all.” Her friend didn’t have to be psychic to note how Becca’s focus had drifted. “Wait, did Jeff call you?”

“No.” The purr was gone. Becca’s voice had gone flat and lifeless. “He’s…that’s over, Maddy. He’s got some new girlfriend now.”

“I don’t know, Becca. I’ve heard that his new thing didn’t work out.” In the silence, Clara could almost see Becca pushing her pastry around her plate. Maddy didn’t wait long for a response. “I ran into him on the bus a few days ago,” she said, her tone oddly remote. “He was asking about you.”

“He was?” Becca caught herself before her friend could answer. “No, it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. You know I couldn’t take him back, even if he wanted me to.”

“Good girl.” The clink of a mug, and Becca’s friend washed the cake down with enthusiastic approval. “He’s no good for you. I was worried, because you’ve been so preoccupied lately.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Becca shifted in her seat, scattering a few intriguing crumbs. Cranberry, Clara thought. “I’ve really been trying to be mindful. To be present. But it isn’t Jeff, it’s the coven.”

“Oh, please.” Maddy’s chair squeaked as she sat back. “You don’t actually believe in that. Do you?”

“That’s just it.” Becca leaned in, excitement audible even as she kept her voice low. “Maddy, I did…something. I cast a spell. A summoning spell, and it worked.”

“Becca, please. How long have we known each other? You were the best researcher in Professor Humphries’ seminar, and now you’re saying you believe in magic?”

“There’s a lot about the natural world that we don’t know.” Becca’s enthusiasm wasn’t going to be that easily shut down.

“So become a scientist, for crying out loud!” More squeaking of chairs put Clara on alert. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think you should get back into spending your days in the library. At least then you were doing real research.”

“Maddy…” Becca began to protest.

“It’s those people, Becca.” Her friend wouldn’t let her. “They’re crackpots—or worse.”

“Maddy, please. They’re my friends, and, well, they rely on me. They respect me.”

A noise like a furball in the works caused Clara’s ears to perk up. But, no, it was simply Maddy laughing.

“Besides,” Becca sounded hurt, “one of them asked for my help on something.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to get involved.” Maddy had lowered her voice, even as it ramped up in urgency. “Those women are conspiracy theorists of the highest order.”

“They’re not all women.” Becca’s own voice grew quieter. “In fact, one member of the coven is a warlock, and he really believes in my abilities.”

“Oh, Becca.” Her friend’s tone softened. “I know you’re lonely, honey. But, please. Give it time.”

“I am, Maddy.” Becca with a confidence that made her cat proud. “And I’m exploring new interests and expanding my horizon. Just as you’ve always advised me to do. So, what’s up with you?”

A lot, it seemed. And as Becca’s buddy went on about some conflict in an office with a co-worker who sounded like a horror, the cat at their feet nodded off. Spectral travel was tiring. Besides, Becca had a busy day planned. As her cat, Clara was going to need her energy for the mysterious meeting ahead.

Chapter 5

Suzanne, it turned out, lived farther away than Becca had thought. Although still technically in Cambridgeport, her apartment was down by the river, in one of those old triple-deckers the city is known for, and Becca got well and truly lost—taking a shortcut that led her into a blind alley and then another that turned into a construction site—before she retraced her steps almost to the caf? and started over.

As it was, she was running late by the time she found the right street. She was tempted to blame Maddy. Her friend had kept her, going on about that nasty colleague—some woman her friend had a grudge against that she never fully explained. But Becca knew the delay was her own fault and was preparing to own up to it when she finally located the right address painted on a mailbox out front.

The bright morning had turned into a surprisingly warm day by then, and Becca was sweating slightly—her cheeks a healthy pink—as she jogged up the front steps. Someone cared for the building. In addition to that neat mailbox, the tiny front yard was neatly raked, with low blue flowers edging a lilac that had just begun to bloom, although the smell of fresh paint nearly overwhelmed that lovely, peppery scent. Somewhere, a radio was playing salsa. But the latch on the front door was old and resisted Becca’s jiggling and pushing.

“Here, let me help you.” A hand reached around Becca, dark with the sun, and she turned. The sandy-haired man who had come up so quietly behind her wasn’t much taller than she was, but he pulled the door open easily with one hand. The other was holding a bucket full of rags that smelled strongly of turpentine.

“You’re going in?” he asked, his voice soft.

She looked up. The dash of white paint on his right cheekbone made his skin look darker. Bronzed almost, with a slight glaze of sweat that added a warm and subtly spicy scent to the mix.

“What?” She blinked. “Yes, thanks. I’m looking for Suzanne Liddle. She’s in unit three?”

“The buzzer should be working.” He nodded into the foyer. “The electricians finished up last week.”

“Thanks,” said Becca, a little too breathlessly, and then turned and hurried in. Clara, who had been examining the flowers, slipped in behind Becca as the door closed. Luckily, both humans were too distracted to notice the calico, even if she hadn’t cloaked her brighter orange patch in a shadow summoning that made her as grey as a Grimalkin. But though she was on her guard not to be noticed, the cat pressed close to Becca as the young woman climbed the stairs. There was something off about this building—something that even the stinging odor of that solvent couldn’t explain—and although the compact cat certainly didn’t want to trip her person, she did want her to be wary. Especially when her phone rang before she had even reached the first landing.

“Oh!” She paused, looking at the number, and then, taking a deep breath, took the call. “Hi.”

Like the rest of her family, Clara was a witch cat, endowed with magical abilities above and beyond the usual feline mysticism. But that didn’t mean she had unlimited powers. Sure, she could pass through solid objects like doors and walls. Those powers were sort of related to how she could summon things, like Harriet did that pillow. And she could make herself more or less invisible, as all cats—even the non-magical ones—can, which is why humans trip over them so often. But although her ears were naturally more sensitive than any human’s, she couldn’t hear everything.

That’s why she was a tad alarmed when Becca stopped walking to listen, one hand over her ear to block out the music from outside. Something about the way her brows bunched together and her teeth came down on her lower lip made the little calico’s ears prick up, reminding her of those bad days two months ago. The days when all Becca had done—besides feed her cats, of course—was cry.

“Uh-huh,” she said at last. Her lip still showed the marks of her teeth, but at least she’d begun walking again, slowly mounting step after step. “Yes, she told me,” she said.

“No, I’m not home right now.” Becca had reached the third floor. The door was slightly ajar, and she turned away for privacy. “Look, I can come by your place,” she said. And then, taking another deep breath, she went on. “Okay, then what if I meet you someplace else in an hour, some place down by the river? I’m—no, really, it’s fine. I’m visiting a friend on Putnam. In fact, I’m at her door now. A new friend. Her name’s Suzanne. Suzanne Liddle.”

At that, she straightened up, and for a moment, Clara relaxed, thinking that her person was, in fact, doing better. But then her brows came together again and she shook her head.“What do you mean, Jeff? You don’t even know her. Look.” One hand went up to push the hair from her brow. “I’ll call you when I’m leaving, okay? Jeff?”

The hand wiped over her face and through her soft brown curls, and with a sigh big enough to deflate her, she shoved the phone back into her pocket. And with that she turned toward the slightly opened door.

“Suzanne?” she called. “It’s Becca.”

She rapped softly on the door, which creaked open further. Calling a little louder, to be heard over the salsa beat, she said again,“Suzanne? Are you there?”

As a cat, Clara didn’t require permission to enter any room. And while she could pass through a locked door, an unlatched one—especially one so temptingly ajar—read like a gilt-edged invitation. Only there was something about this room, this door. Something beyond the intense smell of the paint and the metallic rattle of the ladder outside.

“Suzanne?” Becca pushed the door further open and stepped inside. And so, despite an overwhelming sense of trepidation that had her guard hairs standing on end, Clara followed into a sunny room. As the door swung shut behind them and the latch caught with a click, she took in the warmth. The light from the big bay window. Two overstuffed chairs that Harriet would love crowded together on a deep plush rug, while a velvet-covered sofa, too big for the space, was pushed back against a bay window that stood slightly ajar. It was from here that the smell of the paint came in as well as the dust and the scrapings that had dappled the burgundy velvet with white.

It was also that sofa—more of a love seat actually—that had set all the cat’s instinctive alarms ringing. For reclining on the dark velvet, one arm hanging low toward the floor, lay Suzanne Liddle, the inlaid handle of her serrated cake knife extending straight up from bare white flesh of her throat.

Becca froze, leaving Clara to take in the sight of the woman on the sofa, the pooled blood from the awful wound collecting at her collarbone, where it was already darkening to almost match the burgundy of the upholstery. Time stopped—for a moment—and then jarred into movement with the clang of a ladder being collapsed. A boom box cut off in mid-song.

Somewhere, outside—in a different world—work was done for the morning. And then another sound, closer, made Becca turn. A key clicked in the door. The brass knob rotated, and Clara could hear her frightened gasp, as Trent—the handsome warlock—stepped in.

Chapter 6

A purr can mean many different things. Cats purr to express happiness, of course. But they also purr to comfort themselves or others, and that’s what Clara was trying to do an hour later—once the police let Becca go.

“Oh, kitties, it was horrible.” Clara would have thought, after all the questions, that her poor person would have been all talked out. But as she staggered into her apartment and collapsed onto her own lovely, clean, and beautifully unbloodied sofa, she began to rehash everything that had happened.

“I had just seen her Wednesday, three days ago. She was here. She was…alive.” Becca lay back with a sigh, one forearm thrown over her eyes, as the three sisters converged. Clara was a little breathless from having raced home—feline invisibility aside, she didn’t think hitching a ride in apolice cruiser was a good idea. “I keep thinking of her…her throat and all that blood. And that knife. I’d cut cake with that knife…” Becca repeated as she kicked her shoes off.

Clara ducked the falling footwear and jumped up to claim her place on the sofa. Laurel and Harriet were already there, Laurel cozying up to Becca’s side and Harriet down by her stocking feet—and the pillow. They both turned to stare at their youngest sister, as if she were an interloper, and so she carefully mounted the back of the sofa and waited for an opening.

“I…once I realized what I was seeing, I just wanted to get away…” Becca was saying. The repetition seemed to soothe her, as a purr would, but Clara remained concerned. “They had all these questions…”

“Of course they did.” Laurel reached one velvet paw up toward Becca’s arm, as if she were petting her. Clara knew better. Laurel wanted to see Becca’s eyes as she spoke. Even her purr had an edge to it.“A body and all. Dead.”

“Cut it out.”Clara batted down at her. Unlike her sealpoint sister, Clara was trying to listen to the poor girl who lay beside them. She’d missed something in that awful room, what with her worry over Becca and the sudden appearance of the warlock, just as she’d missed the beginning of Suzanne’s explanation for why she needed Becca to come visit, and she was hoping that if she paid attention, she’d figure it out.

“Oh, Clara.” The movement had caught Becca’s attention, and the distraught young woman reached up for the little calico. At that, Clara’s prime directive—to be Becca’s pet—overwhelmed any other concerns, and she tumbled onto her prostrate person and began to purr in earnest.

“Oh, great.” Harriet looked up and tilted her ears back.“Now you’ve pinned her down. She came back to feed us, obviously.”

“She’s upset.” Clara glared, but her oldest sister turned her back, fluffing out her creamsicle coat as she settled down again at Becca’s feet. Laurel, meanwhile, had stretched to her full length and started to doze. If Becca wasn’t going to share grisly details, the brown-tipped cat wasn’t interested. Clara, however, began to gently knead Becca’s belly. Making sure to keep her claws sheathed, she kept the motion even andlight, the rhythm in sync with the rumble of her purr, until she felt the tension begin to leave the girl’s slim frame. Until she heard an answering purr as Becca slipped into sleep.

Only then did Clara relax and let her own eyes begin to close. She wasn’t sleepy. The feline propensity toward napping aside, there were too many thoughts racing through her brain for her to give over to a catnap. No, she simply needed to focus on what she had seen and heard out in the bright world, in that walkup apartment. To figure out what had happened—and why—and how she could get Becca through it without any further complications.

A soft snort startled her, and Clara looked up to see Harriet twitching, restless in her sleep. As she watched, the larger cat muttered“cream” and her pink tongue darted out to moisten her nose. Then she lay still again, having satisfied her dream appetite. Laurel, as well, napped peacefully, her dark paws stretched luxuriantly along Becca’s side. The two were deep in feline slumber, untroubled by anything outside their small world.

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?”

“Yes.” Maddy sounded strained. “Yes, you did.”

“He said he was picking up something. That he had a key because he’d house sat for Suzanne before, though since she has no cats…”

“Never mind Trent.” Maddy was definitely impatient. “I mean, the police spoke with him, right?” Becca nodded. “Good, let them sort him out. It’s you I’m worried about, Becca.”

“Me?” That cookie wasn’t going to eat itself, but Clara restrained herself. Something was going on here, something that even with all her magic she couldn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Jeff didn’t really get to talk, right?”

Becca nodded.“In fact, I should call him. I said I would—”

Maddy cut her off.“And you haven’t spoken to your ex in, what, weeks? A month?”

“Close to a month.” Becca’s eyes were free of tears now, but her dark eyebrows were knit in confusion. “Maddy, what are you getting at?”

Maddy looked from her friend down at her plate, and Clara shifted to the table’s edge. If the visitor said anything about that cookie, the compact calico would make a break for it.

“Did he know where you were?”

Becca nodded.

“Who you were visiting?” Another nod as Becca waited for her friend to explain.

“I ran into Jeff in Harvard Square a while ago—and he was with a woman.” The words rushed out of Maddy in a monotone. “A tall blonde whom I’d met before, and so I was trying to place her. I didn’t think she was another programmer. He introduced her as Suzanne, and I realized that she was in your…your group.”

“Coven,” Becca corrected her in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever,” said her chubby friend as she leaned forward to take Becca’s hand, pushing the plate toward the cat.

But even though the two women were definitely distracted, the feline ignored the almond treats. Instead, both her green eyes—the one in the black patch and the one in the orange—were focused on her person, on the way the color had drained from her cheeks. On the way her eyes were widening and filling with tears once again.

“You don’t mean…” Becca’s whispered. “With with?” Now it was her friend’s turn to nod. “Jeff is—Jeffwas—seeing Suzanne?” Her question was softer than a kitten’s mewl, with a little catch in it that made Clara’s whiskers droop.

“That’s not something you should be worried about now.” Maddy patted Becca’s hand once more. “What you should be concerned about is that the police don’t think you knew about it. Because, frankly, if you did, you’d be a prime suspect for her murder.”

Chapter 8

“I’m trying to sleep.” Harriet whined, a long, drawn-out sound like air escaping from a balloon.“Go away!”

“Harriet, Laurel.” Clara looked around at her sisters.“Did you hear that? We’ve got to do something!”

The calico had jumped to the floor after Maddy had dropped her bombshell. The horrid scraping sound of Becca’s chair as she pushed it back had only precipitated her flight, and now she perched on the sofa where Harriet had settled.

“Yes, I did hear it.” Laurel licked her chops, her blue eyes lighting up.“Do you think she did it?”

“No.”Clara drew back, affronted.“Becca is a gentle soul. Besides, I was with her.”

“You could’ve been napping.”Laurel shrugged. She was no great hunter, but with her sleek lines, the sealpoint sister fancied herself part panther. Harriet, meanwhile, was still sluggish from that almond cookie, which she’d devoured to the last crumb. Not even Becca’s voice raised in outrage could rouse her.

“That’s crazy!” Becca was standing. Shouting at her guest, and as much as Clara had wanted her to shake off her grief, she knew this wasn’t a healthy alternative. “Maddy, they can’t think that I…that Jeff…”

“Becca, please.” Her friend rushed around the table to comfort her.

“I’m calling Jeff. This is crazy.” Becca stepped back and pulled out her phone.

“No, you can’t.” Maddy reached for it, but Becca pulled away. “You can’t talk to him now.”

Becca paused, looking up.“Why not?” There was an edge to her voice that made Clara lash her tail.

“Because.” By comparison, Maddy sounded defeated. “The police might see that as evidence. Proof that you killed her to get him back. Or maybe that the two of you colluded.”

As if on cue, the device in Becca’s hand let out a chiming tone.

“Don’t!” Maddy reached for the phone.

“It’s okay.” Becca stepped back and was already looking at the device. The commotion had finally woken Harriet, who yawned wide enough to show all her teeth and then sat up. “It’s Larissa, from the group. She probably just heard.”

“Becca, you don’t have to—”

“So annoying!” Beside her, Laurel stretched, unimpressed by Maddy’s soft pleading.“Maybe I should get rid of her.” She stood, her tail stiff at attention and her blue eyes beginning to cross.

“Don’t you dare!” Clara turned on her, a warning growl in her voice. She knew what that look meant: Laurel was concentrating. Hard. And that meant magic was brewing. Between the crazed look those crossed eyes gave her and that mental“suggestion” that cats were dangerous, the slim seal point had scared off several would-be adopters at the shelter before Clara could stop her. Clara didn’t even want to guess what other thoughts her sister could implant in a susceptible human’s mind.

“Settle down.” The middle sister sat and coiled her tail neatly around her cocoa paws.“You’re such a…scaredy-cat.”

“I’m practical.” Clara glared at her, ears still partly back. The little calico wasn’t sure what any of them could do with something the size of a person—and Maddy was a pretty big person at that. Nor did she particularly want to find out.“Besides, anything you did would get Becca in more trouble, and then where would we be?” Clara remembered the shelter, even if her sisters didn’t.

“We could eat her,” said Laurel with a flick of her own ears. That got Harriet’s attention, and she looked from Laurel to Clara.

“No.” Clara didn’t even bother trying to disguise the growl that had crept into her voice. Clara might be the youngest of the litter, but neither Laurel nor Harriet wanted to expend the energy for a fight.

“Hello, Larissa?” Becca turned away as she answered, her voice tentative. “Yes, I know, I was…I know.”

Maddy looked on, glum. From the sofa, the three cats watched, transfixed.

“I…yes, you’re right.” Becca seemed to be listening more than talking. She looked up at her guest and raised one finger. “Here’s fine. Okay, let me know. And, Larissa? I’m sorry.”

A moment later, she put the phone down.“It’s the coven,” she explained. “They think we should meet to talk about Suzanne. To mourn, I guess,” she said.

“Or because someone wants to strategize.” Maddy sounded so dour that Becca grimaced.

“Oh, come on,” she said in a tone rather like Laurel might use if cats spoke the way humans do. “You can’t think one of us…” She stopped and swallowed hard.

“I don’t know, Becca.” Maddy stepped forward again. “That’s the problem. I mean, someone killed your friend just as she was going to tell you something about your Wednesday witches, right? And didn’t you say the door was open?”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Becca was shaking her head. Laurel, meanwhile, had tilted her blues eyes toward Clara, her whiskers raised inquisitively. This was a detail she’d forgotten to pass along.

“Later,” Clara murmured. She wanted to hear what their person had to say.

“We’re not—the coven isn’t like that. It’s more likely someone followed Suzanne home, or the door could have been forced.” Becca was enumerating possibilities, but there was something off about her voice. “Maybe she opened it for a delivery person, or she left it off the latch. I was running late, so it could have been that she thought it was me—” She stopped, the reality of the situation catching up to her.

“Or it could have been someone she knew.” Maddy finished the thought. “Maybe someone you know too, Becca. I’m just glad that you didn’t get there a few minutes earlier. They might have killed you too.”

Chapter 9

If Becca’s friend had meant to comfort her, she’d failed miserably. After she left, Becca was as agitated as, well, as a wet cat. Even when exhaustion drove her—and the cats—to bed, she tossed and turned to the point where the feline sisters had to abandon their usual post at their person’s feet.

“If she doesn’t settle down, I’m going to swat her.” Laurel watched from her perch atop the bureau as the morning sun crept around the bedroom blinds.“I bet she won’t even remember to feed us.”

“Really?”Harriet looked up in dismay as Becca yawned and roused. Weekends meant little to the felines—and little to Becca since she lost her job. But breakfast meant everything to Harriet. “She wouldn’t!”

“She’ll remember.” Clara jumped to the floor in her role as peacemaker, and began to weave around Becca’s ankles as she sought her slippers.“If not, you can sit on her, Harriet.”

“Huh.” Harriet turned away, insulted, but Laurel chortled in glee.

“Oh, no!” Becca ran over, catching Laurel around her caf? au lait torso. “Are you having a fur ball?”

Laurel’s laugh was, at best, disconcerting. But Becca’s misguided query did at least have the advantage of distracting Clara’s older sisters, and Laurel obligingly hacked up a nugget of felt, which she deposited on the floor at Becca’s feet. Furballs are the easiest summoning there is, which is why all cats do it, even when spring shedding doesn’t necessitate it.

“Disgusting…” Harriet sauntered into the kitchen, following Becca, who had gone for a paper towel. “But now that she’s here…”

Clara knew she should have interceded. Harriet had already been fed, hours before, when Becca had woken from a nightmare. They all had, but poor Becca was so distracted that when she saw Harriet sitting by her bowl, she succumbed—once she’d cleaned up Laurel’s mess. Clara didn’t know if her oldest sister had used any mind control tricks—that one was Laurel’s specialty. That pleading look in her round yellow eyes was probably all she needed.

One thing none of them had mastered, however, was that human device called the phone. Becca’s began buzzing almost as soon as the three had finished breakfast, long before what her ex-boyfriend would have called “a decent hour.” The first call was from Maddy, who sounded determined to try once again cheer up her friend. And while Becca had refused the other woman’s offer of brunch, hearing her old friend talking about something other than collusion seemed to do her good.

It was the other calls that began to weigh on her. Kathy had been her usual self—as bouncy as a rubber ball—when she called, acting for all the world as if the upcoming meeting were a treat. But Marcia had grown so teary that Becca had ended up putting aside her own complicated feelings to comfort her and ultimately found herself asking for Luz, Marcia’s roommate, to calm the distraught paralegal down.

Becca’s mother was next, and even from the other room, the cats could hear her insisting that Becca leave the city and “come home,” wherever that was. Of course, any mention of moving made the felines uneasy, and Laurel took it out on Clara, batting at her as she tried to nap. Larissa—Clara believed she could almost smell her perfume over the line—had gone on so long about some personal tangent that Becca had laid the phone down on the counter and begun to clean as she rattled on. After that, Becca had turned the device off to read, pulling her notes on that old history again, the one that named her great-great-something grandmother as part of some long-ago witch trial.

It was dinnertime when Becca peeked at her phone again, muttering in dismay.“Cousin Joan? Richie? Did Mom tell everyone?” She turned the device on then, and as it rang again, she paused—open can in hand—to answer it.

“Jeff!” she squeaked like a mouse, and dropped the phone.

“Becca, are you there?” Harriet sniffed at the device with disdain. Nothing good came from separating Harriet and her can. “You never called me back.” Even through the tiny speaker, the disembodied voice sounded hurt.

Becca reached for the device, only to be blocked by Harriet, who pressed her furry head into her person’s hand.

“Hang on.” Becca grabbed the phone and propped it on the counter before reaching for a dish. She’d been well trained—and not simply by her cats. “Sorry,” she called over to the phone. “I’ve just been—it’s been crazy.”

Clara could feel the fur begin to rise along her back as the tiny speaker emitted some small, beetle-ish response, and she readied for a leap to the counter. How Becca could even be talking to her ex was beyond the little calico. Sure, he was tall and had what the young woman had called a raffish smile, but if Clara could have knocked the phone all the way into the sink, she would have.

“Wait!” Harriet’s paw landed on her tail.“Not until she fills the dish.”

“But it’s Jeff.” Clara rounded on her.“He cheated on her and broke her heart. You remember!”

“Humans.” Laurel, washing her face, piped up from the corner.“They’re all like that. The males gallivant; the females accept it. Not like us.”

Clara could only stare, focusing her green eyes on her tawny sister. With her Siamese blood, Laurel affected a certain worldliness, but Clara knew that both Laurel and Harriet had to remember the bad times, after the faithless computer programmer had said his last goodbye and all Becca did was cry. There was no way they could be nonchalant about his reappearance. At least, not once Harriet got her dinner.

But Clara hadn’t counted on her sisters’ appetites. Once the dishes were placed on the mat, the two could not have cared less. And while their youngest sister hesitated—tempted like her siblings to bury her face in the savory pile—Becca picked up the phone again.

“Jeff.” At least the break had allowed her the opportunity to compose herself. “I’m so sorry.” She stopped there and bit her lip.

With a sigh, Clara turned from her dish and jumped to the counter. From here, she hoped to get a better handle on the situation, but all she heard from the other end of the line was a one-word query:“What?”

“About—” Becca swallowed. “About Suzanne.”

A spurt of sound followed, and went on for so long that the calico found herself looking longingly down at her bowl. If she didn’t get to her dinner quickly, Harriet would soon be scarfing it up.

“Don’t, Jeff.” Becca’s voice grabbed her attention back. “I know…and I’m sorry.” A pause as her brows knit. “You didn’t hear?”

Harriet was sitting back, demurely washing her face with those cream-colored mitts. Clara knew what was coming next and made her decision. As Becca delivered the news in halting tones—“I found her, Jeff,” she said. “She was, well, she was already gone”—the compact feline hit the floor and headed for her dish. Too late: a large, creamsicle-colored mass had moved into her path.

“Harriet!”Clara tried to push by. Yellow eyes blinked back at her over a well-rounded shoulder.“That’s mine.”

“I didn’t think you wanted it.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“Well, I do.” Clara managed to shove past her, and nudged Laurel out of the way as well. The middle sibling had already managed a few bites, but Clara managed to wolf down the rest, ears turned back to hear Becca, who was now in the awkward position of having to comfort her ex.

“Don’t use those ears with me, little sister.” Harriet was waiting when Clara finally came up for air. Not to reprimand her, she knew, but to see if she had left anything over.“I won’t stand for it.”

“Fine.”Clara licked her chops clean.“I’m out of here.”

Before the calico even landed back on the counter, her oldest sister was lapping up the few crumbs she’d overlooked, leaving Laurel to watch, a particularly peeved expression on her pointed face.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” Becca was repeating for the umpteenth time. She looked over at the calico on the counter and, wonder of wonders, reached for the bag of treats. Putting the phone down on the counter, she poured several into her palm.

“I can’t—this doesn’t make sense.” The tinny voice seemed to be repeating itself as Clara gobbled down two treats.Take that, Harriet, she thought.“I didn’t think she was that upset.”

“What?” The hand jerked out from beneath Clara. The little calico mewed in protest and her person returned it, even as she again lifted the phone to her ear. “Jeff, what are you saying?”

Clara finished the treats and licked Becca’s palm before looking up with what she hoped was an endearing expression.

“No, she didn’t—it wasn’t suicide.” More treats were not going to be forthcoming. Not while this call lasted. “What made you think…that?”

A loud howl from the floor. Harriet had seen the treats. Seen that her sister had gotten them before she did too.

“Hang on.” Becca went for the bag again, putting the phone on speaker.

“I thought, maybe…” The words were breathy and hesitant, and Clara could almost connect the distant voice to the man she remembered. She had found his boyishness adorable at one point. A little rough with the belly rubs, but tolerant of the sisters’ squabbling and their insistence on sleeping on the bed. But that memory was now overshadowed by another, of the gawky young man pacing back and forth as he explained to their person why he couldn’t be with her anymore. Boyish—try puppy-ish—and not in a good way. It always took him forever to get to the point, as Clara recalled.

“You see,” she heard him say, and Clara realized she could. He’d be pushing his too-long hair back from his forehead, a strained look on his dog-like face. “It’s just that, well, you know I’d gone out with Suzanne a few times. I mean, it wasn’t anything serious. But, well, what makes this all so awful is that I had just told her that I couldn’t see her anymore. Becca, I’d told her I wanted to try to win you back.”

Chapter 10

Becca didn’t sleep much that night either. The image of Suzanne’s too-white skin streaked with darkening blood might have been stained on the inside of her eyelids. Clara picked up on her restlessness and did her best to calm her, staying as still by her human’s side as she could. Not that it mattered.Even when Becca finally drifted off into an uneasy rest, Harriet kept waking her youngest sister with her own grumbling complaints.

“So selfish,” the big cat muttered.“Doesn’t she know I need my beauty rest?”

Clara didn’t respond. Her oldest sister could sleep anywhere—and did. But since Clara had gotten on her case about summoning that pillow out of the ether, she had made a point about what she’d had to sacrifice to live by what she called the “silly” rules. As if she didn’t know full well that the number one rule of feline magic is that cats must keep their powers secret.

Despite Harriet’s complaints, all the sisters knew that wasn’t difficult to do. People attribute all sorts of qualities to cats. Even the most mundane of their kind is considered mysterious, as if being beautiful and incredibly limber were special skills. But while it is true that some basic physical attributes—like a feline’s excellent night vision—are common to all cats, and most felines can conjure up a few supernatural tricks—that disappearing through walls thing Clara had used to follow Becca—only a few are actual witch cats. And, therefore, it was incumbent upon the three sisters to be extra careful.

Harriet sometimes said that they were descended from feline royalty, from the great Queen of Cats herself, and Clara knew that often other cats did treat them with a certain respect. But whether the claim of royal lineage had any basis in fact or was merely another of Harriet’s ploys for getting the best treats, her youngest sibling couldn’t tell for sure. Clara’s one distinct memory of their mother was of being licked by a warm, rough tongue. However, her injunction against revealing their power had stayed with Clara, even if her sisters chose to ignore it. The loyal calico could still clearly recall their tabby mother purring it into her ear even as she sent them off to the shelter to be adopted by the young woman they now served.

“Serve indeed!” Laurel was wakeful too. Needless to say, her memories—and her understanding of the injunction—differed from Clara’s, much as her ease at reading her sister’s thoughts illustrated the range of their powers. “It was pure chance Becca picked us,” said the sealpoint beauty as she leaped to the kitchen table, where Becca had abandoned her breakfast to peck away at her computer.“I knew I should have hissed at her. Then maybe some handsome banker would have taken us in.”

“Taken you, you mean.” Clara couldn’t help responding.“We were lucky to stay together.”

Laurel blinked her blue eyes demurely, which was as close to an acknowledgment as she would give, and leaned forward to sniff at Becca’s cereal bowl.

Becca, too intent on her computer, didn’t notice, not even when Laurel extended her pink tongue and began to lap up the leftover milk. Harriet did, though, and after a grunt of effort, landed with a thud by Clara’s side.

“Is that the Fruit Loops?” She nudged Laurel aside. Some things were worth the effort.“Are there any left?”

“What do you mean, ‘blocked’? ” Becca’s question didn’t even merit a tail flick from the sisters, seeing as how it wasn’t accompanied by any move to unseat them. Instead, her hands went to work on the keyboard in front of her. “I’ll show you ‘blocked,’” she muttered, typing furiously.

With her sisters occupied finishing Becca’s breakfast, Clara was free to study her face. For a human, Becca was almost catlike. Although she was significantly larger than they were, she was small for her kind, and her short, brown hair lay close to her head, much like their fur did. It was the expression on her face, however, that heldClara this morning. When she focused, as she was doing, her lips pursed slightly. If she’d had whiskers, they’d be bristling, the calico thought. Pointing forward, almost. And as if she were truly one of their litter, her intense stare made it evident that she was on the prowl—though how she could trace anything through her computer was beyond the feline who watched her so closely. True, it was warm and at times it purred, but Clara didn’t think that even Becca’s constant stroking and murmuring could make the silver machine give forth the kind of prey that would interest one of her own kind.

“There!” With a final, triumphant slap at the keyboard, Becca sat back, and realization dawned on Clara. Whatever kind of hunt the young woman before her had managed, using this device and her own rather closely cropped claws, she had made a successful pounce.

“So much for wanting me back, Jeff Blakey. So much for nothing serious…” A few more keystrokes followed and then a sudden intake of breath. “Oh!” Her voice was soft. “Oh.”

“What?” Laurel looked up, a rime of milk around her brown snout.“Is she okay?”

“Like you care.” Clara rubbed up against Becca’s hand, partly to comfort her and partly to gain access. As Laurel licked her chops and began to bathe, Clara focused in on the picture in front of her. Sure enough, up on the screen was Becca’s ex-boyfriend, posed in front of the software startup where he spent his days. Even in this flat miniature, with none of the reassuring confirmation of scent, the calico cat recognized those floppy bangs, the broad, easy grin that her person had thought so charming. With a slow blink of her round, green eyes, Clara also realized that she recognized the woman in the picture—the one he had his armaround. Tall, blonde, slim. Suzanne.

“Oh, Clara.” An arm swept the cat off the table before she could see more, and Becca held her close, burying her face in the multicolored fur. “Maddy was right. It wasn’t just a few dates. Jeff even changed his status to ‘in a relationship.’ It was Suzanne, and I didn’t even know.”

Clara felt the warm wet of tears begin to seep through her fur but held still. She knew her sisters scoffed at her sometimes, but the youngest cat saw comforting their person as much of a sacred duty as, well, keeping rodents away or kicking litter on the bathroom floor.

After a few minutes had passed, Becca’s sobs subsided, and she freed the cat to wipe her face. Clara stayed on her lap, though, aware of how her presence had helped. Besides, she had a great view of the computer from here, and she could see where the melancholy girl was now manipulating the image.

“April,” Becca read aloud. With a tingle in her whiskers, Clara could almost feel her thinking. April had been the bad month—the month on the sofa… “So this was from a month ago. Maybe he really did break up with her…”

A few more clicks, and his page was replaced by one that featured Becca’s slender blonde colleague, only in a lot better shape than when Becca had just seen her. Clara’s ears pricked up as Becca began to type some more, her fingers patting at the keys as if they were catnip mice.

“That’s strange.” She rested her chin on the top of Clara’s head, a sure sign that she was thinking. A flurry of typing followed, but the picture on the screen didn’t change. “How can someone on social media have no recent photos?” Clara swished her tail in the hope that Becca wasn’t talking to her. Because of all the mysteries to which the feline was privy, this was one question for which she had no answer.

***

Becca did not answer any of Jeff’s calls that morning, and there were enough of them that they had become annoying.

“I could break it.” Laurel sat atop the bookshelf, looking at the buzzing device.“Just a little push…” One dark chocolate paw rose in the air, ready to dab.

“You can’t,” Clara hissed. Sometimes, she felt like she was the oldest sister.“She needs it.”

“Needs it, huh?” Laurel turned and began licking her tail. She didn’t have to bathe, but she did like to show off her flexibility on the high, narrow shelf.

“You know what I mean.” Clara tried a conciliatory tone.“It’s how she reaches out without having to actually go outside.”

“I thought she was trying to learn how we do that,”the sealpoint sister responded, her mew muffled by a mouthful of fur.“Get into people’s minds. Like old what’s his face is—at least now.”

True enough, Jeff had been calling since Becca had turned her phone back on. The voicemail kept piling up, though, and even Harriet could tell they were weighing on Becca. So, Clara at least was glad when Becca had ducked out for a run. She came back glowing and warm. And if her exuberance had been forced, at least she seemed to have an appetite finally, although Clara suspected that Laurel had a paw in that—implanting such an idea was kitten’s play for the seal point, at least with a person as open as Becca.

Whatever the initial impetus, Becca poured more cereal into that bowl and topped it off with more milk as the three felines looked on. That she held the bowl and began to eat before hitting“play all” on her message app did nothing to dissuade Laurel, who circled the young woman like a shark in shallow water.

“Hi, Becca—” She paused, spoon in mouth, to hit delete.

“Bec—” Another gone. “Wait—” Gone.

Two more and she was through, but by then the poor girl seemed to have lost her appetite. Leaving her bowl on the table—Harriet and Laurel eyed each other, waiting for the right moment—she headed for the coffee maker. Before she could even fill it with water, the phone rang again. Thumping the pot down hard enough to make the sisters scatter, Becca reached for the offending instrument, a look like thunder on her usually sweet face.

“Jeff Blakey!” Her voice was at a thunder pitch too. “If you think that I—oh.” She stopped so short that Laurel looked up. “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes. Yes, I understand,” she said, her righteous indignation replaced by something more like a soft worry. “The station house? Yes, I know where it is.”

Another pause.“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I want to help. Suzanne is—” She swallowed and took a deep breath. “Suzanne was my friend.”

Chapter 11

Disruption—even when it resulted in abandoned food—was not something any cat could enjoy. And this latest call, which sent Becca out of the kitchen in a rush, was too much flurry for any feline. But Laurel’s latest manipulation—following as it did on Harriet’s lazy summoning of that pillow—was giving Clara an idea. It started as a twitch in her tail and moved up to tickle her whiskers, before emerging as a full-fledged possibility. Since Clara and her sisters did indeed have the powers that Becca believed she possessed, was there any reason they couldn’t use their particular skills to help out the human who had taken them all in?

The sisters had a quick confab on the subject while Becca showered and changed. Or Laurel and Clara did. Harriet was too interested in Becca’s discarded cereal to contribute much.

“And here I thought you didn’t want us using magic in front of humans.”Laurel’s half-closed eyes could have denoted sleepiness, but Clara knew her too well. She was watching her baby sister, hoping to catch her in a contradiction.

“I wouldn’t let her see me—see us—doing anything, of course.” Clara spoke softly but with what she had hoped was a contagious urgency.“But maybe we could poke around a little. Listen in to on her friends and check out what they’re doing when they don’t think anyone is watching?”

Laurel’s ears angled forward, and Clara knew that she was intrigued.“Spy?”

“Well, maybe not that.” Clara had the classic feline sense of entitlement and knew she could enter any room at any time. That word, however, sounded a little nastier than what she had intended.“Just…see if we can help at all. See what we can find out. Becca needs us.”

“Seems to me she’s doing fine.”Laurel was quick to pick up on her sister’s distaste. And as the slender seal point regarded herself the most fastidious of the three felines, she decided to be insulted. Nose up in the air, she turned away from Clara—and then dipped it quickly down to lick Becca’s spoon. Harriet had knocked it out of the bowl when she dove in face first.

“She’s eating. We’re eating.” The slightest tilt of those fluffy white ears—visible above the breakfast bowl’s rim—gave the sole indication that the oldest sister was listening, as Laurel continued to lay out her case.“Am I right?” One dark paw swiped at Harriet’s broad and fluffy tail.“And now she’s rid of both her two-timing boyfriend and the little alley cat he was running around with.” Another swipe.“Hey!” Harriet sat up, licking her chops.“Stop that!”

“I was afraid you’d drowned,”purred Laurel, nudging Harriet aside.

“I hadn’t,” Harriet pouted, before beginning to wash.“Laurel’s right, though.” She hiccupped slightly as she chuckled at her sister’s joke. Cats do enjoy portraying humans as inferior felines.“Becca’s doing fine, and besides, you were so upset with me the last time…”

Clara sighed and felt her whiskers sagging. If only she weren’t the youngest—the baby, the “clown”—maybe her sisters would take her seriously. Sometimes, she thought, that was why she cared about Becca so much. The young woman was a small creature too, in her own way. And they both needed allies. Which was why the compact calico decided to make onemore attempt to win over her siblings.

“I’m not talking about physically.” She worked to keep her voice even. Any hint of a growl and Harriet would be on her high horse about rank and birth order again.“I’m worried about her emotional well-being.”

Harriet blinked. Laurel didn’t even look up.

“Did you enjoy being kicked off the bed last night?” Clara was playing her last card, well aware of the reputation cats had for being selfish. In some cases, she was ashamed to admit, it was deserved.“If Becca keeps tossing and turning, then none of us will ever get to sleep on the nice comforter again.”

Harriet’s nose wrinkled up slightly in thought, making the Persian in her background even more obvious. For a moment, Clara dared to hope.

“Doesn’t matter.” Laurel glanced up from the bowl, her pink tongue wiping over a swath of fur.“We can sleep during the day. And this morning, she left two bowls of cereal unfinished. Two.”

“She has a point.” Harriet looked over at the bowl with longing, but Laurel had already licked it clean.

***

Neither actually refused to accompany Clara when she set out with Becca soon after. But, as if reflecting their person’s mood, the day had turned grey, and the threatened rain was enough to have Laurel up on top of the bookshelf, tail curled protectively around her neat booties. Harriet, at least, sounded conflicted, and for a few moments, her youngest sister had thought the big fluffball might join her.

“I am fond of the girl,” Harriet began as Becca laced up her sneakers.“Truly. But it’s so hard to dematerialize right after eating. Couldn’t we wait a half hour and then follow?”

“She’s going to the police station.”Clara tried to convey the urgency.“Where they lock people up—in cages!”

“Oh!” Harriet drew back, raising one paw as if to bat away the idea.“Well, then. As the head of this family, I don’t think any of us should be going there.”

“No, we shouldn’t,” Clara agreed as she watched Becca head out the door.“But she is, and so I am too.”

Even though Clara had dismissed Harriet’s excuse as unworthy, she was grateful that she herself hadn’t indulged in any breakfast treats. It isn’t difficult for a cat to pass through a wall, not exactly, but they do have to shimmy and squeeze a bit—just as they do through a regular door as it closes—and the atoms of a solid structure do press in an unfortunate way on a full belly. As it was, the calico had to lope to catch up with her person, and she was pleased to see that the young woman had decided to walk, despite the slight drizzle, rather than catch the bus that stopped at the end of the street.

The Monday workday had begun in earnest, for those who had jobs, and it was all Clara could do to keep up with her person as she strode rather purposefully down the city sidewalk. The hat Becca had jammed on her head before she left the house—a wide-brimmed velvet number that kept the rain off her face—helped. But the cloaked cat still nearly tripped a bearded man in a suit when she stopped suddenly to take in the scents of the damp air. By good luck, her near victim was obsessed with his cell phone and only muttered something about the slippery sidewalk as the shadowy feline slipped by.

Nerves, Clara figured, rather than timing were pushing Becca. Because when she got to the police station, the young woman stopped short. She must have realized she was early to meet whoever it was who had called her.

“That’s all right,” she said to the older man at the front desk. He had enough wrinkles to be a Shar Pei, but his eyes were as sad as a basset hound’s. Clara hoped he’d be gentle with her poor person. “I’ll wait,” she said.

“You can have a seat over there.” His voice sounded doggish too, a low bark without much bite in it. “I’ll make sure he knows you’re here.”

She nodded and retreated to the bench he had pointed out. Before long, she was chewing on her thumbnail. If Clara had to bet, the dark-haired girl was thinking about Jeff and about what Maddy had said. At least, Clara hoped she was. Weighing whether or not to turn in your cheating ex-boyfriend certainly beat out fretting over his betrayal.

“Are you okay?”

Becca started at the voice. The man before her, neat in a pink-striped Oxford shirt and jeans, his damp, dark hair combed off his forehead, didn’t look familiar, and she blinked up at him. Clara, of course, recognized his scent—warm, slightly spicy, with a touch of turpentine.

“What? Oh, yes.” She forced a smile. “Thanks.”

Human senses may not be as acute as a cat’s, but even as Becca dismissed his query with a polite smile, Clara could see the realization dawning on her face.

“You’re the painter.” Her smile relaxed into something more natural. “From—” And then it disappeared. “Suzanne’s.”

“I am.” His voice was low and warm, and as he took a seat on the bench beside Becca, she looked away flustered. “Nathan,” he said, holding out a tanned and calloused hand. “Nathan Raposa.”

“Becca Colwin.” They shook, and Becca’s brows knit as the question begin to form. “Are you here because of…because of Suzanne?”

He nodded.“I let you in. Remember?” His voice sounded kindly, but its effect had worn off. Becca’s slight blush faded to something close to green. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She nodded.“That was the first time I’ve seen—well, a body,” she said. “And you?”

“Oh, I didn’t go in!” He rejected the suggestion with a grimace. “But I was working there all day, and so I guess I’m as close to a witness as they’ve got.”

“Did you see who did it?”

He shook his head, freeing a lock of hair that, as it dried, was slowly returning to sun-bleached blond.“I was around back, probably. And with my music playing…well, I get into the zone. I told them that, but they kept insisting, like maybe there was something I’d overlooked.”

Becca waited.

“I told them all I could.” He paused, that grin was looking sheepish. “And that was that I was working there all morning, and I didn’t see or hear anything. At least, not until you came by.”

Chapter 12

Becca didn’t like the sound of that. Clara could tell by the way her forehead furrowed as she took in a quick breath. But before she could respond—or even let that breath out—her name was called by the man behind the desk.

“You’ll do fine.” Nathan reached over, as if to place one hand over hers, and pulled back just in time. “Just tell them what happened.”

“Rebecca Colwin?” An older man in a rumpled brown jacket was looking around.

“Here, before you go.” Nathan pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Why don’t you give me a call after,” he said, extracting a card. “It might help to talk about it. I’m not going to be able to work today anyway. And, besides, maybe we can salvage something good from the whole experience.”

“Ms. Colwin?” The man in the brown jacket was coming toward her.

“Here.” Nathan pressed the card into her hand as he rose. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Her voice cracked as she, too, stood and turned toward the disheveled man. “I’m Becca—Rebecca—Colwin.”

“Well, Becca Rebecca,” he said as the edges of his mouth twitched into a grin. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Becca turned back, but Nathan was already walking toward the door, and so, with a sigh that probably no one but Clara could hear, she followed the older man in.

***

Fifteen minutes later, she looked like herself again, neither too pale nor too pink. The older man—Detective Abrams—had gotten one of his staff to bring her coffee and take her sodden hat. But even without the extra fortification, she had done her best to recall everything she could from that morning. The detective’s questions had helped, prompting her along when she couldn’t seem to remember some of the details.

Although she’d been dreading it—her response to the handsome painter had made that obvious—the entire experience seemed to be doing her some good.

“Yes, that’s true.” She was nodding enthusiastically as the detective read back her description of the room. “That’s it exactly.”

He had seemed tentative, as if he didn’t trust his own note taking, and Becca was eager to help.

“The door was definitely unlocked when I came in.”

“Unlocked, but was it closed or open?”

She paused.“I am pretty sure it was slightly open. I mean, I knocked, but I wouldn’t have opened it unless it had been off the latch. That’s not me.”

“Of course not, Ms. Colwin.” The detective looked tired, his face as wrinkled as that jacket. But his manner was gentle and his voice soft. “So you heard a voice?”

“No.” Becca looked lost in her memory. “I just—the door opened, and I stepped in, calling for her.”

“Because you sensed something was off?” The detective sounded genuinely curious, his head tilting like Laurel’s did when she was listening to something she didn’t quite understand. “Because of your power—what did you call it, a sensitivity?”

“No, I don’t…” Becca looked flustered. “Oh, you mean the summoning? No, that was—I don’t know what that was.” She almost laughed as she shook her head. “I just wanted you to understand how Suzanne and I know each other. We’re not—we weren’t—friends, exactly, though maybe we could have been, if it weren’t for… Anyway, we know each other from our group.Kneweach other.” She swallowed and fell silent.

“Your coven.” The rumpled man waited a moment before offering the word, pronounced so carefully, as if he had never heard it before. At least, thought Clara as she watched him, he was being respectful.

“Well, that’s what we call ourselves.” Becca looked down, slightly abashed. “I don’t even know if I believe in any of it. Only the last time we all got together, things were a little crazy because, well, because I think I did summon something.”

The man opposite her looked so confused Clara almost began to wonder about his intelligence.

“I thought I explained,” Becca said. Obviously, she was wondering too. “I was trying out these spells. And, well, I summoned a pillow out of the ether—out of nowhere.”

“Ah, of course.” A nod of understanding at last as a smile reconfigured those wrinkles. “So you do have power of some kind, and did Suzanne?”

“No, I don’t think so.” The memory made Becca stop and think. “I was the only one who had had any success. At least, thus far.”

“So you were special to the group.” He was speaking slowly, as if he were trying very hard not to miss anything again. But something in his tone was beginning to make the fur along Clara’s back rise.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that…” Becca must have heard an off note too. She had turned away from the man, but Clara could see the hot dark splotches that now stained her cheeks.

“Still, it must have been very gratifying, to have a spell—a summoning spell—work. Especially when none of the other women in the coven had managed that.” He appeared to be reading his notes, but Clara could tell that he was watching Becca. Watching her color rise.

“We’re not all women.” Becca faced him again, eager to set the record straight. “We’re equal opportunity.”

“Ah.” The detective sat back, waiting. A broad grin began to spread across his worn face.

“Our coven leader, Trent, is a man,” she explained. “I mean, we’re very egalitarian. That’s one of the tenets of Wicca, of what we do. But it just so happens that Trent is the most experienced and, well, he’s a man.” She sounded like she’d run out of steam.

“One man in the coven.” The detective seemed to find that interesting. “But even he can’t do what you can. That must be extremely gratifying, especially since you’ve lost your job. Your boyfriend too, I believe. Having a power like that must have made you feel special—especially to thisman, this Trent.”

“No.” Becca’s voice was full of scorn. Too full, Clara thought, remembering those flowers. “It’s not like that.”

“No, of course not.” The kind, fatherly face beamed right back at her.

“So tell me, how long were you stalking the victim?”

Chapter 13

Despite her sisters’ reservations, Clara knew that they would have responded. Laurel would have attacked that detective, claws out. Harriet would have bristled, at least, fluffing up her bulk to ottoman-like proportions. Clara simply wanted to get Becca out of there as soon as possible. Luckily, the young woman seemed to be on the same wavelength.

“What? Are you kidding me?” She stood up, her voice rising along with her. “Stalking?”

“Now, now.” The seated man raised his hand as if to stop her, his tired face looking just as gentle as it had all along. “Please, miss. We understand how emotions can run high. Your boyfriend was stepping out…”

“But you don’t understand.” She hesitated, and Clara feared she was going to sit again. “I wasn’t stalking anyone.”

“You knew that the victim was seeing your ex-boyfriend? You’ve said that you were to meet her at noon. He tells us he spoke to you at half past, which leaves a half hour unaccounted for. We’ve also heard that you were quite upset.”

“Jeff?” Her voice ratcheted up again. “He said that?”

“We’ve had several people in to talk with us,” the detective continued.

“What about Trent?” Even as Becca said the name, a look of horror came over her. “Wait, he had a key…”

“We’re speaking to several people,” the detective repeated.

“But you think I…” She reached for the back of the chair, this time to steady herself as she suddenly went pale. “That I could…?”

The tired-looking man did not answer. Instead, he pushed his own chair back with a scraping sound that made Clara—her fur already on edge—jump. “This is an ongoing investigation, but I’m sure all questions will be answered in time,” he said as he rose with a tired sigh. “In the meantime, we’d appreciate it if you remained available to answer any further questions.”

***

Clara had to hold back as Becca left the suddenly airless room. As much as she wanted to brush up against her person—to give her the feline equivalent of a hug with her soft fur and the gentle pressure of her warm body—the little cat had to keep in mind that she was, for all intents and purposes, invisible to Becca. If she showed up here, she’d be as likely to startle her as comfort her. Besides, the youngwoman was so distracted that even if Clara were as big as Harriet, she’d be at risk of tripping her person as the detective escorted her down the hall and out.

“Becca!” At the sound of her name, the flustered young woman looked up. The day had cleared, but she didn’t appear to feel the warm sun. Instead, she blinked, blind as a new kitten, as a man approached. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.” She stopped and focused. It was the painter, only he had rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal sinewy forearms and his hair had dried. “I’m sorry—Nathan?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, his teeth white against his tan. “I thought I’d wait around. And, well, I’m glad I did. You look a little out of it. They didn’t make you look at photos, did they?”

Becca shuddered.“No. No way. We just…talked.”

“Ah.” Nathan nodded, comprehension dawning. “That can be worse. Hey, would you want to get something to eat? I know I could use some coffee and a muffin.”

“Yeah.” She sounded tentative, but then repeated with more resolve. “Yes, I would. I think they think…I think that maybe…” She swallowed hard. “I need to talk this all over with somebody.”

As Clara followed them to the coffee house, she grew increasingly grateful that her sisters hadn’t come along. For starters, Harriet would have gotten so excited by the idea of a muffin that she might have materialized right there, which would have caused no shortage of confusion. Laurel, meanwhile, would have been so intrigued by the sun-kissed painter with his spicy scent that she’d be twining around his ankles as he walked—unless she’d have already rejected him as competition for Becca’s time and attention, in which case, who knew what havoc she would wreak. Although the housecat in Clara understood both impulses, she had more discipline than either of her siblings and prided herself on her calico ability to hang back and weigh a situation before acting.

As she slipped in the closing door and waited by the one empty table, Clara tried to focus on what Becca needed—and what one small feline could do for a beleaguered human.

“Here, drink this.” Nathan had insisted that Becca sit—choosing the same table Clara had picked out—and returned a minute later with a large, froth-topped mug. “You’ve had a shock.”

“Thanks.” A sound rather like a purr emanated from Becca’s mouth, and she licked away a foam moustache with a gesture Laurel would have been proud of. “I really need—what is this?”

“Mocha cappuccino.” Nathan put his own mug down and went back to the counter. By the time he returned, with muffins, Becca had begun to look more like herself, the warmth, milk, and sugar augmenting the caffeine in her recovery.

“I figure you’ve been through an ordeal.” He raised his own mug to drink, but Clara could see he was watching the young woman who sat opposite him. “Were they brutal?”

“It was one man—a detective—and he was, well, full of questions,” Becca said, reaching for the closest muffin. “Though he seemed to know a lot.” She broke off a piece and nibbled at it absently. Clara, who enjoyed her food almost as much as her sisters did, thought she wasn’t really tasting it. “What did you tell them about me?”

“About you?” Nathan’s eyebrows rose. “Just that I let you in.”

“Did you tell them what time?” But the man seated opposite was shaking his head.

“No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t really keeping track.” He had the decency to look abashed. “And they asked, and so I had to tell them that you looked distracted. But, then, I went around the back again, until, well, until you started screaming.”

“Did you at least tell them how brief my visit was?” Becca broke off another piece, but only crumbled it between her fingers. “I mean, you must have only gotten back to work.”

It was not to be.“Sorry. I had my music playing, and I was really done with the painting for the day. It being Saturday and all, I’d only come by to do another coat on the trim. But, well, I’d noticed you.” He looked down at his mug and thus missed seeing the blush climbing into her cheeks. “I’d seen you coming up the street and I’d been kind of hoping you’d come out soon, and so I was taking my time, cleaning up, until I heard—well, you know. And then I ran around front and saw that other guy holding you, hustling you out of the building. I was ready to jump in. But just then, I heard sirens and the cops were pulling up, and I realized I should stay out of the way.”

Becca blinked up at him.

“Until you’d been taken care of, of course.” The painter’s eyes opened wide. They were blue, Clara noted, but a more grey-blue than Laurel’s. “By the EMT, that is. Then I came forward—anyway, I’m sorry. Finding your friend like that must have been awful.”

“Yeah, it was. Thanks.” Becca held her mug close as color drained from her face to leave her sickly pale. “But Suzanne and I weren’t friends. Not exactly.”

“Ah.” Now it was his turn to look thoughtful. “Work colleagues?”

“We’re in a cov—a group. A discussion group. Wewere,” she corrected herself as her color returned to something like normal. “We had just had our weekly meeting a few days before, and she’d asked me to come by.”

“And she called you that morning, right?” He bit into his own muffin while he waited for her answer.

“No.” Becca shook her head. “She’d asked me when we last met. Why?”

“Huh.” Another bite, and his face grew thoughtful as he chewed and swallowed. “That’s strange. I heard her on the phone earlier that morning—maybe an hour or two before you showed up. She sounded like something was on her mind. Honestly? Maybe even angry.”

Becca nodded. Clara didn’t have to be as psychic as Laurel to know she was thinking of Jeff and of what he’d told her. “So you did hear some things,” she said, and Clara looked up with pride. Cats don’t tend to think of their humans as successful hunters. They know the average biped is far too inept. But this girl was sharp.

“I was working right outside her apartment at that point.” Nathan spoke as if it were no big deal, but Becca was on it like a kitten on a catnip mouse.

“And I assume you told the police that her living room window was open?”

Clara held her breath, every guard hair on alert.

“I’m sure they know.” Now it was his turn to look away, flustered. “And they had people all over that apartment. I haven’t been allowed back to finish, or even get my gear.”

“You haven’t—” Becca tilted her head, as if she’d heard a whistle far away. Maybe, Clara thought, she was thinking of keys—and access to a young woman’s apartment. “How well did you know Suzanne?”

“Me? Not at all.” He shook his head. “We said hi a few times.” His sadness seemed genuine, but Becca pushed on. “I didn’t know any of the tenants.”

“So then who hired you, Nathan?”

“Some management company.” He was staring at the door, like Harriet at a cabinet full of treats. “I get referrals. Why are you asking—you don’t think that I…”

“I don’t know what to think.” Becca said, speaking slowly. “I’ve never been involved in a murder investigation before.”

Chapter 14

Becca was on her phone as soon as she left the coffee house.

“Maddy, I’ve had the weirdest morning, you wouldn’t believe who I just had coffee with.” She sounded breathless, and Clara didn’t think that was due to her pace. Nor did she give her friend a chance to answer. “That painter I told you about?”

Late morning, and it was easy for the shadowing feline to keep up, the rush hour crowds she’d battled earlier having all dispersed to their various daytime destinations. As Becca walked, holding her phone to her ear, Clara realized that her friend was one of those office drones. That would explain why her person was sharing her news over the phone rather than at one of their customary confabs. It might also have explained the friend’s mood, which—from Becca’s face—was not improved by the news that Becca had shared a snack with this particular young man, no matter how solicitous he might have seemed.

“Maddy…Maddy, wait.” Becca actually stopped, raising her hand as if her friend could see her. “This wasn’t a date. I know he was there. We ran into each other at the police station. Look, we talked about it. I asked him a bunch of questions, and they did too. No, he’s not a suspect.” She lowered her voice on that last word, but Clara’s ears pitched forward to catch it all. “I was down there answering questions too, Maddy.”

After she hung up, Becca walked the rest of the way in silence. That gave her pet a chance to mull over what she’d learned—and what she could infer. This Nathan, for example, was not previously known, not even to Becca’s more gossipy friend. That he seemed to like Becca was obvious, even without that rather flattering admission.

To her cat, this made perfect sense. Clara knew Becca was an attractive young woman. Her coat was smooth and glossy, and she always smelled nice to the little feline. Plus, as her pet well knew, Becca hadn’t had any suitors since Jeff had broken her heart. And while Trent had seemed promising—those flowers had been good enough to eat—he hadn’t made any moves that a friend wouldn’t. Well, if you bought his line about the bouquet being a hostess gift, that is. It didn’t take any magic to see that Becca liked the painter as well, perhaps because of his pleasant pine-y aroma. And while Becca had been appropriately skeptical, asking some good questions, Clara had witnessed that blush.

But the conversation had taken a dark turn once Becca had brought up the ongoing investigation. For all that the cute painter had claimed not to have kept track of the time, he did seem to keep adding details to his recollections—details that might implicate Becca. And when Becca had asked about his work—about who owned or managed Suzanne’s apartment—he’d become as skittish as a kitchen mouse. Clara could tell that Becca was disconcerted when the handsome painter had excused himself rather suddenly and left. Whatshe didn’t know was whether her human had been more upset by the questions he had left unanswered—or the ones that he had failed to ask her.

Perhaps it was too much to expect some peace in which to ponder all these variables. Too much to expect a quiet afternoon once the two got home. Not when they’d left Laurel and Harriet behind. After all, Clara had tried to get them involved, and she should have known that both her sisters took a while to get started in the morning. But Becca and Clara returned to find the apartment a wreck—all the cushions off the couch and the mauled remains of Trent’s bouquet spread across the floor.

“Oh, kitties!” Becca immediately began gathering the scattered blossoms, most of which were broken or shredded past recognition. They had been fading anyway. Now, however, they were beyond recall.

“What were you thinking?” Clara found Laurel and Harriet on the sill, reclining in the sun. For once, Harriet wasn’t hogging all the space, and their calico sister jumped up to join them, squeezing in between the two.“Isn’t she having a hard enough time without this?”

“We were…investigating,”said Laurel with a faint purr.“I’m not sure I trust that Trent fellow.”

“I’m not sure I do either,” Clara had to admit. Men, she was beginning to realize, were often a complication.“But…”

“I thought about cleaning it all up.” Harriet looked up, blinking, and Clara realized her oldest sister had been asleep.“But you threw such a hissy fit last time.”

“That was diff–”Clara caught herself. No good ever came out of arguing with Harriet.

“Besides,” the oldest sister said as she began to bathe,“Jeff wouldn’t want to see some other man’s flowers here.”

“Jeff?”Clara turned her head and caught it. The vibration. Someone was coming to the door. With a thud, Harriet landed first and waddled off, but Laurel and Clara quickly caught up as she headed toward the door.

“What the—kitties?” Becca looked up, broken stems in her hand, just in time to hear the buzzer. “Jeff!” She opened the door, reaching up reflexively to smooth her hair, and only succeeded in dropping some pale pink petals in her brown curls.

“Here, let me.” In lieu of a more traditional greeting, Jeff leaned over and picked out a few blossoms as Becca sputtered. “Cats got at the flowers again?”

“Yeah, they can’t seem to resist.” Becca turned toward the kitchen, where she dumped the ruined bouquet rather unceremoniously in the trash.

“I don’t know why you bother.” Her ex followed, stopping only when he saw the vase, where the one rose had somehow survived. “Oh,” he said, the reality dawning. “You didn’t…”

“A friend brought them.” Becca focused on cleaning up the rest of the debris. “Just a thank you gesture.”

“Silly girl,” Laurel mewed as she leaned her tan side against Jeff’s shin.“We got him to notice them, didn’t we?”

“Becca doesn’t play those kinds of games.” If looks had claws, Laurel would have felt Clara’s.“So that’s why you trashed the place.”

“Huh.” Harriet sat staring up at Becca. To her, a human in the kitchen meant only one thing: food.“She just attacked them because she could.” Of course, the bouquet had been on a high shelf. Becca has grown rather used to the cats’ tricks, at least, the non-magical ones.

“With everything going on, I took the day off,” Jeff explained as he extricated himself from Laurel and reached out to Becca. “I wanted to see you. I mean, that—it—must have been so awful for you.”

“Yeah, it was.” Becca fussed a bit more with the dustpan, chasing the last few petals with the brush as they skittered away like so many moths, before giving up. Standing, she turned to face her ex. “Saturday was possibly the worst day of my life, but today hasn’t been great either.”

“Oh, honey.” He reached to embrace her.

“Don’t!” Her raised hand stopped him short. “Jeff, you can’t—I didn’t even know about you and Suzanne before…before Saturday. You can’t just waltz back in. Not now, that she’s…”

“Becca, it’s not like that.” His arms had dropped to his sides, but he showed no sign of retreating. “I told you. I’d broken it off with Suzanne. We were over.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not what the cops think.” Her voice had an edge that set Clara’s ears back.

He shook his head as if bewildered.

“They accused me of stalking her,” Becca said.

“Oh.” That one syllable was enough.

“Jeff?” It was the warning voice. The one Becca used with the cats when they got too close to a candle.

“It’s just—” He paused and his boyish face assumed a hangdog look. “They came by to talk to me this morning. They had a lot of questions, and they seemed to know we’d, uh, gone out a few times. They seemed to think it was somebody Suzanne knew and, so, well… Anyway, I’d told them that Suzanne had been freaked out recently. That she was worried that someone was following her. I didn’t know that they’d think it was you.”

“So that’s why you took the day off. I think you’d better start at the beginning, Jeff Blakey.” Becca nodded toward the living room, but from the way she was standing, arms crossed, she wasn’t thinking of her guest’s comfort. “And this time, don’t leave anything out.”

***

“I didn’t mean to get you in any trouble.” Twenty minutes later, they had moved to the couch, though Becca was keeping a cushion—thecushion—between them. At some point during Becca’s retelling of what had happened and Jeff’s apologies for what he’d said, Harriet and Laurel had given up and gone to seek out real moths, leaving only Clara to listen in. “It was all that stupid group—your witch group.” His voice dripped with contempt. “The coven she was so proud to be part of.”

Becca held her tongue, but a more sensible man would’ve noted her expression.

“I mean, who believes in magic in this day and age?” He was digging himself in deeper.

“What do you mean?” Clara saw the effort it took for Becca to keep her voice level. Maybe Jeff did too, because he sighed and pushed his hair back before trying to explain.

“Well, like, Suzanne told me there were some issues. I guess she’d gone out a few times with someone in the group? Anyway, he’d given her this necklace. You know, that glass thing she always wore?”

“The crystal teardrop?” Becca had only seen it briefly, but she could visualize it. Her hand moved up and she touched the hollow of her own throat.

“Yeah.” Jeff nodded as he watched the movement of Becca’s hand. “That’s the one. She was really careful about taking it off before you guys met, though. Said it would bring down bad juju or something. What kind of craziness is that?”

“Really.” Clara knew there was more to this. Becca did too, from the way she stared at her ex. “Bad juju?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe it was a jealousy thing. You know, ’cause she’d dumped the guy. Then I thought, well, maybe it was some other ex. But the group is mostly women, right?”

She nodded.“So you told the cops that I was stalking your new girlfriend. Making me the prime suspect for her murder.”

“Oh, Becs, I’m sorry.” His arm went up on the sofa back, so Clara jumped to the space between them and settled in. One couldn’t be too careful. “It was just the first thing I thought of—I never meant for them to suspect you.”

Becca shot him a look Laurel would have been proud of but held her tongue.

“Really,” he said, leaning over Clara. The cat yawned and stretched to her full length. “I meant what I told her. I’ve really missed you.”

“So you keep saying.” Becca stood and walked to the door, arms once again crossed across her body. She didn’t need Laurel to suggest that it was time for Jeff to leave. “And maybe it’s even true. But all that means is that maybe you had reasons of your own to get rid of Suzanne.”

Chapter 15

“And I left my hat at the police station too!”

Becca was leaning on the door, having just ushered Jeff out. But all her resolve seemed to crumble once her ex was gone, and she collapsed on the sofa with a wail that brought her three pets running.

It wasn’t just the hat, of course. Even Harriet recognized that, as much as she had liked to sit on the velvet topper—when it was dry—and who now offered her bulk as comfort. It’s hard when your heart has been broken, Clara figured as she rubbed her head against the prone girl. It’s harder stillwhen your ex suggests you have a motive for murder—and you realize he might have done it himself.

But the Becca who sat up, dislodging Harriet, and wiped her face seemed more clear-eyed than the love-struck girl of only a few minutes before. And after she blew her nose, she pulled her laptop computer toward her and began typing.

“I don’t know if Jeff meant to get me in trouble,” she said, glancing over at the calico cat who had sat beside her, grey tail coiled neatly around her white paws. “But he’s forgotten that I’m a researcher. If someone really was stalking Suzanne, I bet I can find out who.”

Her typing was interrupted by the phone. Not that she answered it—not right away—but she did reach for the device. The observant feline watching her could tell by the way she bit her lip that she was considering letting it go to voice mail—yes, cats know about such things—before, on the sixth ring, she picked up.

“Hey, Kathy. I mean, merry, uh, meet?” She made the effort to put some cheer in her voice. “What’s up?”

In the pause that followed, her shoulders sagged.

“No, no news.” Her assumed cheer was drooping as well. “I answered some questions for them, and I guess they talked to—well, they’re talking to some other people as well. Look, Kathy, I was in the middle of trying to research something—” A pause, and she sat back up. “You do? Wow, that would be great. With everything going on, I could use some good news. Thanks.”

An hour or so later, the bell rang and Becca jumped to answer it. Despite having hosted the coven only five days earlier, she’d spent much of the time since the phone call cleaning up—as if the tufts of fur her pets had placed so carefully in the interim were something to be ashamed of.

“Kathy, come in!” Becca ushered in her guest. “I guess I should say merry meet, but…”

“Darling, don’t worry about it,” said the redhead, whose all-black outfit seemed somewhat at odds with what had become a bright spring afternoon.

“Thanks. Is that…” Becca hesitated. “Are you in mourning?”

“Of course,” said Kathy, who plumped down on the sofa right in Harriet’s spot. Clara looked around for her oldest sister, but she and Laurel had made themselves scarce, which was odd. Laurel, in particular, usually relished a chance to adorn black clothing with her lightest brown body fur. “Oh, you mean—all black?”

Becca nodded and took her usual seat, while Clara made herself comfortable on the arm rest.

“I just came from work.” Kathy shooed the word off like a pesky fly. “I want them to respect me there.”

Becca nodded again, as if this made sense to her.

“Do you have, like, a glass of wine or something?” Kathy leaned forward, her voice becoming conspiratorially soft. By force of habit, Clara looked around. Laurel had appeared in the doorway, tail up inquisitively.

“Oh, sure!” Becca retreated to rummage in the kitchen, while Clara leaped to the floor to fill her sister in.

“Something about a job,” she mewed, ever so softly, in her brown-tipped ear.“Though I think this one wants to gossip.”

“I know that.” Laurel glanced sideways at her sister, her blue eyes looking deceptively innocent.

“Oh, look at your cats!” Kathy called into the kitchen. “They’re head-butting each other.”

“They are?” Becca appeared with the glasses and the bottle of Chardonnay she’d opened on a whim two weeks before. “Usually, they fight.”

“Cats.” The redhead reached up to take the bottle with an exaggerated shrug. “Who can tell? Anyway, I’ve been meaning to stop by and see how you were doing. I’ve been thinking about you. How awful that must have been—finding her and then being interrogated by the police.”

“Told you,” Clara whiskered to Laurel as the guest shivered dramatically.

“Well, not interrogated, actually.” Becca stared into her wine. “They just asked me about what I saw and how I know her, and everything.”

“Horrible.” Kathy shook her head. Her mouth was pursed in concern but her eyes were wide with interest. “What you must have seen…”

In response Becca only nodded and took a swallow. When she started to choke, the other woman jumped up to pat her back.

“Sorry.” Becca wiped away the tears from her coughing fit. “Yeah, it just brought it all back.”

“I can only imagine.” Kathy eyed her own glass, then appeared to think better of it. “They don’t have any suspects yet…do they?”

“I hope not.” As her guest blinked, Becca rushed in to explain. “I mean—I don’t think so. Only I’m worried they might think I was involved.”

“Oh, they can’t!” Kathy protested, reaching for Becca’s hand.

“They called me back in this morning to answer more questions.” Becca sounded glum, even as Kathy held onto her. “And they said they might have more.”

“Well, we know there’s nothing in that—and we’re all here for you. Here.” Kathy topped off her glass, and lifted her own in solidarity. “Interesting.” She examined the bottle.

“It’s been in the fridge for a while.” Becca admitted.

“It’s fine.” Kathy waved her off and took another swallow, wrinkling her freckled nose at the taste. “After all, you’ve had quite a shock. But anyway, that’s not why I came over.” She raised her glass in a salute. “I’ve got a job for you!”

“Yes?” Becca actually shifted to the edge of her seat. Kathy grinned and almost shimmied with satisfaction as she took another sip.

“She’s toying with her.” Laurel’s tone made her sister turn. She was staring at Kathy as she choked down the wine. The expression on the feline’s face was a little hostile but also a bit respectful, and Clara didn’t think it was because of their visitor’s ability to drink.

“How dare she!” Clara could feel her ears going back.

“No, it’s okay.” Laurel raised one dark chocolate paw, ready to bat her younger sibling. She was leaning in and listening—using her skills to hear the thoughts behind the words.“She’s dragging it out to make it last. She wants to bond. Like we do.”

Clara lashed her tail, unsure of that, and Laurel wisely lowered her paw.

“It’s not a glamorous position,” Kathy was saying. “And maybe you wouldn’t even want it. Only, well, I know how tough it is out there.” Now it was her turn to lean in, and her voice got softer. “You know what a hard time I had after Joey and I broke up,” she said. “How I fell intoa depression.”

“I don’t think I knew you then.” Becca’s voice was gentle, and when her guest didn’t respond, she kept talking. “I’m sorry it was hard for you.”

“Thanks.” Her friend looked down into her glass, her voice unusually quiet. “The coven really saved me. We witches have to stick together.”

“Definitely.” Becca smiled, though Clara could see the uncertainty around the corners of her mouth. “If only I could be sure we’re really witches.”

“You’re not?” The redhead’s eyes went wide in surprise. “I thought you, of all people…”

“Well, I’m hoping.” A faraway look came over Becca. “You know, I did some research on my own family, and it does look like there was at least one wise woman—a ‘wyrd sister’—in my family tree, back in the 1760s. In fact—”

“Well, don’t tell Eric that when you speak to him!” Kathy interrupted.

“Eric?”

The brassy curls bounced as she nodded.“Eric Marshfield, my supervisor. They’re looking for someone to handle data entry. They want to modernize the system, make it so you can see comparables. I think that’s not your thing exactly, but the company’s growing…”

“I’ll call him tomorrow.” Becca grabbed a pad and began making notes. “I can do systems, and, frankly, I need a job. Thanks, Kathy. After all that’s happened…”

“I know.” Kathy tried the wine again, with only a small wince this time. “It’s just unbelievable, isn’t it?”

Becca swallowed, going slightly green. Clara made a mental note to knock the wine bottle over if she got the chance.“Yeah.”

“You didn’t hear what the trouble was with her and Ande, did you?” Kathy seemed not to notice Becca’s discomfort. Then again, she’d finished her own glass.

“No.” Becca shook her head. “Suzanne said she wanted to talk to me about something, but I never got to hear about what.”

“Trent gave us all a ride, and there was definitely something going on with those two. Larissa noticed it too. You know,” Kathy leaned close. Clara’s ears pricked up. Laurel might be right about the desire to bond. That didn’t mean the calico wanted to miss out on anything. “I hear they were both into the same guy. I wonder if the police know about that.”

“The same—” Becca recoiled, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Ande was seeing Jeff too?”

“Who’s Jeff?” Kathy tipped her head to the side. “I’m talking about Trent.”

Chapter 16

“I knew that man was up to no good.”It was all Clara could do to keep from spitting.

Laurel stared at her sister with her blue eyes wide, the feline equivalent of raised brows.“Really, Clara?” Her normal mew sank to a near purr as her whiskers perked up—more a result, Clara had to believe, of her being right than in glee over Becca’s disappointment. “You are such a kitten.”

“But you were the one who suspected him…” Clara closed her eyes, thinking of the ruined bouquet. Laurel always did try to misdirect attention from her appetites.

When she opened them, her sister was still there. As was that Kathy. Though, to do the shorter woman credit, she looked just as upset as Becca.

“You didn’t know?” Her mouth made an O of concern.

“Someone may have suggested…a while ago.” Becca shook off the exaggerated response. “But I’d heard that Suzanne was seeing my ex, Jeff.”

“Oh.” Kathy sat back and seemed to take that in, her round face growing serious. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about that.”

“But you’re sure about Suzanne—and about Ande?”

A shrug.“No, I’m notsure sure. Not really. But that’s what I heard.”

“Where’d you hear it?” Clara tilted her ears forward. This seemed a legitimate question to her, the kind an inquisitive cat would pose.

“I don’t really remember.” Kathy looked at her wine glass, but then seemed to think better of it. “Maybe from Larissa? Anyway, it probably doesn’t mean anything—Trent’s, well, you know.” A shy smile brought out her freckles. “He’s Trent. Anyway, I should get going. Get in touch with Eric, though, and let me know what happens, okay?”

Becca walked her guest to the door in a daze and stood, her forehead leaning on the doorframe, for several minutes after she left. Clara circled her ankles in solidarity and allowed the young woman to heft her to her shoulder.

“How undignified!” The calico looked down to see Laurel staring up at her.

Harriet joined her sealpoint sister a moment later.“Does this mean we’ll get treats?” she asked, before Laurel swatted her, and she plodded off. Becca, meanwhile, had collapsed back on the sofa, her lids closing in exhaustion.

“I need to talk to Ande. If only I could just summon her.” Becca was talking to herself; Clara knew that. Still, she glared down at her sister in alarm. Had Laurel suggested this stupid idea somehow?

But the slim feline flicked her tail and turned away dismissively. She didn’t have to be psychic to read the angle of Clara’s ears, but, clearly, she was having none of it. Clara didn’t think either of her sisters could actually implant a totally new thought in a person’s mind, only suggest a direction. Then again, she was the youngest and not at all sure of just how much power they each had. As it was, Becca had let her smallest cat slide to her lap, and with a deep sigh, reached for her phone. “I should just call her,” she said, her voice flat with fatigue. “Tomorrow.” She put the phone down. Just then, a yowl sounded. Harriet—from the kitchen.

That roused Becca as nothing else could, and Clara jumped to the floor. Laurel was already on her way to see what their oldest sister was up to.

“I’m hungry!” Harriet complained once her audience had assembled, her yellow eyes wide with pleading. Of course, her request sounded like a plaintive mew to Becca, but because the chubby creamsicle of a cat was standing by her empty dish, it wasn’t hard to figure out her meaning.

“Oh, kitty! I’m sorry.” Becca reached for the cabinet where she kept the cans. “It is your dinner time, isn’t it? Only—” She paused, and it hit Clara: she knew why Harriet had disappeared moments before.

“You didn’t!” She hissed. Partly out of surprise. Harriet never let anything get in the way of her creature comforts.“But why?”

“Yow.” It was a non-answer as she turned her round eyes on her youngest sibling, her whiskers spreading into a supremely self-satisfied smirk.

“I could’ve sworn I had…” Becca paused, staring at the empty shelf and shaking her head. Seeing her dismay and evident fatigue, Clara concentrated, trying hard to will the young woman to keep looking. The little calico knew that while her sister could summon items out of the ether, it was harder to send them back. Besides, odds were that those cans had simply been moved to another shelf. Clara couldn’t imagine Harriet would ever really risk having no food in the house.

But any feline’s magical power has its limits, and Clara lacked Laurel’s particular ease with human thoughts. And so instead of doing a thorough search for those missing cans, within a minute Becca was cursing her own carelessness and muttering promises to her pets that she would return soon—with provisions.

“I wouldn’t let my girls starve!” She sounded so earnest it hurt Clara to hear her. “I know you depend on me.”

Harriet’s low, self-congratulatory “thrrup” was the only response. Clara didn’t even make eye contact with her sisters as she followed their person out the door. She knew they were up to something, but it was more important to the compact calico that she watch out for Becca than she grill her siblings. Besides, being the youngest as well as the smallest, she didn’t have much leverage. She wasn’t a tail biter like Laurel. And the one time Clara had tried to actually push Harriet, as opposed to reasoning with her, her big sister had responded by sitting on her. Her whiskers weren’t right for months.

Taking advantage of the deepening dusk, the little calico was virtually invisible even without a masking, her stripes and splotches blending in with the shadows as the after-work crowd filled the sidewalks. And as Becca made her way to the local grocery, Clara began to wonder if she’d made the wrong choice. Maybe Laurel and Harriet had merely wanted to get her out of the apartment. It didn’t take much to imagine what they might be up to, back there alone, and she was just about to turn around when Becca stopped short.

“Ande!” Clara looked up to see a tall, slim figure about to enter the store. The woman paused on hearing her name, and Clara could hear Becca whisper to herself: “Did I summon her?”

“Becca, blessed be.” The dark-haired woman managed a smile as she walked back toward her coven mate. But it was a weak one and didn’t touch her eyes. “What’s up? You headed to the Superette?”

Before their person could answer, Clara turned with a hiss.“Harriet!” Only instead of her fluffy sister, she saw a pair of almond-shaped blue eyes.“Laurel?” Clara corrected herself as the other cat took shape.“Don’t you see that Becca is going to think she made Ande appear? You knew she wanted to question her. How could you?”

“I was curious,” her sister purred.“Weren’t you?”

“No!” Clara stopped.“Well, yes, but…” It was too late. First, Laurel’s brown ears and tail faded into the shadows, and then her tan torso, until finally she closed those mischievous blue eyes and disappeared entirely.

Clara still sensed her sister’s presence and knew she’d be lurking somewhere, listening. But the youngest cat was in damage-control mode now. Drawing closer, she focused on the conversation between the two young women.

“I know, it’s just so horrible. I can’t imagine…” Ande spoke softly as the stream of post-work shoppers flowed past them. As she did, she shook her head, as if she could rid her mind of the last few days.

“You don’t want to.” Becca’s voice was somber, and Clara had to fight the urge to go to her. As much as the little cat wanted to comfort her person, she knew that materializing in front of the Superette would not have the desired effect.

“Ugh.” Ande put her hand over her mouth, as if she could block the image. “That’s right. Are you okay?”

Becca shrugged, staring off into space as if she were a cat or simply done with the conversation. And then, just as Clara had begun to hope that maybe this would be it—that her friend’s sympathy would stir in Becca a desire to talk about anythingbut the events of the previous Saturday—Becca took a deep breath and turned to face her elegant friend.

“In fact, I was wondering.” Becca was holding her voice steady, but Clara could hear the tension vibrating within her. “I gather you and Suzanne were chatting about something—after the coven meeting?”

“Oh, it wasn’t important.” Another wave, as if the question were a pesky fly. “Not in light of what’s happened.”

Becca’s voice dropped. “Ande, are you dating Trent?”

The other woman flushed, a deep red infusing her caramel-colored cheeks, and her long, dark lashes sank to shield her eyes.“I went out with him a few times. But I wouldn’t say we’re dating.”

“So that wasn’t what you wanted to talk to Suzanne about? I remember you calling to her—that she’d ‘promised’ you something?” Becca’s voice was gentle, but there was something in her expression that her cat recognized. It was the look she got when she was hunting down an elusive reference—as intense as what Clara had seen on Laurel’s face that one time a mouse had gotten into the apartment.

Ande didn’t take refuge under a nearby refrigerator, however, or even duck inside the store. Instead, she stood straighter, emphasizing the good six inches she had on Becca. She had an imposing presence anyway, and as she squared her shoulders, two separate shoppers held their grocery bags closer as they made their way around her.

“What? No.” She dismissed the question before launching her own. “Is that what Larissa is saying?”

“I—never mind.” Becca tended to look down when she was embarrassed, and she began to stare at the sidewalk, as if unsure whether the gathering dusk would soon obscure whatever she found so fascinating there. “I just…”

“You can’t think I…over a man…” Ande’s face froze in horror as the implication of Becca’s question hit home. “No, he and I—it was never serious. In fact—”

She stopped so short, Clara peered around to see if either of her siblings had grabbed her tongue.

“In fact?” Becca dared a glance up, as curious as a cat waiting to hear what the taller woman was about to say.

“In fact, Suzanne and I were kind of working on something together.”

Becca nodded, waiting for the other woman to continue.

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy.” Ande crossed her arms and leaned in. “You know I’m an accountant, right?”

Becca’s curls bobbed as she nodded.

“Well, the coven actually has a bank account. Silly, I know, but that’s how Larissa set it up, back when we started, for our monthly tithing and anything else that came up. And a few weeks ago, she asked me look into something. I think she got whacked on taxes this year. Anyway, she wanted to know if we could apply for nonprofit status.” Ande rolled her eyes. “I mean, she has a point. We probably should come under the religious exemption, as practicing Wiccans, but that requires a whole lot of paperwork that I’m not sure we want to get into—or that I want to do gratis.” A wave of one of those elegant hands, as if she were summoning the seafood department to come out to greet her.

“But anyway, when I was looking at the statements, it was pretty obvious that some money has gone missing. We don’t have a lot, but it’s added up over the years, and even with Larissa’s carelessness—her bookkeeping is positively reckless—we’re down a couple of thousand dollars.”

Becca didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Even in the fading light, her confusion showed on her face.

“Crazy, right?” Ande chuckled. “When Larissa started it, I think it was more like a personal account—a way for her to put some money aside. She provided the seed money for expenses—you know, the fliers and the tea. And, well, she has the bucks, so why not? But the balance is definitely not what it should be, especially since we’ve all been ponying up our five bucks a month. Though it could just be that awful tea is more expensive than any of us knew.”

Becca’s lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “The witches’ tea?”

“Awful,” Ande repeated. “But anyway, I told Larissa that it would be really complicated to apply for a change in our status and that if she wanted to pursue it, I was going to have to find out what was going on with the accounting, you know? Larissa told me to forget about it. Said it didn’t matter, she’d make up the difference, and went on about how the cohesion of the coven was what really mattered. Our trust is our power, and all that. She’s got more money than the queen, so I’m fine with that. It was Suzanne who wanted to pursue it.”

“How’d she know about it?”

Ande had the grace to look sheepish.“I might have mentioned it when we were all getting our coats a week or two ago. She said she’d found something—and that she thought more of us should know—and promised to tell me. Only I never got to find out what it was. I thought she’d tell me on the ride home, but no luck.”

“And you didn’t follow up?”

A sad smile as she shook her head.“Frankly, I didn’t think it was a big deal, though it seemed to matter to Suzanne. I mean, we’re kind of Larissa’s pet project, and so if she didn’t care about making up the difference, why should I, right?”

“I guess.” Becca sighed. “I wasn’t aware of any of this.”

“Well, you’ve been dealing with your own stuff.” Ande’s voice was gentle. “We all know about the breakup and your job…” She didn’t have to say more. Becca’s eyes had already begun to fill again.

She blinked back the tears as Ande kept talking.

“Besides, it probably wasn’t anything,” she was saying. “Larissa thought Suzanne was just being paranoid. She’d taken to calling her ‘zany Zane,’ like she had gone utterly nuts. I thought that was a bit harsh. Honestly, it made me wonder if maybe Larissa had it in for poor Suzanne.”

As soon as the words were out of Ande’s mouth, she tried to backtrack.

“I don’t mean it like that,” she said, waving her hands again, as if she could clear the air. “Larissa wouldn’t. She’s not a killer. But she is a drama queen, and I thought maybe she was embarrassed that I saw how sloppy her bookkeeping was—or even that she was enjoying, well, pittingus against each other.”

“She does like to be the center of attention.” Becca looked thoughtful. “And when I found Suzanne, her door was open.”

“Her door?” Ande sounded confused and gasped as the import of Becca’s statement hit her. “You mean, like she opened it for someone? Oh, you can’t mean…Becca, no.”

“Did the police talk to you?” Becca answered Ande’s question with her own, a curious look on her face. “Because they should really know about this.”

“No.” Ande started backing away. “They haven’t. And why should they? I mean, all I can really say for sure is that Larissa is careless with her bank balance and she doesn’t want anyone to know it.”

“I don’t know what to think.” Becca laughed softly. “Because I told the police that Suzanne was my friend too, and they’re still asking questions about me, Ande. They think I might have done it.”

Chapter 17

“That’s ridiculous!” Ande rejected the idea that Becca could be considered a suspect. “It had to be a stranger. She must have just opened her door to someone she didn’t know.”

Clara watched Becca as she listened to her colleague’s increasingly heated protest. Ande’s words echoed what Becca herself had said, her pet knew, and yet the focus visible on her person’s face suggested that her own dear person wasn’t accepting her own answer so readily from the other woman.

That focus seemed to grow sharper—and almost catlike—as Becca narrowed her eyes and pressed for more detail about the coven finances. If Becca had whiskers, Clara thought, they would have been bristling as Ande continued to stonewall.

“It’s silly, really.” The accountant fluttered those elegant hands as if she could dispel the thought. “Larissa doesn’t care, so I don’t even know why Suzanne bothered. Larissa is the one putting the money up.” But when Becca pressed her about what else might have been worrying the dead woman, Ande only shook her head.

“She and I weren’t that close,” she kept repeating. “I mean, she asked about my work—she had only recently started some new job herself, something Larissa helped set her up with, so I think it was just conversation, you know?”

Knowing how limited human senses could be, Clara snuck up to the other woman at that point, sniffing at the accountant’s chic boots to see if she could pick up on anything more than general distress. This close to a grocery store, such a task could be a challenge: the aromas of meat and fish, herbs and produce were as distracting as fireworks to acute feline senses. Before she could get a good take, Becca appeared to give up on the financial thread and instead began insisting that Ande inform the police about her conversations with Larissa. At that, Ande grew so distraught that she abandoned her errand, leaving before she had even begun her shopping.

But although the calico briefly wondered if Becca’s mission would be similarly derailed, she soon realized she hadn’t counted on her person’s loyalty and focus. No matter what else was on her mind, Becca wasn’t going to come home empty-handed. Of course, the flicker of fur Clara caught out of the corner of her eye as they entered the grocery might have had something to do with that. Clara didn’t think either Harriet or Laurel could influence Becca’s thoughts that much, but she was pretty sure they had found a way to keep both “cat” and “food” in the consciousness of their impressionable person.

“Don’t you have any of the turkey treat?” Becca was evidently under Harriet’s influence. The fluffy marmalade adored poultry flavors, and the shelf in front of her was fully stocked with Clara’s favorite tuna feast.

“I’ll check, miss.” The harried-looking clerk took off, leaving Becca standing there. Clara did her best to concentrate.

“I wonder if the missing funds were really what was bothering Suzanne?” She reached and—yes!—took two of the tuna cans from the display as she mused. “But if there was something else going on, why wouldn’t Ande tell me about it?” She absently reached out, putting two more cans in her basket, and Clara began to reevaluate her own powers of psychic suggestion. “Just because they both dated Trent…”

By the time the clerk reappeared, a case of the horrid turkey treat in his arms, she’d loaded up on Clara’s preferred flavor. “Here you go.” His smile looked a bit forced as he held the opened case out to Becca.

“Oh.” She looked into her basket and back up at him. “Thank you,” she said, taking two cans. Clara was grateful her distracted human couldn’t see his expression as she turned toward the checkout.

“Maybe I should reach out to Larissa.” Becca might have thought she was talking to herself as she paid for the cans, but Clara wondered if her person sensed her presence nearby. After all, she was missing an important element—the cat’s concern over the direction her thoughts were headed.

“I mean, the police would never understand about the coven and why it matters,” Becca mused as she loaded up her bag. “They’ll just think she’s a Cambridge flake, starting up a coven of witches in this day and age. But if there is something hinky with that bank account, and Suzanne found out, that could be something. As it is, they’re only looking at Suzanne and Jeff, and if they find out Ande had gone out with Trent too, and Jeff tells them about Suzanne’s necklace—”

Almost out the door, she stopped short, causing a businessman on his cell to bump into her.“Watch it, lady!”

She let him walk by in silence, a look of horror on her face.“If they look at my search history and see I was trying to find out about her…” Hiking her bag higher on her shoulder, she began to walk again, faster than before.

Chapter 18

Even if looks couldn’t kill, Clara knew that by rights she should be singed hairless. Harriet was not happy with the selection that Becca unpacked, and from the way she glared at her baby sister, Clara knew her creamsicle sibling had sussed out that the little calico had made her preference felt.

“Honest, I was only listening.” Clara protested in vain.“I only wanted to keep her out of trouble.”

“Like you want to be the only one who can use her power,” Harriet grumbled even as she played up to Becca, rubbing against her shins like she hadn’t seen her in a week.“Like you’re the only one with any magic.”

“I didn’t use any—” Clara stopped herself.“I only passed through the door.” The little calico was fundamentally honest, but she knew better than to add that Laurel had been there too. Harriet was angry enough as it was.“And I did remind her why she had gone shopping. She was getting distracted.”

“Right.” Harriet grunted when she ate, which she did as soon as the first dish was placed on the mat. She might not like the tuna feast, but that didn’t mean she was going to pass up a meal.

“You can make the other cans reappear tomorrow.” Clara tried to make nice.“Besides, I’m worried about Becca. She thinks she needs to help the police solve Suzanne’s murder.”

“Not a bad idea.” Laurel appeared with a yawn, as if from a nap in some other dimension.“And she may have a chance to do some hunting tonight too.”

“Hunting?” Clara glanced up at Becca. She was listening to a phone message, a furrow appearing in her brow.“But she’s just come in. She’s exhausted.”

Laurel only lashed her tail in dismissal, and so Clara turned back to their person. Becca was standing and staring at the phone, as if it had just bitten her. When it began to ring again, she jumped.

“Hello?” She sounded as breathless as if she’d just come in from a run. “Oh, Trent.” She sagged against the wall. “I’m sorry, I just got your message. All of this with Suzanne, and now the police…” She paused. “It’s a long story. I’m sure I can clear it up. You haven’t spoken to them today, have you?

“Well, that would have been too easy.” Even her voice was weary. “But how can I help you?”

Clara’s hearing was as acute as any cat’s, and the magic helped. Still, even with her black-tipped ears tilted forward to catch every sound, she couldn’t hear more than a tinny voice saying something about “dinner.”

“Tonight?” Becca winced. “Well, to be honest, I’m kind of wiped out. And Larissa said we’re going to have our regular coven meeting on Wednesday.” More talk that the cat couldn’t hear. “Of course, you’re right, Trent. I do have to eat.”

Clara listened with rising panic as Becca’s voice went softer and lighter both. “The River Caf?? Sure. That would be nice.”

Beside her, Laurel purred and licked her chops as Harriet scarfed up the last few crumbs of food in her dish and began to eye Clara’s. But the youngest of the three cats blocked her sister out of habit, barely noticing as the orange and white fluffball flounced off. Because Becca had hung up, and turned toward the two cats who remained in the kitchen. For a moment, Clara almost thought Becca could see her concern.

“Well, kitties, I’m going out to dinner with the man who seems to be in the middle of this mess,” she said, her voice growing thoughtful. “So now maybe I’ll be able to get some answers.” Clara knew then that her person hadn’t understood her at all, and she looked at her sister in alarm. But Laurel only turned in that dismissive way that all Siamese have and began to bathe.

“I wonder what I should wear.” Becca wandered out of the kitchen, not even noticing that Clara’s dinner had barely been touched. “And if there’s a spell that might help me decide.”

Chapter 19

The hissing commenced as soon as Becca opened her closet.

“I cannot believe you want her to dress like that.” Clara’s fur had expanded in her rage. She was a small cat, but fluffed out like this, she could have covered the stretch velvet mini that lay on the bed.“He might be dangerous.”

“Silly little girl!” Laurel spat back, her dark ears flat on her head.“Don’t you see? She could control the situation, looking so slinky.” Her blue eyes took in the velvet frock, although whether she wanted to scratch it or roll on it, her sister couldn’t tell.“If she brought him back here, we could question him. Only you—you—” Her rage devolved into wordless spatter, and she turned her back on her sibling and proceeded to wash.

“You!” With one last exhalation, more sigh than hiss, Clara began to calm down. At least she had stopped her sister, slapping her on her chocolate nose just as Laurel had begun to work on Becca. Clara didn’t know if it was because Laurel’s powers were limited or her sister was simply lazy, but she did know that the other cat’s ability to implant suggestions in others’ minds was vague at best. If Becca hadn’t already been considering her upcoming dinner a sort of date, Laurel might not havebeen able to steer her toward that short velvet number. Still, it was a close call, and Clara wasn’t able to relax until her person left the house in a flowered frock that fit her—and the occasion—more comfortably. If it were not for that well-placed bonk, Becca might have wiggled into that stretchy dress—and into more trouble.

“Spoil sport.” Laurel muttered as she bathed.“Now we’re both going to miss the fun.”

Clara deflated, her fur settling in despair. It was true, her squabble with her sister had kept her in the bedroom too long. Without any idea where Becca had gone, she was at a loss—unable to follow. And so with one bound, she leaped to the windowsill. Nudging aside Harriet, who was napping again, she settled in to watch and wait for Becca to return.

***

“Merry meet, Becca. How are you doing?” Even giving the coven’s ritual greeting, Trent’s voice rumbled deep and confidential, and as his questions turned personal, Becca felt her color rising in response. “I’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t want to wait until Wednesday.”

Despite the melancholy motive for this get together, the setting felt distinctly intimate. Maybe it was because the waitress had led her to a booth in the back, rather than the open seats at the counter. Maybe it was the nice shirt the warlock was wearing, open just enough for her to see the glint of gold nestled in the dark hair of his chest. As he leaned forward, it bobbed, and she found herself staring—and wondering once more if she should have gone with the sexier outfit. She blamed her slight buzz. She should probably have objected when he’d ordered the pitcher of margaritas. She definitely shouldn’t have taken such a big swallow, even if it was the house special, strawberry, her personal favorite.

“Thanks.” She bent once more over the menu, hoping to hide her face, which felt as rosy as that drink. She was having trouble concentrating, and she didn’t think it was just the alcohol. “I’m okay. It’s just been exhausting.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice warm with understanding, and Becca relaxed. It would have been too odd to try to explain that she kept thinking about her cats. They were home, safe, and she was the one out. But even though she was sitting here—at the River Caf? with Trent—she kind of wished she was with them. At home. Snuggled up on the sofa. Trent, however, was doing his best to be solicitous. “You’ve probably spent way too much time with the police these last few days.”

She nodded.“I know they’re doing their job—and I want them to. Only they had me come in this morning, and it was, well, weird.”

“I can imagine.” His voice as soft as a purr. “They must have had a lot of questions.”

She nodded.“They did.” The margarita had been a bad idea. But he was waiting, his dark eyes full of concern. “They were asking about the coven and, well, about the man she was dating.”

“Suzanne was seeing someone?” A note of excitement—or could it have been regret?—tightened his voice.

The effect must have been contagious, because all of a sudden Becca found it hard to swallow.“My ex.” She choked out the words. “But I think that was over.”

Thoughts of Jeff and of that last phone call on the stairs of Suzanne’s apartment, and suddenly it all came back. Her voice caught in a sob, and Trent leaned forward, reaching across the table as if to embrace her. It was too much. Becca felt like a fool and drew back, embarrassed, even as she found herself staring once more at his chest—and at the gold medallion that had swung forward from inside his shirt.

“Is that…?” Becca stopped herself from stretching out her hand for it, silently blaming the margarita once more.

“A witches’ knot.” To her relief, he glanced down and grasped the gold medallion himself, holding it still to allow Becca to see the intricate looped design on its front. “You have a good eye.”

His own eyes twinkled as he smiled, but Becca only shook her head, confused.

“It has charms on it, and not everyone would see it right away.” His voice was low and conspiratorial. “But we already knew you have power.”

“I guess.” Becca turned away. Bad enough that she was out alone with Trent—a member of the coven who had romanced several of their colleagues already—she’d been caught staring at his chest. They were supposedly going to talk about the death of one of their own too.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. Though if he meant in general or for reaching for her, Becca didn’t know.

“Me too.” She looked up into eyes that were shadowed and deep set. Could those be tears as well? Now it was her turn to reach out for his hand. “Were you and Suzanne close?”

A slow, sad shake of the head.“Not anymore,” he said. “She’d been going through something, I think.”

Becca nodded, her last conversation with the dead woman coming back to her mind.“I know she had questions.” She bit her lip, unsure of how much she wanted to reveal. Trent was a friend, but still… “I think she was worried about money.”

“Money?” Trent pursed his lips in thought. “Do you know why?”

Becca considered.“I’m not sure. You don’t think that’s why she was…” She swallowed. Hard.

“No, no.” Trent rushed to correct himself. “I mean, I don’t know. But, well, Suzanne had been acting odd for a while now. And you saw how skinny she was.”

“Skinny?” She was sounding like a parrot. That margarita.

“Not an ounce of flesh on her.” He had her hand now. His thumb brushed over hers. It was all too confusing. “Speaking of—should we order?”

Only then did Becca notice the waitress standing beside them, pad in hand. From the smile she suddenly dropped to the way she straightened, she must have been there for a while.

“Oh, sorry.” Becca was too flustered to consult the menu. “I’ll have a salad?”

“How about nachos for the table?” Trent leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. After that comment about Suzanne being skinny, his suggestion sounded flirtatious.

“Sure.” Becca pushed her menu at the waiting server and eyed the margarita glass. “And, uh, a Diet Coke?”

She pretended not to hear the waitress’s snicker as she walked off, instead steeling herself for the task at hand. “So, what have you heard?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She wasn’t after gossip.

“Nothing concrete.” Trent leaned forward again. “Just enough so that I was worried about her.”

“Oh?” The server plunked down her new drink with a thud as Becca took a few moments to reorganize her thoughts. Jeff had hinted that Suzanne and the warlock had had a brief romance, and Kathy had confirmed it. Trent seemed to be denying this. Or was he? Pushing the sticky strawberry glass aside, she took a swallow of the soft drink. More caffeine—that’s what she needed.

“Poor Suzanne.” When she put the glass down, she saw that Trent was shaking his head slowly. “I’m sorry I didn’t pursue it.”

Now she was getting somewhere.“Pursue it?” She waited.

“She was troubled.” Another slow sad dismissal as the waitress slid a plate of nachos onto the table. “I should have—well, I knew something was bothering her. It was selfish of me not to get involved.”

“Selfish?” That parrot again.

Trent didn’t seem to notice as he pulled a chip free of the sticky cheese. “Her being so skinny and all. I don’t know anything for sure.” He looked up, his dark eyes as melting as that cheese. “But I was wondering if she was on drugs.”

Their entrees arrived before Becca could respond. And while she tried to focus on her salad, the nachos were as tempting as all the unanswered questions that kept popping up.

“Drugs?” With her mouth full of cheese and chili, that was the best she could manage. “Did you tell the police that?”

“I didn’t want to, how do they say, muddy the waters.” Trent took a bite of his veggie burger and waited for her to answer. “You didn’t notice anything?”

Becca thought back.“Only that something was bothering her.”

“You see? I knew it.”

That wasn’t what she had meant. Only now, sitting here, she had to wonder. Had Suzanne wanted to confess to a problem? Is that why she wanted to get Becca alone?

“Poor girl.” Trent chewed thoughtfully. “I knew she was hard up for money too. So that might all be connected. I mean, I don’t think she’d have asked you because we all know about your job and all.”

Becca began to respond—to share what Ande had said—and then caught herself. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected that the tall accountant had told her about the missing funds in confidence.

“What?” Trent’s question caught her in mid-thought.

“Suzanne did want to speak with me, alone,” Becca confessed, reaching for the nachos. “That’s why I went over to her place on Saturday. You know, when I found her?”

“That’s so sad.” He shook his head. “I don’t think you should bring this up when the coven gathers. Let her have her dignity.”

Becca started to protest—Trent was the one who was suggesting the dead woman had a drug problem. But another thought interrupted. “And the police didn’t ask you about any of this?”

“Nope.” Trent’s answer was cut short as he bit into a nacho. She didn’t want to tell him about the string of cheese that had just caught in his beard. “Why muddy—”

He must have noticed her gaze, as he paused to fish out the cheese.“Sorry.” His smile was charming.

“So what did the police ask you?” The caffeine was definitely kicking in.

“The usual.” He waved the question off. “You know, how I knew her. Why I had her key. I gave them the parking receipt from the city meter, so they knew I’d only pulled up to her street after you arrived, so…”

His explanation ended in a grin. A guilty grin, Becca realized, as it seemed to focus suspicion back on her.“I was only there a few minutes earlier.” She didn’t like how defensive she sounded.

“I’m glad!” Those eyebrows again. “Maybe you got lucky. I mean, in the grand scheme of things.”

Becca swallowed hard, the chip stuck in her throat.“Lucky?” The word came out as a croak.

“I mean blessed, of course. Beloved of the goddess. Think about it, Becca. We don’t know if it was her dealer or just some random crazy off the street.” Trent leaned in, his dark eyes aglow. “But if you’d been there a little earlier, Becca, it might have been you.”

Chapter 20

“I can’t believe you went out with him!” Clara’s powers tended to accentuate her hearing, but even an ordinary cat could have heard the yelling over the phone. Becca’s ex, Jeff, sounded like a tomcat whose tail had been stepped on. “He’s a person of interest. Becca, are you nuts?”

Despite her own annoyance—she couldn’t help but agree with the angry man on the phone—the calico was doing her best to soothe her person. Becca had slept badly again, even with her obvious exhaustion. And although Jeff’s call had woken her from an early nap, she’d been plagued by scary dreams. That—and his apparent concern—had prompted her to tell her ex about her outing the evening before. At least, that’s what Clara hoped had brought about the confession. As the little calico began to knead, working on Becca’s shoulder as her person slouched on the couch, she looked around for Laurel. Her sister was definitely capable of using anything to provoke some interesting jealousy.

“Jeff, I was just telling you where I was.” Becca’s eyes were closing again. Clara could feel her fatigue and increased the pressure of her massage, hoping to relieve some of Becca’s tension. “Ow, wait—”

She sat up, moving away from the calico. Across her lap, Clara caught a glimpse of Laurel’s smirk as her sealpoint sister settled down beside their human. Drawing her own paws under her creamy chest, Clara considered. She didn’t know if her sister was simply enjoying the drama or had an ulterior motive. Jeff had always been quite complimentary about Laurel’s sleek markings. Clara glared at her sister, and felt her ears begin to flatten in anger. But then Becca began talking again, and Clara turned to listen in.

“It wasn’t a date.” Becca was using a particularly flat tone of voice that Clara recognized. It was the same tone that she used when she was pretending she didn’t have any more treats. The man on the other end of the line seemed to recognize it too. Even before he began to speak again, she felt as much as heard the intake of breath that presaged an argument.

“Look.” Becca must have heard it too, as she cut him off. “I’m involved in this. Suzanne and I were friends. Besides,” her voice dropped to a near whisper, “she wanted my help, Jeff. That’s why I went over there.”

Laurel’s ears pricked up as Jeff answered. Laurel always did have an instinct for scandal.

“This had nothing to do with you, Jeff.” Becca, on the other hand, preferred her life to be straightforward, whether it really was or not. It was one of the reasons that Clara felt protective of her. “At least, I don’t think so. Trent said—” The young woman paused, clearly gathering herthoughts. Across her lap, Laurel’s eyes closed in pleasure. “Trent agreed that something else was bothering her. So if there’s anything that we can tell the police—”

Another burst of noise from the phone. Clara was leaning in, but lost the thread as her oldest sister landed hard beside her.

“Are we having treats?”Harriet pushed by Clara on her way to Becca’s lap.“Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

“I was here first.”A hint of a growl from Laurel, but Becca was too distracted to notice. To the cats’ dismay, she stood up and began pacing. And while Laurel and Harriet stared at each other from opposite ends of the sofa, Clara jumped down to follow their person around the apartment.

“Yes, I know what you told the police, Jeff.” The note of tension made Clara’s spine stiffen. “But that just made them suspect me, and I know I didn’t want to hurt her. She is—was—a friend, and I found her. So, yeah, I want to help.”

She stopped so quickly that Clara nearly bumped into her. It was only the round little calico’s feline grace that allowed her to swerve in time to brush by her person’s ankles instead.

“What are you talking about, Jeff?” Becca’s voice had gone cold, and Clara peered up, trying to see her face. “Why would I need a lawyer?”

***

“You’re not the one who needs a lawyer.” Maddy showed up soon after, bearing scones and sympathy. Although Clara wasn’t sure exactly how it worked, it was obvious that Becca’s furious typing on her laptop had communicated the latest. Still, it was Harriet who had first spotted Becca’s old friend—or at least the bakery box she carried—and jumped heavily from her window seat to greet the plump young woman with a purr. “Oh, what a nice cat!”

Maddy bent to stroke the fluffy marmalade’s back as Harriet reached up to nose the cardboard box.

“You can’t think that Jeff…” Becca turned back toward the kitchen. After a night tossing and turning, she trod as heavily as Harriet. “That he would…”

“I don’t know what to think.” Maddy stood, to Harriet’s dismay, and followed her friend into the apartment. “But they had been seeing each other, and Suzanne wanted to talk to you. And now he seems to be keeping tabs on you awfully closely.” She placed the box on the table and pulled upa chair.

“Maybe she found out something about him. Maybe he’s lying about breaking up with her. Maybe she dumped him, and he didn’t want it to end.”

Becca winced, and even Harriet looked up. Although that, Clara realized, could have been because her fluffy sibling was hoping the shock would result in a dropped scone.

“Maddy.” Becca slumped into her own seat.

“I’m just saying…” Maddy opened the box and suddenly, Harriet was staring daggers at her. “I never really liked him.”

“Drop one. Come on!” Harriet was muttering, a low rumbling that could almost be mistaken for a purr.“You’re feeling clumsy…”

“Hush, I’m listening,”Laurel responded, appearing under the table. Becca would say“out of nowhere,” Clara knew. But that was Clara’s special skill. Laurel simply had an appetite for gossip that matched her older sister’s taste for sweets.

“You didn’t?” Becca stopped, plate in hand. “Really?”

“He always thought he was too good for you.” Maddy took the plate and opened the box. Two scones. Harriet’s ample bottom began to twitch as she readied for a jump.

“No!” Clara’s paw came down on her sister’s tail, and Harriet turned, too affronted to protest.“Sorry.”Clara pulled her paw back.“I want to hear. I’ll owe you,” she hastened to add.

“You sure will.” Harriet flicked her tail out of reach, secretly grateful—Clara suspected—that she didn’t have to try for the tabletop.

“He didn’t.” The hurt in Becca’s voice made both cats look up.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if you’d stayed together.” Maddy broke off a piece of one scone, and Harriet licked her chops. “And, hey, maybe I was wrong.”

Becca was slumped in her seat.“No, Jeff never wanted us to be serious.” The accent she put on the last word made Clara’s fur bristle. “He said we weren’t ready.”

“Good riddance.” Maddy kept eating. “Because if ‘being serious’ is what happened to that other woman? I’d say you’re better off.”

Becca nodded, not even objecting to the circular logic of her friend’s argument. “I guess,” she said. “I mean, no, Maddy. Jeff’s not a…a killer.”

“There’s a lot about that man you don’t know.” Her friend popped the last bit of pastry into her mouth and glanced up at the clock. “Hey, I should be getting to work.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Becca reached for her friend’s arm. “What aren’t you telling me, Maddy?”

“Oh, honey.” Maddy bit her lip. “Let him go, okay?”

“Maddy.” Becca was growing more insistent.

“Look at the facts.” Her friend leaned on the table. “This is a man who would throw you to the wolves. Why else is he keeping such close tabs on you?”

“Because he wants to get back together?” Becca’s voice faded out even before she finished—and brought her friend in for a hug.

“That makes no sense. I’m sorry, Becca. I really am, and I feel awful about leaving you like this. My boss…well, you’ve heard it all.” She said it apologetically, though whether that was because she was leaving her friend in no better mood than she’d found or because she still had a job, Clara couldn’t tell. “Do you mind?”

Harriet began to whine, and Clara turned in dismay. But her sister’s golden eyes were riveted on the table above them. Maddy had stood and was reaching for the box. Becca hadn’t touched her scone and pushed the plate toward her.

“No, you take it.” Becca forced a smile. Beneath the table, Harriet lashed her tail. Clara was going to have a lot to make up for.

***

After her friend left, Becca fetched her laptop, settling on the sofa with the same resigned posture Clara was growing accustomed to. Torn between jumping up beside her—she didn’t think her person was beyond distraction—and trying to find out more, Clara turned toward her sisters and blinked, the feline version of an invitation to chat. But, whether because they were her older sisters or simply because of the nature of cats, they resisted.

“Why?” Harriet was still staring at the kitchen table, the lost treat a personal affront.

“So we can figure out how to help Becca,” Clara explained. “I think she’s worried about Jeff, and you know how she is. Even if he did try to set her up, she’s going to want to clear his name.”

“By looking into a murder?” Laurel was intrigued, but Harriet simply glowered. In this state, she’d likely pin it on Maddy.

“She is our charge.” Clara hoped the appeal to Harriet’s vanity would ease the way.

“I should just make a knife like that one she used on the cake, and let Becca find it,” the longhaired sister grumbled.“Only I’d want to put it in that scone stealer’s back. Who brings treats and then takes them away again?”

Clara held her tongue. Harriet had a point, but Laurel came to the rescue.

“The calico clown is right.” She rolled the R as if she were purring.“The way she’s going, Becca’s not going to be good for much soon. And besides”—the Siamese paused to lick her paw, a purely dramatic move—“if we can get her out of this slump, she’s more likely to bring home a new man. A new man who wants to win our approval.”

The way she stretched out that last word made her intentions unmissable. Laurel wouldn’t stop at using her powers of suggestion, but Clara couldn’t argue this time. Especially since Harriet had come trotting over.

“Maybe I should make a knife appear—someplace convenient, like in the kitchen.” She tilted her head to better take in their person, who was still typing away.“That might make her do a thorough search. Pull things out of cupboards, and the like.”

“No, please.” Clara turned from one sister to another.“The police probably have the real one and any others will just confuse things.”

“Suit yourself.” Harriet began to bathe, working on one fluffy hind leg as if it were a drumstick.“But you said…”

“I know.” Clara sighed.“But I worry that anything so…creative will only make things worse for her. Becca is so down already.”

“If I could’ve gotten her into that outfit…”

“That wouldn’t have solved anything.” Clara cut her sister off. It was time for drastic measures.“Hang on. I want to see what she’s searching for with that machine.”

Leaping up beside the seated girl, Clara willed herself to be if not invisible then at least not easily detected. That went against the grain for a cat, and she could feel her two sisters eying her with curiosity. But unlike the usual morning, when Clara would be the first to rub her head against the young woman’s arm and try to cheer her up with a rousing purr, right now, Clara wanted to pass unnoticed. Better that Becca should keep on with whatever she was typing, so Clara could figure out what to do next. Clara knew that cats can’t read, per se, but they can get a lot from the images on a screen—even without psychic powers. But just as Clara crept close enough to focus, Becca closed the laptop and reached for her phone.

“I’m just being silly,” she said, turning toward the cat. “And I’ve got you kitties depending on me.”

Clara looked on in mute sympathy as Becca dialed.“I’m calling for Eric Marshfield.” As she spoke, she sat up, her posture as crisp as her diction. “Mr. Marshfield,” she said a moment later. “Thank you for taking my call. I’m contacting you about the open position? I couldn’t see a way to submit a resum? on your site.” The voice on the other end caught her up short. “I gather it’s data entry, but I can promise you that I—” Another pause. “I’m sorry, a friend told me about it. I gather it hasn’t been posted yet. Shall I send you my resum? anyway?” This time, Becca was holding her breath. “Well, then, thank you again for your time, and I’m—”

She stared at the phone as if the device had bitten her.

***

“Nexus?” Clara muttered to herself, sounding out the word she had heard her person mutter only moments before. Then the screen changed, and she understood. Becca still had the library access she had used in her last job. Good, the calico thought. Becca was good at research, and it made her feelbetter about herself. But the next screen that came up only made the little cat’s whiskers sag. Becca wasn’t reading up on criminal law or even the forensics of a stabbing. No, as the branching chart materialized in the screen in front of her person, Clara knew the situation was dire. Becca wasonce again tracing her own lineage in the futile search to uncover the magical roots that, in truth, led to Clara and her littermates.

“This is worse than I thought.” Clara jumped down as soundlessly as she had ascended, ready to address her sisters.

“Oh?” Laurel flicked her tail. Harriet, Clara noted, was already curling for her mid-morning nap.

“Becca thinks she can do this by herself..” Clara turned back. No, the young woman was still at it.“She thinks she can do it with magic.”

“Fine, let her.” Harriet wasn’t going to forget that missing scone.“What do we care?”

This time it was Laurel who swiped at her. Though whether that was out of sympathy with Clara or simply because she enjoyed provoking her fluffy sister Clara didn’t know for sure.

What she did know was that Becca needed her. Needed them all, actually. That was why they’d been placed with her. And although her sisters seemed to believe that such placement was random—much as Becca voiced the opinion that she’d “adopted” all three cats of her own free will—Clara knew better.

“Hecate, come to me!” While still seated on the couch, Becca had raised her hands from the keyboard. Head back, she opened her arms, as if readying for an embrace.

“Oh! That’s my cue!” Harriet wiggled her plump bottom, readying to jump.

“No!” Once again, it fell to Clara to restrain her oldest sister.

“What’s the matter?” The marmalade cat turned, her pique evident in her flattened ears.“You don’t want me to materialize anything? You said it yourself, Becca needs help.”

“I don’t want you to encourage her.” Clara’s voice sank to a hiss.“She’s not a witch. We’ve got to stop her from thinking she is.”

“Huh.” Harriet turned and began to groom. It was a dismissal, but Clara was grateful that her sister wasn’t going to put up a fight.“We could end this once and for all,” Harriet muttered, her mouth full of fur.“I could summon a knife and place it at that scone stealer’s apartment, and Laurel could get the police to go look for it, I bet.”

“That wouldn’t solve anything.” Clara had given up arguing with Harriet and simply stared at their person. She was trying desperately to think, and her sister’s interruption wasn’t helping.

“She’s right, of course.” Almost soundlessly, Laurel had joined them on the rug.“The clown, that is. We send Becca after the wrong person and, if we’re not careful, she’ll get killed too.”

The Siamese didn’t seem too distressed by that thought, but Clara turned to stare at her, her own fur standing up along her spine.

“What?” One syllable was all she could manage.

“Someone is out hunting.” Laurel looked up, her blue eyes cool and inscrutable.“Who’s to say that our little Becca wouldn’t be next?”

Chapter 21

That question was only one of the many Clara was still mulling over when Becca finally gave up, forty minutes later. By then, she’d tried a scrying spell, an incantation supposed to make the hidden known, and fifteen words of power guaranteed to grant wisdom.

As Clara or any of her sisters could have told her, none of them had a chance of working. Human tongues are simply unable to give the spells the proper feline pronunciation. As it was, the calico had gradually grown grateful for her person’s distraction. As she sat on the sofa, entranced by Becca’s gestures and strange pronouncements, she had had time to run through her own list of possibilities—many of a more mundane kind—searching for an answer.

“I should just implant the idea that she drop the whole thing.” Laurel had woken from her nap and now stretched, extending her claws dangerously close to Becca’s leg.“This obsession is becoming quite dull.”

“No.”Clara resisted the urge to bat at her sister. It wouldn’t do to provoke her.“You were right, what you said. I’m worried that she’s in danger.”

Laurel tipped her head, regarding her baby sister anew.“Really?” Her voice dripped with something akin to skepticism.“You care about her that much?”

“Of course!” Clara’s response was automatic, and then she caught herself. “You do too. Don’t you?”

Laurel gave the feline equivalent of a shrug, the velvet fur of her shoulders twitching as she rearranged herself on the cushion. She would never, Clara knew, admit to having bonded with a human. Still, she had to love Becca, didn’t she? Becca had taken them in. She was their person.

“She’s competent,” Laurel said, a bit begrudgingly, and Clara bit back her own reply. From her sister, this was high praise. Besides, Becca was finishing up.

“It’s no use, Clara.” She addressed the little cat with a sad smile. “Maybe all the magic I have was used up on that one pillow. Only, you’d think…” She closed her laptop and stood with a sigh. “I mean, this is important.”

Clara butted her head against Becca’s thigh. Her jeans were soft and warm, and the hand that came down to fondle her ears gentle. “You guys probably just see me as a walking dispenser of treats,” she said. Across the room, Harriet’s ears pricked up. “But I know what happened. I have power, and I should be able to use it. Imean, someone killed Suzanne, and I’d like to think it wasn’t someone in the coven…”

The hand on Clara’s head froze, and before she knew what was happening, Becca was typing once more. “Maybe, it wasn’t us. Ande said something about a new job…” The hopeful tone had the calico purring, only to stop as suddenly as Becca did. “No!” One word, exhaled in a start.

Before Clara could even figure out what had happened, Becca had risen once more. Grabbing her phone, she began pacing.“Come on. Pick up!”

But the young woman’s invocations to the cell gods had no more power than any of her other spells, and soon she had dropped onto the couch again, the phone still and silent in her hand.

“I can’t,” she said, turning to the cat beside her. “There’s no way to leave a question like that in a message.”

Clara stared up, feeling as blind and powerless as most mere mortals must. All she could do was blink in support, but Becca didn’t even seem to notice. In fact, the young woman was staring into space with such intensity that Clara found herself compelled to follow her gaze. No, nothing there. Nothing one small cat could see, at any rate.

“Larissa.” Becca mouthed the name of the coven’s oldest member and then bit her own lip as she read the images she had summoned. “Could she know?”

Clara was itching to understand. If the older woman knew more about the murder, wouldn’t she have shared it? As she watched, wide-eyed, Becca stood once more and reached for her phone.

“Larissa?” Becca’s voice sounded too light, like she was forcing herself to sound happy. “I’m so glad I caught you. I know we’re meeting tomorrow, only I was wondering if I could talk to you privately first. What about? Oh, that position you mentioned to me, and some other things. Wouldthat be okay?” She paused, and appeared to hold her breath. “Great!” The word rushed out as if in relief. “I’ll be over in a few.”

Clara watched as Becca grabbed her jacket and threw her laptop into her bag. The calico followed her gaze as she took in Harriet, dozing on the windowsill, and Laurel, whose complete unconsciousness was revealed by her most undignified sprawl. Just to be sure, Clara dabbed at her tail, one leather paw pad gently brushing the guardhairs along its edge. In response, the appendage flicked, and its owner shifted, one dark foot extending up into the air, as she rolled onto her back. Out cold, good.

“Bye, kitties.” Over by the door, Becca called softly. A plaintive note in her voice alerted Clara to her slight unease. No, this wasn’t a social call. Her person was going hunting, or some version of the same. Using her real down-to-earth skills, Clara realized Becca was trying to uncover the truth. And once more, Clara was going with her.

***

Becca didn’t take the T, and for that her cat was grateful. Using her powers and the mottling of her coat to fade into the few shadows of the bright spring day, Clara could have followed her person anywhere—even down into the subway and beyond. But like all cats, Clara detested loud noises, and even as Becca strode past the station entrance—the shaded calico hard on her heels—she could hear the roar of the steel beast below. As Becca kept walking, Clara felt herself relaxing, her open-mouthed pant subsiding once more and her tail perking up, as the roar of the city gave way to the quieter streets down by the river. This was better, she thought. Almost as if Becca were a cat herself.

That thought faded as the young woman approached a gleaming tower as threatening as a trap and as out of place in the quiet neighborhood as a dog in a cattery. Becca herself seemed to have a moment of doubt. She stood, head back, examining the looming modern structure that reflected the glare off the river, her hands knotted together in what Clara recognized as the human equivalent of a self-calming groom. Then, as if the caress had indeed given her courage, she strode down the concrete approach, pulling open a steel-and-glass door so heavy it nearly swung shut before Clara could slip inside.

“Larissa Fox.” A doorman blinked at her, his face impassive. “17 F, I think?” Becca added, and he shoved a book toward her to sign. While she did, Clara scoped out the lobby. Two plants, in the corner, wouldn’t offer much in the way of protection. She lowered her head, willing herself to become more deeply cloaked, and then trotted along behind the young woman as she headed toward the elevator.

***

“Becca, you poor dear! Blessed be!” Larissa ushered the younger woman into her apartment so quickly, Clara barely had time to follow. Once she did, however, she found plenty of cover. The lobby of the high-rise might be modern and spare, yet Larissa’s space inside it was anything but. Potted plants clustered around a freestanding bookshelf that served to separate the entranceway from a large living room. Hanging lamps inset with stained glass cast colored shapes on the rugs, which overlapped, almost tripping Becca as her host led her to a wide, low-set couch covered with bright, patterned throws. More lamps at either end were dimmed by shawls, their fringe so enticing that Clara forced herself to turn away.

By then, Becca was seated, her slight form almost disappearing in deep, plush upholstery. An image of Harriet kneading those pillows sprang into Clara’s mind, and she willfully dismissed it. As much as she knew her sister would adore a setup like this, Clara had more important concerns right now.

“Please.” Larissa was handing Becca a saucer, on which stood more colored glass. Green this time, with a filigree pattern. Clara’s discerning nose sniffed at the steam that rose from its gold-rimmed edge. This wasn’t the usual foul brew. “You must be distraught.”

“Thanks.” Becca took a tentative sip. “Peppermint!”

“It’s healing.” Larissa settled next to her, one hand brushing her long, dark locks out against the cushions in an almost feline fashion. “How have you been, my dear? Not taxing yourself emotionally?”

“I don’t think so.” Becca had to struggle a bit to lean forward but managed to place her glass on a brass tray that rested on the nearby footstool. “Thanks for seeing me. I mean, alone.” She made another attempt to sit up and only succeeded in sinking deeper. “I was hoping you could tell me more about that position?”

“The job with Graham? My old friend—mentor, really—he’s so much older than me, of course. But are you really ready to talk about this, my dear? It’s been such a trying week! I was thinking we should gather and do a cleansing circle for you. For dear Suzanne too, of course.”

“Of course.” The smile on Becca’s face was as strained as that tea. “And, well, that’s part of what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh?” Larissa’s hands fluttered like busy moths, rearranging the throw on the back of the sofa.

“I gather Suzanne was concerned about the coven’s finances.” Becca stopped at that, though by the way she was biting her lip, Clara could tell she wanted to say more.

“Dear Suzanne.” Larissa’s musical laugh sounded a bit forced. “She worried so, and about nothing. And you’re so sweet to ask. You know, I do believe there’s a reason you found dear Suzanne. You’ve always been the most gifted of our little coven. You and Trent, of course. But then, he’s special in so many ways.”

“Trent?” Even Becca’s all-too-human ears must have picked up the off note in the older woman’s voice. “How do you mean?”

“Well he’s our very own warlock, of course.” Larissa’s kohl-lined eyes cast down, as if following the pattern in the throw, before darting up again. “And, of course, he does like to do a little outreach, doesn’t he? You must know something of that, my dear.”

Becca was too unworldly not to flinch, although in the dim light the color rising to her cheeks was probably not immediately apparent.“He’s been concerned about me after…after Saturday. And, well, he cared for Suzanne too.”

“Of course.” Larissa sat back. “We all did. Now, would you like me to talk to Graham for you?”

“I was hoping you could give me an introduction.” Becca managed to sit up straight finally, propping herself up on the pillows. “Just to get me in the door. I’m guessing that’s what you did for Suzanne, because she’d recently started a job that you’d referred her to as well—a position at Reynolds and Associates. Didn’t she? And it turns out my friend Maddy works there too.”

Chapter 22

“Come on, Maddy, pick up.” Becca was back on the sidewalk less than an hour later. Her visit with Larissa had raised more questions than answers. The older woman had laughed off her earlier referral—“Graham does run through his worker bees!”—despite Becca’s attempt to shock her into any kind of revelation. And despite three more distinct attempts to raise the issue of the coven finances, she’d been unable to get any kind of proper response to those questions either. In truth, the older woman’s defense—that their accounts mattered little and had no impact on the coven’s weekly functioning—had begun to sound increasingly sensible, supporting Ande’s assertion and leading Becca to wonder if Suzanne had indeed wanted to speak to her about something else entirely.

Maybe, Becca mused, she simply had finances on the mind. Although the older woman had promised to call this mysterious Graham for her, Becca was no more convinced than she’d been earlier that she had a lead on a new job. In fact, once Becca had realized that Larissa’s “old friend” must be the same grumpy Mr. Reynolds she’d been hearing Maddy complain about, she was less likely to pursue a position—especially one that, as she already knew, called for qualifications she didn’t possess. Still, she was intrigued as to why neither Larissa nor Suzanne had ever mentioned this particular connection. Or, for that matter, why her old friend had never said anything about working with the dead woman.

“Maddy, it’s me.” Becca made an effort to hold her voice steady. “Call me, please? It’s important.”

While Larissa had brushed off her earlier referral of the other coven member as a mere triviality, referring vaguely to the intimacy of their world and the necessity of distributing what she called“patronage” among those she knew, the question had seemed to upset her. She’d spent the rest of the visit fussing with the upholstery and avoiding any direct questions about her supposed friend—or mentor, as she’d begun to term him—whom Maddy had always described as a bitter old man, his mind—and office demeanor—stuck in a century or maybe two prior. Somehow, Becca couldn’t reconcile that with what she knew of Larissa, and that left only her friend to explain.

As Clara watched from underneath a forsythia in full bloom, Becca stared at her phone. That she could no more will it to ring than she could summon that pillow only made the little cat’s heart ache for her person. It must be so hard to lack power over the world, she thought. If only…

“Becca?” The cat and the girl she loved turned at the sound of a male voice, warm and friendly. The blond painter, almost unrecognizable in a sport jacket, was striding up the walk, a wrapped bouquet in his hands. “What a surprise!”

“Nathan.” Becca smiled despite herself, and tucked her phone into her pocket. “Hi.” But as she took in his clothes and the flowers, her cat heard her gasp. Disappointment, waiting to happen. Before she could say anything, the painter was talking again.

“It’s good to see you again. I was hoping to hear from you—or run into you.” That smile seemed at odds with the nice clothes. The flowers. “I know this is a small town, but I’m sorry I ran out yesterday. The whole thing must have gotten to me more than I’d admitted to myself.”

Becca nodded.“Me too.”

“I’ve been thinking I was a fool for not getting your number yesterday.”

Becca held her breath once more, this time with anticipation, and Clara looked on with concern. Those flowers… “You don’t…you don’t live here, do you?”

“Me? No.” Nathan chuckled at the idea. “I was visiting someone—a relative. And you?”

“Same. I mean, visiting. Larissa Fox.”

“Ah.” He nodded, a sly smile tweaking the corners of his generous mouth.

“You know her?” Becca saw it too. “She’s…well, she’s part of a group I’m in. We meet once a week to discuss, well, paranormal events.” She looked down, and so didn’t see his smile spread into a grin.

“And let me guess.” Whatever humor was behind that smile now gave his voice a lilt. “She finances it—or some part of it—and thinks that her money gives her special rights over all of you?”

Becca recoiled slightly.“I…that’s not entirely fair.”

His brows went up.

“Well, maybe a little.” Their eyes met, and for a moment, Clara felt a tingle of magic in the air.

“Hey.” He broke the silence. “If I don’t get these flowers up soon, I’ll be in trouble. May I call you?”

“Yeah.” Becca was beaming. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She was still humming to herself as she hit the street, and it wasn’t until she had turned the corner that she stopped short. “He didn’t take my number.” But the dismay on her face quickly resolved into a chuckle. “Small town,” she repeated, and walked on, so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear her phone.

“Maddy?” She stopped and swallowed. “Look, Maddy, we really have to talk.”

***

Both Laurel and Harriet were at the door when Becca and her feline shadow returned. And while their sister wasn’t sure if their restless circling had more to do with the approach of dinnertime or their person’s anxiety, Clara joined them in circumambulating her feet.

“What’s gotten into you three?” Becca caught herself. Laurel was, as always, graceful, but Harriet’s decision to stop short and wash her face had nearly sent their person flying.

Still, their mobile presence served its purpose. Two purposes, actually. Becca dropped her bag and immediately went to fetch their cans, prompting a smirk from Harriet.“See?” She mewed over her shoulder as she led the way into the kitchen.“I can make more than a pillow appear!”

“We didn’t get any answers out in the world, but something’s up,” Clara warned her siblings, even as she waited for her dish to be lowered to the floor. Laurel turned toward her, her blue eyes skeptical.

“Don’t mind her,” Harriet muttered as she ate. Out of habit, Becca fed her first, having learned that the big marmalade would take the first dish set down anyway.“She’s just trying to distract us.”

“No, I’m not!” Clara rarely got angry at her siblings, but Harriet was being particularly obtuse.“Don’t you see? Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, we still don’t have the good flavor,” Harriet mumbled as she lapped.

“That’s not…” Clara gave up and sat, looking anxiously up at her person.

“You don’t want that?”Harriet didn’t wait for an answer, and Clara ceded the space in front of her dish, following Becca, who was pacing around the apartment. Not that her person noticed. In fact, twice Clara had to jump out of her way as a foot came dangerously close to her tail.

***

None of the activity served to distract Becca, however, and the calico grew increasingly worried about her person, whose unsettled behavior led to another fitful night. By the next afternoon, Becca’s edginess had agitated all three cats. It was bad enough that she had tossed and turned in bed, but as Wednesday progressed, Becca wouldn’t even sit still with her computer. Instead, she seemed to be avoiding the warm machine, and that meant naps for her pets were limited as, by silent accord, they kept watch, circling her until Becca, in her preoccupation, actually stepped on Harriet’s tail.

“I’m going to make a tree house for myself!” The fluffy feline licked the appendage furiously, more because of the insult than any real injury.“I’ll climb way over all your heads!”

“Harriet, please,” Clara pleaded.

Laurel only rolled her blue eyes.“The day you climb is the day I eat a bug.”

Clara opened her mouth—and quickly shut it. Laurel prized her reputation for finickiness, and it would do none of them any good for Clara to point out that her sealpoint sister had done just that last summer, when a particularly tempting moth had gotten inside.

When the doorbell rang late in the afternoon, Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Any interruption had to be better than this ongoing nervous activity. At this rate, Clara thought, they’d all be hissing at each other by nightfall.

“Maddy.” Becca sounded a little breathless, the result of all that pacing, Clara reasoned to herself. “Come in.”

“Becca.” Her friend seemed tired too, and dropped her bag on the floor before slouching onto the sofa. Done with her dinner, Laurel came over to investigate, sniffing delicately at the leather bag. Harriet, Clara noted with a touch of dismay, was still in the kitchen, cleaning up the crumbs of the other cats’ meals.

Becca settled beside her friend but didn’t relax. Clara didn’t know if Maddy could tell, but to a cat, it was easy to spot the tension in her person’s posture. “So, you knew Suzanne,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, but Maddy nodded slowly. Becca drew her feet up beneath her. If she could curl up into a ball, she would, Clara thought, and jumped up beside her. “Maddy?” Her voice was tight, as if she needed to swallow. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Her friend turned to her with a look of such horror that a slight moan escaped from Becca’s opened mouth. “No, Maddy. You couldn’t have…” She shook her head slowly, as if to ward off the awful truth. “The cake server…”

“I couldn’t? Oh, no!” Maddy reached out to grab her friend’s hands. “No, Becca. No matter what I felt, I, well, it was almost like I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Becca was breathing easier, but her brows were knit in confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Maddy didn’t look any more comfortable. If anything, she seemed to sink further down on the cushions while her friend waited. “I wanted to tell you.”

“What, that you worked with a member of my coven? Jeff’s new girlfriend? The woman who was killed?” Becca tried out the options, rejecting each in turn. “But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen—so, why didn’t you say anything?”

Maddy twisted in her seat as if she could avoid Becca’s gaze. “I told you I kind of knew who she was, when I ran into them in the Square. But it was before that—before I realized who she was—I mean, in your little crew…” Taking a deep breath, she began to talk again, and as if a dam had burst, this time, the words rushed out. “It was right after she started, in February. She was standing in the lobby when I went for my lunch break and I thought I’d ask her to join me. Just to be friendly. Only there was something about the way she was standing, kind of fussing with her hair before she put her hat on, and I realized she was probably waiting for a date. Well, I hung back for a minute—just to see—and, sure enough, her date showed up.”

Maddy fell silent, as if the flood had left her exhausted.“It was Jeff, Becca,” she said at last. “She was waiting for Jeff.”

“But…February? We were still…” Becca sputtered. “Maybe they were friends. I mean, they probably knew each other.”

Maddy’s face told the story. “Knew each other? Becca, honey. He was a creep. I always felt something was off about him, but I didn’t know what to say.”

“Maddy, you don’t know.” A note of desperation had crept into Becca’s voice.

“I know you don’t kiss your casual acquaintances.” Her friend delivered the coup de grace. “Not like they did, anyway.”

***

Maddy left soon after. She would have stayed—had wanted to comfort her friend, it was clear to see—but Becca shooed her off. “I can’t,” she said as she pushed Maddy’s bag back into her arms. “I need to process this, but I can’t—not now.”

Maddy had protested.“Come on, kiddo,” she’d said. “Let’s go to a movie. Or better, to that cupcake place in the Square.”

“No, I’ve got…an appointment.” The way she stumbled over the word had Maddy looking at her funny.

“You’re not doing that witch thing tonight. Are you?”

“We…we need to meet. To talk about Suzanne—and to figure out what’s going on,” Becca confessed. “I mean, for closure and everything.”

“Becca, honey.”

“Please, Maddy. I’ve got to get ready.”

Maddy looked like she’d swallowed a bug, and not a very tasty one at that. Still, she allowed herself to be hustled out the door with a final protest. “Call me, Becca?”

Only then did Becca allow herself to collapse, throwing herself on the sofa with a sob.

“Jeff.” One word said it all, and Clara brushed her head up against the hands that covered Becca’s head, hoping to offer the comfort of soft fur. A slight thud behind her alerted her to Laurel’s arrival. For once, she was pleased to note, her sister didn’t dish up any snark and instead stretched out alongside the crying girl. Before long, Harriet joined them, landing with an audible grunt. Despite—or perhaps because of—her hogging of their dinner, she accepted the remaining position, by Becca’s feet, lending her warm bulk to the sisterly effort.

This wasn’t their usual mode of magic. But Clara could feel the purr as it rose between them, and if the three felines couldn’t right all the wrongs of the world—or of a certain faithless boyfriend—they could at least set a certain cosmic vibration in order. In their presence, Becca went from tears to silence and then, Clara suspected, a short nap. When she sat up, about an hour later, her breathing had returned to normal. And although her eyes would be swollen for some time, as she wiped her face, she glanced around with clarity and maybe even, Clara thought, a new purpose.

She also, on seeing the clock, began to panic.“Seven thirty!” She jumped up, discomfiting the cats.

“Ungrateful,” grumbled Harriet. Becca had been careful not to kick the plump cat as she rose, but she had straightened out the cushions behind her, which Harriet had arranged for peak comfort.

“Typical,” noted Laurel as she stretched. The Siamese sister knew what all the fuss meant and was readying herself to be admired.

Only Clara remained silent. She saw how their person bustled about with renewed purpose and considered herself amply rewarded.What’s the use of power, she thought to herself,if it can’t be used to comfort those we love?

Chapter 23

The doorbell interrupted all their musings—as well as Becca’s last-minute attempts at soothing her reddened eyes. Drying her face with a washcloth, she called out a greeting. A moment later, she was opening the door to Larissa and Trent, both of whom reacted to her appearance.

“You poor dear.” Larissa pushed her way past Trent in a swath of multicolored silk and kissed the air beside both of Becca’s damp cheeks. “You must be absolutely bereft. I wanted to get here early to give you a hand.”

She followed this embrace with a pointed look at Trent that seemed to demand an answer.“I’m sorry.” His handsome face appeared drawn with concern. “I guess we both had the same idea. Merry meet, Becca.”

“Merry meet.” Becca managed a wobbly smile. “It’s good to see you both. Come in.”

Larissa took charge, as usual, ushering Becca into the kitchen with a sweeping gesture that released a cloud of patchouli.

“I’m sorry.” Becca did her best to summon a smile, even as she blinked. Clara, at her feet, sneezed quietly, while Laurel winced and stalked off. “I haven’t put the water on or anything.”

“Nonsense, dear.” Larissa craned around until she saw the kettle, then gestured Becca over toward it. “Would you? My sleeves.”

Clara watched as Becca complied. Having something to do certainly seemed to settle her person, but the calico couldn’t help but wonder at the older woman’s apparent helplessness as she ordered Becca around.

“No, dear, fill the pot with hot water, then pour it out. You don’t want to brew your tea in a cold pot.” With a flick of those sleeves, she herded Becca toward the sink, then followed to stand close behind her. “I wanted to speak with you before the others arrived.”

She turned theatrically as if she could see through the wall to the foyer and the door beyond. When she began to speak again, her deep voice was abnormally soft.

“I don’t think it would be healthy to mention our chat yesterday.” Even muted, her suggestion had an air of command about it. “About Graham and all. You are one of my favorites, but it wouldn’t do to sow dissent.”

“Of course.” Becca’s open face showed her confusion. “But…you’ve encouraged me before. Right here, last week, and if you did the same for Suzanne…”

Larissa’s sleeves fluttered as if she were patting down an animal. “There are too many factors, my dear. Things might be misunderstood.”

“But—” Becca paused, her brow wrinkling in a look of intense concentration. It was almost as if her whiskers were bristling, thought Clara. If Laurel had looked like that, it would have meant prey was about—and in danger. But whatever observation Becca was about to make was cut off as Ande rushed into the kitchen.

“Oh, dear! How are you?” She hugged Becca, who was still holding the kettle. “I mean, blessed be—and, please, let me.”

Unencumbered by flowing clothing, Ande took the kettle and set it to boil, freeing Becca, who turned to Larissa once more. But the older woman simply raised one manicured finger to her lips and then left the kitchen as dramatically as she had entered, a sweep of her long sleeves wafting patchouli behind her.

“Phew, what’s that smell?” Ande’s nose wrinkled up. “It’s not the cats, is it?”

***

As this was not their usual meeting, Larissa had not brought her special tea. Instead, Becca was pleased to find the scent of a spicy mint mix—akin to what they’d enjoyed the day before—soon filled her small apartment, almost drowning out the older woman’s perfume.

“To promote healing,” Larissa explained once they were all gathered around the table. “And to ease our dear sister’s spirit onto the next realm, of course.”

“Of course,” Kathy echoed as she reached out to pat Becca’s hand. “That should be our main goal.”

Becca managed a tight smile that even from over on the couch Clara could tell was forced. Her human colleagues appeared to notice this too, as Ande and Marcia exchanged a look that could only be described as weighted.

“I was thinking a sunset circle.” Larissa addressed a space somewhere above the gathering, and Clara tilted her own head back to see if perhaps a fly had gotten in. “By the river, perhaps.”

“A circle?” Becca broke into the other woman’s reverie.

“To concentrate our energies,” Marcia explained. “You know, because we won’t be at the funeral.”

“We won’t?” Becca was full of questions.

“Oh, dear, I guess you hadn’t heard?” Larissa turned toward their host. “Poor, dear Suzanne’s parents are having her interment back in Connecticut.” Her crimson lips formed a moue of disapproval. “Such negative energy.”

“Oh.” The small, sad sound made Clara long to leap into Becca’s lap. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

“We haven’t wanted to burden you. I spoke with her employer, of course.” Larissa blinked, as if holding back her own tears, which was probably why she didn’t notice Becca lean forward. Clara perked her ears up, waiting for Becca to speak. “More tea?” Larissa got there first, and Becca sat back again, holding her mug close.

“Well, since there’s no great urgency, shall we wait for the solstice?” Trent, Clara noticed, had been strangely quiet until now. “That might be auspicious.” He looked around at the coven, moving from Marcia to Ande to Kathy to Becca before pausing, it seemed, at Larissa, to his right.

“That’s a bit of a wait.” Ande sounded doubtful—and Clara saw her turn toward Marcia.

“It’s too long,” Kathy responded, before tiny Marcia could. “That’s more than three weeks from now. Better to do it sooner. We need to let her move on.” She might have been speaking of Suzanne, but she was looking at Becca, who slouched back in her seat.

“Darling, are you all right?” Larissa reached for her, but Becca pushed her chair back.

“I need a little air.” Leaving the table, she walked into the kitchen.

Laurel and Clara followed, and found Harriet waiting.“Treats?” The big marmalade rubbed her considerable bulk up against her leg, and then grunted as Becca hauled her up into her arms.

“What a pretty kitty.” Ande had followed her in. “May I?”

Harriet accepted the gentle pet as her due, while Laurel looked on. Becca, however, just stared out the window.

“I just can’t stop thinking about her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course.” Ande bit her lip. “But you can’t think that you…”

Becca shook her head.“I was just wondering about what you told her.”

“What was that?” Trent had appeared, but Becca only shook her head. “Are you okay, Becca?”

“Yeah, thanks,” She released Harriet, who shot an evil glance at the warlock. “It’s nothing.”

Without offering up any treats, she rejoined the table, where Kathy, Marcia, and Larissa were deep in conversation.

“Luz thought it was probably random,” Marcia was saying as Ande and Trent took their seats. “A robbery gone bad.”

“I don’t want to suggest anything.” Kathy’s voice suggested anything but. “Only, do you think, maybe, it wasn’t an accident that Becca found her?”

“What?” Her person’s uncharacteristic squeal made Clara’s fur stand on end. Even Harriet looked up. “Me?”

“I mean, because of your conjuring.” Kathy scanned the table for support. “Maybe if you make something appear, then you also…well, you know.”

“Now, Kathy.” Trent was the voice of reason. “That’s not how the rule of three works. If one of us does something malicious, then that will come back three times. I don’t see how a mere pillow–”

“I’m sorry.” Becca pushed back from the table again. “I don’t think I can do this—not tonight.”

“Of course, it’s all my fault.” Kathy went to her and reached to draw her into an awkward hug. “Trent’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Obviously, no further planning was going to be done. And although Harriet looked up expectantly—fewer of the cookies had been eaten than usual—Clara felt for her person. She was glad when Larissa signaled the end of the meeting, shooing Ande and Marcia off with the mugs and the teapot. Becca watched as they cleared the table and excused herself to follow. She found the two huddled over the sink, rinsing dishes, as Harriet, who had followed the food, stared in rapt attention.

“This isn’t the time.” Marcia seemed incapable of speaking softly, but her tone implied a confidence, even if her volume—quite audible over the running water—didn’t. Neither was paying much attention to the fluffy feline at their feet, or to the two other cats who sauntered in to join her.

“Excuse me?” Becca, however, wasn’t so relaxed, and her voice was sharp enough that even Harriet’s concentration was briefly broken.

Marcia and Ande glanced at each other before Marcia turned the faucet off.“I’m sorry,” said Ande, dishtowel in hand. “I spoke out of turn.”

“If either of you know anything, you really do need to come forward.” Becca studied the faces of the two women. When Ande dropped her eyes to the floor, she turned to Marcia. For once, the petite Sox fan was silent, her lips tight set as she reached for a towel to wipe her own hands dry.

“Ladies?” Larissa, calling from the front of the apartment. “If you’re done with clean up…”

“Coming!” Marcia hung the towel over the faucet and leaned over to give Becca a quick hug. “Thanks, Becca.” Neatly sidestepping the three cats, she left.

“Ande?” Becca leaned in, cutting off the taller woman before she, too, could escape. “What was that about?”

The remaining guest folded her towel in her hands and peered ruefully toward the living room.“I can’t,” she said.

“If this has to do with the money that went missing…”

“No, it doesn’t.” She shook off the idea, running one hand over her face as if to wash it. “And really, Larissa just wants to forget about the finances. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

From the living room, the sound of laughter, and Larissa called again:“Hulloo!”

“Ande?” Becca wasn’t giving up.

“Look, it’s not my secret to share.” Ande forced a smile. “It’s just—well, I guess it’s true that you never really know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship.”

“Is this about Trent?” Becca’s voice squeaked. The warlock’s deep voice could be heard by the front door, warm and jocular. Clearly, the general mood had recovered. “I mean, the cops spoke with him too.”

“I can’t believe you two.” Kathy stood in the doorway, her freckled face unexpectedly stern. “Trent doesn’t need money.”

“I didn’t…” Becca closed her eyes and sank back against the sink in exhaustion. “We weren’t….”

Clara rose to go to her. It was quite apparent that some feline comforting was needed. But Laurel had one brown bootie firmly on the base of her tail.

“Hang on,” her sister hissed.“I want to see how this plays out.”

Clara glared, but in that moment, Ande had gone to Becca in her place, draping one arm around Becca’s shoulders. “There, there, honey.” She pulled her close, murmuring like a mother cat.

“Did you know the red-haired one was listening?” Clara nudged Laurel as the two looked on. Harriet, sensing that no cookies would be forthcoming, had padded back into the living room.

“Just the last bit.”Laurel shrugged and lifted her paw.“I wanted to hear more too. That grooming behavior…”

“I know,” Clara agreed, grateful to have her tail released.“Do you think she feels guilty?”

“Becca’s been through a lot, Kath.” Before Laurel could answer, Ande had turned back to the redhead. “Let’s cut her some slack, okay?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Becca.” Kathy reached out with both hands. “I can’t imagine. I guess we’re all on edge.”

“Thanks.” Becca choked out the word as the redhead drew her into a hug. “I just need to get some sleep.”

“Valerian,” Kathy pronounced sternly. “And, Ande? We should get going.”

“Will you be okay?” Now that she wasn’t being questioned, Ande seemed reluctant to leave.

“Yeah, thanks.” Becca pushed off the counter. “It’s just been a long week.”

“It’s Wednesday,” said Kathy, earning a poke from Ande. Becca didn’t respond, beyond holding on to that sad, tight smile as she walked her guests to the door.

Minutes later, she was stretched out on the couch.“Oh, I’m sorry.”

She moved her feet as Clara jumped up to join her. It had been a stressful visit, and the little calico was as tuckered out as her person. For once, she had Becca—and the end of the sofa—to herself. Harriet, still annoyed about the missed opportunities in the kitchen, was prowling about, muttering about cookies and treats and the stupid, ungrateful creatures with whom she was forced to cohabit. Laurel, meanwhile, was lingering by the door, though if it was because of the residual patchouli or some other trail, Clara couldn’t tell. As Becca’s breathing slowed and deepened, the tired calico felt her own lids start to close and she fought to stay awake. So much had happened that she needed to ponder, but it had indeed been a very busy couple of days.

The gentle tap on the door woke Clara first. Stretching, she peeked over the arm of the sofa to see Laurel staring expectantly at the knob. From the way she lashed her chocolate tail, Clara knew her sister was expecting that door to open.

“Who is it?” Clara landed as soundlessly as a cat can and kept her mew soft as she approached her sister. Laurel’s blue eyes remained riveted, as the knock was repeated, a little less softly.

“Maybe if you’d paid a little more attention…” The tail lashing quickened, as if the Siamese were readying to pounce.

“To what?” Clara sat beside her, wrapping her own tail neatly around her front paws.“I was focused on Becca.”

“You weren’t the only one.”Almost a purr, this time, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent.

“Hang on.” Clara’s whiskers sagged. The sound had woken Becca, who was now shuffling toward the door. “Trent!”

Clara turned as her person straightened up, one hand going to her hair. Beside her, Laurel gave her a knowing sidelong glance.“See?”

“I’m sorry.” The warlock’s voice was as warm as his dark eyes. “I woke you. I could tell how exhausted you were, but I thought maybe…” He dipped his head shyly.

“Please, come in.” Becca stood back to let him enter. “Yeah, I fell asleep.” She rubbed her face. Clara couldn’t understand why her person should sound so apologetic. Napping was not only healthy, it was the appropriate reaction to many things, stress being one of them.

Trent passed by her and entered the apartment.

“I’m sorry.” There she was, apologizing again. Clara was beginning to get as agitated as Harriet. “Did you forget something?”

“Only my manners.” The dark-haired warlock turned to her. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. This whole evening.” He looked around, as if their coven were still assembled. “I know that it’s important to talk about what happened and to plan a memorial. But it was too soon. I should have known.”

“It’s fine, really.” Becca perked up a bit in the warmth of his gaze. “Would you like something? More tea?”

A soft laugh.“Please,” he said, “I don’t think I could. I only wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Oh.” A soft mew of disappointment. Laurel, meanwhile, was leaning against the visitor’s shins so aggressively that he almost stumbled as he tried to step forward. “Please, won’t you sit for a minute?”

“Well, if I’m not interrupting.”

Now it was her turn to chuckle.“I think I was just kind of overwhelmed. Who knew not doing anything would be so exhausting?”

“Who said you’re not doing anything?” Sidling around the feline, he took a seat on the sofa. “Living the self-directed life—being freelance—takes more energy than simply punching a clock.”

“But I’m not freelance. I’m just unemployed.” Becca settled in beside him, and for once, Laurel did not insert herself. Instead, she sat back and, when Clara approached, swatted her sister.“Stop that!”The hiss as swift as the paw.

“That’s still stressful.” Trent sounded as if he knew. “And, of course, you’re still processing the grief and the shock, I would imagine.”

“I guess,” Becca acknowledged. At their feet, the two cats faced off.

“What are you playing at?” Clara’s murmured question only earned her a fierce stare.

“Just…watch.” The low yowl was unmissable.

“Your cat makes such a funny sound.” The two felines looked up to find the guest watching them. “They’re sisters?”

“Yeah.” Becca nodded. “I know it’s odd, but littermates can have different fathers, and Laurel’s definitely got some Siamese in her. They’re, well, more talkative than other cats.”

Trent nodded, as if he understood. Laurel blinked at him slowly. Even if he couldn’t make sense of her vocalizations, thought Clara, surely, he would get that the slinky feline was flirting with him.

“Kind of like some of our coven mates.” He turned toward Becca, a hint of humor softening his words.

“Oh, they’re not so bad.” Becca was looking at her hands, Clara noted. And while they were very clean, gentle hands, the calico could not see what made them so interesting at that moment.

“I don’t know.” Trent must have admired her hands too. He’d reached over to place his own over hers. “They were a bit much tonight. Admit it.”

His tone begged for a response.“Well, Larissa can be a little demanding,” she conceded, peeking up at him.

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled softly. “But I was thinking more of how you were attacked in the kitchen.”

“I wasn’t attacked.” Her demurral as soft as Clara’s mew. It didn’t matter. Whether it was the word or some latent gifts that Clara didn’t understand, Harriet had heard her and came trotting into the room.“Did someone say ‘kitchen’?”

Those wide yellow eyes turned from her two sisters to take in the humans seated so close as to be almost cuddling on the couch—and became almost saucer-like as Becca pulled back.

“Actually, I’m glad you came back, Trent. Because I realized I still have some questions…”

“I have some questions too,” Trent interrupted, his voice soft as velvet, as with one finger, he turned her chin to face him.

Becca gave a slight squeak, as if a mouse were hiding in the depths of her throat, and blinked as if transfixed. Clara looked on in dismay, wondering if she should interrupt. There was no way Harriet would put up with being so ignored.

“Becca?” Trent’s voice was soft and insistent as he leaned in, apparently unaware of the hefty marmalade who had bounded up onto the sofa.

Neither was Becca, it seemed, an oversight that Clara could not comprehend, as her plump sister had landed beside her with a noticeable thud. But even as she opened her own mouth to mew a warning, she heard a soft growl of warning.

“Don’t you dare.”A hiss as soft as a sigh. Laurel, her blue eyes glowing with anticipation.

And suddenly, Clara understood. Finger still beneath her chin, Trent had lifted Becca’s face and leaned over to gently kiss her lips. The sound she made in response—as faint as a kitten’s whimper—seemed to encourage him further. Shifting on the sofa, he leaned forward to pull her close. The gold amulet swung from his open shirt, almost as if it too wanted to make contact with the person Clara most loved.

For a moment, that gold pendant was the only thing moving, swinging back and forth in the space between the two humans as they kissed. It was mesmerizing, Clara had to admit. That steady motion. The glitter as the engraving caught the light. Beside her, on the floor, Laurel had begun to purr, the rhythmic sound matching the back and forth, back and forth.

And then everything changed. Trent shifted, moving one arm around behind Becca as if to draw her closer still. But Becca pulled back, ever so slightly, to address the dark-eyed man.“Wait, Trent, I need to know—”

Before she could finish her question, a sound like the grinding of gears caused them all to turn. Harriet had had enough. And whether she growled because of her annoyance over the lack of cookies or other treats, or whether the hypnotic swing of the amulet had been too much for her subjugated hunting instincts, Clara didn’t have the chance to inquire. As her complaint modulated into a high-pitched whine, the plump marmalade launched herself over Becca and onto Trent’s lap, landing with a thud that made the young couple flinch.

“Ow!” Trent jerked back. Of course, thought Clara, Harriet would use her claws. But whether it was her size or lack of agility that had made her dig in, it did Trent no good to pull away. Those yellow eyes were focused on one thing—the glittering toy that had swung so provocatively only seconds before. And with one fat paw—Harriet’s fluffiness extended even to her white mitts—she swiped at her prize, knocking the shiny piece off its chain and sending it flying across the room.

“Harriet!” Becca was off the couch, even as Trent squealed. “Bad girl. Bad! I’m so sorry.” Trent pressed his hand to his pillaged chest. “Trent, are you all right?”

“I think so.” He glanced down to check his fingertips.

“Are you bleeding?” Becca returned to the sofa and nearly climbed into her guest’s lap to check.

“No, I’m fine.” To Clara’s surprise, he retreated. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Here.” Becca bounced up again. “Let me get you something to put on that. Her claws must have gotten stuck in the chain or…something.” Her words trailed off as she ran to the bathroom. Clara could hear her rustling under the sink.

“She could just say fur.”Laurel leaned in, apparently amused by the whole adventure.“He has a thick pelt.”

“She’s distressed.” Clara contemplated going after their person, but she had emerged, cotton balls and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in hand.“He’s a guest.”

“Could’ve been more,” Laurel purred. But the romantic mood had definitely been dispelled.

“No, really!” Trent backed up as Becca approached, holding out one hand as if to ward her off. “I’m okay.”

In truth, Clara could almost understand. The rubbing alcohol smelled foul, its stench so sharp and biting that the three cats retreated to the window. That might have been why the man had stood and was stepping backward, but when he suddenly fell to all fours, the calico grew concerned. Straining to see, she stood as tall as she could. Luckily, at that moment, Becca closed the noxious bottle and, as the fumes began to disperse, got down on her knees beside her guest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said again as they prowled around. “Harriet’s got quite the swing.”

Clara waited for Trent’s objection, but heard none. Perhaps he hadn’t time, because within a minute, Becca called out, “I think I’ve found it!”

Harriet’s swipe, it seemed, had sent the amulet across the room, where it must have slid beneath the overstuffed armchair. Unless… Clara turned to her older sister, but the plump marmalade only glared, her yellow eyes as poisonous as the stink from that bottle.

“Where? Oh, I see it.” Trent crawled over toward the chair, nearly knocking Becca over in his rush. “I think I can reach it.” Beside her, Clara felt Harriet shift and wondered if her sister was going to jump down in order to reclaim her prize. But either the effort wasn’t worth it, or theman on the floor was too quick. Even as Becca was reaching out—one arm extended beneath the chair—he managed to snag it.

“Is your amulet okay?” Becca sat back on her heels. Clara thought she would want to inspect it, but Trent had already shoved it in his pocket after the most cursory of inspections.

“Yup. Dandy.” He spoke as if he’d reassure her with such jolly words. But if Becca thought that all had been set right—and that her visitor would pick up again from where he had left off—she was in for a rude surprise. Leaning on the chair, Trent pulled himself to his feet, and although he did offer Becca his hand, he made no effort to draw her close again. In fact, he seemed to recoil a little when she stepped forward.

“I think I need to call it a night.” He smiled as if offering an apology, and some of the warmth came back to her face.

“Of course.” Becca nodded a bit too enthusiastically, Clara thought. “I’ll—well, I’ll see you at the next coven meeting, I guess.”

“See you then.” He slipped out almost as quietly as Clara would, leaving his hostess dumbfounded. And the three cats muttering on the windowsill.

“Well, that was interesting.” Laurel began to wash.

“That was my toy. Mine.” Harriet stared after the departed visitor, her orange-tipped tail lashing in delayed fury.“I never liked that one,” she said.

Beside her, looking on as their person stared vacantly at the door, Clara could only agree.

Chapter 24

Despite another night of tossing and turning that discomfited all three of her cats, Becca faced the day with a new determination.

“It’s not my place to figure out what happened to Suzanne,” she told her pets as they gathered around her in the kitchen. Neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening, their gaze fixed instead on the can opener she was wielding. But Clara’s ears perked up as their person kept talking. “And I’m not going to waste any more energy on Jeff, either. I don’t care about his excuses anymore. He and I are through.”

That resolution, as much as the assurance in Becca’s tone, set the calico purring as the three bent to their breakfasts. Even Harriet seemed to have a good appetite, despite her dislike of the infamous tuna treat. Still, Clara couldn’t but be a bit distracted as Becca left the kitchen without preparing anything for herself. When she heard her open her laptop, she looked up in concern.

“You going to finish that?” Clara felt the nudge of a wet nose and looked over to see her biggest sister staring down at her can.“’Cause, if you’re not…”

“All yours.”Clara lowered her head, blinking slowly as a sign of affection and submission. She’d eaten enough, and she owed her oldest sister. Besides, right then, Becca was her priority.

Even before Harriet could finish what remained of her food, Clara was beside Becca, perched on the arm of the sofa as her person typed on the keyboard.

“Dear Mr. Reynolds,” Becca read aloud to herself as she pecked away, which made things easier for Clara. “I’m writing on the recommendation of Larissa Fox…”

“What’s going on?” Laurel landed beside her and immediately began to groom.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Clara.“I think she’s looking for another job.”

“Too bad.” The Siamese extended one dark chocolate paw.“She needs to focus more on us.”

Before Clara could respond, their person had stood. Reaching for her phone, she punched in numbers and began to pace.

“Mr. Reynolds? Thank you so much for getting back to me.” A pause. Despite her sister’s assumed nonchalance, Clara could tell that Laurel was listening too. “Why, yes, thank you. I would love to come in tomorrow for an interview.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Laurel snarled as she and Clara watched Becca head off to shower and start her day.

“What?” Clara didn’t understand her sister’s pique.

“Pushing her to be all proactive. To go outside, and all.” As she spoke, Laurel stepped down onto the sofa cushion their person had just vacated, carefully arranging herself in a perfect circle.“If she’d kept that handsome Trent here, she wouldn’t be running off.”

“That wasn’t me.” Clara bristled at the injustice.“It was Harriet who went for that pendant he was wearing.”

“But you’ve been following her, and I know she senses your presence. Pushing her to ask questions and uncover every little thing.” Laurel was beginning to doze off, which was never her most logical mode.

“Besides, if Becca were still in bed, then we wouldn’t have had breakfast.” Harriet had finally joined them, licking her chops.

“I don’t think it’s bad for her to go outside.” Clara knew she was in the minority, and the sidelong glances of her sisters confirmed this opinion.“Besides,”she added as a way of making peace,“I doubt she’s leaving right away.”

“You heard her.” Harriet was in a mood, and Clara kept silent. Most cats live in the present, which makes the idea of“tomorrow”—or of any appointment, really—hard to grasp. Luckily, it also keeps them from worrying too much about the future or even holding on to a grudge for too long. Indeed, by the time Becca returned, showered and dressed, and sat back down on the sofa, Laurel and Harriet had seemed to forget their earlier pique. As Becca typed, it was Clara who grew concerned. Surely, it wasn’t good for a healthy young woman to spend an entire sunny spring day indoors. Not even a sweet one who had been through the mill recently, both personally and professionally.

“What are you complaining about?” Laurel’s fangs showed as she yawned, and her claws unsheathed as she stretched.“This is perfect!”

“I don’t know.” Clara didn’t want to leave Becca’s side. Still, she found herself pacing as the morning passed. She was even grateful when Becca picked up the phone again, as poor a substitute for fresh air and real contact as it might be.

“Hey, Maddy.” Becca sounded happy, at least, and willing to forgive her old friend her well-intentioned lapse. “You wouldn’t believe what I just found in the genealogy archives. A woodcut of my great-great-whatever. Oh, and I’ve got an interview! Call me?”

Harriet was asleep on her pillow by then, and Laurel halfway there, her dark-tipped tail lashing languorously across the sofa. Clara, however, found herself intrigued by Becca’s message, and when she jumped to the back of the sofa, she realized why. There—on the screen—was a picture. All lines and in black and white, it took a moment for the cat to make sense of it. An image without a scent is only half what it should be to most cats. But as she stared, she had the most profound realization. There, on the computer screen, was a print of her great-great-great-great-great-grand dam. The witch cat of Salem! Standing next to a nice-enough looking lady. A woman who—Clara leaned in to get a better view—kind of looked like Becca, if Becca had grown her hair long and then tied it all back in a knot.

“Laurel, check this out.” Clara nudged her sleepy sister.“It’s Grandma.”

“It’s a box.” Laurel stretched and rolled over.“A box you can’t even sit in. Though it is warm…”

“No, look—” But before Clara could convince her sister to try to make sense of the flat, odorless image, the phone had rung again, and Becca, reaching for it, had closed the electronic device.

“Maddy? Oh.” From the way she straightened in her seat, Clara could tell that her person was surprised. Not unhappy, though. “Hi, Nathan. I was expecting…someone else.”

Clara angled her ear and was able to pick up the voice of the painter, if not his pleasant pine scent.

“I realized I should take the initiative.” A nervous edge—or maybe it was the connection—pitched his voice high and brittle. “I know you’ve been through so much, but I was hoping we could get together, if you’ve got time.”

Poor connection or not, Becca’s face lit up as he spoke, in a smile that warmed Clara like a purr—at least for the few moments before her brows drew together in consternation. “Wait, how’d you get my number?” There was a sharpness to her voice that made Clara take note.

“I have my ways.” Clara heard Becca’s quick intake of breath. “I’m sorry, not funny.” Apparently, Nathan had too. “I got it from Larissa.” The answer came quickly and easily, his tone calming down to what the little cat remembered. But something about the way Becca had tilted her head—her lips tightly closed—made her pet think it wasn’t sufficient. “I mentioned meeting you to her the other day, when we ran into each other.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca wanted more.

“She seems to think we should get to know each other.” He laughed. “I know, pushy, huh? But you can ask her. I gather you’re getting together for a memorial tonight?”

“Tonight?” Becca started and then caught herself, as if the man on the other end of the line could see her. Then she paused, and to her cat she appeared to be wrestling with a question other than the one she had just answered. “Look, Nathan, can I get back to you? This is an odd time.”

Clara couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when she rang off and, instead, began fiddling with her phone, tapping away at the device with her thumbs. While it was true that none of them knew this young man, the plump feline had liked his scent. Even more, she had liked the way he had treated Becca, taking her out for treats after that disconcerting meeting with the police. But Becca wasn’t Harriet, and if she had doubts, they were probably sensible, the pet reminded herself.

Still, the little cat looked up hopefully when the phone rang again. Becca was no house pet to spend all her time on the sofa.

“Maddy?” She’d grabbed up the phone without glancing at it.

“Sorry.” Even before she saw Becca’s shoulders’ drop, Clara knew. It was her person’s ex.

“Jeff.” No greeting, nothing cordial, and a new note—defiant—had crept into Becca’s voice. “What do you want?”

“Look.” His voice had an edge of panic. Or maybe it was desperation. “I’m sorry, all right? I was a lousy boyfriend and I’m sorry. I really—I guess I was afraid of the commitment, or of how I felt about you.” Laurel couldn’t have rolled her eyes any harder. Jeff must have heard something because he suddenly broke off. “Look, Becca, don’t hang up. I’m sorry, okay? I mean it. And when I told you that I’d broken up with Suzanne, I meant I was going to. That going out with her was a mistake, and even before she found out I was your boyfriend, I was going to end it.”

“So she was the one who ended it.” The words leaked out as sharp as Laurel’s claws. “Of course.”

“I was going to stop seeing her. Really.” She didn’t respond, but before he could hang up, he tried one more time, his voice pitched high and desperate. “You’ve got to tell the cops that, Becca. I mean, I had no reason to want her dead.”

Chapter 25

“Excuse me?” Becca’s default mode was polite. “I, wait, what?”

“Just, don’t take our relationship stuff to the police, okay? This is serious.”

Polite, but still furious.“Jeff Blakey, if you think that I’ve been airing my personal laundry to the police…” She stopped with a sputter. Her outrage was convincing, but Clara could tell that, for the moment at least, the angry young woman standing before her was concerned that she’d done just that.

Luckily, her ex didn’t know her as well as her cat did. “I’m sorry, Becca, but I think someone’s been telling them things, and, well, you’re the only one who makes sense.”

“Oh?” She leaned back against the sofa, waiting.

The answering sigh would have been audible, even to non-feline ears.“I thought I was in the clear, but then I was called in to answer some more questions about Suzanne, and it was kind of obvious they came from someone in your, you know, your group.”

“The coven?” Becca straightened.

“Uh-huh. There was a lot about if I knew how often you guys got together, and what was my involvement. I told them I didn’t know anything. That you and I had broken up before you got really into all that Wicca stuff. But this one cop, he kept pushing. Asking me why I was, you know, seeing two of you, and what that meant.”

“What that meant?” Becca pronounced the last word as if it tasted bad, and Clara licked her whiskers in sympathy.

“You know.” The man on the phone was at a loss to explain. “What was it about your witchy stuff that attracted men. Whether you girls had some kind of competition going.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca bit her lip. “And you think that this means that they suspect you?”

“What else?” His voice was cracking. The fatigue had broken through into desperation. “They questioned me for more than an hour.”

“Uh-huh.” The way Becca was nodding, Clara knew she was digesting his words slowly, as if they were a bit of gristle. “Maybe you’re right, Jeff. Maybe they were trying to get you to confess to being something more than just a nasty cheat.” A sputter came through the line, but Becca kept talking. “But if you ask me, what they’re doing is something else entirely. I think they’re asking you about me and my friends for a different reason. I think they suspect one of us in the coven.”

Jeff had the grace not to sound too happy about that idea. Or maybe, Clara thought, the callow young man simply lacked the sense to follow Becca’s reasoning. All she could tell for sure was that despite some vague protests, Becca was able to get him off the phone fairly quickly. And if Clara had worried about her person’s lack of drive before, now she faced the opposite fear. Instead of settling back on the sofa, where Laurel was snoring gently, Becca became a whirlwind of activity. Picking up the few dishes she’d used, she muttered to herself like a discontented cat, until, finally, she disappeared into her bedroom and began throwing clothes around, emerging at last in an all-black outfit that seemed at odds with the beauty ofthe day.

“Okay, kitties.” Laurel had woken and joined Clara in staring at their human. Even Harriet roused herself to look up. “I’m going to be out for a while, but don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Really?” Laurel yawned and began to groom, her spirits if not her fur unruffled by the turn of events.“Do you think she expects us to respond?”

“I don’t know,” said Clara as she checked her own tail and whiskers.“But I fear she’s going hunting, and not for the kind of prey that would feed any of us.”

***

Her coat neatly groomed, Clara waited by the door until Becca left, slipping out only after the dark-haired girl, so as not to cause her concern. But as she followed her person’s rather hurried steps, the little calico began to have apprehensions of her own. Becca was upset, that much was evident. That she had felt spurred to action by the phone call—or maybe both phone calls—was also evident. What Clara wasn’t sure of was what her person intended to do about it.

Surely, the cat thought as she trotted to keep up, Becca wasn’t going to meet Jeff. Nor would she likely be heading back to the police, not after what she’d said on the phone. Cats may not understand the ins and outs of law enforcement, but they tend not to believe in closed doors of any sort, as anybody who has cohabited with a feline knows.

Still, the determined young woman marched on, her slight stature giving her an edge as she wove through the workday crowd. For her cat, it was a bit more difficult. Keeping herself semi-shadowed meant she had to be more careful of feet as she ducked and dodged down the crowded city sidewalk. When Becca turned off the busy main street, her pet breathed a sigh of relief. Even magical cats have a hard time out in the world. But as Clara looked around, the realization of where her person was headed made her catch her breath in a way no near miss by a pointy toe could.

Suzanne’s apartment. The triple-decker with its fresh coat of paint looked as cheery as could be on this sunny day. Still, Clara was grateful when her person stopped short of walking up to the clapboard building and mounting its three white steps. Not that she was easy with the way Becca stood on the sidewalk opposite, considering.

“I wonder who lives downstairs?” Becca voiced her thoughts. “And what they heard?”

This, her cat knew, could not end well. Surely, if the police were talking to Becca’s ex, then they must have interviewed the neighbors as well.

Of course, being a cat—and a shadowy one at that—Clara could check out the two lower apartments. In fact, she realized, it wouldn’t be difficult to slip inside the front door and at least take in the scents of the inhabitants.

The first floor, she could tell right away, was the home of an older woman. Even from here, she could sense that simply from the combination of aromas: peppermint tea and the sharp tang of a muscle rub, leavened with the not unpleasantly musty smell of old books. The couple on the second floor were likely academics, she figured, from the amount of paper rustling in the slight breeze that made its way inside. They’d been gone for several days, Clara gathered from the dearth of any other sound, as well as a certain stillness of the dust. Probably since Suzanne had been found there, she realized. Cats, like most humans, have an aversion to violence, but the parti-colored feline couldn’t quite understand why people would leaveafter an attack. Surely, that young couple—French, she decided, from some faint herbal quality to their kitchen—must have realized that the violence above them was over by the time they took off.

All she would have to do would be to cross the street. Clara took a deep breath. Cloaked as she was, no car would see her. Dare she risk it? For Becca she would, she decided, and glanced up at her person, only to see that she’d extracted her phone from her pocket.

“Hi, Nathan?” Startled, Clara sat back down on the sun-warmed sidewalk. “It’s me, Becca. I was thinking and, yes, I’d like to get together,” her person said. But all the time, the cat at her feet could easily see, the young woman was staring at the building before her.

Chapter 26

Nathan had been right. The coven had voted not to wait for the solstice.“None of us want to rush you, my dear, but it simply wouldn’t do to put off the inevitable,” Larissa had said when Becca reached her that afternoon, in response to the flurry of texts. “We need to focus on the goddess.”

“Too long to wait,” Maddy had interpreted, when Becca had explained to her friend why she’d be busy later. “She wants to get back to being the center of attention.”

“I gather everyone else agreed,” Becca protested mildly. Marcia, sequestered in her law office, had been particularly keen on acting sooner, Larissa had told her, and as soon as Marcia had spoken up, Ande and Kathy had chimed in too. Trent’s opinion wasn’t cited by the older wiccan, but Becca certainly wasn’t going to reach out to him after what had happened. If Larissa said they were all on board, she’d accept that.

“Like they had a choice?” Maddy snarked.

“You’ve not even met Larissa.” Becca didn’t really disagree with her friend’s assessment of the situation, but she did feel honor bound to speak up for the older woman. “That is, unless she works with you too.”

“Very funny!” Her friend had been wise enough not to take offense. “Just don’t stay out too late, okay? I want you to bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for your interview with old Reynolds.”

***

In truth, the sun had barely begun to set by the time the coven had gathered. However, the lengthening shadows did make it easier for Clara to follow as her person made her way to their meeting place by the river. The setting, the little cat had to admit, was perfect. Although cars roared by as commuters made their way home from work, the gently sloping bank was grassy and fragrant from the sprinkling of wild flowers along the verge. Already, the water reflected as much orange as blue, the surface broken only by the wake of a single sculler passing by, silent as a water bug.

“Becca.” Larissa had, as anticipated, taken charge, and was greeting each member of the coven as she arrived. Despite the usual handicap of draping sleeves and an impressive manicure, the dark-haired witch had already set up a small folding table with a jug of what looked to be cider and a plate of cookies that Harriet would have made quick work of. “Kathy.” The older woman nodded as the redhead came down the path. “Merry meet.”

“Merry meet,” Becca responded, spotting Ande over by the river’s edge. The tall accountant had her hands in her pockets and appeared to be staring at the reflections that wavered and took on new shape in the water before her. As Larissa began to fuss with the refreshments, Becca took a few careful steps down the sloped bank to join her, shuffling a bit on the slick grass to avoid losing her footing.

“Hey.” Ande turned from her reverie, and Becca had the oddly unnerving realization that she and the taller woman were eye to eye. “I mean, merry meet.”

“Hey, Ande. Merry meet to you too.” Becca took a deep breath, emboldened by this new equality. “I hear you voted for having the memorial tonight, Ande. I mean, as opposed to waiting for the solstice.”

“Well, yeah.” The glowing light warmed Ande’s skin, and she stared over the water as if she were remembering a good dream. “I mean, life goes on, right?”

“’Life goes on?’” Becca searched the other woman’s face. “No, Ande, something’s going on, but you can’t just dismiss it that easily.”

“What are you talking about?” Ande snapped to focus suddenly. “Becca, I know how horrible this has been—I mean, you found Suzanne.”

“You know it’s been horrible, but you’re not doing anything to help.” Becca spoke with quiet urgency. Up by the path, Larissa was getting louder. She wasn’t the most patient woman. “No, worse. You’re obfuscating things.”

“Obfuscating?” Her brow wrinkled.

“You know, making things muddy.”

“I know what obfuscating means.” Ande sounded sad rather than wounded. “I just don’t get what you mean.”

“You keep saying that Suzanne only wanted to talk to you about the coven finances, but that there wasn’t anything real there.” Becca fought to keep her voice low, even as her frustration mounted. “And you won’t come forward and tell the police about it. Meanwhile, I think they suspect me.”

“No, that’s ridiculous.” The tall accountant had the temerity to smile. “You’re…you’re so nice.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Becca wasn’t having it. “But Suzanne was seeing my ex, and they’ve heard that someone was stalking her, so…”

“Okay.” Ande raised her hands, signaling her to stop. “I’ll talk to the cops, I promise. I just really don’t think I have anything to contribute.”

“Thanks.” Becca turned to go when another thought stopped her in her tracks. “There’s not any reason you wouldn’t want to go to the cops, is there?”

“Me?” Ande smiled, her dark brows rising in mock surprise. “You mean, because I’m black?”

“I wasn’t…” Becca struggled, a bit flustered. “I just think there are too many secrets. Like, what’s going on with you and Marcia?”

“Me and Marcia?” Maybe it was the dimming light, but Ande appeared genuinely confused.

“You two are hiding something.” The conversation in the kitchen. The shared glances. Becca was sure of it.

Ande didn’t argue. “It’s—look, I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret to share. But yeah, Marcia has taken me into her confidence about something—and no, it’s not about Suzanne—”

“Ande, where were you last Saturday?” The question burst out of nowhere. Ande’s response—a startled laugh—surprised Becca even more.

“Saturday? I was with Marcia. She and Luz had me over for lunch. We were probably talking—even as…dear goddess, there was no way to know.”

“No, of course not,” said Becca. “So Luz was there too?” She hated herself for asking.

The taller woman tried a smile, but it didn’t reach the sadness in her eyes. “Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, if you need confirmation. She was there.”

“Hey, you two.” Kathy stood on the top of the bank. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.” Ande turned for one more look at the river, where the orange was spreading over the blue. “Remembering.”

Becca nodded.“Isn’t that what we’re here to do?”

“Well, yeah.” Kathy turned back toward the main gathering.

With a sigh, Ande began to climb the bank, her voice sinking to a conspiratorial level.“Though I think Larissa has something a lot fancier in mind.”

Becca reached out to give the other woman a hand up.“I’m sure—and shouldn’t we get started soon?”

“You’re right.” Ande looked back once more at the calico reflections. “The sun is beginning to set.”

***

She was right. Already the light was changing, splashing the pale blue sky with orange and pink. For Clara, the increasing darkness was a blessing. Out here in the wild, she tended to be more cautious. A domestic cat could get in trouble, and besides, she didn’t want to give her person a scare. But although the tall weeds by the water’s edge stopped far short of the path, the play of shadows had given her an increased freedom, and even as her person returned to the cropped grass, the shaded feline lingered close to Becca’s feet. Close enough to pick up a tension that had not been alleviated by Ande’s capitulation—or her alibi.

“Finally!” Larissa’s growl would have done Harriet proud.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Trent?” Kathy looked around as the two joined the main party. “I mean, he is our leader.”

Larissa, raven brows lowered, shot her a look that by rights should have pushed her into the river. Only the sight of the bearded warlock, jogging down the path, stopped her rebuttal.“There he is, the little scamp,” she said.

“Sorry—ah, merry meet.” Breathing heavily, he forced a smile. Becca, Clara could see, was eying him carefully as the coven gathered and joined hands.

So was Larissa, who scowled as his hand went up reflexively to his open collar.“You’re not wearing your amulet,” she said, forgoing the usual greeting.

“No.” His long fingers played over the dark curls as if feeling for the missing piece. “I—the chain broke, and I have to get it fixed.”

“Ah.” Larissa sniffed, and for a moment Clara wondered if she could smell the blood that Harriet’s claws had drawn. “You should be careful with a piece like that.” The smile was back, only a slight rebuke in her voice. “It has power, you know.”

“I know.” His smile wasn’t quite as wide as usual, but before Clara could approach and attempt to sniff out anything about the man, Ande and Marcia had joined hands. For a moment, Becca seemed about to address them—the question in her eyes—but instead she turned toward Trent, and Clara had the distinct impression that she was going to apologize, yet again, for Harriet’s indiscretion. Only then Kathy reached for her hand and drew Becca in, linking her to Larissa and the others. Trent completed the circle, joining Becca and Ande, and Larissa began to speak.

“We are here today to celebrate our sister, Suzanne.” She looked around, her gaze taking in each of them in turn. “To remember her magic, and to return her to the stars.”

“Oh, brother.” Kathy’s whisper was audible to all.

“She was our sister in the mysteries we share.” Even as she kept talking, Larissa silenced the coven pet with a glare. “Mysteries that evoke the mysterious secrets we all share.” Becca, conscious of her status as the newest member of the group and suddenly very conscious of Larissa’s eagle eyes, held stock still as the older woman droned on. Beside her, Kathy struggled to contain her giggle.

“And as we watch the sun descend, so too we bid farewell to this stage of our sister’s being.” With the last of the light, Larissa seemed finally to be winding up. “Farewell, Suzanne,” she intoned in a voice that must have carried to the water’s edge and beyond. “Farewell!”

“Thank the goddess.” Ande’s exhalation was audible, even if its meaning was open to interpretation. And as Larissa turned toward her, she girded for the rebuke. “I mean, goddess be praised,” the other woman said.

“Goddess be praised.” Becca echoed the sentiment as the circle broke its bonds.

“What was that about?” Marcia sidled up to Becca as Trent wrestled with the bottle of cider Larissa had brought, her attention on the flamboyant pair. “I thought this was supposed to be focused on Suzanne.”

Becca couldn’t bring herself to disagree. “I’m beginning to realize I never really knew her.”

Marcia’s large, dark eyes peered up at her as she once more donned her cap.

“She wanted to talk to me about something,” Becca explained. “That last meeting. I never found out what it was.”

“Oh, I know.” A surprising smile. “She wanted to do a casting out.”

Becca’s jaw dropped in confusion.

“Because of your summoning spell. You know,” Marcia explained. “She was hoping you could help her.”

“In her personal life?” Becca couldn’t help thinking of Jeff. Casting out spells were to rid oneself of negative influences—or people.

“You mean, like she had mice in her apartment?” Marcia was in an exceedingly jolly mood despite the occasion.

It was contagious, and Becca found herself chuckling at the idea.“If that were the case, she wouldn’t need a witch. She could have borrowed my cats.” That was so close to an oxymoron that Clara’s tail twitched.

“No, I don’t think so.” Marcia leaned in again, her voice growing soft. “I think she was talking about the coven. Something—or someone—who wasn’t, well, right.”

“Trent!” Larissa’s shrill command cut through the growing dark, and Marcia rolled her eyes.

“I can think of a couple of candidates,” she whispered.

“A couple?” As soon as the words were out, Becca regretted them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine.” Marcia dismissed her slight cattiness. “I wasn’t just thinking of our queen bee. I mean, look at Trent. Doesn’t he seem to think he’s our end-all and be-all?” Becca didn’t get a chance to respond. “Really, what does he contribute?”

Clara watched as her person mulled over the possibilities.“He does have a certain charm,” she murmured, earning another dramatic roll of Marcia’s large, dark eyes. “I mean, who else?”

Even as she voiced the question, the answer hit her. Larissa might be overbearing and Trent a flirt. But it was Ande who had first told her about the coven’s financial irregularities and that Suzanne had been concerned. Becca wanted to trust her coven mate’s grudging promise that she would talk to the police. That didn’t mean she couldn’t check up on the alibi she’d given her.

“Marcia, Ande said she was with you last Saturday, when—” Becca broke off, unable to finish.

“Yeah.” The other woman sounded thoughtful, but a trace of a smile lit her face.

Becca paused, taken aback, and then forced herself to go on.“Was Luz with you too?” She winced as she asked the corroborative question, but in the fading light her pained expression was invisible to all but her cat.

“Well, yeah.” Marcia chortled. “You can ask her.”

“Ask Luz?” Becca turned, confused, only to see Ande approaching.

“I don’t think that was canon.” The taller witch joined them, in the guise of handing out the paper cups.

“It most certainly wasn’t,” agreed Marcia. “We were supposed to do a regular circle, invoking the elements, and then toast Suzanne after.”

“Hey, guys.” Kathy approached, jug of cider in hand.

As she filled their cups, Becca took the opportunity to ask,“Did you think that was odd?”

“What, that?” Kathy turned to look at Larissa, who seemed to be deep in discussion with Trent. “Someone likes to be center stage is all.”

“Maybe.” Ande and Marcia exchanged looks.

“That’s right.” Becca nodded. “Weren’t you saying there was something off—”

“Ande!” Larissa called. “Do you have those cups?”

“Don’t mind her.” Kathy took Becca’s arm, turning her away. “She’s a bit—I don’t know—she gets paranoid.”

“Larissa?” Becca gently detached herself from the younger woman’s grasp.

“No, Ande.” Even as Kathy lowered her voice, she gave the name her usual dramatic emphasis. “She can be a little obsessive.” Her voice sank to be quieter still. “I heard what she was saying, but I’m not sure I would believe it. I mean, accusing someone of embezzling? In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the police were looking at her, you know.”

Becca only paused a moment before responding.“No, she and Marcia were together that afternoon.”

The redhead’s eyebrows registered her surprise. “Really? Was Luz there too?”

“I…I think so, but I’m not sure.” Becca looked around as if searching for more confirmation, but Kathy was already reaching for her arm once more.

“Come on.” She led her away so quickly that Clara had to scurry to avoid being kicked. “Let’s get some of those cookies before they’re all gone.” She had a point. Marcia was already on her third. A gingerbread spice mix, Clara could tell, as she raised her black leather nose to the air.And even though Trent appeared more interested in the cider, Larissa was pushing a paper plate of the cookies toward him as the other women arrived.

“May I?” Kathy reached over to nab one. “Thanks.”

Becca, Clara observed, had hung back once Kathy had released her arm, and now sidled over to Trent.

“I’m sorry about your amulet.” She kept her voice low and dipped her head. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at the warlock’s chest. “And about Harriet.”

“Harriet?” His voice rose, puzzled.

“My cat.” Even in the growing dark, Clara could see that Becca was blushing, and that her own awareness of her rising color only made the flush worse. “The orange and white one.”

“Oh.” One hand went to his chest again, and Becca turned away. Clara wished she could tell the shy, sweet girl that her pink cheeks were barely visible to the other humans.

Trent must have sensed something, though, because as Becca moved away, he reached for her, and as if the warmth of his chest was carried through his fingers, she became redder still.“She doesn’t usually do things like that,” she said. And just for a moment, Clara had to wonder if her person was really talking about her sister cat.

“It was no big deal.” Trent’s voice was low too, almost as if he were sharing a secret. “It was just the chain for my—that thing.”

“Your amulet?” Becca chirped in what Clara thought of as her helpful voice, even as Trent’s mouth tightened in dismissal.

“And what are you two up to?” Larissa shoved the plate of cookies between them before he could respond.

“Nothing much.” Becca took a cookie. “Thanks.”

“Keeping yourself busy?” One dark brow arched in emphasis. The question appeared to be directed to Becca, but even as she spoke, the older woman turned to stare at Trent.

“I’m basically focusing on my research,” Becca offered when it became clear that the man at her side would remain silent. When Larissa’s brow rose further, she explained. “I’m kind of an amateur genealogist. I mean, I might as well use my research skills for something.” More silence, and Becca couldn’t avoid the awful suspicion that she was being judged. Something about those dark eyes and the raven-wing black of those brows. “And I’m looking for work still, of course.” Still nothing, and so she ventured on. “I called Graham today.”

The other woman blinked at that, so slowly that Clara almost thought she was a cat.“Your friend?” Becca offered.

“My mentor,” Larissa corrected her with a nod. “Of course. I’m so glad, dear. I’m sure he’ll look after you.”

“I hope so.” Becca sounded a little anxious. “He agreed to see me, but I’d hate to think that this was just because Suzanne—”

“Nonsense.” Now it was the older woman who was patting her arm, her lacquered nails nearly black in the fading light. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he knows how special you are.”

Becca swallowed so hard that Clara looked up in alarm. Humans didn’t have hair balls. She knew that, but the young woman before her was patently unnerved. Her older colleague didn’t seem to notice, however. In fact, she’d moved on to Trent and was leading him down toward the water.

“What was that?” Kathy again, her mouth full of cookie.

“Oh, I followed up with that job lead Larissa was telling me about.” Becca’s gaze followed the older woman as she walked away. “Only, well, I’m wondering if it’s a good idea. I’m not sure—” She stopped abruptly, and Clara’s ears perked up, the black sensor hairs inside tingling.“I’m not sure what kind of reference she’ll give me.”

“I get it.” Kathy finished the cookie and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, while Clara studied her human. Becca had changed her mind about what she’d been about to say, and her pet wanted to know why. But Kathy didn’t seem to notice. Leaning in, she dropped her usually brassy voicedown into a conspiratorial hush. “Larissa uses her purse strings to control everyone, and you don’t want to just step into Suzanne’s shoes. I mean, talk about bad luck! Hey, why don’t you call my boss instead?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Becca turned, as if seeing the other woman for the first time. “I meant to tell you. I did reach out—Eric Marshfield, right? He said he’s not looking for anyone now.”

“Oh, gee, that’s my fault!” Kathy shook her girlish curls. “I’m so sorry. I meant to speak with him, first. He doesn’t know it yet, but one of the girls I work with is about to give notice—”

“I don’t know.” Becca cut her off.

“No, really.” Kathy’s smile wrinkled her freckled nose. “Eric needs someone. I’ll clear it up and get back to you.”

“Thanks.” Becca managed a smile. It was nearly full dark by then, and the party had begun to break up. “Do you think we should clean up?”

“Well, the cookies are gone.” Kathy seemed to lose interest, but she tagged after Becca as she collected paper plates and napkins into the bag that had transported the cider.

“Thanks, dear.” Larissa took the trash from her, folding the bag top over as she drew it close. “Would you like a ride home?” Marcia, Kathy, and Trent had already lined up behind her.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.” Becca turned around as if to seek a companion or, perhaps, Clara realized, to continue a discussion. But Ande was already gone.

Chapter 27

Clara woke the next morning with a start.“Something’s burning!” She mewed over to Harriet, who was still sacked out beside her, and went in search of Laurel and Becca.

“North, south, east…” She found Becca in the living room, waving around a bundle of smoldering twigs. “No, wait, that’s west.”

Laurel was observing from a safe distance, under the dining room table.

“What’s going on?” Clara asked her sister.

A flick of the tail.“Some spell she looked up to get rid of negativity.”The seal point turned and, leaving the room, whined in pure Siamese fashion.“More like she wants to get rid of us. That stinks.”

Any further complaint was cut off by a metallic shriek that sent Becca scrambling. After quickly dousing the sage bundle in the sink, she clambered onto a chair to silence the alarm and then opened the apartment’s front window.

The noise woke Harriet, who joined Clara and Laurel as their person wandered around the living room, fanning the air with a newspaper.“It’s not right, waking us like that and then not feeding us,” the sleepy marmalade grumbled with a yawn

“She will,” Clara reassured her.“She always does.”

“Wake me when she does.”Harriet settled in for a nap as Becca, a bit more tousled than usual, began her morning toilette. After watching her oldest sister curl up on the sofa, Clara found Laurel in the bedroom, where Becca was dressing.

It had taken Clara a few moments to understand what her sister was up to, those blue eyes focused so intently as their person rifled through her closet. Only after she’d taken out a halter-top sundress did Clara turn on Laurel with a hiss.

“What?” Laurel’s ears flicked back. Any interruption tended to dispel her ability to suggest thoughts.“You want her to succeed, don’t you?”

“Not like that.” Clara did her best not to growl.“It’s not that kind of meeting.”

“They’reall that kind of meeting.” Laurel turned her back on her sister, but despite her feigned nonchalance, that chocolate tail was already whipping back and forth.

Clara, who knew how much was at stake, wasn’t going to let this one go. “Laurel,”she hissed. No response beyond another flick of those dark ears.“Laurel!”The calico had raised her paw to smack her older sister on her caf? au lait behind when Harriet interrupted.

“Where’s our breakfast?” The big marmalade looked around as she lumbered over to the chair, where two discarded outfits had already been tossed—evidence of the battle being waged between her younger siblings.“Is she—are you two—going to keep this up all day?”

“No.” Turning away, Laurel began grooming, as if the appearance of her own dainty brown booties were all that mattered.“It’s hopeless.”

As Becca pulled a modish—but modest—skirt and matching jacket out of her closet, Clara sighed with relief. She hadn’t wanted to fight. Clara didn’t think her slinky sealpoint sister was jealous of her own particular power—the ease with which she passed through walls and closed doors. But the calico did suspect that her sister would not stand to have her more mischievous wishes thwarted again. Luckily, not even Laurel would start an argument with Harriet about breakfast, and the bigger cat’s interruption had already broken her brief spell. No magic was required to remind Becca of her most important of duties, however, and while Harriet and Laurel were still face down in their dishes, Clara snuck out—catching Becca as she headed for her appointment.

***

Maddy was outside, leaning against a concrete pillar and smoking, when Becca got to the Central Square office where she worked.

“I thought you’d quit,” said Becca, stepping back after a quick embrace.

“I have, sort of.” Her friend stubbed out the butt and fanned the air. “But I wanted to catch you before you went in.”

Before Becca could comment on the logic of that particular excuse, her friend had reached out for her again, holding her at arm’s length while she surveyed Becca’s skirt and floral summer jacket.

“You look good.” Maddy nodded. “Too good for this place.”

Clara had to agree. As much as she disliked Laurel messing with their person’s thoughts, in this case, the lingering effects of her suggestion had been positive. Becca wasn’t what one would call stylish, but the skirt and jacket worked together nicely, giving the young woman a more mature, put-together look than what she might have otherwise chosen. If only the acrid smoke didn’t insinuate itself into the pretty fabric.

“Thanks.” Becca smoothed the already wrinkle-free front of the jacket and threw her shoulders back. “I want to make a good impression.”

“If anyone can…” Her friend glanced over at the building’s glass doors, shaking her head. “He’s in a mood. That’s why I wanted to catch you—to warn you.”

Becca’s brows shot up.

“Well, yeah, and to have a smoke. I mean, it’s, what, not even nine thirty and he’s already reamed out the entire team.”

Becca’s perfect posture slumped. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Still watching the door as if afraid of what might come out, Maddy shook her head. “Another fight with his ex, I think. I got in early—we really could use some extra help, you know—and I could hear them. I mean, he was on the phone, with his door closed, and I couldstill hear him. I think she lives in one of his properties and has an untrained dog or something. He was yelling about‘a shorter leash.’ I know, it sounds stupid. Remind me to never get married.”

Becca opened her mouth to respond and wisely shut it again before her friend could see.

“Anyway, don’t mention pets.” Her friend turned back to face her, once more taking in Becca’s outfit, from shoes to hair. “Though maybe cats would be…no, just don’t. And you do look good. This weather, your hair has some curl to it. Once we get you a job, we’re going to go out and meet some decent guys.”

“But not to marry.” Becca raised her hand to cut off her friend’s objection, a grin perking her pink cheeks up further. “That’ll be great. Though I may have a prospect of my own.”

“Oh?” Maddy drew the syllable out till it dripped with inflection.

“I’ll tell you after.” Becca took a deep breath and once more brushed down her spotless jacket. In some ways, Clara thought with more than a touch of pride, her person was very like a cat. “Wish me luck!”

Becca certainly moved like a cat as she exited the elevator for the fourth-floor office. A wise cat, that is, who entered an unknown territory with some trepidation.

Head up and back a little stiff, she stepped carefully, craning around to get her bearings as she walked through the open archway marked Reynolds and Associates and looked around.

Maddy had told her about the office’s open plan. Beyond the receptionist’s desk, cubicles with low dividers filled the floor, while the boss’s office sat far in the back. His door was closed, although she could see the balding man pacing through the interior window. And though all around her heads bent over keyboards or focused intently on glowing screens, she—and presumably all the workers who appeared so focused on their terminals—could hear him yell, “Not one more penny!”

Becca swallowed. At least Maddy had warned her. But before she could even contemplate facing the monster beyond, she had to pass the gorgon at the gate.

“May I help you?” The tone got Becca’s attention, and she turned to find herself facing a pair of cat-eye glasses. Maddy had warned her about Ms. White. “Reynolds’s faithful attack dog,” had been her exact words. “If a dog wore sparkly glasses and too much lipstick.”

“Yes, please.” Becca summoned what she hoped was a placatory smile, her own lips feeling suddenly dry. “I have an appointment with Mr. Reynolds.”

“Risa, you’re not listening!” bellowed the voice from beyond the front desk.

“I’ll see if he’s in.” The gatekeeper turned, rhinestones sparkling, and made a show of fussing with her phone.

“That’s it! No more!”

In the silence that followed, Becca held her breath, her smile frozen in place. Finally, whether through habit or some change in lighting on the phone that only the gatekeeper could decipher, the bespectacled woman before her looked up again.

“Mr. Reynolds will see you now.” The corners of her crimson mouth wrinkled up slightly. Clara hoped it was in sympathy. “Good luck.”

Muttering what she remembered of the charm against ill fortune under her breath, Becca made her way across the office, skirting the low cubicles and avoiding the inquisitive gaze of the inhabitants who glanced up quickly as she passed, like so many timid mice.

Becca wasn’t feeling any braver by the time she’d crossed the floor and paused to take a deep breath before she knocked on the door. The bark that greeted her—“Who is it?” —didn’t help.

“Mr. Reynolds?” She stepped into what was actually a rather nice office. Although the balding, red-faced man behind the desk was as disheveled as she’d expected, matching the pile of papers scattered before him, the room itself was spacious and lit by the huge window opposite, which looked out on the river and the city beyond. “I’m Becca Colwin.”

Reynolds’ eyebrows bristled like caterpillars as he gestured toward a chair.

“Larissa Fox referred me?” She perched gingerly, back straight and ankles crossed.

“Oh, yeah, Larissa.” He looked down at his desk and began to shuffle through the papers there. “One of Larissa’s pets, huh?”

He didn’t say it like he was expecting an answer, and so Becca held back, waiting until he found what appeared to be a printout of her resum? before proceeding. “As you can see, I’m experienced in research—”

“No master’s, though.” Reynolds frowned and flipped the page over, though if he hoped to find the answer on the back, Becca knew he’d be disappointed. “I’m looking for someone with an advanced degree.”

“I understand.” Becca had rehearsed this bit with her cats. “But I’m sure you’ll agree that three years of experience conducting multi-platform research has taught me the requisite practical skills that a graduate degree might not.

“Besides…” She paused, and Clara’s ears perked up. Usually, she had stopped by this point. “Someone with a graduate degree might not want to get her hands dirty. But I’m not afraid of doing off-site research, digging through any kind of files. City archives, paper, microfiche, you name it. I’m very motivated.” She paused again. “I really need this job.”

The caterpillars separated as the man before her flashed a grin that was like sunshine through the storm clouds. Even his color began to improve.“And I can pay you less than someone with more letters after their name too, I bet.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve got more grit than my ex, I’ll give you that. She expects everything to be given to her, or to her pets.”

Clara could tell that Becca was holding her breath. Maybe Reynolds could too, but he appeared lost in thought.

“Ah, at least you’re—wait, you must know that other girl. The one who…” He waved one stubby hand around as if to summon the name from the air around him.

“Maddy Topsic?” Even as she said it, Becca caught herself. Suzanne had worked here too, of course. Clara could almost see the shadow cross his mind. What was it Kathy had said?“You don’t want to just step into Suzanne’s shoes.”

But Reynolds accepted her answer.“Maddy, yeah. She’s a good kid. Takes too many smoke breaks, but she gets her work done.”

Becca’s sigh of relief was audible, and the man before her smiled in earnest—and then sniffed audibly. “You smoke too? Never mind.” He waved off his own question. “Look, I’m not promising anything. But let me take a look at what’s going on, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

His eyebrows went up again at that, but he kept silent. Only as Becca rose to take her leave did he call after her.“Oh, Becca?” She turned and waited. “You might not want to use the name Larissa that much. Her credit around here is kind of used up.”

***

Although she must have seen Maddy’s eyes peeping over the carpeted cubicle on her way out, Becca kept on walking. Not until she was out on the sidewalk again did she stop, leaning back against the column where she’d found her friend, to take a deep, calming breath. She’d been trembling, Clara realized, and it required all the little cat’s discipline to keep from rubbing against her in soft comfort.

She wasn’t the only one. As soon as Becca had her breath, her phone rang.

“How was it?” Maddy was on the line, the sound muffled as if she had her hand over the receiver.

“I think he liked me.” Becca sounded surprised.

“Of course he did!” A little louder, before sinking back down again. “But what about the job?”

“He said he’d let me know. I think, maybe, I got it.” Becca paused as she reviewed the conversation. “I think he was starting to ask me about Suzanne. Only I kind of spaced when he asked if I knew anyone there. I mean, I only found out she worked with you after she, well, anyway, I just said you.”

“Great.” Maddy didn’t sound like she meant it. “I hope I didn’t sink you.”

“No, not at all. In fact, he said you were a good worker or something.” A snort on the other end of the line. “I don’t think Larissa’s reference was good for much, though. He made some comment about her.”

“It got you in the door, though.” Maddy’s voice was philosophical. “Maybe she put a spell on him?”

“That’s not what we’re supposed to use our magic for, Maddy.”

Another snort, and her friend asked.“So, what’s this about a possible romance? Please tell me you’re not giving Jeff another chance.”

“No, no way.” Becca began walking, her face up to the sun. “This is, well, it’s not exactly a date. But I am getting together Sunday with someone I met recently, just to talk.”

“You didn’t tell me about anyone.”

Becca bit her lip. Clara knew she didn’t like lying, but what she was doing was close. “He’s, well, it’s the guy I met the day that Suzanne—the painter. The one I went out for coffee with.”

“I don’t know, Becca. Going out with someone you met at a crime scene—”

“He’s a witness, Maddy, same as I am. He’s been trying to help the police too. And I’ll be careful.” She rushed that last bit in before her friend could interrupt.

“At least it’s not Jeff.” Maddy’s approval was, at best, begrudging. But Becca looked relieved at the change in topic.

“Speaking of, I didn’t tell you the latest, Maddy. Jeff’s been acting really weird. I think he’s trying to throw suspicion on someone in my coven.” The line fell silent. “Maddy?”

She paused, waiting for her friend to respond.

“Look, Becca.” The humor was gone from Maddy’s voice. “You know what I think about Jeff, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about what a cheating sack of whatever he is. But I’d almost prefer him to some stranger you just met. You’re a little too close to this investigation. I know you think you have some insight, but remember, Becca, a girl was murdered, and I wouldn’t trust anybody who might have been in the position to hurt her.”

Chapter 28

Maddy’s warning notwithstanding, over the weekend, Becca settled down to what had become her daily routine of online research. By Sunday, even Clara’s sisters were beginning to wonder if their person would ever leave the couch again.

“What’s she doing?” Laurel stretched, extending her slim caf? au lait body along the back of the sofa as she craned over toward Becca’s shoulder.“Doesn’t she have a date coming up?”

“That’s hours away. She’s doing research.” Clara sounded a bit smug as she snuggled against her person’s thigh. In truth, the little calico had only the slightest idea what Becca did as she tapped the machine on her lap, but as her person clicked away, she had recognized the family portrait—and her own feline forebear—as it surfaced once more. From that one startling image and from Becca’s various comments as she summoned other, similar sights, she’d gleaned that the young woman was once more looking into her own past and, unintentionally, that of the feline sisters. How this slim machine helped her do that might well be Becca’s own form of magic, the plump calico mused. Besides, Clara acknowledged as she shifted to make herself even more comfortable, the computer was warm.

“I wonder if I should tell the coven about my family…” Becca stared at the screen. “I mean, it might explain the spell.”

Neither Laurel nor Clara knew exactly what she was talking about. And Harriet, snoozing as usual, didn’t care. But as Becca scrolled through the pages, she found herself torn. Her latest find—a newspaper clipping from 1926—had been tantalizing in the extreme. A Rebecca Horne Colwin—her own great-grandmother—had “miraculously” survived a fire that had destroyed her house. She’d emerged from the wreckage, the clipping read, clutching her “favorite mouser” to her breast.

“Of course she went back,” Becca commented as she scrolled over the scanned clip. “She had to rescue her cat.”

Clara and Laurel exchanged a glance.“Never mind,” Clara purred softly.“We know who did the rescuing.”

Becca was too absorbed to notice as the seal point nearly barked in reply. The use of the word“miraculous” was unusual, she thought, as she made a note to check if such speculation would have been common in the newspapers of the day. Maddy had been the documents specialist, back when they were in school. But even as she typed out her query, she found herself wondering if the author—orthe authorities—had meant to imply something else. A woman, living alone with her cat, might be suspected of many things, even in the supposedly enlightened twentieth century. Might “miraculous” be interpreted as “suspicious”? If the fire had taken place a hundred and fifty years earlier,would Becca’s ancestor have been thrown back in, to be burned as a witch?

“They probably didn’t know about arson then.” Becca’s fingers floated about the keyboard. “But it can’t hurt…” With a few strokes, she sent off the query. Maddy might scoff at Becca’s interest in Wicca, but surely, she’d help her friend dig into what looked like a particularly interesting bit of family history.

“I wonder if I can make this into a screensaver?” With a tap-tap-tap, she’d enlarged it. “Wow, look at that, Clara.” The little cat raised her head to see. “Doesn’t that kitty look just like you?”

Laurel stared down as Clara debated her answer. No, she couldn’t actually tell their person that, yes, the “famous mouser” in the photo was a foremother of Clara and her two sisters. Nor could she explain Becca’s mistake to her—that it wasn’t the woman in the photo whose magic had saved her life and her cat’s. It was the woman’s calico familiar who had managed to extract them both when that earlier Rebecca Colwin’s attempts at a warming spell had gone so badly astray during one chilly New England night. That didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted to try.

“Don’t you dare.” Laurel reached down, claws extended. Even as the sisters squabbled over how they could use their powers—and both Laurel and Harriet did tend to favor relaxation over rigor—they all were well aware of the cardinal rule: no cat could reveal the basic truth about magic to a human.“If you think you’ll get a pass just because she has the same stupid markings…”

“I won’t.” Clara ducked her head and resumed her position, curled against Becca’s leg. As much as she wished she could communicate with her person, it was neither possible nor advisable. Still, if she could only get Becca to stop trying out spells, it would be something. As the three cats knew, magic was for felines. And once again, Clara regretted that her oldest sister had not taken more care with her particular skill.

“I wonder…” Becca was looking at the pillow Harriet had summoned. For once, the fat marmalade wasn’t sleeping on it. She’d dropped off while sunning on the sill, instead. But it didn’t take magic to understand the import of that glance. Between the clipping and that soft apparition, Becca was thinking of trying a spell again.

When the phone rang, Clara looked up at Laurel. Her sister’s blue eyes blinked back, blameless.“Not me,” she purred beneath her breath, not that Clara was sure she believed her.

“Becca, it’s me.” Maddy sounded frazzled. “We’ve got to talk.”

“You know, I was just thinking of you.” Becca, on the other hand, seemed inordinately pleased. “In fact, I was wishing you would call. I wonder if perhaps the key to a summoning is—”

“Becca!” Her friend cut her off. “You didn’t ‘summon’ me. I’ve been meaning to call you, all right? Even before you emailed. I keep thinking of you going out with that painter guy tonight. You’re not still thinking of doing that, are you?”

“Yeah, I am. But not—wait, Maddy.” Her friend had started to sputter. “Maddy, I should explain: it’s not really adate date. I have questions for him. Questions that the police might not know to ask.”

***

Only after Becca promised that she would meet the cute painter in a public place, and would check in immediately after, did her friend calm down. But whether it was because the cats’ determined person was planning some high-level sleuthing or some other reason that Clara couldn’t discern, Becca seemed unable to concentrate after her conversation with her friend. Instead, she spent the rest of the afternoon fussing as she hadn’t in months, redoing her hair and picking over her clothes, before settling on a perfectly fine outfit that Clara hadn’t seen before.

“Don’t look at me.” Laurel sat beside her younger sister in the bedroom doorway, watching their person get dressed. She flicked her tail in the feline equivalent of a shrug and began to bathe.

“Don’t tell me she’s going out again.”Harriet had joined them on the bedroom rug, having woken from her nap hungry.

“I’m sure she’ll remember to feed us,” said Clara, who had her own mixed feelings about the evening.“Besides, she won’t be out late.” She’d gathered that much from the phone conversation.

“No matter.” Harriet turned.“I’ve got things to keep me busy too, you know.”

As Clara watched her stump off, fluffy tail sweeping the air as she walked, she couldn’t avoid a niggling tickle of fear. Harriet never had anything more important on her mind than food. Nothing that didn’t immediately gratify, at any rate.

But when her sister’s exit was followed by the soft thud that indicated she’d landed on the sofa, Clara did her best to turn her focus elsewhere. Harriet wasn’t likely to get them into any trouble in one of her favorite napping spots, no more than she already had anyway. It was Becca who was going off to meet astrange man. Never mind that he smelled pleasant—Clara thought of the trees by the river—the painter had been there, at Suzanne’s apartment, the day she had met her violent end. And nothing about that scene had ended well for anyone.

Still, Becca had a bounce in her step as she bid the kitties farewell and headed down to the street. Harriet was still nestled into the sofa as she left, but even Laurel didn’t try to stop Clara from following her.

“If it were a little darker, I’d join you,” said the older cat, licking her cream-colored belly.“You know I would.”

“Of course,” lied Clara, touched by her sister’s concern, and then leaped into the growing dusk.

Becca was, as she’d promised, careful. She circled the block twice before entering the little caf?. Still, Nathan had gotten there before her. Clara heard her sharp intake of breath as he stood and waved with a smile.

“I got here a few minutes early.” He reached to pull out Becca’s chair, only bumping it into her. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Becca arranged herself and looked around. “Did you order?”

“I thought I’d wait. Shall I get?” He stood again, but she held out her hand to stop him.

“No, I will.”Good girl! Clara thought, silently thanking Maddy for her warning. As nice as this man smelled and as harmless as he’d proved to be at that first coffee date, it never paid to take chances. Besides, in five minutes, the pair were seated again, heads together over mugs of mocha.

“I know it’s supposed to be a winter drink, but…” Nathan sipped, then licked the foam moustache.

“I know, right?” Becca agreed, appearing to relax. But when he reached forward, as if to place his hand over hers, Becca drew back. “Hey, Nathan, may I ask you about that day?”

“The day your friend was killed?” His voice had gotten serious.

Becca nodded.“I was talking to my ex.” Her words sounded rehearsed, and Clara realized that in fact the young woman had been practicing her approach that afternoon. “And he told me that the police seem to suspect my—well, the group of friends that I know Suzanne from.”

It wasn’t the best explanation, but Nathan appeared to accept it. Clearly, there was more coming.

“I was wondering if you could tell me again in detail what you heard that day. What you saw.”

There was no chance of hand holding now. The young man seated opposite her didn’t leave or protest. But after taking a deep breath, he stared down into his mug, as if the answer was written there. Then he began to talk.

“You know that I didn’t see what happened. Or who,” he added quickly. “I mean, yeah, I saw you go in, because I’d noticed you. But otherwise…” Even in the noisy coffeehouse, a silence hung between them.

“But you heard something?” Becca didn’t have magical powers. She was, however, a perceptive young woman.

Nathan nodded.“There was that phone call that I told you about. An argument—but that was hours before. And there might have been something else. Right before you came by, I had my music on, but there was a moment between songs. I heard—I thought I heard—that poor woman arguing with someone.”

“With who?”

He shook his head, as if disappointed with himself.“I put it wrong. In truth, I only heard her—your friend. I’m pretty sure I recognized her voice. She used to say hi to me.” He paused for a shy smile. “So I thought it was her, and that she was yelling at someone—but it was so brief. Just a few words.”

Becca stared at him, willing him to go on.

“I told the cops all this. I can’t be sure. Something about ‘him’ and ‘tech,’ maybe. Or ‘protect.’ It could have been either. All I know is that she was angry and she was yelling at someone. It was so brief, I wasn’t even really sure I heard anything, but in retrospect, maybe I did. Maybe I heard her yelling at someone who was in the room with her.”

“Tech?” Becca barely breathed the word. “My ex is in tech.” She bit her lip. “If he didn’t break up with her, then maybe there was another man. Maybe he knew…” She looked up at the painter, a horrible suspicion dawning on her face.

“But he called you, right?” Nathan interrupted the runaway train of thought. “You said he called and you answered, as you went in?”

“Uh-huh.” Becca drew out both syllables. Clara could almost see the thoughts going through her mind:Maybe it was the other man. Someone else who knew Suzanne. Who knew them all…

“Well, then he wouldn’t—it would’ve been too obvious.” Nathan’s answer was overly hearty, as if he were trying to convince himself. “I mean, to call you right after…” The words died out, but his meaning was obvious.

“Unless he saw me and wanted to stop me from going up. From finding her. He said he was at his place, but he didn’t want me to come over.” A high, nervous note had entered Becca’s voice, a sound that made Clara want to draw her away to safety and peace. “Maybe he was really hiding nearby—”

“No, wait.” Nathan must have heard it too. He reached across the table and took her wrist. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Becca. You’re angry at your ex, so it makes sense you’d suspect him. But be sensible. He’s worried about you. He’s the one who told the police it might be someonefrom your coven, right?”

“Yeah.” Becca exhaled, the tension easing audibly. And then just as quickly, she jumped up, pulling her hand back as fast as if he had bitten it.

“Coven?” She barked out the word. “How did you know I was in a coven? Unless you knew it from Suzanne.”

“No, wait.” Nathan shook his head, as if he could dismiss his error, but it was too late. Becca’s chair had already toppled backward as she fled out the door.

Chapter 29

“Becca, what’s wrong?” Maddy’s anxiety only riled the cats up more. All three had been orbiting Becca since she’d run in, slamming the door behind her, and nothing Clara could do would calm her sisters—or the young woman who panted into the phone. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Becca leaned back on the door. Speaking made her breathe, at least, and that helped to calm her slightly. “Just—Maddy, I think you were right. I think Nathan, the painter, might have murdered Suzanne.”

“Wait, what?” The response was so loud, Harriet stopped in her tracks, and Clara almost bumped into her as she stared up at their person. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone out with him. Him or that other witch guy. They’re both trouble.”

“No, Trent is—I don’t know what Trent is.” The distraction seemed to help Becca too. Stepping over the heap of Harriet, she proceeded into the living room, and Clara jumped to the sofa, hoping to claim the cushion next to their person before Laurel could. To her surprise, it was Harriet whobarreled up next to her, shoving her out of the way.

“Mine!” Even before Becca sat down, the big cat had settled, spreading herself over one sofa cushion, while one white paw hooked over its padded edge.

“Never mind.” Clara could visualize the other woman waving off the digression. “Tell me what happened with the painter.”

“It was so weird.” Becca was still talking as she reached over to stroke Harriet’s orange and white fur. “I didn’t have any sense—I mean, I trusted him.”

Clara eyed her sister. Harriet didn’t seem to be enjoying the absentminded stroking that Clara would have reveled in. More than that, however, she seemed intent on holding her place even as Becca shifted.

“Yes, I know he was at Suzanne’s building. But the police had questioned him and everything.” She turned further as she spoke, but Harriet didn’t budge, hanging onto the edge of the sofa cushion with one snowy paw. “It was strange, Maddy. It started off with him telling me something else he heard that day. Something he hadn’t told me before. He said he told the cops, but I only have his word for it. And there’s something else…”

More high-pitched chatter from the other line.

“He—and, please don’t say it—but he knew something he shouldn’t.” Becca closed her eyes, as if the memory was painful. “When we met, he’d said he didn’t know her—that they’d only said hi once or twice. I didn’t want him to think I was too flakey, so I’d only told him that Suzanne and I were in a group together. I’m sure of it. But he mentioned the coven, Maddy. He knew Suzanne better than he let on, and, no, I don’t think that’s the kind of the thing the police would know to ask him about.”

Clara didn’t have to listen to get the gist of Maddy’s response. She agreed that Becca was probably too trusting. What she didn’t agree with was that the young woman should probably avoid men for a while. After all, Clara had liked Nathan’s sweet-sharp pine scent and gentle voice as well. But Becca was responding.

“Also, he knows Larissa, which is suspicious. Unless…” She paused, and there was silence on the other end. “Larissa gave him my number. She could have told him about Suzanne, about the coven too. Oh, Maddy, do you think I made a mistake? Do you think I just ran out on a nice guy for no reason?”

“Becca, a woman was killed, and you’re worried that you weren’t polite?” The answer came back loud and clear, and for once, Clara had to agree.

“I guess you’re right.” Becca’s hand was resting on Harriet’s broad back, and Clara waited for her sister to jump down. “At any rate, I should write Larissa a thank you—for the job recommendation, I mean.”

“Maybe hold off.” Clara barely heard Maddy’s response as she focused on her sister. Harriet didn’t like steady pressure on any part of her broad anatomy. If she didn’t move soon, she was liable to bite. “I asked Reynolds about new hires and he said something about a new guy coming in: anewguy.”

“Maybe he meant generically?” Becca switched hands on the phone, and Clara breathed a sigh of relief. “A new person?”

“I don’t think so. He said something about a fox in the henhouse. I gather the other candidate is coming in next week. I’m sorry, Becca. It’s all marketing research anyway. Not the kind of thing you should be doing. I mean, do you really care who is spending more than they can afford?”

Clara longed to lean in and comfort her person. If only Harriet would give way.

“Well, I would have, but it’s okay.” Becca shrugged. “That job was a long shot for me anyway.”

“Look, I’ll see what I can find out.” There was an edge in Maddy’s voice that made Clara think of Laurel and her dirty tricks. “We’re not giving up just yet, kiddo.”

Chapter 30

Her friend’s words didn’t have an immediate effect. Either that, or Laurel was using her powers of suggestion to keep their person nearby, because Becca spent most of the day on the sofa, skimming job sites and the occasional kitten video. But the young woman was too resilient to be thrown for long, and when Tuesday broke with sunny promise, she was up and dressed before any of her cats had finished their morning toilette.

“Another date?”Laurel paused in her routine, paw extended behind her ear.

“I don’t think so.” Clara tried to hide the worry in her voice. Laurel’s plans for their person did not align with what her younger sister saw as Becca’s best interest. To cover, she began to lick her paw.

“You just did that one.” Laurel’s blue eyes didn’t miss much.“What are you hiding?”

“Bye, kitties!” Becca called. It was a habit, nothing more, but Clara still looked up—and felt a paw weighing down on her tail.

“Talk,” said her sister.

“Yeah.” Harriet had ambled over.“Talk.” From the way the plump orange and white cat was licking her chops, Becca suspected she’d been cleaning the breakfast dishes rather than her luxurious fur. Still, if she was going to trail Becca, Clara had to rally her sisters to her side and fast.

“I think this has to do with that man she was out with the other night.” This was for Laurel, whose tail lashed once, back and forth, in interest.“He’s been texting her. Though it could be a shopping trip.” That was for Harriet. But the plan almost backfired.

“Wait a minute.” Harriet wasn’t usually that quick on the uptake, but when food was involved she didn’t let much get past her.“You’re just saying that…”

“Look, if you want to join me, you can.” Already, Becca’s footsteps were growing fainter.“I’m simply worried about her. And she is our responsibility.”

Harriet looked at Laurel, and Laurel stared back. Clara held her breath, whiskers trembling. Becca was almost out of earshot already. But the little calico had hit on the one truth that all real cats know. Laurel lifted her paw, and in a flash, Clara was out the door, ignoring both its wooden solidity and the latch that had locked it shut.

“Make sure she brings back treats!” Harriet called after her youngest sibling, but she was already gone.

***

Quickly fading her orange patches to grey, Clara did her best to blend in with the morning’s shadows. Still, in her haste, she nearly tripped a young mother, busy with her toddler, and had to act fast to dodge a bike messenger cutting across the sidewalk to avoid construction. Her haste paid off, however, as she caught a whiff of Becca’s clean, warm scent and—soon after—the sight of her dark curls bobbing through the crowd.

“Maddy’s right,” she was saying to herself in a voice too soft for any human ear to catch. “I need to get back to work—at least on my own work. It’s too easy to rely on web searches, and how can I expect anyone to hire me if I don’t keep up with primary sources?”

Her musing and her stride were cut short by the buzz of her phone. For although the young woman kept up her jaunty pace as she fished the device out of her pocket, a quick glance at the screen stopped her cold.

“No!” she exclaimed before even answering. “I’m just—no.” She shoved the phone back into her pocket and shut her eyes. By the time she opened them, a few seconds later, her phone had ceased its buzzing. “I’ll call them back later,” she promised out loud. “Even the police can’texpect everyone to take every call.”

But it was with a more tentative step that she set out. And when a car drove slowly by, she stopped once more. Black and white at its ends, with a slash of gold in the middle, it resembled nothing so much as a calico like herself, Clara thought. Only the sight of the vehicle—or maybe it was the words written on its side—had Becca gasping.

“They can’t…” She paused, her thought unfinished, and turned slowly to check out the road behind her. “Are the police following me?”

Clara had never really envied either of her sisters their particular powers before. Right now, though, she wished she were better at suggestion. Watching her person, frozen with indecision—or could it be fear? —was heartrending. Surely, the appearance of the cruiser, coming right after that rejected call, was coincidental. Besides, she thought, no one could suspect the sweet young woman of murdering her friend, no matter what her unfaithful ex may have suggested to the police.

“Jeff.” One word, spit out like a pill, and Becca turned to walk quite purposefully in the opposite direction. As Clara realized where she was heading, she had to wonder if perhaps she possessed some of Laurel’s skill after all.

***

“Jeff Blakey, please.” Becca stood at the steel and glass front desk of the Kendall Square startup. Before the purple-haired receptionist could do more than open her mouth, she continued. “Tell him Becca Colwin is here.”

“Right away.” The receptionist, who couldn’t have been much more than Becca’s age, bent her over the phone and turned away as much as she dared. “Jeff?” Clara, if not Becca, heard her quite clearly. “There’s a girl here to see you. I think she’s upset.”

“I’m not…” Becca bit back the end of her sentence and began drumming her fingers on the hard surface. “Thank you,” she said when the receptionist looked up again, the jewel in her pierced nose glittering.

“He’ll be right out.” The receptionist blinked and then turned quickly away.

“Maybe he does think I’m dangerous.” Becca’s faint murmur was nearly drowned out by the tattoo of her drumming, but she kept it up until her ex pushed open a glass door to step into the reception area.

“Becca.” He flipped his hair back. “I wasn’t—did we have a date?”

“I need to speak with you.” Becca pointed to the office exit. “Now.”

***

“Why did you think it was someone in the coven?”

Jeff had appeared surprised when Becca stopped immediately outside the tech central building. When she turned to confront him in her sternest voice, he could only blink in astonishment.

“Jeff Blakey, you answer me.” Becca had her arms crossed as she questioned her ex and her stance wide, almost as if she would block him from walking on. “What made you think it was one of us?”

“I don’t know.” The lanky young man looked down, his hair falling once more in his eyes. “I was just talking, I guess.”

“Just talking?” Becca’s eyes narrowed, rather like Laurel’s, her usual smile long gone as her mouth settled in a firm line. “To the police?”

“Well, I told you what Suzanne said.” As he spoke, Jeff glanced back at his office, though whether he was afraid of being overheard or hoping for an opportunity to bolt back in was beyond Clara. “You know, about someone following her. And I didn’t want the police to think it was me.”

“You didn’t mind them thinking it was me though.” A bitter note had crept into Becca’s voice. “And they evidently believed you. Did they just take you at your word?”

“Oh, honey.” Instead of answering, he made the mistake of reaching for her. Laurel couldn’t have slapped him down that fast. “I’m…I’m sorry, Becca. I wasn’t thinking. I thought I was in the clear, and so when they called me in again, I guess I panicked.”

At that, Becca stared at him so hard that Clara began to wonder if her person really did possess magical powers.

“Be honest now,” she said, folding her arms again. This time, Clara saw her make a discrete sign with her hands that she knew her person had first seen in one of her books. “Did you hurt Suzanne?”

“No, I did not.” He actually faced her as he spoke and that, more than any supposedly magical gesture, convinced Clara, if not Becca, that he was most likely telling the truth.

Or at least part of it.“So, why, Jeff? And don’t hold back.”

The young man before her sighed, as if he could deflate and disappear, and then craned around once in a fruitless search for an escape.“Okay, I hurt her. But not like that!” He rushed to counter Becca’s panicked response. “Look, I wasn’t the best—I should never have been with her. I was thinking about you, really. And I thought she had picked up on that.”

Becca waited, her skepticism showing on her face.

“She said something about how she’d found out something—something unexpected.”

“Did it have to do with money?” Becca interrupted. “With funds going missing?”

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” Her ex looked thoroughly miserable. He didn’t even bother brushing away the hair that fell, limp, over his eyes as he slumped forward. “All I know was that she said she’d stumbled on to something that was supposed to be a secret.

“She never told me what it was.” He spoke softly now, as if talking to himself. “I thought it was about me. About something I’d done, and then, adding it together with her saying that someone was following her, I thought that maybe you–”

“A secret. And you thought—” Realization was dawning on Becca as she recounted what her ex had said. “You didn’t want me coming over to your place that Saturday. You thought that I might have been stalking Suzanne, and that the cops might have thought you were. And for all your protestations, it seems you must have an alibi that you don’t want to tell me about. Jeff Blakey, you were cheating on Suzanne too. Weren’t you? That’s why she took down all her photos from Facebook. Photos of the two of you. She dumped you—and you, you had another girl at your place on the Saturday that Suzanne was killed. Maybe even when you called me.”

“It was all wrong with Suzanne from the start.” He didn’t even bother to deny it. “I never should have—I missed you, Becca. It just took me all that to realize how much you meant to me. I’m so sorry. I never should have broken up with you. I never should have said anything about you to the cops.”

“No, Jeff, you shouldn’t have. But you did.”

When he reached once more for her hand, she pulled away without any sign of regret.

“Goodbye, Jeff. Take care of yourself.” She didn’t, thought Clara, even sound that sad.

Chapter 31

Jeff had stood, watching, as Becca walked away without looking back. Her cat had been particularly proud of the way she had strode off, as confident as a tabby in the clear fine day.

But as soon as she’d turned the corner, Becca’s shoulders slumped. And while Clara didn’t see any tears on her dear person’s cheeks, she could tell from the way her lips trembled and how she jammed her hands into her pockets that she was fighting to hold them off.

Once again, Clara wished for Laurel’s powers—or at least the freedom to show herself and cheer her person with a head butt and a purr. Maybe some of that translated, however, because before long, Becca was standing straighter. Soon, she even caught herself—looking around as if realizing where she was—and spoke aloud. “Research,” she said. “Time to get back to work.” And when she turned and began walking with a sense of purpose, Clara trotted along, out of sight but cheered beyond measure.

The word spoken by the young woman meant little to the cat. The idea of research, as well as work, for that matter, is foreign to felines. Clara, like her sisters, had gained her in-depth knowledge of the world through instinct, as much as observation. However, what she did understand as well as she knew her own whiskers were her sacred obligations to the young woman ahead of her, not only as royalty but as a pet. The fact that she also loved Becca, with her earnest intentions and gentle voice, only made these duties more pressing.

Clara knew she had her sisters to turn to if anything were to happen to Becca. But neither the fluffy Harriet nor the sly Laurel could ever replace the petite brunette with the curly hair and the gentle voice, for all her all-too-human bumbling. Clara had spoken the truth when questioned by her sisters. She didn’t know what Becca had planned, or where she was going—she certainly could not have anticipated that detour with Jeff. But thinking of that uncomfortable confrontation, Clara felt her apprehension growing, as Becca picked up her pace, pushing along crowded sidewalks and then—with barely a pause—dashing across a busy street. Becca meant well, but her less-than-feline senses didn’t pick up the dangers that Clara’s did. Her kind heart was too trusting, her manner too open. For a small creature—and the young woman was relatively small in the greater scheme of things—she was positively careless. Or so Clara thought as the young woman turned from the street toward a looming red stone building and trotted up the wide steps as if unafraid of whatever she might find inside.

***

Clara made it in before the heavy door slammed shut, in time to see Becca approach a carved wooden barrier that stood waist-high, barely containing the aged dragon inside.

“Records, please?” Becca approached and the creature looked up, her scowl hinting at unimagined terrors. Amazed at the valor of the young woman she loved, Clara drew back. Only her devotion to the girl kept her from running.

“Third floor,” said the dragon, and went back to her newspaper.

Clara watched as Becca began ascending the wide steps. These were a challenge for the cat, as they offered little shadows and no place to hide. And while they weren’t as crowded as the city sidewalk, there were plenty of people walking both up and down. A feline, even a magical one, might be noticed here.

Still, when Becca turned onto the landing, Clara knew she had to act. With a mad dash she leaped up the stairs two at a time.“What!” A woman gasped, causing her companion to turn in alarm.

“I thought…” The woman gaped around her, pushing her glasses higher up on her nose. “Never mind,” she said. But by then, Clara was gone.

She found Becca one flight up, inside a large room lined with files. Although the flickering blue light of the overhead fluorescents didn’t offer much in terms of shadows, this room was at least quieter. Indeed, the blue-haired woman behind the counter appeared to be asleep.

“Excuse me?” Becca’s voice was soft. Living with cats, she had practice at gently interrupting a nap. Not until the woman blinked up at her did she continue. “I’d like to make a records search.”

Records. Suddenly, it all became clear. Reassured now of her person’s purpose, Clara found a corner by the window as Becca filled out paperwork. So this is what her person did at work, Clara thought to herself, watching as Becca took what looked like a large bound journal over to a table and began making notes onto a pad. From the way she tilted her head and bither lip, it was easy to see the young woman was deeply engaged, and the scratching of her pencil certainly sounded industrious. Watching her, Clara realized that her person had a rich interior life of her own, something her cat had never fully realized. This made her respect Becca and love her evenmore. It also, if she was being honest, made her a little sleepy.

“Thank you, yes. The family name is Horne—Horne or Horne Colwin.” Clara jumped. She must have fallen asleep. Becca was standing before the clerk again, only this time she was handing back the large journal. In its place, the blue-haired woman offered her a box. Even from where she sat, Clara could smell dust and age—and something else as well. A certain familiar spice that drew her over to the table where, once again, Becca sat as she began to go through the papers within.

“Here it is,” she muttered to herself as she made another notation in her book. “Marriage and household…1749.” Clara’s ears pricked up. Cats may not be the best with dates, but some years were not to be forgotten. “Rebecca Horne and…Mistress Greybar?”

Becca pushed her chair back with a squeak that made Clara flinch.“That doesn’t make sense.” As if she were arguing with herself, she sat up, turning the card over in her hand, and then placed it on the table, drawing another and then a third from the file. “The cat is listed as the principal—” Another card and another soft sigh of exasperation. “Impossible,” she said at last. “These records…the transcription…there must be something wrong here.”

With another squeak, she stood and carried the file box back to the front desk, but the clerk there was at the far end of her enclosure, in close conference with a conservatively dressed older woman whose hair was done up in a khaki turban. Heads together, they appeared to be speaking softly, and neither noticed the agitated young woman who waited with growing impatience.

Cats don’t count time, not as humans do, but the confidential chat did seem to go on for a bit. Even as the clerk tried to draw away, the older woman reached out, holding onto her arm as if loathe to let her go.

Maybe it was that move or the clerk’s apparent desire to end the conversation or a certain familiarity to the dark purple nails on the older woman’s manicured hand, but something emboldened Becca. “Excuse me,” she said, and then repeated herself. “Excuse me,” her voice somewhat too loud for politeness’s sake.

“I’m sorry.” The clerk pulled away, though whether her apology was to the turbaned woman or the client she’d kept waiting was unclear.

“Larissa!” Becca started, for the turbaned woman had looked up as her confidante withdrew. “It’s me, Becca.”

“Becca, darling.” The older witch came forward, a smile spreading across her face, which was much less heavily made up than usual. “My.” Those lacquered nails came up to her mouth, as if she had suddenly remembered her appearance. “My dear! Do tell, what brings you here?”

“Research,” said Becca. If her colleague’s unusually mundane attire surprised her, she didn’t let on. “I’m sorry if I—”

“No, no, no.” Larissa waved off her objection. “Please, go on.”

“It’s busywork, really,” Becca admitted. “I figure, until I get something else, I might as well keep my skills up, and I’ve always been interested in genealogy. But I might have just found something that may explain what’s been going on.”

“What’s been going on?” Larissa’s brows arched like a cat’s back, and Clara felt her own fur rising in response. “Dearest, you have to tell me.”

“Please don’t.”Clara did her best to focus. If only she had her sister’s power. If only her person could see how her words appeared to have set the older woman on edge. But no matter how the little calico concentrated, Becca kept on talking.

“I wish I could. I feel like I’ve gotten so close.” Becca sighed, as if the effort cost her. “Only I think that something must have gotten messed up over the years.”

“Is it something I can help you with?” The clerk interrupted, and Clara thought she seemed grateful to focus on her other client. “Perhaps if you tell me what happened, we can clear it up.”

“It’s silly.” Realizing she had an audience, Becca gave an embarrassed laugh. “But are you sure that these are careful transcriptions of the original records?”

“Of course. This office houses family records—births, deaths, and marriages—back to 1635, as well as documentation of financial transactions in the public record.” She sounded quite proud. “In fact, I was just telling your friend here—”

“It’s not important.” Larissa slipped around the counter and took Becca’s arm. “Just a fancy.”

“Well, good.” The clerk sounded relieved. “Because these are public records, ma’am. That’s the point of our office.”

“Of course they are.” With a grin like a Cheshire cat’s, Larissa dismissed the clerk and led Becca away from the desk. “So please, dear girl, tell me more about what you’ve discovered.”

Clara watched in horror as the older woman led her person away with a grip on her upper arm as firm as a new mother’s on a kitten.

“It’s just…odd.” Once Becca was into her work, Clara remembered with dismay, she lost sight of anything else. “I’ve been tracing my family history. Did I tell you, one of my ancestors was reported to be a witch?”

“Woman of power,please.” Larissa winced but kept walking, propelling Becca toward the exit. “So, you’re researching your family?”

“Yes.” Becca pulled back. “That’s why I joined the coven in the first place. I mean, I was interested, of course, but—”

“Of course,” Larissa burst out. “I remember now. How fascinating. My own family history is shrouded in shadow. I believe we may have Native American ancestry—the name Fox, of course.”

“I see.” Becca didn’t look like she did. “Is that what you were asking the clerk about?”

“What? No, nothing like that.” Without the flowing sleeves, Larissa’s dramatic dismissal resembled a flailing fledgling.

Maybe that’s what brought Becca back. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you at first.” Becca took in her colleague as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ve been kind of caught up—and I should get back.”

“But I’ve wanted to speak with you.” Larissa leaned in close enough for Becca to note the fine lines around her eyes. “Alone.” A dramatic pause as she batted those eyes. “Have you noticed anything odd about Ande? She seems to have become fixated.”

“Ande?” Becca examined the woman in front of her, as if the answer to her query would be written on those black brows or the hawk-like nose between them. “Fixated—on what?”

“On Trent, of course.” Larissa’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “You know she has a crush on him.”

“No, she said—” Rather than finish her sentence, Becca extricated her arm. “I’m sorry. I need to get back.”

Larissa reached for her once again, and Clara saw her opening. As Becca stepped back toward the records, the cat ducked her head and jumped. Landing a beat behind her person, the agile feline arched her back and hissed. It wasn’t enough—the toe of Larissa’s shoe still caught her in the belly as she stepped forward—but at least it was the rounded toe of a running shoe rather than her usual pointy number. Plus, the impact did cause the other woman to stumble and pause as she righted herself. And with that, Clara dashed off after Becca, slipping into the records room just as the door swung closed.

“Hang on!” Becca called out. The clerk was in the process of lifting the journal off her desk. “I’m sorry. My friend wanted to talk with me.”

“I’m sorry as well.” The blue-haired woman put the journal back down with care. “I hope I didn’t lose your place. Too many patrons don’t bother to bring the materials back, you see.”

“No, it’s fine.” Becca glanced down at the open book. “I’m almost done, anyway. There’s just one thing in here I don’t understand.”

Cat-shaped glasses tipped, waiting.“Maybe I’m reading this wrong,” said Becca. “But this lists the residents of this house as Mistress Rebecca Horne, widow, and Mistress Greybar. I’d come to believe that Mistress Greybar was Rebecca Horne’s cat.”

The eyes behind those glasses stared back.“And?”

“Well, doesn’t it seem odd to you that her cat is given the same standing as her owner?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The blue-haired woman sniffed. “I’d read that as this Mistress Greybar being a member of the family. I can tell you that our records have not been altered in any way. Though perhaps there was an error. Your friend…” She shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” Becca’s voice softened. “She can be a bit imperious. Did she think you—or your office—had done something wrong?”

“Not really.” Another shake. “I shouldn’t be discussing other clients’ issues anyway.”

“I understand.” Becca lowered her voice, but there was a note in it that let Clara know she was hatching a plan. “I’m actually wondering if you can help me with something else—something that might be related. I’m not sure what she told you, but my friend and I both belong to a group, and I believe its financial records might be on file here.”

“If you’re incorporated here in the city, or have applied for a license, they are.” If Becca had hoped the bespectacled clerk would reveal Larissa’s request, she was to be disappointed. However, before she could come up with another query, the clerk retreated to the desk and so Becca followed. “What name is your organization incorporated under?”

“Oh.” Becca stared down, as if the answer would appear on the counter before her. “I don’t know if we’re incorporated.”

“Do you hold a license? Pay municipal taxes?”

“No.” Becca drew the word out while she thought. “I know, why don’t you look up licenses under the name of our founder, Larissa Fox.”

“Would you write that down?”

Becca filled out the proffered form and returned it to the clerk, who took it back to her files, tut-tutting as she walked. While she waited, Becca stared at the door. Questions about Larissa were palpably weighing on her. But before she could do anything about them, the cat-eye glasses were staring back at her.

“Are you confident about these names?”

“Yes, though not the spelling—”

The clerk cut her off.“I tried alternative spellings, including double X and a PH for Fox. It didn’t change anything. I don’t have any records of ownership or licenses in this city for anyone named Larissa Fox.”

Chapter 32

“Maddy, it’s the strangest thing.” Becca reached her friend as she made her way home. “I wouldn’t have even thought of asking, only Larissa was going on about Ande, like she’d done something wrong, and then I remembered that Ande was the reason that Suzanne was asking about the coven’s money. She said we were down a few thousand dollars, and—”

“Becca, do you hear yourself?” Maddy’s patience was running thin. “Bad enough you’re in this crazy group, now you’re getting involved in its finances?”

“But that’s just it.” Becca had been mulling this over. “This might be why Suzanne was killed. After all, if Suzanne thought that somebody was embezzling—”

“Becca! Stop it! This is a police matter, okay?” When Maddy yelled, her voice was audible even to the people on the street. “Leave it to them, please.”

“But the police don’t really understand about the coven.” Becca had to make Maddy understand. “They’re not going to know how we all relate to each other, and they wouldn’t have heard about the funds going missing.”

“Didn’t you say this Ande was going to tell them?”

Becca bit back her retort.“She promised to, but she didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

“Okay, then you’ve got to tell them—” Maddy stopped herself.

“You just said that I should stay out of it.” Becca was nothing if not reasonable.

“No, you’re right.” Maddy was obviously making plans. “I’m sorry I even said anything. You’ve got to stay as far away from this as you can. I’m sorry you’re even still talking to anyone in that coven of yours. Besides, like you said, if this Ande was the whistleblower and even she didn’t think it was a big deal, then it wasn’t, I’m sure.”

“But Larissa was definitely hiding something,” Becca said, as much to herself as her friend. “She didn’t want me to hear what she was looking for in the records. She tried to hustle me out of there.”

“She’s a weird old lady, from what you’ve told me.” Maddy wasn’t giving up. “She was probably just hoping to find out she had a witch in her background too.”

“Maybe.” Becca had to agree. “She did go on a bit about her heritage. Though between you and me, I think Fox might be a made-up name.”

The burst of laughter made her draw back from the phone.“You think?” Clara could picture Becca’s friend wiping away the tears. “Hey, kiddo, I think I may have found out something about the other candidate for the Reynolds job.”

“Yeah?” Becca’s cheer suddenly dissipated. “Let me guess, he’s got a master’s.”

“No, but he seems to be very chummy with Reynolds. The old buzzard walked him out, and I heard him say something about ‘your mother.’ Friend of the family, I’m guessing.”

“Great.” Clara didn’t really understand sarcasm. Cats don’t need it. But even she could tell that Becca’s response didn’t reflect her true feelings. “Well, without an advanced degree, I was a long shot for that position anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I’d have loved to have you here. Even though this Nathan is kinda dishy.”

“Wait—Nathan?” Becca stopped cold, earning a nasty look from a passing shopper

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? He breezed right past Ms. White, so I asked. His name’s Nathan Raposa.”

*

Maddy hadn’t managed to calm her friend down by the time Becca got home. But Clara was grateful for the other girl’s attempts.

“I’ll come by as soon as I’m sprung,” Maddy had said, signing off. “I’ll bring wine—and chocolate.”

Clara didn’t have a chance to warn her sisters, as Becca clomped into the house in a mixture of anger and despair.

“I can’t even…” was all she said as the three cats circled in wordless sympathy. Clara had, by then, unmasked herself to join the throng. “And now, you!” This, alas, was to Harriet, who hadn’t moved quite quickly enough and nearly tripped their person.

“Harriet!” Clara head butted her older sister out of the way.“Watch it! Becca’s had a bad shock.”

“Becca? What about me?” Harriet sat and began to groom, but at least this time Becca saw her and managed to step around her.“Clearly nobody cares about me or what I want.”

“Quit grumbling.” Laurel rubbed against Becca’s shins and, as their person stopped to reach down and stroke her silky fur, took in her scent with a black leather nose. “Interesting,”said the Siamese.“Jeff, and—what’s this?—I’m getting a whiff of patchouli, or is that pine?”

Clara looked on in dismay, unsure what to do. She’d already lost her chance at the best place next to Becca on the sofa. A soft grunt announced that Harriet had once again taken over that middle cushion, and she now surveyed her sisters as if challenging them to try to unseat her.

“Don’t you dare…” A low growl underlined that stare.“Mine.”

“Fine.” Clara settled on the rug as Becca made her way to the sofa.

“Oh, kitties.” Becca sat with an exasperated sigh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“If the clown here would tell us, we would.”Laurel sidled up to her sister.

“I will, I promise.” Clara kept her voice low. It would do her person good to sleep. A nap, as all cats know, is always a sensible option.

But before Becca could drift off into a healing slumber, the doorbell rang and she sat up with a jerk.“Maddy!” At least she was smiling as she approached the door, although when she opened it, that smile disappeared. “Kathy?”

“Hi, am I disturbing you?” The perky redhead beamed up at her. “I’d been meaning to give you a call about Eric. I know you said he blew you off, but, believe me, he’s going to be looking for someone soon—if he isn’t already—and so I thought I’d drop by.”

“Oh, thanks.” Becca sounded more confused than grateful, but she stood aside to invite the other woman in. “Did you just get off work?”

“I was in the area.” That eager smile. “Anyway, about the job. We’re short now, even if Eric’s too cheap to admit it. I know Larissa’s friend is looking for someone too. But you didn’t sound too keen about that, and since I know one of the other girls I work with is going to give notice at the end of the week…well, my boss will definitely need someone, and we’re almost like family.”

Walking into the living room as she rambled on, Kathy eyed Harriet and then took Becca’s place on the sofa. Wisely, she didn’t reach for Harriet’s pillow.

“So, have you talked to Trent much?” Settling in, she leaned back to address her hostess. “I mean, since the whole thing with Suzanne?”

“What? No.” Becca passed behind her into the kitchen. “I still have trouble believing it—and I, well, I was there.”

Kathy fell uncharacteristically silent, her round face drawn with concern.

“I’m sorry.” Becca leaned back into the room “Would you like something to drink? I still have some of that wine.”

“Oh, no, thanks.” Kathy managed a smile again. “I’d take a Diet Coke, if you have it?”

“Coming up.” As Becca fussed in the kitchen, Kathy looked around. Harriet threw a protective paw over her pillow. The other, Clara noticed, stayed on the edge of the cushion. A nasty premonition began to make the fur rise along her back.

“Harriet…”

“I’m sorry, you were asking—were you close to Suzanne?” Becca returned with their drinks. “I gather she and Ande were into something together.”

“I didn’t really keep up with Suzanne, but Ande, I just don’t know.” Kathy took a sip, but her wide brown eyes stayed focused on Becca. “She’s been bad mouthing Trent, you know. No sense of loyalty.”

“Really?” Becca paused. “I thought they were on good terms.”

Kathy shook her head.“Not since she made that play for him. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she’s not his type, if you know what I mean. Same thing happened with Marcia, a little while before you joined.”

“Ah.”

Maybe it was that wordless exhalation or maybe Kathy saw something on Becca’s face, because hers grew suddenly concerned.

“Oh, dear! What is it?” She leaned in, her eyes wide with sympathy.

“Nothing major.” Becca shook her head, eager to stem the younger woman’s gossip. “It’s me,” she said at last. “I had a weird date with someone over the weekend. Another Mr. Wrong.”

Kathy giggled and sat back, as if waiting for the story.“Tell me about it,” she said. “But really, slandering someone is not the way to go.”

“I didn’t—” Becca sat up.

“Not you, silly.” To Becca’s surprise, Kathy stood to go. “I meant Ande. But hey, I’m glad I caught you. You really should send a resume over to Eric. Or—do you want me to?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. He kind of gave me the cold shoulder. Hang on.” Becca went to get her laptop, nudging the pillow as she rose. In response, Harriet slammed a paw down—but not so fast that Clara didn’t see something glitter.

Clara’s fur rose further.

“What’s that, kitty?” Kathy had seen it too, and as Clara looked on in horror, the guest reached over. Harriet, torn between guarding her pillow and the shiny toy, started to growl.

“No!” Despite the growing danger, Kathy wasn’t addressing the cats. Instead, she was looking at the small, gold object in her hand. A perfect replica of Trent’s amulet.

“What did you do?” Clara was standing, back arched as she stared at her sister.

“That’s mine!” Harriet had struggled to her feet. Ignoring her sister, she turned to the invader, her growl growing to a high-pitched whine.

“Kitties! What’s the—” Becca had returned, laptop in hand. “Kathy, watch—”

Too late, Harriet had already coiled—an orange and white fury with one goal in sight. Launching herself, she wrapped her paws around Kathy’s hand and sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of her thumb.

“Ow!” Pulling her hand back, the redhead freed herself with a jerk that sent the amulet flying to the floor. That’s when Clara saw her moment. With one leap, she landed on the gold replica and—hearing the thud as her sister hit the floor beside her—sent it flying.

“Kathy, are you okay?” Becca was kneeling on the sofa beside her visitor, examining the bite marks on her hand. “It doesn’t look like she drew blood.”

“I’m fine.” The redhead snapped, pulling her hand back to cradle it against her body.

“I’m sorry, really.” Becca looked mortified. “Sometimes they fight, but they’ve never…” She broke off. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Kathy was already rising. “Good luck with that guy you’re seeing.” And with that she was gone.

“Harriet, Clara, really!” The slamming of the door had frozen both cats in their tracks. Clara looked up at her person in dismay. Harriet was still glaring at her sister. That lucky shot had set the little gold piece skidding under Becca’s big armchair—where the original had ended up after Harriet first grabbed it and where the marmalade was too stout to follow. “What got into you?”

Clara rose and approached her person carefully. Tail down, in dismay, it was all she could do to gently rub her head against Becca’s outstretched hand. To try to explain about Harriet’s ability—and her selfish decision to recreate the amulet that she had so envied—was beyond her. Even if she could manage the language skills, to let a human in on the powers they all shared was forbidden. Not to mention how hurt Becca would be if she ever found out that it was her plump feline who had managed that original summoning, rather than herself. Becca was just beginning to have faith in herself once more. Even if she could, Clara would do nothing to discourage her now.

Chapter 33

By the time Maddy came by, Becca had rallied. Harriet was still upset, of course, and had already boxed Clara’s ears twice. Laurel, perhaps wisely, was staying out of this particular squabble. She sat on top of the bookshelf, observing the proceedings with her cool blue eyes.

“I think everyone in that coven of yours is crazy.” Instead of cookies, Maddy had brought a bottle of wine, and after pouring them both healthy glasses, she had plopped down on the sofa and listened to Becca’s story once again. “And I’m glad you walked out on this Nathan—that’s definitely the same guy.” She paused to pour herself more. “Do you think he could be Suzanne’s stalker?”

“I don’t know.” Becca looked into her own nearly full glass as if it held the answer. “He keeps texting me now too.”

“What does he say?” Maddy sidled up to her friend, as if she expected her to pull the phone out right then.

“Well, he started off worried about me, asking why I ran off.” Becca raised her glass and twirled it before taking a tentative sip. “Then he asked if he’d done anything wrong.”

“Anything wrong—like stalking you.” Maddy sat back, set on her conclusion. “I mean, first he calls out of nowhere and asks questions about you, and then he takes what should have been your job.”

“It wasn’t actually out of nowhere,” Becca began to protest, but her friend cut her off.

“But you said you didn’t tell him about the coven, and he knew about that, right?”

“Yeah, but he does know Larissa, so she probably told him.” Becca had had time to think. “Maybe Larissa recommended him for the job too. If he also has a family connection, it makes sense.”

“Stalker.” Maddy seemed to be relishing this. “And a creep. But I blame that Larissa too. I mean, she said she’d refer you for that job.”

“Yeah, but…” Becca looked at her friend, as if she weren’t sure if she should continue.

“Becca?” Sensing something good, Maddy put her drink down.

“Something someone said—I think Larissa might, you know, keep her boyfriends.”

“Keep, as in retain?”

“Not exactly.” Becca lowered her voice, although neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening. “Keep as in pay for. And that first time I ran into Nathan he said he was visiting a relative but …”

“Ah.” Maddy sat back, resting her wine glass on Harriet’s pillow. Clara, who had been paying attention, thought the plump woman did not appear overly surprised. “And suddenly the handsome painter gets a referral to a cush office job. Though he’s not going to keep that lovely sun-kissed look if he comes to work for us.”

“But why would Reynolds hire him?” Becca hugged her knees to her chest, like she did when she was thinking, and turned to face her friend. “I mean, to be honest, he didn’t seem particularly pleased when I said Larissa had sent me—he even told me that she’d used up her credit, or words to that effect.”

“Well, maybe you’re in luck, then, kiddo.” Maddy shifted to face her, moving her glass back to the table, much to Clara’s relief. “Maybe you’re still in the running. Maybe this wasn’t even a real interview. He wasn’t in there for long.”

“Maybe.” Becca looked doubtful, and Harriet used that moment to swat once more at Clara.

“What’s up with your cats?” Maddy looked at them as if seeing them for the first time.

“They’ve been fighting.” Another shake of the head. “I don’t know why. I think Clara stole a toy. I saw something go flying.”

“Don’t you dare!” Clara hissed, and immediately regretted it. Only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize that her sister hadn’t been paying attention.

“Meow!” Too late now. With her most plaintive mew, Harriet drew all eyes to her as she lay down and stretched her paw under the armchair.“Please!”

“Oh, poor kitty.” Becca was up in a moment. “Hang on.”

While Maddy watched, Becca tilted the chair back, revealing a well-chewed catnip mouse, a wad of aluminum foil that Laurel had become obsessed with over a month before. And, yes, the replica of Trent’s golden amulet.

“What is that?” Maddy was on the shiny piece before Harriet could right herself, carrying it to the kitchen to examine it in better light. Short though she was, once she stood up, she was out of the cat’s reach.

“That’s—no, that’s impossible.” Becca seemed as stunned as Kathy had been.

“Becca?” Maddy looked from the trinket to her friend.

“That’s Trent’s. From my coven, the, uh, warlock.” Maddy’s brows went up, but she kept silent. “He came back after the coven meeting, and we were sitting on the sofa.” The color in Becca’s cheeks only made Maddy’s brows rise higher. “He had that on a chain and it must have been swinging and, well, you know how cats are with moving objects. Anyway, Harriet took a swipe at it and broke the chain. But I thought he’d picked it up.”

“You’ve been busy.” She fixed her friend with a quizzical stare. “So it wasn’t all painter boy?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Becca looked down, her cheeks positively scarlet. “Well, it might have been. Only, I didn’t expect it. I mean, he’s been flirty, but, Maddy, I think he’s flirty with all the women. Anyway, he had just kissed me when that—when Harriet intervened. She scratched him too. Not intentionally, I don’t think. Just that her claw got caught. Anyway, that, ah, broke the mood, and he left soon after.”

“You’d almost think your cat was looking out for you.” Maddy was still smiling, but her face grew serious as she looked at the amulet again. “This feels like real gold. And he just left it?”

“I was sure he’d taken it. I thought I saw him put it in his pocket.” She shook her head. “I mean, he didn’t ask me to look for it or anything.”

“Is he rich?” Maddy was rolling the amulet between her thumb and forefinger. Harriet, Clara suspected, had made the piece heavier than the original. Maybe slightly larger too—those plush paws weren’t as dexterous as human fingers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about a job,” Becca admitted.

With a sigh, Maddy handed over the piece.“I don’t know, Becca. Between a rich playboy and a stalker-y creep, I think you’ve got to meet some new guys. But, hey, if you’re really okay, I think I’m going to crash.”

Becca didn’t argue as she escorted her friend to the door, examining the piece as she walked. “What is it?” her friend asked.

“I’m not sure.” Becca was examining the back of the amulet. “Only, I thought there was something engraved on the back. I remember reaching for it, and Trent kind of pulled it away. That’s what caught Harriet’s eye, I think. And this piece? It’s blank.”

“I’d say your mind was on something else that night,” said her friend. “I mean, there it is, solid in your hand.”

***

“How could you?” Clara turned on her oldest sister in fury. Never mind protocol, Harriet was endangering them all.

The big marmalade knew it.“It’s just a small thing,” she pouted.“And so shiny. And now I have to make another.”

“Don’t you dare!”Clara was positively spitting, she was so mad.“Don’t you see what you’ve done? Now there are two of them. And Becca is going to return it to that Trent—and then they’ll know!”

“Return it?” Harriet’s fluffy face screwed up in confusion, her nose pulling in like a pedigreed Persian.“But it’s mine.”

“Don’t be dense.”Laurel landed with a thud between them.“Both of you. This is going to make things interesting. Becca’s going to bring that Trent around again now. She’ll have to.”

Clara sat, her tail curled around her fore paws, and brooded. Although she was unable to explain why to her sisters, she knew from her whiskers to her tail tip that none of this boded well.

Chapter 34

The text messages continued, as did the calls. Clara could tell from the beeps and buzzes Becca’s phone made, even as she left it on the table. In part, Clara thought, her person was ignoring the tiny machine, despite the tantalizing way it vibrated. In part, she feared, Becca was trying to make sense of the amulet—doing her best to reconcile her memory with the palpable reality she now held in her palm.

Deprived of her toy, Harriet turned her attention to the device. Perched on a chair, she reached one paw up, intending to hook it and send it flying. Laurel looked on, mildly amused, until another vibration sent her back to the apartment door. Clara, catching the same emanation a moment later, froze—torn between her person and that infernal device, and the interruption about to occur.

“What?” Becca looked up seconds later, as a loud rapping sounded on her door. The faint scent of pine, as well as Laurel’s satisfied smirk, alerted Clara to the visitor’s identity, but Becca, oblivious to such subtle clues, opened it, only to jump back with a start.

“Nathan!” She moved to shut the door. His work boot, splashed with paint, blocked it.

“Becca, please. I can explain.”

She looked up at him, mouth agape, and relaxed her hold on the door—just as he pulled his foot out.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She was leaning on the door—ready to slam it shut. Only, she didn’t, which Clara thought curious. “I’ll stay here,” he said, seemingly chastened.

Becca looked at him, and for a moment Clara wondered if she did indeed have magical skills. The way she studied his face seemed to be seeking something in his eyes. Something deep. Finally, tilting her head, she spoke again.“Tell me,” she said, “how did you find out where I live?”

“Larissa,” he responded, spitting the name out as if it tasted bad. “I mean, she’d already given me your number.”

“And about the coven?” She was relaxing—Clara could hear it—but she waited while he nodded.

“Larissa again.” He gave up the name with a sigh. “And I’m sorry, I should’ve told you—I’m sorry I scared you. For what it’s worth, I’ve had enough. I’m not going to cover for her anymore.”

“Cover?” Becca, intrigued, didn’t shut the door. She didn’t move to open it up any further either. Instead, she stood, one arm on the frame.

He nodded.“She thinks she can control everything. But I’m through with that.”

Becca waited, but it didn’t take any particular skill to see that she was factoring in what she’d heard about the older woman—and about younger men. Her “pets.”

“The job.” Her voice was flat. “My friend Maddy saw you today. I know Larissa is setting you up. Getting you that job.”

“What? No, I have a job. I paint houses.”

“Right.” Clara had never heard Becca sound so angry. She glanced over at her sister. Laurel’s eyes were wide. “Look, I get it. This is an expensive city, and Larissa is generous. Larissa likes to help people. Larissa likes her ‘pets,’ especially young, good-looking men.”

“Larissa,” Nathan cut her off before she could go any further, “is my mother.”

***

Ten minutes later, the two were sitting on the sofa, Laurel curled and purring between them. Clara, for her part, was trying to make sense of all she’d heard. So, for that matter, was Becca.

“I’m sorry I let it go on so long,” the handsome painter was saying. “She gave me your number and then she told me where you live. She seemed to really like the idea of us getting to know each other, and, no, she didn’t tell me you were in the coven together. She didn’t have to—as soon as I heard you say ‘Larissa,’ I knew. She only uses that name for her so-called ‘mystical’ endeavors. To everyone else, she’s plain old Risa.”

“Risa?” Becca tried to reconcile the old-fashioned name with the woman she knew. The jet-black hair. The scarves and the perfume. “Larissa is Risa. Your mother. That’s why you were bringing flowers over. But why Fox?”

“Just a translation.” He smiled, as if at a private joke. “Raposa means fox in Portuguese. So, yeah, Risa Raposa. I guess it’s better than what my father did.”

Becca’s confusion showed in her face.

“He anglicized it. Well, sort of. Reynolds was his version. I think someone told him that fox in French was renard, and he either misheard or thought that still sounded too foreign.”

“Reynolds—like Reynolds and Associates?”

“Yeah, you know them?”

“That’s the job—the one I thought Larissa—your mother—was setting you up for.” She couldn’t hide the humor in her voice. “Suzanne worked there, and my friend Maddy does too. She saw you at the office and thought you were there for an interview.”

“No.” He dismissed the idea, shaking his head. “I pity anybody who has to work for my father. I mean, no—you can’t think…”

“I don’t.” Becca finished his thought. “In fact, I’m trying to leave all that to the police, but I haven’t heard anything that would imply he’s involved.”

“Good.” A sigh of relief. “He’s not a bad guy, but, wait, you want to work for him?”

“Yeah.” Becca nodded. “Well, I’ve applied for a position there. Thought I had it too. Reynolds—your father—seemed to like me. But then Maddy heard that someone else was being interviewed—one of Larissa—Risa’s—pets. So…”

Before she could spell it out, Nathan interrupted with a laugh. A nice laugh, thought Clara. Not too loud, but it came from his belly like a purr.“No wonder you thought I was her boy toy!”

Becca didn’t comment. She didn’t have to.

“Believe me, I know about my mother. So does my father. It’s part of her whole thing—wanting to be young forever. It’s probably why she got into the whole magic thing.”

“Huh.” Becca fell silent, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to downplay your group, if it works for you.” Nathan leaned back, unburdened. “I mean, I understand about Wicca having spiritual aspects and everything…”

Becca wasn’t listening. “Maybe that’s why Trent didn’t look harder,” she said to herself. Nathan looked at her inquisitively, but she shook him off. “It’s nothing. A small thing that was puzzling me. That’s all. So, if it wasn’t about the job, why were you at the office today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Hey, I feel like you have the right to ask anything.” He grinned a bit sheepishly. “He wanted me to drop by. I thought it was about finishing up that triple-decker. Yeah, he’s a landlord—and the source of most of my referrals, I’ve got to admit. Turns out, he wanted to talk to me aboutdoing an intervention. They fight like cats and dogs, but at some level he still loves my mom. She probably still loves him too, but he’s worried. She’s spending way too much money, and he thinks she’s being ripped off.”

“That fits with something Ande—another member of our group—said.” Becca was thinking out loud. “Only, I had the impression that it was our group finances that were going missing.”

Nathan’s face said it all.

“The group finances are really Larissa’s—Risa’s.” The reality kicked in as Becca pieced together everything she’d heard. “Despite what we chip in, we’re just a pet project for her, aren’t we?”

“Hey, she can afford it.” Nathan was making nice. “I mean, Dad’s done well and she has a good income. Only, it’s not unlimited, and he’s getting sick of bailing her out.”

“Did you tell the cops all this?” Another, darker thought was clouding Becca’s brow. “I mean, about your mother and the money and all?”

“Of course.” He sounded concerned. “But she’s not—I mean, she can be pretty nutty and everything but she’s not a killer.”

Becca held back from saying the obvious—that somebody was. Nathan must have missed the look on her face, because he kept talking.

“Which, all things considered, is a good thing,” he was saying. “Because I know she had a real grudge against that girl, though I guess that’s over now.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he stopped.“You can’t think—” He gasped. “She’s—no, Becca, we’re talking about my mother.”

“I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of it,” said Becca, doing her best to sound encouraging. But Clara knew what was going through her mind—that the police had already suspected someone in their coven, and that her person believed herself to be a prime suspect because of her connection with Jeff. “They have to. I wonder if they know…”

“No.” Nathan sounded horrified. “Becca…”

“Suzanne was seeing my ex, Jeff. But before then, she’d gone out with Trent, at least a few times.” Becca laid out the points, as if talking to herself. “At least, I think so. I don’t know if Larissa—Risa—your mom knew, but I think maybe she and Trent might have something going. And Ithink Suzanne found out that Jeff cheated on her, so I’m wondering if she might have run back to Trent. Or maybe she had been stepping out on Jeff. Or even—”

“Becca, please.” The man beside her was pleading. “This is all crazy.”

“You’re right. I should leave it all to the police.” Becca stopped and managed a smile. “This is all…this is a lot to think about.” She rose and walked back to the door, turning to Nathan as he followed. “I believe you about what happened with us, and I’m sorry for running out on you,” she said.

“Of course.” He made his own brave attempt at a smile. “And I’m sorry I scared you, coming over like this and everything. Only, you wouldn’t take my calls.”

“No, it’s okay.” Becca took his hand, and for a moment it seemed like he would say something more. But then he turned and left

Laurel seemed pleased as punch with the visit, purring as Becca stood there, leaning her head against the door. Clara, however, kept her eyes on her person, willing her to ask the questions that were rising in her own mind.

“Don’t you think it was a little odd?” she asked her sister.“Him dropping by like that?”

“He likes her,”purred Laurel.“He’s insistent.”

“I hope she checks on his story.” Clara couldn’t keep her tail still. Something was wrong, only she couldn’t quite put her paw on it.

“It’s that mother of his, if anything.” Laurel jumped onto the tabletop and began to bathe.“Becca should steer clear of that one. I bet she’s jealous, our girl being so young and pretty. And that she lives with us too.”

“Maybe,” said Clara, half to herself. It was difficult to carry on a conversation with Laurel when her sister was up on the table, and she weighed making the leap herself. Becca preferred the cats not to sit there, but she had basically given up on disciplining them. Besides, their person had wandered off into the bedroom, apparently lost in thought as she rummaged through the papers on her desk and then her bureau top as if seeking an elusive prey. Nothing seemed to be stirring though, and so with a wiggle of her behind, Clara prepared to leap up. That was one advantage of being the smallest. Why Harriet couldn’t even—

Then it hit her. Where was Harriet? She craned around, scanning the table as she did so. The amulet—the replica that her oldest sister had summoned for her own amusement, the piece that Becca was clearly searching for—that was missing too. Clara scooted over to where Becca had left it when she’d heard the knocking on the door. Closing her green eyes in despair, Clara felt her ears and whiskers sag. Harriet had been so upset, but because her bulk made jumping up to the tabletop unlikely, Clara hadn’t thought she’d be able to do anything about it. Now she remembered her sister, sitting on the chair, one paw hooked up over the surface.

What had happened was obvious. The big white and orange cat had managed to fish it off the table while none of them was looking, and now she and the crucial gold piece were gone.

Chapter 35

Becca was too honest not to call Trent to tell him what she—or Harriet—had found. She wasn’t sure what else, exactly, she would say to him, she told Clara the next morning as she continued to search the apartment. After all, it wasn’t that he’d lied to her—not exactly. He may simply have chosen not to reveal some aspects of his relationship with Larissa.

“And we’re not even sure of that,” she said as she peered under the sofa for the umpteenth time. Clara looked over at Laurel, but her sister had grown bored and tuned out, her caf? au lait side gently rising and falling as she napped.

“I mean, okay, it’s likely.” Becca, kneeling, looked around. “But it’s their business, not mine. Unless…” She bit her lip, and Clara knew she was thinking of Suzanne—and of possible motive. “At any rate, I need to tell him that pendant of his is here, somewhere. If only I could find it.”

Just then, Harriet came strolling into the living room. It was certainly close to lunchtime, but considering that her oldest sister had been in the bedroom, Clara wasn’t sure why she was licking her chops. And then it hit her.

“You ate it? That little gold toy you summoned?” She jumped off the sofa and approached her sister, reaching up to sniff at her whiskers.

“Yes, I did!” Harriet sounded quite pleased with herself as her sister proceeded with her examination.“So now you can get off my case about it,”she said smugly.

Clara sat back, waiting.

“I used a treat as a base.” Harriet couldn’t resist explaining.“Because it was something I wanted. So when I realized what Becca was looking for, I just turned it back and—yum. It had gotten a little stale, though.”

Clara could have hissed, she was so upset.“But now Becca will never find it!”

Harriet’s own ears flicked in annoyance.“Make up your mind, why don’t you?”her words a near snarl as she walked past her sister toward the kitchen.“First you tell me to get rid of it. Now you’re all hissy.”

“He must be frantic.” Becca’s words could have described her own state of mind, except for the gender. In fact, over the next hour, she did her best impersonation of an animal on a rampage, her search ramping up as she swiped papers off surfaces and tipped furniture over in a growing frenzy. By the time she had all the sofa cushions up, all three cats were seeking shelter on the windowsill. Quite unfairly, both Laurel and Harriet blamed their youngest sibling.

“I’m not the one who summoned a version of that thing!” Clara defended herself as best she could. She knew what those cold stares could mean, and she had no desire to have her ears boxed or her whiskers pulled. And if Harriet sat on her again…“I asked you not to do that anymore!”

It was hopeless. Harriet looked briefly at Laurel, who puffed herself up ever so slightly. Then, both turned to face Clara.

“It has come to our attention that you seem to think you’re the only magical cat in this household.”When Harriet spoke in that tone of voice, Clara knew better than to argue, even though her sister was being horribly unfair.“Time and again, recently, you’ve countered our quite natural desires to use our skills to entertain ourselves. And—”Clara couldn’t help herself and opened her mouth to object. One raised paw, claws just showing through the white fluff, stopped her, as Harriet continued.“And thwarted our natural desire to improve the life of our person, as is our duty.”

Biting down hard, Clara kept herself silent. Harriet was reciting the cats’ canon law.

“Instead, you seem to believe that you are the only one who can aid our human in her pursuits, or that you have some kind of special bond with her.”

With that, Harriet turned to Laurel, who stared at her little sister so hard that she began to go cross-eyed. That was the Siamese in her.“You don’t,” she added, her voice a growly undercurrent to Harriet’s pompous mew. The double vision was distracting, Clara knew, and silently thanked their mixed genetics for cutting the lecture short.

“She must be punished.” Harriet, still peeved about Clara’s interference and the loss of her toy, was not going to let the lesson go that easily.“I’m out a toy—and a treat!”

“You ate the treat.” Clara couldn’t help herself. Harriet turned on her with a snarl.

“Kitties, what is it?” Becca looked up from the floor, where she had surrounded herself with the sofa’s cushions, including—Clara noticed—Harriet’s tasseled creation. “You’re picking up on my mood, I guess. I’m sorry.”

She sat back with a sigh that made Clara yearn to go to her. Laurel must have noticed her posture, or maybe it was the way her rump rose as she readied to leap, because suddenly she felt a paw come down on her tail.“We’re not done yet, missy!”

This was too much. Clara turned and hissed, raising her paw—claws out—to her sister. Nothing was going to keep her from Becca! Only just then, the muted ring of the phone interrupted them.

“Oh no!” Becca jumped up and turned, tossing pillows as she searched frantically. “Where did I leave it?”

Seeing her moment, Clara pulled free and jumped down to the floor. Her superior hearing had already identified the location of the humming device, and with a nudge at Harriet’s pillow, she was able to uncover it.

Becca grabbed it up with a smile that was worth all the treats in the bag to the calico.“Bother.” She sounded a bit breathless from the search, but still she reached out to stroke Clara’s mottled back. “Well, at least there’s a message.”

Clara leaned in and closed her eyes. Her sisters would make her pay for her interference, but right then she didn’t care. Becca’s hand was warm and she pressed just hard enough to make Clara stretch as she worked her way from shoulders to tail and then—froze.

“Oh no.” Becca barely choked out the words. “I can’t believe I forgot to call the detective back,” she whispered in horror. “And now they’re asking me to come down to the station.”

Chapter 36

“Don’t say it!” Clara glared at her sisters as she waited by the door. There would be a reckoning, but no way was she letting Becca talk to the police by herself. Not that she was sure what, exactly, she could do.

“Maybe I can convince her to run for it.” Laurel had picked up on their person’s distress and was stalking back and forth while Becca hurriedly changed her shirt. In all the tumult, it had gotten quite dusty.

“I could bring the amulet back.” Harriet hiccupped, her shoulders bouncing in an alarming fashion.

“No, please.”Clara did her best to keep her tone polite.“You don’t have to.”She ducked her head in the feline equivalent of a curtsy to both Harriet and Laurel.“I think it’s best if she just tells them the truth—what happened without any magic. I’ll report back.”Becca had emerged from her bedroom, smoothing her hair back as if she were indeed feline, and now she was reaching for the door.“I promise!”

***

Clara stayed close to her person as she hurried through the busy streets. In a way, Becca’s distraction helped—there was no way she was looking around for one small, shaded cat, even one with an orange patch over one eye. It helped that the day had progressed as well, giving Clara her choice of afternoon shadows to choose from as she leaped and darted to keep up with her person’sprogress.

It was only when Becca neared the stairs to the Cambridge precinct that Clara held back. That tall, stone building, with its heavy doors, was too much like a cage for her liking. And truth be told, what could she do if the people inside were to hold Becca against her will?

Maybe she did have some of Laurel’s power, because Becca paused, as if constrained by the same fears. As Clara watched, Becca stepped off the sidewalk, almost as if she too could disappear in the shade of the sickly maple that grew out of the pavement nearby.

“Blessed goddess, hear my plea…” Clara caught the words, barely audible, of a protective spell, one that the coven had recited only weeks before. Becca didn’t seem to remember that Suzanne had been the one who found it—and had been rather expert at reciting it. Maybe, thought the cat, as she watched her person make a complicated gesture behind her back, it was just as well humans didn’t have any real power. If only she had a way of telling Becca that at least one of her pets was watching out for her. Standing there, murmuring—these people seemed to believe that everything had tobe repeated three times—she looked so anxious that Clara longed to jump up into her arms.

She couldn’t, of course. To do so would not only break the rules, it would unnerve the young woman, and the plump feline suspected that Becca would need all of her wits in the interrogation to come. Thus, the loyal feline was forced to hang back, in the shadow of that maple, and watch as Becca, looking as uncomfortable as a cat in the rain, finished the spell. At least, Clara thought she did—as she watched, her person wrung her hands in what could only be understood as an attempt to stroke herself back into good humor. Clearly, she was trying to muster the courage to enter the building that loomed before her.

Perhaps it was unfair of Clara to blame Harriet, but the calico couldn’t help it. Her big sister’s carelessness had set in motion a chain of events that at least had disconcerted their beloved person, and then her selfishness had exacerbated the situation. Of course, none of that would have mattered if Becca hadn’t gotten involved in the coven or ever flirted with the dashing warlock.

“Trent!” Clara blinked up as Becca called out. Sure enough, there was the warlock—coming down the steps of the precinct. Could it be, she wondered, that her personhad in fact summoned him?“Over here!”

“Becca?” The bearded man who turned toward her was nearly unrecognizable. His usually sleek dark hair hung lank, his darkly shining eyes looked tired, set deep into shadowed sockets. Even his usual open-necked blouse had been replaced by ratty sweats, the droopy pants pulled up to reveal bunched white socks above worn sneakers. “Is that you?”

She stepped forward, into the light, and Trent rushed over to her. He would have taken her hands, Clara thought, only, at the last moment, her person stepped back. In response, he raised one hand to his oily hair, pushing it back from a forehead that Clara could now see was quite lined.

It wasn’t the hair though, or even his overall appearance that held her back.

“Are you okay?” said Becca, her voice low, her gaze shifting over to the building he had just left.

“Of course. What brings you here?” As he spoke, he stood up straighter and attempted a smile. To the observant cat, his teeth looked like fangs. “Are you—” His eyes darted nervously as he spoke, as if checking to make sure nobody had come from the police station behind him. But even as his scanned the street, he seemed to gather himself, his voice lowering into the confident baritone Becca knew well. “Are you going in to chat with the detectives again?”

“They called me,” Becca admitted, her face pinching up. “Twice. But why are you back here? Did something happen?”

“Not at all.” The smile stiffened as two uniformed officers descended the stairs, and he paused until they had walked by. “I gather there have been some developments, and I came in to offer my assistance, of course.”

“You volunteered?” Becca glanced down at his sweatshirt, the sweat pants, and sneakers. “Trent, if you don’t mind me asking, do you have a job?”

“Not you too.” For a moment, his face contorted in anguish, the sharp planes of his cheeks becoming drawn and desperate. Then, just as quickly, he recovered. “I do have a promising prospect—or I did.” He licked dry lips. “It’s nothing I’m at liberty to talk about right now. Of course, I do have other projects ongoing. A few investments.”

Becca didn’t appear convinced, to her cat’s clear-eyed gaze. Instead, it seemed like she was formulating a follow-up question, when he chuckled.

“Oh, is it my outfit?” He struck a pose, even as his grin wobbled. “I was working out, and after a run by the river, I found myself nearby the precinct.”

“You found yourself…? That’s right!” Becca’s eyes went wide as whatever query she’d been about to pose was eclipsed. “Your amulet! I found it. I mean, I thought you had already found it, but then it turned up, and I was going to call you. Only, I lost it again.”

“What are you talking about?” The fake smile was gone.

“The one you dropped when my cat broke the chain.” A rushed whisper of explanation.

“That’s crazy.” Trent shook his head, and the greasy locks fell back over his forehead.

“Ms. Colwin?” a voice called out. The rumpled detective was standing on the stairs. “Is that you?”

She ignored him in her rush to explain.“I thought maybe you didn’t care that much. I mean, it looks like an expensive piece, but maybe—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trent’s hand went to the neckline of his dirty sweatshirt and pulled out a chain. “I have it. I took it with me—you saw that. I only had to put it on a different chain.”

“Rebecca Colwin?” The detective again.

Clara could only look on in sympathy as Becca stared in mute horror at the amulet in Trent’s hand. “See?”

Chapter 37

“This makes no sense.” Three minutes later, Becca was still rooted to the spot by the impossibility of what she had seen. Trent, whose confidence began to crumble as more uniforms strolled by, had taken off with a brittle giggle and a promise to be in touch. By then, the rumpled detective had finished his smoke and returned inside.

Only after one of those passing officers had paused on the walk beside Becca, turning as if to question her, did she move on. Even then, she could have been sleepwalking, her mind reeling with confusion. It was all too much, and when she rounded the corner, she leaned back against a brick wall, closing her eyes as she slid to the ground, desperate to gather her thoughts.

“Miss, are you all right?” a bearded stranger, his panting Labrador looking on placidly, asked with concern.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Becca bounced back to her feet but could only produce a feeble attempt at a smile. “I’ve just had a shock.”

“Do you have a friend you can call?” The good Samaritan looked ready to move along. “Someone you can talk to?”

She had held the amulet in her hand. Maddy had seen it. It didn’t make sense. Unfortunately, what did make sense was Trent’s appearance, here at the police station. The warlock had been called back—she didn’t buy his story about volunteering for a second—and he’d just as clearly been questioned about his finances. That meant somebody had made a call. Maybe Ande had said something. Only, Kathy had said that Ande was out to get Trent. Which seemed odd in that Ande had been so reluctant to come forward, despite Becca’s urging—and despite her knowing that the group’s bank account had been plundered. Was this all connected somehow? Was Ande behind it all—or Larissa, with her money? Suzanne had wanted to talk to Becca about the group’s finances. She, not Ande, had been alarmed about the money going missing. But before she could explain, she’d been killed.

“I’m not sure,” said Becca to the concerned stranger, and then she got up and walked away.

***

“Ande? Please call me back.” Becca had been calling as she walked, pacing the city streets like an anxious cat. With each new voice message, she’d become more annoyed—and more certain that everything was indeed interconnected. Yes, Ande had been the one to note the financial disparities. She’d also been the one to downplay them—only a few thousand, she had said—to Becca and, possibly, to Suzanne as well. But if she couldn’t reach the wiccan accountant, she was going to have to tell the police detective all she knew. Only, she was hoping to have a little more information beforeshe bearded that particular rumpled lion in his den.

“Ande, if I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to tell the cops everything. I have to.” Even as she spoke, she had another thought. “And, I’m sorry. I know you told me stuff in confidence, but I’m going to tell them about Larissa too.” She paused. “Please, call me.”

It wasn’t merely that she didn’t want to betray Ande’s trust. The idea of crossing the older woman by herself was scary. Larissa liked to be in control, and she certainly wouldn’t want to hear that her finances had been discussed—by the coven’s resident accountant no less. Still, whatever was going on with the older woman’s investment into their little group, it was looking more and more like it was connected to Suzanne’s murder. And the fact that Becca had been asked to talk to the police once more gave her reason—and license, Becca figured—to seek some answers. After all, she couldn’t avoid going into the precinct for much longer.

Phone in hand, she continued walking—not back home, as Clara had hoped, but toward the riverfront tower where Larissa had her condo. The shadows had grown longer by then, as the afternoon progressed with more calls and more messages left. While this made Clara’s path easier, it didn’t mean she worried less. Becca should be withdrawing from conflict. Heading home to where her sisters waited, Clara thought. Instead, she was marching toward a confrontation.

Half a block away, she was stopped by the sound of her phone.

“Becca?” Ande’s voice rang out from the little device. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I’ve been crazy busy.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for getting back to me.” Becca paused and turned away from the glass-fronted tower, as if those windows were eyes that could see her here, out on the walk. “I’m sorry—I’ll get right to it. Did you talk to the police?”

“Excuse me?” Ande’s confusion sounded real, but Clara crept closer to hear what she could.

“The police,” Becca repeated. “Did you tell them what you told me about the coven’s finances—or maybe they’re really Larissa’s?” Becca stared up at a tree, as if the details of that earlier conversation could be found in the new leaves. “And did you say anything about Trent?”

“Trent? No. Look, all I know is that Suzanne said she’d found something,” Ande corrected her. “That last night we were all together, before the meeting. I don’t know if she really did, poor thing. But why are you harping on this? Surely, a couple of grand one way or another isn’t motivefor murder.”

Becca’s mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. Clara knew why. Most cats wouldn’t understand the ins and out of finance, and, in truth, Clara couldn’t have balanced a checkbook if her kibble depended on it. But she did understand how carefully her person was watching her pennies. Yes, she suspected, to some people a few thousand dollars might be motive—and it seemed quite apparent that Becca was thinking along the same lines.

“It’s not me who’s doing the asking,” she said at last. Ande probably couldn’t hear the dying note in Becca’s voice—part sad, part rueful—but Clara could. The woman on the other end of the line couldn’t miss the urgency with which Becca repeated her initial question, though. “What did you tell the police, Ande?”

“I didn’t tell them anything,” her friend insisted. “I haven’t spoken to them. I’m sorry, I know I said I would, but I haven’t had time.”

“You haven’t had time?”

“I’ve been—look, it’s not just work, Becca. I’ve got other obligations to other friends.” The other woman was beginning to get defensive. “I want them to catch whoever did it. But I don’t think I’ve got some great insight into what happened. It’s not like Suzanne and I were close. I mean, outside the coven. I didn’t even know she’d gone out with Trent before I did—that is, before she met her new guy.”

Jeff. Becca winced.“Yeah, well, the police are looking into it—and they want to talk to me again. I need to make sure they have all the facts.” Becca turned to take in the modern tower. Inside the glass foyer, the light flickered. An elevator opened, and a swirl of color stepped into the lobby. “I’m going to make Larissa tell me what’s going on. I know she doesn’t like to talk about money, but this is serious.”

***

Inside the lobby, another figure appeared. A man in jeans and white shirt rose and greeted the colorful arrival.

“Please don’t.” A note of anxiety—or could it be fear? “Becca, you know how private she is. I don’t want her to be angry at me for speaking out of turn, not to mention that she did kind of consult with me in my professional capacity.”

“I’m sorry, Ande. Look, I ran into Larissa when I went to the records room at city hall, and she wouldn’t tell me what she was working on. I’ll try to make it sound like I’m following up on that. I’m sick of all the secrets.” Becca turned away as the doors opened, discharging the woman and her waiting date. “They need to know if someone was embezzling—”

“Wait, what?” Ande interrupted. “Becca, I never said—”

“Look, I’ve got to go—and I’m sorry.” Becca dropped her voice, cupping her phone in her hand as the couple’s laughter got closer. “Just—you should know—I’ve also been hearing things. Like, that you were maybe trying to frame Trent.”

“Me? Trent?” Ande’s voice squeaked as Becca looked up in time to see the bearded warlock himself, showered and dressed once more in his usual open-necked shirt, escorting a laughing Larissa down the walk.

Chapter 38

“Maddy, there’s something going on here.” Becca made her next call to her friend, hitting the number even as she emerged from her hiding place behind a hedge. “Ande says she hasn’t talked to the police yet. And Trent and Larissa are definitely a couple.”

“Becca, do you hear yourself?” Her friend was leaving work. Becca could hear the traffic noise as she neared the T. “A woman was murdered, and you’re playing detective?”

“I’m not playing.” Becca stopped herself and pulled a bit of boxwood from her hair. “Maddy, the police want to talk to me again. They’ve been calling, and everybody knows I’m out of work and I need money—and that Jeff dumped me for Suzanne.” Before her friend could interject, she rushed on. “Someone’s been talking to the police, and I’m worried that they’re not getting the full story. I’ll go in and talk to them, I promise. But I want to figure out what’s going on first. I only came over here to talk to Larissa, and now…seeing her with Trent…”

Maddy snorted.“Well, at least I know why Reynolds is always in such a mood. I can’t imagine he’s thrilled with how his ex is spending his money.”

“Maddy, that’s not fair.” Becca felt a little bad that she’d texted Nathan’s revelation to her friend the night before. She’d been so overjoyed to find out that the handsome painter was neither job competition nor Larissa’s love interest that she’d probably revealed more than she meant to. Now Ande’s words came back to her. “You never know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship.”

Another snort.“Maybe not in theirs—but that Trent? Oh, come on.”

Becca bit her lip. Maddy was touching on the conclusion that she herself had reached.“There’s also—Maddy, I don’t think I told you, but I spoke with Jeff—”

“Oh, Becca!”

“No, we’re not getting back together—don’t worry about that. Only he brought up that Suzanne had thought someone was stalking her again. He thought it was me, but she’d also gone out with Trent and she had a necklace that she loved but that she never wanted to wear when she came to the group.”

“That coven of yours…” Her friend’s censure chilled the phone line. “And this is the guy you went out with too?”

“I didn’t really.” Becca caught herself. “Okay, maybe I did, but he’s been out with everyone. Ande as well as Suzanne, and I think Kathy has a crush on him too. Only seeing him with Larissa makes me wonder.”

“Becca, you’re not making sense.”

“I am!” Becca insisted. “She had this necklace—a crystal teardrop. I think Trent gave it to her, and that Larissa knew.” The image of her colleague, lying lifeless on the floor, came back—the horror of it. The streak of blood already growing dark. The knife protruding from Suzanne’s bare throat. “Maddy, I think the killer took the necklace.”

“Please, Becca,” her friend entreated. “This is a job for the police. You need to stop this—you need to tell them everything that’s going on.”

“I can’t, Maddy—not just yet. They must already think I’m involved, or else why would they be asking me to come in again? And, well, I don’t know, do I? Maybe she’d just taken it off. And the whole thing could be totally innocent.”

“Yeah? Well, who killed her, then?”

Becca didn’t have an answer for that one, and her friend knew it.

“I’m sorry, kiddo.” Maddy was fading as she descended into the subway. “Look, I’ll go with you tomorrow, first thing before work, okay? And tonight—do you want to come over? We can watch a movie or something.”

“I’d love to.” Relief suffused Becca’s voice, and for the first time since she’d left the house, Clara relaxed. “Oh, but, no, I can’t.”

Clara’s ears pricked up. As, it seemed, did Maddy’s. “No? Not another date?”

“Oh, I wish.” Exhaustion—or exasperation—drained the life out of Becca’s voice. “I can’t believe I forgot, Maddy. And now it’s too late to cancel.”

Silence on the line. Then,“Becca?”

“The coven is meeting tonight, Maddy! That must be where Larissa and Trent were heading, and I’ve got to rush home and clean up.”

***

In truth, Becca had over an hour before the group was scheduled to convene. That left her plenty of time to get home and pick up what was generally a fairly neat apartment. True, Laurel and Harriet had been bored in her absence, and had made their point by knocking several small objects off the bookshelf. The point, Laurel said, was to keep Becca busy while they debriefed Clara, a task for which the sealpoint feline seemed to have more enthusiasm than their oldest sister, who had made herself scarce.

“Can’t this wait?” Clara looked on in sympathy as Becca frantically rushed around, picking up pens and paperweights.“Becca is in a tizzy.”

“How do you think we felt?” Laurel’s ears flicked backward, revealing a bit of temper.“You run out to talk to the police, and we don’t hear from you for hours.”

“I know, but we never got there.”

Becca was on her hands and knees, looking under the sofa. Searching once more, Clara realized, for the amulet.

“She ran into that Trent, and he showed her that he still has his pendant,”she explained.

“Good.” Harriet had ambled in from her nap.“Then I can make another. So you owe me a treat!”

It was useless. Clara’s spirits sunk, as did her tail, and she turned from her sisters to watch her person’s frenzied quest.

“Listen up!”A sharp slap to the side of her head brought her back. Laurel, her blue eyes blazing.“You act like you’re the only one who cares, but we want to do what’s best for her too. But you’ve got to tell us what you know—and quickly too! Those cookie eaters are on their way.”

“Cookie eaters?” Harriet looked toward the door.

“Harriet, focus!” Clara looked from one sister to another. She’d never heard Laurel speak this way, not to Harriet. Even the big marmalade seemed somewhat taken aback and sat blinking under that blue glare.

“I know I’ve been a bit lax.” Laurel had the grace to dip her head. Cats see a direct stare as an offensive move, and once she had their attention, the middle sister seemed ready to shift into a conciliatory fashion.“This has been a comfortable perch. But you do know our family history, don’t you?”

Harriet blinked and turned to Clara, who tilted her head inquisitively.“I know we have a duty to our people and that we come from a long line of witch cats.”

“And what happens when we don’t pay attention?”Laurel’s tone had become a bit schoolmarmish—only with an edge that worried Clara and set her spine tingling.“What happens when we aren’t careful?”

“We don’t get treats?” Harriet offered the most serious punishment she could imagine.

“Our people—the women we are bound to serve—are taken as witches in our place.”Laurel was practically hissing.“They’re taken away away and burned.”

“They don’t do that anymore.” Harriet looked to Clara for support.“Do they?”

“I don’t think so.” Clara wracked her brain. She hadn’t heard of anything like that.“But the police haven’t been very kind to our Becca,” she added, her soft mew growing more thoughtful.“And she’s worried that they do suspect her of something. They do keep calling.”

“You see?” Laurel said, turning.“Tails and whiskers up!” And just then, the doorbell rang.

***

“Hey, Marcia. Come in.” Becca did a good job of hiding her disappointment, but Clara heard it in her voice, in the dying fall as she opened the door for the first arrival. “Oh, is that a cake?”

“Banana bread.” Marcia looked around, her large eyes widening dramatically. “What’s up with your cats?”

Clara turned. Harriet and Laurel were both staring at the diminutive woman, and even a human must have been able to feel the suspicion—and, in Harriet’s case, hunger—in their gaze.

“I was out for a lot of the day.” Becca was improvising. “I think they were lonely.”

“Okay, then.” Marcia gave the sisters a wide berth as she passed into the apartment. “I’m the first one here?”

“Yes.” Becca ran past her to replace the sofa cushions, which she’d piled on the table. “Sorry, I was…I was doing a little cleaning. Shall I take that?”

“Sure.” Marcia leaned in slightly, and Clara had the distinct impression that the shorter woman was about to confide. Only just then, the doorbell rang again. “Never mind. I’m going to get a knife.”

“Becca, I’ve been thinking.” Ande stepped in before her host could say anything. “Maybe she was down at city hall because she’s filing a suit for fraud?”

“Who was?” Marcia emerged from the kitchen with a bread knife—and the obvious question for a paralegal. “What’s the suit?”

“Oh.” Ande blinked, at a loss for an answer.

“It’s nothing,” Becca covered. “I was doing research on something, and I ran into a roadblock. I think someone was trying to keep some information private.”

“Who’s the claimant? Of course, I don’t know if anyone could keep a fraud suit private,” Marcia opined as she sliced. “We deal with those all the time, and it really depends if it’s criminal or civil—and that can get complicated. It’s not like a bankruptcy, where you can get the records sealed like that.”

As Marcia snapped her fingers, the doorbell rang again, and when Clara saw Larissa in the doorway, she looked over at Laurel. If only her sister would use her powers of suggestion to change the subject. Laurel, however, had had enough of the doorbell and retreated to the sofa. Harriet, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen.

“Darling, so nice to see you again.” Luckily, Larissa was as self-involved as usual. “I trust you were able to get your work done?” She took Becca’s arm as she entered, almost spinning her around. “I was working on a little project of my own, you see.” As she leaned in, Clara got a whiff of patchouli that almost made her dizzy. “I might have good news for you later, but let’s not share anything yet. Are we agreed?”

Becca tried to step back, but the older woman held her tight.“Yes, I would like to talk later,” she said, peering over her shoulder. “I have some questions too.”

“Yes, yes, later.” Larissa was already moving on, releasing her and progressing into the living room, as Kathy came to the door.

“Is Trent here?” She looked around.

“Sorry.” Marcia’s voice had an edge in it that made Becca turn. Before she could say anything, the bell rang again. Their warlock had arrived.

***

An hour later, the banana bread was gone and Becca, as well as her cats, were more than ready for the convocation to be over. Becca was too polite to rush anyone, of course, but the usual rituals simply grated this night and she had felt a headache coming on as soon as the group was seated, though that could have been because of the patchouli. The cats were less patient, particularly once the treats had been eaten. All three had been staring at the coven members with a concentration that no sensitive human should have missed.

But if Becca had hoped to move things along—and to be able to corner Larissa—she was out of luck.

“I was thinking,” said Marcia during a pause in the readings. “Maybe it would be good to go around and speak of Suzanne. I feel like maybe I wasn’t as somber as I should have been during the memorial, and I want to explain—and give her the proper respect.”

Ande, on her left, squeezed her hand, murmuring something about it all being understandable. But Larissa seemed to hear the proposal as a challenge.

“Excellent suggestion, my dear.” She tossed her hair for emphasis, and then held forth for a good fifteen minutes about the “promise” she had seen in the young woman.

Ande kept her tribute shorter, and Kathy basically passed.“I didn’t really know her,” she said. “I only ever saw her here.” When Trent began to expound—something about inner beauty and manifestations of the goddess—Becca winced.

“Trent, darling.” Larissa must have noticed her hostess’s pained expression, Clara thought. Either that, or Laurel’s powers were finally having an effect. “Do you think we could possibly move on to the final benediction?”

“But I didn’t—I mean, I’d like to make an announcement first,” said Marcia, turning from the goateed warlock to address the rest of the table. “That is, if Becca doesn’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Becca managed a smile. Her headache was getting worse.

“Thanks.” Marcia’s voice was warm, at least. “First, I’d like to thank Becca for having us. Luz and I were wondering if perhaps this was too soon. Especially for Becca.” She held up a hand to stop Larissa before she could complain. “Becca was the person who found our departed sister, after all.”

“We are all grateful, Becca,” Trent broke in. “Aren’t we? I was just saying—”

It was too much.“I’m sorry.” Becca stood. “Trent, Marcia, can this wait? I feel like my head’s about to split open.”

Ande rose and followed her into the kitchen, where she filled a glass with water.

“It’s the stress,” said Ande, pressing the glass into Becca’s hand. “I mean, the police and all.”

“Police?” Larissa came in as Becca drank, stinky teapot in hand. “You were talking to the police again?”

“I was supposed to.” Becca leaned back against the sink, felled by the combined stench of that brew and Larissa’s perfume. She had no more energy to dissemble. “They called me back. Trent too.”

“Well, I’m sure it was nothing.” Larissa raised her arms, her sleeves flapping like wings as she shooed the other coven member back into the living room. “Now, Ande, why don’t we give her some space?”

“I don’t need space.” Becca sounded so tired, Clara wished she could simply rest. “I need answers.”

Marcia peeked in, only to be dismissed with a wave of Larissa’s hand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The older woman’s volume had sunk dramatically.

“Yes, you do.”

Clara watched, transfixed. She’d never seen her person so serious.

“Clara! They’re scattering!” Laurel’s yowl carried from the living room. Larissa started, her eyes going wide.

“That’s just my cat.” Becca brought her attention back. “Larissa, I get it. You were trying to have the records sealed. The bankruptcy records. It all makes sense.”

“What? No.” Another yowl, and Clara resisted the urge to respond. Couldn’t her sisters take care of anything?

“Are you okay?” Ande stuck her head back in, nearly stepping on Clara’s tail. “Otherwise, I’m going to head out.”

“Everything is fine,” Larissa hissed, and Ande withdrew, as if the older woman had indeed been a snake.

“Larissa, it’s over.” Becca looked up at the older woman, trying to see the person beneath the mascara and the scarves. Clara could hear Ande and Marcia talking softly in the living room. “I know that you’ve been keeping Trent—and that you’re overdrawn.” The older woman’s mouth dropped open. “That’s what you and your ex were arguing about, wasn’t it? Just tell me one thing, Larissa. Did you kill Suzanne because she and Trent were involved, or because she found out your little secret?”

“That’s crazy.” Chin high, Larissa dismissed the idea.

Becca, however, was not cowed.“The records room?”

A sniff.

“You couldn’t turn him down.” Becca thought back to what Jeff had said about “bad juju.” What Maddy had overheard at the office, and the laughing couple she herself had seen earlier that evening. “You were obsessed with him, and so you were trying to have your bankruptcy records sealed,so nobody would know how much you’ve been giving Trent.”

“I wasnotlooking to have any financial records sealed. Not that it’s any of your business.” Her mouth closed so tight, the lines showed her age.

“I’m sure the police will disagree…”

“It was my divorce proceedings, if you must know.” Larissa spat out the words. “I knew you were poking about, and I didn’t want anyone finding out about Graham, and about, well, you know…”

“Your adult son, Nathan?” Becca’s brows went up. “The police still have motive. Suzanne was involved with Trent, and you know it.”

“So what?” A toss of the hair, but not a denial.

“You were jealous,” said Becca. “She was pretty—and younger. Maybe you didn’t mean to kill her when you lashed out. Obsession can be dangerous.”

To her surprise, the older woman laughed.“Obsessed? Are you kidding? Was my little fancy supposed to make me lash out?”

“Who’s lashing out?” Trent walked in. “And what are you two still doing in here? I thought we were leaving, Larissa. Is everything all right?”

“It’s fine.” Larissa brooked no argument.

“No, it’s not.” Becca lifted her heavy head to take in Trent. “Larissa found out about Suzanne. She saw the pendant you’d given her—here, when Suzanne wore it by mistake. The crystal teardrop.”

“What? No.” Trent giggled, a high, nervous sound. “That’s crazy. I would never—”

“That’s why you went to Suzanne’s, wasn’t it?”

The warlock blinked as if he’d been slapped. “No, I—no,” he stammered, the color leaving his face.

Becca’s voice was flat. But even exhausted, she was relentless. “You wanted that necklace back, before it cost you your place.”

“Suzanne liked that crystal better than she did me.” His whisper was barely perceptible. “She said it was more real.”

Becca ignored him.“You’re lucky the parking meter alibi’d you, but you must have wondered. That’s why you ran to Larissa as soon as the police had released you. Why she was the first person to call me—even before my mother. She wanted to find out what I knew. What I’d figured out.”

“I didn’t think Larissa had hurt Suzanne.” Trent was growing desperate. “I never thought …”

A beringed hand flicked the back of his head.

“Oh, stuff it, Trent,” Larissa cut him off, then turned back to Becca. “I knew about Suzanne. Just as I knew about his fling with Ande and his little flirtation with you. Those dalliances mean nothing. He always comes back to me.”

Trent’s mouth opened and closed, like a beached fish, but neither of the women were watching.

“You can’t prove that.” Becca considered, and for the first time, Clara heard doubt in her voice.

“As a matter of fact.” Larissa beckoned and Trent stepped toward her, his face unreadable. With one long claw, she hooked the chain around his neck and pulled it forward, forcing him to bend. Taking the amulet between two fingers, she briefly examined it—flipping it over to its backside before holding it out to Becca. “Read,” she commanded.

“Love renewed,” Becca read aloud, “under the Flower Moon.” The inscription ended with the date of the coven meeting—the Wednesday before Suzanne’s murder.

“What was that?”As Becca stood silent, trying to make sense of what she’d read, Clara turned to Harriet for an answer. The calico didn’t need to remind her sister that this inscription hadn’t been duplicated on her summoned facsimile.

“I didn’t see any words when I grabbed it.”Harriet blinked.“Besides, who cares about words? I wanted the pretty shininess of it.”

“Trent’s a boy.” Larissa addressed the stunned Becca, as if the man she was referring to weren’t there. As if she wasn’t holding him, literally, on a chain. “But he’s a good boy. He knows who owns him.”

“What’s going on here?” Marcia poked her head in, her Sox cap already in place. “I thought we needed to get going.”

“Just cleaning up.” Trent pulled back as Larissa released him. His voice was unnaturally high, and the shorter woman looked at him, puzzled. Turning his back on his mistress, he moved toward Marcia, the fingertips of one hand playing down her arm. “But we’re about done, if you want to get out of here, Marcia.”

Only Clara and Harriet could see the leer on his face, but surely Becca could hear the insinuation in his voice.“In fact, Marcia.” His voice sank to its sexy lower register. “I’ve been wondering if you’d ever thought of spending some time with me.” He moved to usher her out of the kitchen, his voice like warm honey. “You’ve got the darkest eyes…”

Clara glanced back at Becca, concerned. Her person had once been interested in this man not that long before.

“Gross.” Marcia’s retort broke through his murmurings. “Just…no, Trent. No. Are you clueless?”

She stepped back. Away to face him. Even Ande, who’d been fussing with her bag, was looking at her now.

“I never got to make my announcement.” Exasperation gave Marcia’s voice an edge. “Luz and I are getting married. We wanted to invite the coven to our ceremony. Maybe even have a hand-fasting or something. But forget it. You’re gross, you…you second-rate lothario.”

As she turned away, Trent burst into tears.

All hell broke loose after that. Larissa pushed by Becca to cradle the crying man in her bosom, and Harriet and Clara had to scurry to avoid being stepped on. Ande stood, transfixed, as Marcia stormed out of the apartment, without even taking her loaf pan. Becca, meanwhile, just sank into a kitchen chair and put her head down on her folded arms.

It was up to Clara to make sense of the scene: Trent, Marcia, even Ande were accounted for, and Larissa had faced Becca’s accusation unfazed. Still, something was wrong. She’d been so sure that Becca had uncovered a hidden truth. She looked around.“Where’s Kathy?” she asked her oldest sister.

“Here!” Another howl came out of Becca’s bedroom, and the cats ran to their litter mate, who was staring at a closed door.“She’s in there,”Laurel explained.

“Enough of that!” Harriet threw her bulk against the door and they all heard the gasp of the startled young woman as the big marmalade tumbled into the bathroom.

“She’s going to throw her out.”Clara turned to Laurel.

“This is my house!” Harriet grumbled, her aggrieved mew echoing on the tile.“Besides, this is what cats do!”

Clara looked back toward the kitchen. Becca still hadn’t emerged, and her pet was growing concerned.

“Hey, what the…?”

Laurel’s ears pricked up and she nosed the door. Clara joined her and soon they were all inside the tiny room with the young woman who was, Clara noted, fully dressed. Ignoring the two cats who had just barged in to join their sister, she was kneeling by the toilet paper roll, as if changing it. Only she seemed to be fussing more than Becca ever had.

“What’s she doing?”Laurel asked her older sister.

“She’s got something.”Harriet craned to look. But by then Kathy was washing her hands and had stepped back into the bedroom.“Something shiny…”

Standing on her hind legs, Harriet knocked the roll off its perch—and as the paper unfurled, something clattered to the tile floor. Clara gasped as it glittered and rolled, making a wide arc that stopped at her front paws. Clear as water, with a silver clasp at one end—it was Suzanne’s crystal teardrop. The one she’d been wearing the last time she’d been here.

“Hello?” Kathy was still in the bedroom. Clara’s ear flicked back to catch what she was saying. “Cambridge police? I can’t talk for long, but I think Rebecca Colwin is involved in the murder of Suzanne Liddle. I just found something that belonged to the victim in her apartment, and I’m now in fear for my life.”

Chapter 39

The three cats glared at each other. This was exactly what Laurel had warned them about. What Clara had feared, without understanding how it could come to be. An anonymous tip, and in the living room, Kathy was now urging Ande to leave. Larissa could be heard clunking down the stairwell, giving Trent directions as she led him out to the street.

“Let’s let poor Becca be,” Kathy was saying as she ushered Ande toward the door.

“What can we do?” Clara looked at her sisters.

“I have to make her wonder about Kathy…” Laurel began to concentrate, a furrow appearing in her caf? au lait brow. Ande, meanwhile, was calling out her farewell. Clearly, Becca was not seeing her friends out.

“She’s getting away.”Clara was panicking.“The police are going to find that thing. And Becca is just sitting there.”

“Not on my watch,” said Harriet, and with that she nosed the crystal teardrop and with one quick dab of her tongue, slurped it up.

“Harriet!”Clara bounced back in surprise.“What did you do?”

“No evidence, no worries, right?”The fluffy marmalade licked her chops.

“But—are you going to be all right?”

“I think so.” Harriet hiccupped, lifting one paw as if to cover her mouth. In the hall, they could hear Ande asking Kathy to wait.

“Becca, you okay?” Ande called to their hostess.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Becca roused herself and headed toward the door, where Kathy was visibly fidgeting.

“Poor guy.” Ande was chuckling a bit as Clara emerged from the bedroom. “I told you, you never know what’s going on in anyone else’s relationship.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Becca gave the taller woman a quick peck on the cheek. “I hope Marcia doesn’t give up on the rest of us. I mean, she’s the only one—sorry.” That was for Kathy, who was staring at the closed door as if she, too, were a cat.

Ande reached for the knob.“I hope you feel better,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

“Kathy, do you have a moment?” Becca stopped the redhead as she would have followed. “I just…I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

“Well, I—” Visibly torn, the other woman stepped back into the apartment. “Sure.”

“I was hoping you could clear something up.” Becca looked puzzled as she wandered back toward the kitchen, picking up the stacked plates on her way, Clara in tow. Harriet, of course, came trotting along too. Her older sister really had earned her treats tonight.

But first the dishes. As all three cats lined up to watch, Becca fussed with a sponge.

“What’s up?” Kathy was fidgeting. “’Cause I should be off too. And you really should get some rest.”

Becca squirted soap on the dish pile and stared at the translucent bubbles that formed as if they held the key to everything.“I was wondering about something,” she said. “You knew that Suzanne was working for Reynolds—for Larissa’s ex.”

“I did?” A shrug. Beneath her freckles, the redhead’s cheeks had gone pale.

“Yes.” Becca nodded as she reviewed some internal script. “I’m sure of it. You said something about me ‘stepping into Suzanne’s shoes’ when I went to interview with Reynolds.”

Another shrug as Kathy eyed the door.

“But you denied knowing her outside of the coven just now.”

Kathy’s mouth went wide. “I was—you had a headache—and—”

Without waiting for her to finish, Becca kept talking.“And what’s going on with you and Ande?”

“Me and…Ande?” Kathy swallowed hard.

“Yeah, you seem really down on her.” She raised her voice to be heard as she ran the water. “You were the one who first told me she went out with Trent, but recently you’ve been talking about her setting him up. It almost sounds like you want me to suspect her—and now you’re all friendly again. Did you two have a falling out?”

“No.” The younger woman barked the word with scorn. “It’sMarcia who’s got the problem. I mean, lashing out at Trent like that?”

Becca turned and regarded her curiously, then started on the mugs.

“I kind of think Marcia had a point.” She sounded thoughtful as she squeezed out her sponge. “And, well, I guess this means you were wrong about her wanting to go out with Trent.”

“Well, I picked up that she had something against him,” Kathy blustered. “I was right about that!”

Becca didn’t respond. Instead, she kept talking as she added more soap. “Come to think of it, Marcia was the one who told me that Suzanne wanted to do a casting out—that there was a problem in the coven. When I brought that up, you pointed out that Suzanne was going to blow the whistle about the coven finances.” She could have been talking to the dishes, but Clara’s ears pricked forward. “You said that Ande had told her someone was embezzling, but Ande didn’t say that. She knew the numbers were off by a few grand, but she assumed Larissa had been sloppy.”

Kathy forced out a laugh that sounded a lot harsher than her usual giggle and stepped closer to the counter, where the loaf pan sat.

“Ande thought a few grand would be small change to Larissa, and when Larissa didn’t say anything about malfeasance, she figured she was right. But, of course, Larissa wouldn’t have complained. She was protecting Trent.” Becca was shaking her head. “And Suzanne never got a chance to tell me what—or who—she suspected. I’ve been trying to figure it out, and it seems that the only person who you haven’t cast aspersions on is the one person who probably did make off with some of the coven money: Trent.”

As Clara looked on in horror, Kathy reached toward the pan—and past it, for the bread knife that Marcia had used to cut the sweet loaf.

“Do something!”The cry came out as high and plaintive mew.

“Hang on, kitties.” Becca was up to her elbows in suds. “You’ll get your treats. Kathy, can you grab that little canister?”

“Yeah, sure.” But the other woman was holding the knife, not the cat treats, as she took a step closer.

“Until tonight, I kind of thought Larissa might have, well, done something.” Becca turned on the tap to rinse her hands. “Only—”

Clara opened her mouth to howl again, but stopped herself. If Becca turned now, without knowing what was going on…

A sudden pounding on the door did the trick. Both women turned.“Police!” A male voice, deep and insistent. “Open up!”

“Coming!” Becca reached for a dish towel as Kathy stepped back, sliding the knife back onto the counter. But even as Becca turned away from the sink, she stopped in horror. Harriet, front paws spread, was huffing, as if short of breath. Her stout body jerked once, twice, and then with a sound reminiscent of a stopped drain opening, she urped up the crystal teardrop.

“Kitty!” Ignoring the pounding that continued on the door, Becca knelt. With one hand on the plump marmalade, who sat up and licked her chops, she looked down at the little puddle—and the pendant lying there.

“What?” She reached for it, still kneeling. “Suzanne’s necklace?” And whether it was because of the accumulated evidence or that Laurel’s furious concentration had finally gotten through to her, she looked up, then, at Kathy. “Kathy?” Her voice was sad rather than angry. Solemn, rather than scared. “Why?”

The other woman only shook her head.“She was going to ruin him,” she said, as if her conclusion were obvious, her voice barely above a whisper. “She was going to ruin Trent! He’s special. You know how precious he is. She was going to expose him. Tell everybody that he was writing checks on Larissa’s account—taking her money to buy presents for his other little chippies.”

“Oh, Kathy.” Sorrow infused Becca’s voice. “She wouldn’t have ruined him. She couldn’t have. He and Larissa have an understanding. She’d have forgiven him. She already has.”

“Police!” The pounding more insistent. “We’re coming in!”

“Hang on!” Pendant in hand, Becca rose, heading toward the door. “I’m sorry, Kathy,” she said. She didn’t see the other woman reach once again for the knife.

“Becca!”Clara mewed one last time, but her soft cry was drowned out by the pounding on the door. Laurel, by then, was concentrating so hard her ears stood out sideways and her blue eyes crossed. Even Clara could feel the vibrations emanating from the determined seal point—urging Becca to turn. To look.

For a moment, Laurel’s thought bomb seemed to be working. Becca paused, as if confused, her hand on the front door even as the cops called out one more time. But it was too late. Kathy was coming up behind her, knife raised. So Clara, shading herself as quickly as she could, dashed in front of the onrushing woman, sending Kathy flying and the knife clattering down. And Harriet, who knew in her proud marmalade heart that she had done quite enough with her normal digestive processes, did not deign to provide a pillow and simply sat and watched as Kathy fell sprawling to the floor.

Chapter 40

What happened next was hectic, and—their jobs done—the cats did their best to scurry out of the way. With a gasp, Becca turned, having unlatched the door. Two uniformed officers pushed in.

“Are you all right, miss?” The first officer bent to help Kathy to her knees. “We received your call. Are you the victim of an assault?”

“Bruce, wait.” His partner nodded toward the knife, which was still spinning on the floor, just out of reach of the prone woman’s hand, and then to Becca, who was backing away in horror.

“Ma’am?” The second officer reached to support her as she collapsed against the wall. She looked up, stunned, then held out her open palm—revealing the crystal teardrop.

“This was Suzanne’s. It’s kind of sticky.” She apologized as a look of wonder came over here. “Did you—did I summon you?”

Clara closed her eyes, even as Laurel yowled in protest. Harriet, meanwhile, waddled over to the sofa, where she settled on her pillow, as proud as could be.

***

Twenty minutes later, the events of the last few minutes had been sorted. Becca still had the wet dishcloth in hand, and Kathy wasn’t even denying what she’d done.

Instead, as she was escorted down to the waiting cruiser, she seemed to be attempting a justification for her actions—from the murder of Suzanne to her attack on Becca.

“You don’t understand!” The redhead could be heard through the open window. “I did it for Trent.”

Her voice faded as the cruiser took her away. But as Becca turned back toward her dishes, a shadow fell across the floor. The rumpled detective stood in her open doorway, scowling.

“Ms. Colwin?”

Becca gasped, and the cats looked up.

“Detective Abrams!” She spoke quickly, before she, too, could be cuffed and escorted out. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you back!” Reacting to her agitation, Clara approached and circled, determined to do whatever was necessary to protect her person from this latest threat. “I got your messages, and I meant to get back to you, honest.”

“Excuse me?” The detective asked, a puzzled expression creasing his lined face further. “What are you talking about?”

“You, or your office, kept calling me and I never picked up. I knew I had more information, but I wanted…” Becca stopped, unsure of how to proceed. “I thought I could find out more. That is, before I came in.”

The edge of the detective’s mouth twitched. “Before you came in?”

“I never meant to evade justice.” Becca swallowed hard and stared in amazement as that twitch evolved from the ghost of a smile into a full-fledged grin. “I should have called back.”

“You mean, you should have responded to my secretary.” He nodded, as if suddenly everything had become clear. “Yes, you should have. She was getting desperate to reach you. We’ve had your hat for over a week now, and this beautiful spring weather can’t last forever.”

***

The resolution of the case was sad, but not surprising, and Becca kept her pets informed by reading aloud the daily updates in the news.

At first, Kathy, on the advice of her attorney, claimed self-defense. She argued that Suzanne had attacked her when she’d gone to talk to her about her “ridiculous” suspicions and that she’d simply wanted to reason with the other woman, whom she accused of slandering the man she described as their coven leader. It was a reasonable defense, Becca mused as she read. Although no eyewitness had placed her in the Cambridgeport walkup, a plethora of evidence—including, Becca read, smudged fingerprints on the cake knife—had already made her a suspect, and the district attorney had been in the process of building the case when she had called from Becca’s apartment.

“They could have said,” Becca muttered. Clara, for once, was grateful for her own inability to respond.

Of course, the fact that the redhead had lunged for Becca under a similar circumstance made that defense a little less plausible, and soon after, she had her lawyer claiming temporary insanity—and citing the hot-bed atmosphere of the coven and its unhealthy influence on its youngest member as a contributing factor.

That accusation more than anything else had served to bring the coven back together. Marcia forgave Trent his ill-timed pass, and the handsome warlock appeared to have recovered from his humiliating exposure. It helped that Larissa had given him a new gift—an intricate chain for his amulet.

But it wasn’t Trent, ultimately, who had prompted Suzanne’s request that last night. At least, that’s what Becca concluded.

“Suzanne wanted a casting out spell because of Kathy.” Becca had pieced it together in the intervening weeks. “She knew about Trent—about the money—but it was Kathy who was spreading rumors. Setting us all against each other. Suzanne might not have known who was stalking her. She certainly didn’t know how dangerous Kathy was, but she knew the coven ‘pet’ was a bad influence, and she wanted her gone.”

“Makes sense to me.” Ande had joined her friend over tea—mint, this time—to debrief her as the case unfolded. The accountant had been giving testimony about what she’d found in the coven’s accounts and had come over after the trial had adjourned for the day to find Becca and all three cats waiting for the latest.

“I didn’t know the half of it, but working for Reynolds, Suzanne must have figured out the connection,” Ande explained as the cats looked on. Laurel’s mouth opened slightly, taking in the tea’s aroma, while Harriet began to shift, eager for the talk to give way to eating. “She heard enough to know that Larissa was Reynolds’s ex and that she was desperate for money. Reynolds had been telling her in no uncertain terms that she had to get rid of her ‘boy toy’ before he’d give her any more. I guess Larissa was claiming that she’d been ripped off because she was embarrassed.”

Becca mulled that over as she waited for her tea to cool. The woman who had yanked her lover’s chain didn’t seem the type to embarrass easily. “Maybe she just thought she could get more money out of her ex that way?”

“Or maybe she really didn’t know how much Trent was taking, forging her checks and all?” Ande asked. “I should’ve known, the few times we went out. He definitely acted like he had something to prove.”

Becca kept silent, but from the slight rise in her color, Clara knew she was thinking of a misadventure on the sofa—and how the intercession of her cats may have saved her from a bigger mistake. To hide the blush—or maybe because of Laurel’s intense concentration—she broke off a piece of almond cookie and held it down for her cats to lick.

“So what are you wearing to Marcia and Luz’s wedding?” Ande was polite enough not to comment. Not even when Harriet body-checked Laurel out of the way.

“I don’t know.” Becca was grateful for the change in subject. “I’ve got to go shopping. I’ll tell you, though, it would be nice to have money again.”

“Reynolds owes you, big time.” Ande nodded. “I mean, I’m sure you’re great for the job—but you also helped keep Larissa out of prison.”

Becca’s color deepened as she broke another cookie for the cats. “I don’t think it would’ve come to that. Nobody really thought she’d done it.”

Her guest cracked a grin.“I don’t know. You thought so.”

Becca nodded, growing thoughtful again.“I even wondered if you were involved.”

“Well, yeah.” Ande’s smile widened. “I was so caught up in the wedding planning, I kind of missed that maybe it wasn’t the best time to be all secretive. So who are you bringing?” Ande’s smile widened. “The old guy or the new?”

Becca’s cheeks were flaming now. “He’s not my new guy.”

“You’re bringing the boss’s son! Excellent.” Ande pushed back from the table, startling the cats. “Anyway, it hasn’t all been nuptial—I really do have a load of work waiting for me. And you have to get ready for your new job.”

“Maybe.” Becca looked over at Clara, almost as if she could read the calico’s green eyes. “We’ll see.”

***

Despite Reynolds’s repeated entreaties, Becca kept stalling.

She needed some time, she said. She had her own research project to finish up. Even after repeated visits back to the city records hall and hours poring over documents, she still couldn’t understand exactly what she’d found. At night, she studied her copies and checked her notes, reading everything she could find about Rebecca Horne and her cat. Was it possible that a feline could have had legal standing in the early days of the Commonwealth?

What, she kept asking, was the relationship between her ancestor and her cat?

Neither Clara, Harriet, nor Laurel chose to enlighten her. On that, the three sisters were agreed. Their brief moment of solidarity had passed, otherwise, and by the time the high summer had come around, Harriet was once more ignoring her youngest sister, while Laurel had taken to teasing her.

“I’m the head of this family,” Harriet announced as she shoved her siblings.“Without me, we would have no more Becca to serve us.”

“You wish, chubby,” Laurel snarled, just a bit. Clara, who knew her middle sister was still self-conscious about being seen cross-eyed, kept quiet. She didn’t even interrupt when Laurel suggested a dress for the upcoming wedding. The slinky number might have been a daring choice for the young researcher, but Clara had to admit, Becca looked good in it.

***

As it was, Becca was running late the day of the ceremony, a midsummer hand-fasting down by the river. She’d spent the morning at the records hall, again, trying to track down another possible branch of her family when one of the clerks had interrupted her.

“Excuse me, are you Becca Colwin?”

She’d looked up to see a round face with round glasses that should have looked jolly but was instead tense with worry.

“I am.” She glanced at the papers before her. “Is there a problem?”

“Oh, not with your research. Not at all.” The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s only—I hear you’re the witch who solved that murder last month?”

“Well, I’m not sure.” Becca couldn’t hide her smile, though it had more to do with being recognized for her magic than for her role in exposing Suzanne’s killer.

“I have a friend who could use some help.” The other woman didn’t wait for Becca to explain. “She’s in trouble, you see. And, well, she needs someone who can draw on other powers…”

***

“I don’t know if anything will come of it.” She told Clara about it as soon as she got home. “I mean, I really haven’t done anything since the pillow.”

She shimmied into the dress as she spoke and looked at herself in the mirror.

“But even if the police were already building a case against poor Kathy, I did help.” She reached for a necklace and paused, looking at the beaded choker she’d chosen as if it reminded her of something else. “Besides, it would be nice to earn a living doing something I really care about.”She turned her head this way and that, letting the beads sparkle in the light. “Helping people with my magic—and my research skills too.”

Just then, Laurel came in, and suddenly, Becca was lifting her hair off her neck and reaching for a clip.

“Nice,” the seal point purred. Clara glanced over, but held her tongue. Becca did look good with her hair up. More sophisticated.

“What?” Harriet ambled in, in time to see Becca putting on her earrings.“No treats?”

“I don’t think you’d want to eat those,”Clara ribbed her sister as Becca rose and addressed the three of them.

“So, yeah, kitties, I think I’m going to turn down Reynolds’s offer after all, not that it wasn’t nice of him, and set out on my own. Becca Colwin, Witch Detective. Do you like the sound of that?”

“Oh no!” Clara protested, while Laurel’s ears went out sideways in consternation.

“Or, Colwin and Cats? Maybe that.” She turned one last time before the mirror and then smiled down at her flabbergasted pets.

“Now don’t you think for a minute I don’t know what’s on your minds,” she said as she reached for a pretty lace shawl. “Of course I’m giving you dinner before I go out. And, yes, Harriet, treats too.”

2. AN INCANTATION OF CATS

Chapter 1

Laurel always did like to pretend she knew best.

“Something’s not right with this girl,”the slender sealpoint sniffed, her chocolate brown nose quivering over the new client’s glitter-flecked sneakers. Keds high-tops that still smelled of glue, they provided the only touch of light in the visitor’s otherwise all-black outfit.“She’s trouble. I can tell.”

The newcomer, whose ragged raven bob matched her goth-style skinny jeans and oversized shirt, didn’t seem to notice the curious feline inspecting her sparkly feet as she sprawled on the sofa. Instead, she remained absorbed in her phone as she waited for Becca, the apartment’s human resident, to return.

Laurel’s two siblings, who had toys of their own, were not as oblivious.

“Well, of course!”Harriet, Laurel’s creamsicle older sister, didn’t even look up from her post on the windowsill, where she lay preening her lush coat.“If something wasn’t wrong, she wouldn’t be here.” The self-satisfied half-purr in her voice was barely muted as she reached to groom the orange patch that spread across her broad back.“That’s our Becca’s job, after all.”

“Hush, please.” Clara mewed softly from her seat on the dining table at the big room’s far end. The youngest of the three littermates, the plump calico was loath to interrupt her siblings. Although they were only minutes older, both Laurel, whose coloring revealed her paternal Siamese heritage, and the longhaired Harriet liked to assert their precedence.

As the felines murmured quietly among themselves, their conversation taking place in tones beneath those of human hearing, Becca had reappeared, balancing a loaded tray. The sweet-faced young woman was settling the tray on the low table by the comfy, if worn, sofa, and the little calico didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Here we go.” Becca, whose own brown curls most resembled Harriet’s lush fur, unloaded two mugs, a teapot, and a plate of cookies. “Peppermint tea,” she said, placing one mug before her distracted visitor. “It settles the nerves. And besides, it smells nice.”

“Thanks.” The black-clad newcomer didn’t look up as Becca poured the fragrant tea. “No, thanks,” she added, face down, as her host held out the cookies.

“Somethingis wrong with her!”Never one to turn down a treat of any kind, Harriet lumbered to her feet and launched herself onto the sofa, just as Becca replaced the untouched plate on the tray.“If she doesn’t want cookies, I don’t know if Becca can help her.”

“Sorry.” The thud of the marmalade cat landing next to her got the funereal newcomer’s attention, and she had the grace to apologize as she tucked her phone into her jeans, a sheepish grin making her look suddenly younger. Close to Becca’s own age of twenty-six—or about two-and-a-half catyears—thought Clara as she made her own, more subtle approach and sniffed the air. Something did smell off about the newcomer, something besides her somber attire on what was otherwise a bright autumn morning. As much as Clara didn’t want to admit it, Laurel might be right.

“No problem.” Unaware of her pet’s concern, Becca perched on the armchair that faced the couch, notepad open and pencil poised. “Gaia, you said? Gaia Linquist?”

A quick nod, her lips drawing in.

“Why don’t we start with what has brought you here today?”

The visitor exhaled noisily, staring down at the plate, eyes heavy with liner.Perhaps the cookies were to blame, Clara mused.Maybe the black-bedecked girl had an eating disorder she hoped Becca could help her with.Or maybe she was in mourning, the inky coloring all over her face signaling some kind of enchantment. Becca, the cat’s person, had started advertising her services as a witch detective only a few months prior, but what that actually meant was open to interpretation.Does she think Becca can counter a spell? Clara pondered this with growing alarm as her oldest sister edged closer to the tray.I hope Becca hasn’t promised that she can cast one.

Harriet licked the nearest cookie, her tongue darting out as quick as could be, but still the visitor didn’t react. When she finally looked up at Becca, the unpainted parts of her face were deadly pale. “I think someone wants to use the craft against me,” she said.

Even Harriet paused, pink tongue slightly visible as she and her sisters watched to see how their person would respond. Becca was a normal young woman, after all, despite Clara’s secret belief that her person’s diminutive stature hid a great spirit. But the good-natured brunette who opened their cans didn’t respond with the promise of remedial witchcraft, to the calico’s relief. Nor did she react with the kind of shock or horror or even disbelief that many of herpeers would. Although her eyebrows rose slightly, she continued to write.

“Very well,” she said to herself, before addressing her visitor once more. “And would you tell me how someone is attempting to use magic against you?”

With another nod, the young woman reached into another pocket, extracting a plastic bag that she held up for display.“This,” she said. “I found it in my mug.”

All three cats recoiled as the musty scent spread, and Laurel positively smirked. Becca, being more visually oriented than her pets, reached for the baggie and held it up to the light, examining the knobby root within.

“Do you know what this is?” Becca turned it around, examining it, as Clara forced herself to move closer. “It looks like ginger—or possibly ginseng?”

“I wish,” the visitor said with a dismissive snort. “It’s wolf’s bane. You know, monk’s hood? Aconite?”

“You’re sure?” Becca took in her visitor, though whether her eyes had widened in skepticism or alarm, her cat couldn’t tell.

“Of course. I’m studying to be an herbalist, and I know a poison when I see one.” The visitor clicked her tongue as if her profession were too obvious for words, showing off the glint of a tongue stud in the process. “I work at Charm and Cherish.”

“Of course.” Becca mused. Clara knew her person had visited the little shop outside Central Square. Most recently, she had emerged with the pretty blue stone pendant she wore now. But even though the little calico often tagged along after her person on her errands she rarely accompanied her inside. Packed to the rafters, literally, with “all things Wiccan,” the tiny storefront always smelled too strongly of strange dried plants and scented candles for the sensitive feline’s comfort. “I knew I recognized you…”

“That’s how I got your number,” her visitor went on. “I saw your notice on our community board. The one about ‘Witch Detective.’ I figure, if someone’s coming after me using the craft, you’re the one who can help.”

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 troublethe 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 weredescendants 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 caf? 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-fashionedbotanica, 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.

“Clarity, come to me…” Becca murmured to herself, before dousing the bundle. She’d learned the hard way how sensitive her smoke alarm could be. The faint incense that remained didn’t quite mask the stench of that root, not to a cat, and Clara considered joining her sisters in the bedroom.But when Becca settled into her meditative pose, Clara’s whiskers perked up. Her person couldn’t tell—not yet—but her brief break was about to be interrupted.

Not thirty seconds later, the doorbell rang.“What the…?” A startled Becca exclaimed, rising to her feet. “Hello?” She opened the door to a short, stout woman, old enough to be her mother, dressed in what looked like a vintage double-knit suit.

“You’re the witch detective, right?” The woman, whose wiry black hair came up to Becca’s nose, pushed in. “That’s what your flier says, right?”

“Yes. I’m Becca Colwin.” She stepped back, blinking. “May I help you?”

“I hope so.” The woman deposited two full shopping bags on the floor and turned to face her host. “I need your services—and fast! Someone has been stealing from me, and I have a good idea who the nasty little thief is.”

“Okay…” Becca drew out the word, a furrow of concern creasing her forehead. “Please, why don’t you have a seat and we’ll start at the beginning.”

“The beginning? I don’t even know when that was.” Despite her exasperation, the woman plopped onto the sofa, right in Harriet’s favorite spot.

“Would you like some tea?” Becca responded. “I find that it helps me think things through .”

A loud sigh was her only answer, and so under her calico’s watchful eye Becca began her usual routine, retreating to the kitchen to make tea as well as to give her visitor—and herself—a chance to gather her wits. If she took a bit longer brewing the tea—Becca didn’t always warm the teapot with boiling water before adding the mint blend she preferred—her pet approved. While neither Clara nor her sisters believed in training pets, they all understood that humans could be encouraged into more civil behavior with a few simple tricks.

Sure enough, by the time Becca had re-entered the living room, tray in hand, her latest visitor had settled down. Her mood, however, had not improved.

“What’s that?” She squinted at the pot, which Becca had left to steep.

“My special mixture.” Becca smiled as she answered, but then, seeing the scowl on the older woman’s face, tried again. “It’s a mint blend,” she explained. “Peppermint, mostly. All organic, and it has no caffeine.”

“Huh.” The visitor sniffed as she reached for a sugar cookie.

“So, I don’t believe you told me your name.” Becca pulled her yellow legal pad toward her. She hadn’t had a chance to put it away, so she flipped over to a fresh page as she took up her pencil.

“Margaret.” The woman looked at the cookie and then, apparently thinking better of it, put it down. “Margaret Cross.”

“Margaret Cross.” As Becca repeated the name, her pencil scratched across the paper with an intriguing noise that drew Laurel back into the living room.

“What’s going on?”She nuzzled her younger sibling. Becca, meanwhile, was asking her visitor to detail her complaint.

“Another client,”Clara murmured.“But something’s weird about her, too. Can you hear what’s on her mind?”

It was risky, asking Laurel to use her special powers. Vain about her own lustrous coat, the middle sister tended to focus on Becca’s looks—and her romantic prospects. Clara wasn’t sure what she’d make of another female, and an older, rather unkempt one at that.

Laurel must have picked up on some of her sister’s anxiety, because she turned to glare at the little calico and even showed a bit of fang.“Of course I can,” she growled.

“Sorry.”Clara dipped her head in a gesture of submission. Laurel, even more than Harriet, could be a stickler about status.

“What’s going on with your cats?” The wiry-haired woman was staring down at them, brows like angry caterpillars butting heads over her pronounced nose.

Becca bit her lip.“They’re littermates,” she said. “Sisters. They fight sometimes.”

“Sisters.” Her laugh sounded like a bark. “Tell me about it. Where were we?”

“You were telling me what you brought you here today.” Becca spoke with an exaggerated formality. It didn’t take Laurel’s sensitivity to know she felt somewhat uncomfortable with this newcomer and her singularly ungracious attitude. “I’d asked you to start at the beginning.”

“You could say my sister is behind it. Behind everything, usually.” The client, Margaret, shuffled slightly in her seat. Rather like Harriet did, thought Clara, when she was getting comfortable.“Or when she’s ready to tell a lie,” Laurel hissed, her voice barely audible even to her sister’s sensitive ears.

“A lie?” Clara turned toward her sister, intrigued, if a little disconcerted. Had her sister just read the calico’s own thoughts? But a brown paw batted away her question, as just then, the newcomer began to tell her tale.

“She’s the one who wanted to open the shop. She’s the one with the interest, but then she unloaded it on me.”

She glared at Becca as if her host were responsible. Becca, Clara was pleased to see, sat still and waited, much as she or her sisters would when stalking a mouse.

“She’s flighty like that,” the visitor started talking again. “I should’ve known it was a stupid idea. When she said ‘hire this girl,’ I should’ve known something was up, like maybe they’re in on it. But that makes no sense.” She paused, lips pursing like she’d bit into a lemon.

“Anyway, at first, I thought it was an error.” As she spoke, she picked up her mug. Becca had filled it with the fragrant tea, which would surely rinse the bad taste out of her mouth, her cat thought. But the sour-faced woman didn’t appear to even taste it. “You know, in retail, there’s always a little loss. The silver dollar given out instead of a quarter. The odd mistake in math.”

The mug went back down to the tray as she leaned forward.“Don’t get me wrong. I’m no pushover. I can’t afford the latest equipment, but I keep a calculator right by the register, and everyone is supposed to double-check their totals, especially if it’s a large order.”

Becca murmured something that could have been agreement. If she had other thoughts about busy clerks being asked to do the same tasks twice, she kept them to herself.

“I told the girl that she had to be careful. That I was going to start deducting from her paycheck if it kept up.” Another scowl, one not even a cookie could have sweetened. “Usually, that brings them back in line.”

Laurel tilted her head at that, but Clara was busy watching her person. Becca clearly wanted to respond to her visitor—or, at least, to her visitor’s ideas about management—but she kept quiet. Only her cat could see the strain in the skin around her lips. If she had whiskers they would be bristling.

“Then I realized it was following a pattern.” The client leaned forward again, but not for a cookie. “Every day, it was a little more. But it was never more than twenty bucks. Until this weekend, that is. Last night, Friday, when we closed, the total was fifty bucks off.”

“Fifty…” Becca jotted down the number. “And this has been going on for how long?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put up with it for that long. Three weeks, I’ve been aware of it.” The woman nodded to herself, setting her wiry hair bobbing. “So nearly five hundred bucks. Five hundred bucks!”

Becca’s eyes widened in surprise, though whether because of the older woman’s sudden vehemence or some other factor, her cat couldn’t tell.

In response, the woman scowled again.“That’s a lot to a small business owner like me.”

“I’m sure it is.” Becca rushed to reassure her potential client. “Do you have evidence you could share with me? Account books or surveillance tape?”

A huff of dismissal.“What do you think I am? The Pentagon? No, we’re a small business. I just know what I’m spending and what’s in the cash register at the end of the day.”

Becca took that in.“And you believe you know who the suspect is?”

“I do.” The woman sat back with a satisfied smirk. “It’s got to be the girl I hired. Gail—Gail Linquist.”

Becca jotted down the name and paused. But the question she asked wasn’t the one Clara expected. “And did you say you suspect your sister of collusion?”

“What? No.” Margaret waved her beringed hands like she was fanning away an odor. “Elizabeth’s nutty, but, no. I’m sure she’s not involved.”

Becca paused, pen in the air and a quizzical expression worthy of a cat on her face.“Then, Ms. Cross, may I ask what services you want from me?”

It was a reasonable question, but when Clara looked at her sealpoint sister in satisfaction, she saw Laurel’s nose quivering in concentration.

“I need you to catch her, of course.” The older woman spoke as if her objective was plain to see, her gruff voice ratcheting up in both tone and volume. “I want her punished, and I need you to figure out how she’s doing it and get the evidence. If you can catch her in the act, so much the better.”

Clara looked from her person to her sister. Surely, it wasn’t just the visitor’s volume that had set Laurel’s chocolate-brown ears back on her head.

“I understand that.” Becca spoke in that calming voice she used when the cats were upset, but Clara didn’t think she’d even noticed her pet’s distress. Indeed, she was looking down at her notes as she spoke, biting her lip like she was peeved at herself.

“And, believe me, I appreciate your interest, but I’m not sure I understand. You’re a small business owner and you believe one of your employees is, as they say, skimming off the top. This sounds like a matter for the police. Why did you come to me?”

“To you?” Finally unburdened, the visitor reached for a cookie. “I thought it would be obvious,” she said, taking a bite.

Becca waited, but Clara could feel her rising impatience.

“I figure you’ll blend in better than any fat old cop who comes snooping around,” the old woman said at last. “I own Charm and Cherish, where you hung your notice about being a witch detective. How do you think I found you?”

Chapter 3

“This is just too much of a coincidence,” Becca said as she washed her latest visitor’s mug. “Two clients, both with questionable cases, and they both know each other through Charm and Cherish?”

Clara, who sat at her feet, didn’t answer, but she was listening. Becca might not think her pets understood everything she said. Still, she’d gotten in the habit of talking to them. To Clara especially, the little cat knew. Which was why the calico remained in the kitchen, even after Laurel had retired for a nap and Harriet had harrumphed off in disgust once the cookies had been placed back in their tin. Something about her mixed-up coloring—the black patch over one eye, orange over the other—made her look approachable, Clara surmised as she gazed up at her person, green eyes wide.

“What do you think, Clara? Do you think something else is going on here? Some kind of personal vendetta? I swear you’d answer me if you could.”

The cat blinked, warmed by the acknowledgement.

Becca couldn’t know that her smallest cat was teased for her coloring—“Clara the calico? Clara the clown!”her sisters mocked—but if it made her person feel more comfortable confiding in her, she was content. Besides, her spotted coat, especially that whorl of gray on her side, made it easier for Clara to shade herself into near invisibility. This is the simplest cat magic, as anyone who has cohabited with a feline knows. But it was a skill at which Clara excelled, and one that proved particularly useful as Becca finished cleaning up and prepared to go out.

Although Becca had packed up her notes and slid her laptop into the messenger bag she usually carried, Clara knew she wasn’t heading to the library, her usual haunt, or even the city’s hall of records, where she did so much of her research. She had heard her call Maddy, her best friend, as soon as her second visitor had left. Clarification rituals were all well and good, but sometimes one needed to mull things over with a real person, she had explained to Clara as she donned her hat and coat. Saturday midday, that meant coffee and sweets at her favorite caf?.

Not that her friend was always as ready a listener as her cat. Or as prompt.

“Those people are crazy.” Maddy had been flustered when she’d finally burst into the crowded caf? a half hour after Becca had claimed a table. As if making up for lost time, she barely let Becca get to the end of her story before chiming in. “You don’t even have to finish. Let me guess. You took both cases?”

“Are you okay, Maddy?” Becca answered her friend with a question of her own.

“I’m fine.” Becca’s longtime friend pushed her normally neat-as-a-pin dark hair back from her round face. “Just bothered. There was some kind of an accident last night, and they’ve closed a lane on the bridge. I don’t know what they were looking for, but I was stuck on the number one bus forever.”

“I’m sorry.” Becca began to commiserate but her friend waved her off.

“It’s nothing—but it did give me time to think about what you told me on the phone. I really hope you told that Cross lady to get lost.” Maddy returned to her theme, still clearly aggravated. Clara, who had hunkered down beneath their table, kept a careful eye on her swinging foot. “Cross—appropriate name, huh? And that other one, too. What was her name?”

“Gaia. Gaia Linquist,” Becca answered, hoping to calm her friend. But not even the oversized chocolate chip cookie she had resisted breaking into while she waited for Maddy seemed to placate her longtime buddy, nor was the extra caffeine helping to clear the questions that kept rattling around her own head. “Or Gail, as her boss called her.”

She ate a piece of that cookie finally and pushed the plate toward her friend.

“Gaia?” Maddy only shook her head. “Crazy.”

“At first, I thought it was a coincidence.” Breaking off another piece of cookie, Becca circled back to the older woman’s visit. Maddy might have reached her own conclusions, but to Becca there were still loose ends. “I mean, okay, they both got my number from the card I put on the bulletinboard at Charm and Cherish. That didn’t mean anything. After all, it makes sense that the clientele and the staff of a magic shop would be the most likely to hire a witch detective.”

Maddy’s raised eyebrows said it all, but as a true friend, she kept her skepticism silent. Becca, who had already heard tons from her old buddy about her new vocation, ignored it and moved on.

“And then, when the owner, Margaret, said she suspected her employee, I didn’t question it. I mean, I don’t know how many people work for her. But then when she started telling me about her sales associate Gail, I had to ask—”

“You had to know Gaia wasn’t her real name.” Maddy sipped her latte, but her eyes were on her friend.

“I assumed it was a name she chose.” Becca had a more generous attitude toward self-re-creation. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Maddy.”

“It’s pretentious.” With that, her friend succumbed, taking a Harriet-sized chunk of the cookie. “And silly. But enough about her name.”

This time, Becca ignored the interruption.“Anyway, when I realized that the woman Margaret suspected of stealing from her was the same woman who had come in to see me earlier, I had to wonder. And there’s that thing with the sister, too. Ms. Cross—Margaret—didn’t want to talk about it, but she brought it up. Something about how her sister urged her to hire Gaia. Only then she told me not to follow up with her sister, Elizabeth. But how can I not? I mean, it almost sounds like a setup, doesn’t it?”

“Either that, or the sisters have some kind of feud going on and they’re dragging the poor shop girl into it. They’d probably drag any bystander into it, too.” Maddy scanned the nearby tables, but none of the bleary-eyed occupants—students, probably, another sign of fall—looked up. “Anyway, you don’t need to get caught up in that.”

“No, I don’t.” Becca took another piece of the giant cookie and nibbled on it. But even Maddy must have been able to see that her friend was barely tasting its buttery goodness. “The thing is, I do need clients.” She paused to wipe a crumb from her lip. “And if I can help two members ofthe Wiccan community, well, those are my people, Maddy.”

“Don’t.” Her friend held up one hand to stop her. “Please, Becca.I’myour people. Researchers are your people. Academics are your people, and historians. I know you’ve gotten into this whole witch thing since you lost your job with the historical society, but please don’t go overboard.”

“I’ve solved some cases, Maddy.” Her friend cared for her, Becca knew that, but her lack of faith was clearly beginning to smart. “You know I have.”

“I know.” Maddy nodded, resignation sneaking a sigh into her voice. In truth, Becca had solved the murder of a member of her own small coven. Since then, she’d used her considerable powers of observation and skill as a researcher to help others as well. The fact that her three cats had assisted was something neither of the two friends could know. “I’m sorry. Getting stuck in traffic must have gotten to me. But, really, two clients in one day—and one of them is accusing the other?”

“It is odd.” Becca’s hand went up to her necklace. “But I think they were both being honest in their fashion.” Her brows knotted together in a way that her friend knew, from long experience, meant she was about to reach a conclusion.

“Please, Becca.” Maddy made one more last-ditch attempt. “You’re going to call these two back, right? Tell them you can’t take their so-called cases?”

“I think I have to call Margaret Cross.” Becca ignored her. “I have to tell her that I can’t accept her case. I should have as soon as I heard her employee’s name, but it took me a minute to put it all together. All I have to do is tell her I have a conflict because of an existing client.After all, I took Gail’s—Gaia’s—case before her boss walked in.”

Maddy slouched in her seat.“So you’re going to keep Ms. Glitter Goth?”

Becca shot her a look.“I should never have told you about her sneakers. They were really cute, and Laurel couldn’t get enough of them. But that’s not why—no, I’m not going to drop Gaia Linquist as a client.”

“Please, don’t say it.” Becca had seen Maddy put her mug down in preparation for launching into a speech. “I know I could get a job with you at Reynolds and Associates. But I need to give this a chance—I need to givemyself a chance, Maddy. I’m good at detecting, even if the witchcraft part is still kind of iffy.”

A true friend, Maddy bit her lip and waited for Becca to go on.

“And this is serious. Wolf’s bane can kill you.”

“So don’t you think this is a matter for the police?”

Becca shook her head sadly.“It’s a root in a coffee mug. And the complainant is a young girl with dyed-black hair and sparkly sneakers, whose boss may be trying to get rid of her. You didn’t believe her, Maddy. Why would they?”

Chapter 4

Clara slipped through the door only seconds ahead of Becca, after a last breathless dash. Her person couldn’t have known the little calico had followed her out. Had, in fact, been napping beneath her feet as the conversation had turned to Maddy’s job and her ongoing campaign to get Becca to join her, and had trotted alongside her most of the eight blocks home. But she didn’t want Becca to worry, in case she called her cats together for a consult upon returning home and Clara had been slow to appear.

“What did you find out?” Laurel was at the door and reached her brown nose down to touch her little sister’s bi-colored one.“Was I right about that sneak?”

“Is she bringing home any treats?”Harriet ambled over. Neither of Clara’s older sisters had quite the facility that the little calico had with passing through physical barriers, like doors. And neither could quite so easily mask themselves into near invisibility—Clara suspected that skill had to do with her multicolor markings. But Harriet in particular was made of solid stuff. Her own special skill—making physical objects appear—might have been an extension of her corporeality. It wasn’t always helpful. In the recent past, she had caused a golden amulet and, at one especially troublesome juncture, a pillow to appear, each time causing havoc in Becca’s world.

In addition, because the objects Harriet summoned from the ether were either conjured out of air itself or crafted around some small, pre-existing item, they were never quite as good as the real thing. Which was why the always hungry longhair had given up on summoning treats. Especially since their person was usually so good about indulging them.

“No…I don’t know.” Clara answered Harriet first, as she panted to catch her breath. As the oldest, the marmalade longhair would expect that.“I ran out as she got up to leave.”In truth, the two friends had left most of that cookie, which was unlike them. A sign, Clara knew, of Maddy’s distress at her friend’s decision—and Becca’s determination to get started on the case.

“And, no, she doesn’t seem to realize that that first woman was lying.” She turned to Laurel, whose blue eyes were so much more clear than that stone.

“Humans!”A delicate sniff bristled Laurel’s whiskers.“So silly.” But despite her assuming a worldly-wise pose, Clara could see that chocolate-tipped tail lashing, a sure sign that her sister was as concerned as Clara herself. That was one of the other reasons Clara had rushed to get home.

“In fact, she’s going to keep that girl Gaia’s case.”That got even Harriet’s attention, and the little calico hastily filled her sisters in, even as her sharp ears swiveled, searching for the sound of familiar footsteps on the stairs.

“I could make this all go away.” Harriet batted idly at a toy mouse as she spoke. A sure sign, Clara knew, that her oldest sister was up to something.“If you’d let me.”

Clara held her tongue. In the past, she’d done her best to enforce the number one rule of magical cats, that they never let their humans know about their powers. It had led to tension, at the very least.

“What could you do?”The hint of scorn in Laurel’s Siamese-type yowl hinted at her skepticism.

“Well, something’s missing, right?”Either Harriet didn’t hear it, or she didn’t care.“You two are so proud of what you can do. But you know that I can summon just about anything as easily as I’d twitch my tail.”

Laurel sat back on her caf? au lait haunches and seemed to consider the marmalade’s proposal. It fell to Clara to break it to them.

“It wouldn’t work,” she said, her mew softened with regret.“That lady didn’t lose a ‘thing,’ per se. Someone took money—altered the accounts somehow—and nothing any of us could conjure up would change her bank balance.”

“Balance?” Laurel, the most athletic of the three, drew out the word, one hind leg stretched out balletically behind her.

“It’s not…” Clara paused. Cats may be philosophers, but abstract concepts are difficult for everyone. Still, she did her best to explain about bookkeeping and the crime of embezzling from what she had heard.“Anyway,” she concluded,“that’s why the older lady thinks that girl did it, because she works for her and could have changed the numbers.”

“Maybe she tried to poison the girl.” Laurel’s tail lashed like she was remembering a hunt.“And when it didn’t work, she came to Becca.”

It was an interesting idea, and the three cats were busy considering it, tails twitching in contemplation, when the front door opened.

“Hello, you three.” Becca looked down at her pets, beaming. “I’m glad to see you’re not fighting anymore.”

“We don’t fight. We’re sisters!” Laurel twined around Becca’s legs as she removed her jacket.“We sometimes have heated discussions.”

“Don’t distract her.” Clara looked on with concern. From the way Laurel’s whiskers were bristling, her sister knew she was working hard to implant an idea in their person’s mind.“She needs to think clearly before she gets any deeper into this.”

“I don’t see any treats.” Harriet had stood up on her hind legs to sniff the air around Becca, in the hope that a bag of cookies might be hidden on her person.“Didn’t you say she was eating treats?”

“You three.” Becca shook her head. “You’d think I’d been gone all day instead of just an hour. I bet you’re hungry. Am I right?”

Laurel turned to Clara with a smirk, letting her baby sister know just who had suggested that thought. Harriet, meanwhile, ran ahead, laser focused on being the first to the kitchen.

“You’re not going to distract her from the case forever.”Clara took up the rear.

“Bought us time, though, didn’t I?” Laurel wrapped her chocolate-tipped tail around her feet as she waited. Harriet was brazenly begging, her wide bottom making it easy for her to sit up in a fashion that her youngest sister privately thought was rather dog-like.“Time for us to look into the whole poison thing.”

“There you go, girls.” Becca laid down Harriet’s bowl first, knowing the orange cat would push aside her sisters to take it in any case. Then Laurel’s and then Clara’s, before washing her hands. Despite the talk of poison, all three dived in. “And now, kitties, I’ve got to get to work. I’ve got to call that Margaret Cross and tell her I can’t take her case.”

For a moment, Clara dared hope. Even the glint of triumph in Laurel’s blue eyes didn’t bother her. If only… But then Becca turned and wiped her hands dry.

“And then,” she said, returning the dish cloth to its hook, “I have to start figuring out how I can help poor Gaia.”

She returned to the living room, and Clara lifted her head. Her person seemed to be fussing, her movements growing more frantic.

“You done?” Harriet’s fuzzy snout pushed into her dish.

“No!” Clara raised a paw, peeved at the interruption, but she stopped herself from going further. It wouldn’t do to smack Harriet. Besides, the big marmalade did need more food than the petite calico, and Clara was aware of her own well-padded form. Any more poundage, and she might have trouble passing through closed doors.“Well, okay.”She backed away, ceding the dish, even as Laurel looked at her quizzically.

“I want to hear what Becca is doing,”Clara explained. Harriet, oblivious, kept eating. But even by the time the big cat had joined her two siblings in the living room, nothing had been resolved.

“What’s going on?”Harriet asked as she began to wash her face.

“A lot of fuss about nothing.”Laurel yawned as she stretched along the back of the sofa.“Becca needs to nap more.”

“No, it’s not that.”Clara knew better than her sisters what Becca’s increasingly frenzied activity meant.“I mean, I don’t think so,” she added, in deference to her sister.

As the three cats looked on, Becca knelt down beside the couch. Reaching, she retrieved two toy mice and a pencil that Clara hadn’t been able to resist batting around the week prior from underneath, but still she did not appear sated. If anything, she looked increasingly distraught.

“You three didn’t…” She sat on the rug and addressed the cats. “No, you have too much sense. Even you, Harriet.”

The big longhair blinked.

“It must have been when she gathered her bags up to leave.” Becca rose to her feet, talking to herself as much as the three felines. “I can’t…”

She stopped talking as she bolted into the kitchen, but a thorough examination of the trash, the teapot, and the dirty mugs didn’t seem to appease her. When she came back into the living room, she plopped down on the sofa, a dazed expression on her face.

“Well, if this doesn’t beat all,” she said, one hand absently reaching out for Clara, who had jumped up beside her. “I’ve got one client who worries she’s being poisoned, and another who thinks that the first client is a thief. Only, unless I am very much mistaken, the second client just stole the evidence that the first client brought me.”

Chapter 5

“I didn’t want to go down to the store.” Becca addressed Clara’s wordless query. Becca’s smallest cat had followed her to the front door, where she was donning her coat. “I mean, I really didn’t want Margaret and Gaia to know that I’d taken cases from them both. Not when I realized they worked together. But Margaret’s not answering her phone. For all I know, she only came by here to steal that root back.

“I should have known.” She paused, mid-button, to rest her hand on the lapis pendant. “Maybe I’m not using this right.”

Looking on, Clara thought of her sisters. She couldn’t tell for sure if Laurel had helped plant the idea the three cats had shared about the root—and the possibility that that nasty older woman had been behind the attempted poisoning. For a moment, Clara even toyed with asking Harriet to get rid of that stupid necklace, which Becca seemed to trust so much. They all had complementary powers, she mused. Maybe that was for a reason.

But for any of that to be effective, the three would have to work together. And while Clara knew her sisters loved her—at least, she assumed they did—she’d been teased for too long and too often to trust them to follow her guidance.“Clara the clown,” she could hear the echo of Laurel’s distinctive Siamese yowl. If anything, they’d do the opposite, just to mess with her, not realizing how their actions affected the human they loved. No, the plump calico realized, in this, she and Becca were alone.

Her person seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

“Well, nothing for it.” Becca had added a hat to her ensemble. A new addition to her wardrobe, the maroon velvet cloche sported a feather that only Laurel’s sense of style had kept intact. “Don’t worry, kitties. I won’t be out too late!”

“Cute.” Clara turned to see that Laurel had come up silently beside her.“That hat. Don’t you think?”

“I guess.”In truth, the little calico hadn’t paid much attention to her person’s outfit. She’d been focused on her own concerns, as well as the undercurrent of concern in Becca’s voice.“That feather will make it easier to follow her. But I won’t touch it!”

That was to Harriet, who had ambled up beside her, as much as to Laurel. Harriet considered all toys hers by right, and Clara knew she had her golden eyes on the perky plume. With a satisfied blink, Harriet accepted her little sister’s capitulation, sprawling in a fur mess on the floor. Laurel, meanwhile, had twisted around to lick the base of her tail, secure in the knowledge that neither would nab the tempting feather without her consent and seemingly unconcerned about anything else her baby sister might do. And so with a shimmy of her hindquarters, as if she were readying to jump, the calico slipped through the molecules that made up the closed door.

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.”

Becca’s silence acted like catnip on the black-clad shop girl.

“Okay, a few things have gone missing.” The goth girl shrugged and turned once more to eye her visitor. “Not that we have any big-ticket items here. I mean, unless you count the gong.”

“Shoplifters?”

A tilt of her head made those ear studs flash.“Someone grabbed something out of the window. I think that’s what happened, anyway.”

“I see.” Becca’s tone was soft, but Clara was heartened to hear the suspicion underlying those two words. “Someone took something?”

Another shrug.“I think. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Becca paused, cataloging the theft—or the other woman’s sudden reluctance to discuss it—and moved on, her hand creeping to the pendant in the hollow of her throat. “Well, then, if you don’t think anyone has been in here, I have to ask. Looking at all those jars…is there any chance that maybe…I mean, so many of those roots look alike…”

“You think I nearly poisoned myself?” The other woman’s eyes went wide. “You mean, by accident, right?”

Becca didn’t respond, and Clara knew she was weighing the possibilities. The cat couldn’t imagine why a human would choose to make herself sick. Then again, Laurel had eaten a moth once, with disturbing results, and Harriet had no problem coughing up furballs with amazing regularity.

“People make mistakes.” Becca’s response, when it finally came, was phrased to sound perfectly noncommittal.

“Not possible. I know what wolf’s bane looks like.” The woman behind the counter turned again, taking in the various botanicals. “We don’t even have it here. I mean, why would we?”

“Wolf’s bane does have medicinal uses,” Becca pointed out. “You said so yourself.”

“And it can also be used for harm,” Gaia shot back. “You know the rule.”

A nod from Becca.“An ye harm none, do what ye will,” she recited. “But that doesn’t mean botanicas and purveyors to the craft don’t stock it.”

“We don’t.” Gaia was firm. “I do all the buying. Well, with Margaret, Margaret Cross. She’s the owner.”

Becca’s face fell and Clara knew why. The kind-hearted girl didn’t want to think that the older woman was behind the attempted poisoning—or the attempted cover up. Still, she rallied as she recalled the initial reason for her visit. Finally, she had her opening.

“Of course,” she said, and leaned forward, as if about to impart a secret. “Actually, I’m really here to see Margaret. Is she available?”

“You know Margaret?” A quizzical lift of one pierced brow. But as Becca fumbled for an answer, Gaia provided her own. “Oh, yeah, you must have gotten her okay to post your notice. She’s not—I haven’t seen her or her crazy sister at all today. But is there something I can help you with?”

“No.” Becca bit her lip, which she always did when she was thinking. Clara did her best to still her tail, which threatened to lash in anticipation, and watched, waiting to see what her person would do. “It’s personal, to be honest. Do you know how I can reach her?”

“I have her cell number.” Gaia pulled open a drawer beneath the register.

“So do I,” Becca admitted. “She’s not answering.”

“That’s curious.” Gaia leaned back, her hands still on the drawer. “Usually, she’s on top of everything. In everything, I should say. The woman has no boundaries.”

Something about Becca’s expression must have given her thoughts away, because Gaia’s eyes went wide. “You don’t think she’s…the wolf’s bane,” she said, her voice growing breathless.

“You mean that maybe she got her hands on some? And that maybe somehow, by mistake maybe…” Becca’s voice went high and tight, as Clara knew it did when she was about to lie, or almost lie. “Would you have any reason to suspect her?”

“Any reason, such as that she has accused you of embezzling.” Clara provided the missing words.“Accused you of stealing from the register you have your hands on?”

“Suspect?” Gaia tilted her head, looking for all the world like Laurel at her most quizzical. “Why would she…no, that’s not what I meant.”

Becca and Clara both waited as the other woman shook her head.“I just mean, well, if she’s not answering, and she’s not here. Maybe it wasn’t just me. Maybe someone has tried to poison her, too.”

Chapter 6

“Let’s not panic.” Becca put out her hands in a calming gesture as Gaia tensed, ready to run from behind the counter. “There’s no reason to jump to conclusions here.”

“But you don’t know.” The counter girl sounded breathless, gulping her words like air. “I mean, we share mugs. I brew a big pot of tea first thing in the day…maybe it wasn’t meant for me. Maybe Margaret…”

“Please calm down.” Becca spoke softly but firmly, like one would to a panicked kitten. She couldn’t be about to share her suspicions, could she? Clara wondered, when Becca responded with a question of her own. “What was your last interaction with her?”

“Like I said, I spoke to her this morning. She called right before I took my break. She wanted to confirm my schedule.”

Becca listened without comment, and Clara didn’t need Laurel’s powers to know why. The older woman had probably checked in to make sure her staffer was going to be in the store before she visited Becca. That didn’t seem to be information Becca was ready to share with her younger client, though. “And you haven’t heard from her since?”

“No.” Gaia sucked her lips. “But, well, you know I took a kind of longish break to go see you. And then, well, I was so upset that I felt a bit lightheaded and I thought, maybe, some lunch…”

“Who covered the shop while you were out?” Becca interrupted what was clearly going to be a chain of excuses.

“Nobody,” the woman said, like it should have been obvious. “It’s not like we have this huge staff or anything. In fact, it’s pretty much just me and Margaret’s nutty sister Elizabeth. But she just flits in and out. I don’t think Margaret pays her. She’s always complaining about money, and I know she pays me little enough. That’s why I figured, well, if I needed to take some time off…”

“So, Elizabeth didn’t cover for you?” Becca tilted her head, looking for all the world like Laurel when the Siamese was trying to figure something out.

“No, I put up a sign, saying that we’d be open again in an hour. I mean, maybe it was closer to two hours. But, you know, who knows when anyone came by? Because if they came by an hour after I left, then it was only…”

“So the shop was closed.” Becca might have been thinking out loud, but her words cut the other woman off.

“Uh-huh.” She acknowledged. “You think maybe she came by?”

“I don’t know.” Becca turned, taking in the crowded shelves, with their books and bric-a-brac. “Did it look like anything had changed when you came back?”

A slow shake of that jet-black bob showed the other woman’s confusion. “Do you think someone broke in?”

“I’m not sure.” Becca spoke slowly. “I was trying to reach Margaret because, well, something was bothering her.” As she spoke, she began to walk around the store. She picked up a candle and turned it toward her, noting its blackened wick. “Do you usually light these?”

“Me? No.” The idea was met with a grimace. “I don’t want to have to shell out eighteen bucks for that.”

Becca flicked the darkened wick, her finger settling on the shallow cavity surrounding it.“Someone has.”

She moved on to the display of Tarot cards.“Was this pack open?” She turned back to Gaia. “Maybe as a display model?”

“What?” Gaia was by her side faster than Clara could pounce, scooping up the open cards. “No, well, maybe. We do let customers look at the cards. I mean, if they seem serious. In fact, maybe that candle…”

Becca was watching her, a puzzled look on her face. Clearly, something was bothering the black-haired girl. Something beyond her concern about being poisoned.“Does anyone else have the keys to the shop?”

A shrug.“Frank—Mr. Cross, that is.” Her pretty mouth pouted in annoyance. “But he never comes down here. He’s got his own office, and I don’t think he thinks much of this place. In fact, I’m pretty sure he wishes she’d fail so he could get another tenant.”

“Another—wait, he’s the landlord?”

A shrug, as Gaia brushed her bangs out of her eyes, revealing another piercing.“Well, yeah. I can’t imagine she’d have this place otherwise. Didn’t I tell you? They live upstairs.”

Even Gaia must have heard Becca sigh. To Clara, it was a roar of annoyance.“How do I get up there?” She made to go behind the counter, and Clara could tell she was heading for the back door.

“That’s just the store room.” Gaia headed her off. “And our little break area.”

She took Becca’s arm and led her toward the front door. “The building entrance is past the cleaners. Hang on.” She fished a ring of keys from her pocket, like she was about to lock up.

“Oh, there’s no need. I can find it.” Becca reached for the door. “Is there an apartment number?”

“It’s the fourth floor. They call it the penthouse.” An exaggerated widening of her kohl-rimmed eyes showed what she thought of that. “You sure you don’t want me to come along?”

“No, thanks.” Becca glanced toward the counter. “I feel like I’ve kept you from your job for long enough today.”

This time, Gaia didn’t even try to hide it when she rolled her eyes.

***

“There’s something odd going on with that store.” Becca couldn’t have known that Clara was right beside her as she walked past the dry cleaners, its lights glowing in the growing dusk. But maybe she sensed her pet’s presence, the little calico thought. Her warmth as the afternoon sun began to fade. And maybe the companionship of the devoted feline was helping her process. “That candle—it made Gaia uncomfortable for some reason. And the way she grabbed at those cards, laid out like that? It was almost like she didn’t want me to see something.”

Becca had reached a nondescript metal door, marked only with the street number and a grimy inset window. While Clara waited, Becca leaned forward to spy through the dirty glass. Clara could pass through doors but there were limits to her abilities. She could jump, but not high enough to see through the inset window—just as she couldn’t read the labels on those jars and bottles. If only she had thought to climb up while Becca was questioning that other woman.

Any regrets had to wait, however, as Becca pulled open the door and entered a small foyer that smelled of dust and rot, undoubtedly from the pile of takeout menus that lay moldering in the corner.

“Penthouse, there it is.” Becca examined a directory and pressed a button by the mailboxes. After a pause, she tried again, as the dust settled in silence. Clara, careful not to stir it back up, nosed the interior door, held ajar by a rubber wedge.

She might not have Laurel’s power of suggestion, but then again, she might not need it. The foyer was small enough that Becca soon noticed and let herself into the stairwell. As she started up, she pulled out her cell.

“Third time’s the charm,” she said as she punched in the number. But even before the call could go once more to voicemail, the ringtone was drowned out by a clattering on the stairs as first a pair of clogs and then striped tights appeared.

“You’re here!” a tall stork of a woman announced as she reached the bottom stair. Examining Becca over her hawk-like nose, she nodded, her shoulder-length gray hair as wild as unraveled yarn. “Finally!”

“Is it that nasty girl?” The unmistakable caw of Margaret Cross filtered down from above. “Has she come to gloat?”

“Excuse me?” Becca addressed the woman on the stairs as she pocketed her phone. “You must be…”

“Elizabeth Sherman.” The gray-haired woman extended a hand. “Margaret’s big sister. Come on up.”

“I’ve been trying to reach Margaret.” Becca had to step quickly to keep up. Elizabeth nearly sprang up the stairs, despite clogs and the smock-like dress that might have tripped a shorter woman. “And I might have some news she doesn’t like but I need to tell her…”

Before she could finish, they’d reached the top, where Margaret, still in her suit, was waiting. “It’s the wrong girl,” said the more formally dressed woman with a scowl as she turned back into the apartment. “I meant the other one.”

Becca’s head swiveled between the two women, considering the similarities in the sisters’ wild hair, which played so differently with Elizabeth’s height and rather hippie-ish attire and Margaret’s double-knit suit. For Clara, the main distinction was a faint difference in scent, almost as if thestore owner’s sour attitude—or maybe her hair dye—had curdled something inside her.

“Mrs. Cross.” Becca followed the shorter woman into a large, well-lit living room decorated in wood and earth tones. A shelf that ran the length of the window was lined with potted plants. Without turning to acknowledge her guest, the storeowner plopped down on a nubbly brown couch.

“I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I’ve been trying to reach you.” Becca hesitated, standing on the other side of a cherry-stained coffee table. “I need to talk to you about your case.”

She stopped there, looking up at the taller sister, who had clomped past her into the adjoining kitchen, turning on a tap and humming tunelessly as she knocked dishes about. But before Becca could ask Margaret if she wanted to move the conversation to a more private venue, she was startled by a sob. The store owner had doubled over, her face in her hands.

“Mrs. Cross—Margaret, are you okay?” Becca raced to her side, and, shuffling onto the sofa beside her, tentatively reached one arm around the older woman’s broad back, patting her shoulders as they heaved up and down with tears.

“She’ll be fine.” Elizabeth stepped back through the open doorway holding a tray with a teapot and three mugs. “Did you meet him yet? The man?”

Becca looked up. She seemed about to answer, when Margaret broke in.

“There is no other man. Only my Frank.” The woman on the sofa sobbed once, with what might have seemed like dramatic emphasis. “He’s gone.”

Becca patted her back again as she looked to the sister for clarification.

The other woman only shook her grey curls as she placed the tray on the table.“Sugar?”

“No, please don’t bother.”

Elizabeth disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Becca with the distraught Margaret—and a confused cat. Becca liked her tea sweet.

“Margaret…” Becca focused on the woman beside her. “Mrs. Cross, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Was it sudden?”

“Was it…?” A bleary face turned up to Becca, trails of mascara mirroring the wild black hair. “Frank’s notdead.Not yet, anyway.”

“Frank’s been unfaithful.” Elizabeth, returning, put down a silver sugar bowl and three spoons. “I warned you, Margaret.”

“Oh.” Becca paused, the possibilities sinking in. “And you think that…”

“I know!” Another glare as Margaret pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped her face. “That black-haired minx downstairs.”

Elizabeth took this in stride as she sat and poured the tea. If she’d looked up, she’d have seen the play of emotion over Becca’s face. At first, Clara thought her person would use this very reasonable excuse to leave. But, no. Although Becca was kind, she was also determined. Taking a deep breath, she began to speak.

“Ms. Cross, I’ve got to ask…” Another breath to get the words out. “If you thought Gaia—Gail—was involved with your husband, well, it would be understandable, if you were angry… If you wanted to… I mean, if you had suspicions…”

“Suspicions?” Becca didn’t get a chance to finish. “I’ve known something was going on for a while. Late nights at that dead-end car lot of his. Like he was really sitting there all alone. I have my sensitivities too!” This was directed toward her sister, who only nodded.

“Car lot?” Becca’s face brightened. “Oh, is he—are you the Crosses of Cross Cars, the used car lot down by the river?”

“Don’t tell me you ever bought a car from him?” She barked out a laugh. “No, of course not. I’d know if he’d sold any.”

The older woman’s glare didn’t invite an answer.

“Well, anyway.” Becca cleared her throat. “I mean, it would be only human if you wanted to implicate the other woman in a less personal crime. Or perhaps scare her…”

“Scare her? I’m the one who’s bereft.” The tears had stopped. Margaret’s mood, however, had not improved. “He was out late again last night, and when I came home today, he was gone. He’s cleaned everything out.”

“Everything?” Becca craned her head around, confused. Although she appeared to be taking in the reasonably full bookshelf, the shelf of plants, and what looked like a high-end sound system, Clara knew she was looking for a particularly stinky baggie.

“What?” The bark of the question pulled her back to Margaret’s scowl, which creased her lipstick alarmingly. “This? This is all mine. But his rings, his watches—they’re all gone! All the little presents I gave him.”

A sudden intake of breath as she jumped up, racing to a door at the far end of the room.“I knew it!”

With a quizzical glance toward Elizabeth, Becca rose. She followed the voice and found Margaret in what was clearly the master bedroom. Leaning over a low vanity, she was staring into an opened jewelry box, whose gold satin lining matched both the curtains and the fluffy duvet behind her.

“He took mother’s pearls, Bitsy,” she called out, and then pulled a lower drawer open. “And my diamond earrings as well.”

With that, she turned, fixing Becca with dark eyes sparking with rage.“If he gave my sparklers to that little hussy, I swear, I’m going to kill them both.”

***

“I think we should alert the police.” Ten minutes later, and the three were sitting in the living room again. On Becca’s urging, Margaret had made an inventory of her valuables. Sure enough, although the electronics were all untouched, everything small and pocketable had been taken. “This might have been the work of a professional.”

“It’s the work of that little hussy.” Margaret had gone from tears to anger and back again, and now slurped her tea. “Believe me, I know.”

“I’m sorry, Margaret. But how can you be sure?” Becca turned to the other sister for confirmation, but Elizabeth was pouring the last of the tea into Margaret’s mug. When that was done, she rose without a word and retreated to the kitchen. “Have you spoken with your husband?”

“I’ve been trying him all day. He’s not answering his phone.”

“You haven’t been either.” The words slipped out. “I’m sorry, but I was trying to reach you.”

“I wasn’t in any shape to talk to anyone else.” Margaret sniffed. “Besides, I wanted to leave the line free. I don’t trust those things.”

There was no easy answer to that, so Becca changed the subject.“Maybe he lost his phone? Maybe he’s been busy?”

Margaret shook off the idea.“I’ve had an idea for a while now. I just thought I could catch them before it came to this.”

“Ah.” Becca turned thoughtful. “Is that why you hired me?”

“What? No.” A glare like a hawk. “Someone has been stealing from me, and this just makes me even surer it’s that girl. Gail—Gaia—whatever she calls herself. I’m sure that once you start looking into it—”

“That’s just it. I can’t,” Becca interrupted her. “That’s why I was trying to reach you earlier today, Mrs. Cross. I have a conflict of interest. That’s only one reason I think you really need to talk to—”

“It’s that girl.” Her gaze was piercing, and Becca squirmed a little, even as she spooned sugar into her tea. “She’s hired you, too. Hasn’t she?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” Becca tried to sound firm. In truth, she wasn’t sure of the etiquette of the situation. Did hiring a witch detective automatically convey confidentiality? It seemed like it ought to.

“She’s outsmarted me every step of the way.” Margaret looked angry now, rather than sad. Her cracked lipstick set in a tight red line until she started speaking again, and this time her fury seemed directed at Becca. “You do realize what she’s doing, don’t you? She’s playing you. Playing you to get to me. She knew I was going to talk to you. She saw me taking down your number, only she got to you first. What did she say? Did she accuse me of something? Financial malfeasance? Spousal cruelty? I bet Frank spun her some stories about me…”

Becca swallowed, her eyes darting to the kitchen, but Elizabeth did not re-emerge.“I’m sorry,” she said one more time. Only this time, her voice sounded a little more resolute. “I understand that this all very difficult, but if you won’t let me call the police about the jewelry theft, I don’t see what else I can do here. This seems to be a domestic matter that I really don’t want to be a part of.”

“Oh, you’re part of it, young lady. In fact, I’m wondering if you two came up with this together.” The scowl deepened into something truly scary.

Becca put her mug down, frustrated. She no longer wanted to drink anything in this house. What she wanted to do was leave.“Wait a minute. You came to me. I have not conspired with anyone. I don’t do that,” she said. “In fact, as a witch, you should know our basic rule—as long as ye harm none.”

“Tell that to Gail.” The woman across from her pushed her own mug away and slumped in her seat. Suddenly, she looked no more than an old woman, defeated and in mourning. “Frank wasn’t a great husband by any means, but he was the only one I had. Bitsy was right about that girl. She doesn’tcare about the shop, about the craft. She’s just into whatever she can get.”

Becca, having witnessed the other girl’s lax attitude, bit her lip.

“I knew he was up to something with that lot of his. He never wanted me to come down there. Never mind that I paid for it. She was probably hoping for a free car or something. Wait till she discovers Frank has no money of his own,” she said, half to herself. “Then she’ll see who’s been taken for a ride. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets rid of him before long.”

***

When it became apparent that no amount of persuasion would get Margaret to call the cops, Becca stood to leave.“I’m sorry,” she said again, heading toward the door, though Clara inferred her regret had more to do with showing up at all than for the other woman’s sorrows. “I really have to go.”

It was near dark by the time she was out on the street again. Around her, the lights of the city were casting colors over the sidewalk, making it easy for Clara to sidle up to her person with care. Becca might have been oblivious even if her pet had made herself visible, the calico realized, as her person collapsed against the brick wall with a deep sigh.

“Becca?” At the sound of her name, she jumped. Elizabeth was standing beside her. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but I wanted to catch you.”

“It’s no problem.” Becca’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come down.”

The other woman only smiled.“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am for you coming here today. For your interest in Charm and Cherish.”

“But I’m not—” Becca shook her head. “I don’t know how much you heard, but I’m not taking your sister’s case. I think she should go to the police. Maybe you can work on her?”

“Maybe.” A noncommittal shrug. “But she’s right, you know. Her husband was stealing from her. Still, there are other reasons…”

“I get that she’s embarrassed.” Becca filled in the blank. “But she’ll have to file for insurance, especially if there are family heirlooms involved.”

“Of course, and we are family.” Elizabeth reached out, putting her cool hand on top of Becca’s. “Be careful, dear.”

Becca nodded, a million thoughts playing across her face.“Thanks,” she said, and turned away.

“And you, too.” Elizabeth whispered, her gaze directed to the shadowed calico at her feet.

Chapter 7

“I must have imagined that,” Clara told herself, frozen to the spot.“Could I have misheard?”

Fancy rarely got the better of the little calico. Cats in general are extremely practical. But recently Clara had realized that she’d been taking on some of Becca’s quirks, most likely because she loved her so—a trait her own two sisters never hesitated to point out. After all, nothing else made sense. So when the older woman turned, chuckling softly, back to the shadowed building entrance, Clara shook herself whiskers to tail, and looked around for Becca.

Her person had paused only a few yards away in front of that colorful Charm and Cherish window, now lit from within as the afternoon sun faded. But although Becca appeared to be considering her options, she didn’t pull open the door with its friendly bell. Instead, she stayed on the sidewalk, her round face drawn with concern, as she gazed in at the raven-haired salesgirl behind the counter who appeared utterly absorbed in her cell phone.

Was her person considering warning Gaia/Gail about her employer’s rage or interrogating her further about the identity of her not-a-boyfriend? Clara couldn’t tell, although the slight frown on her person’s face alerted her that some serious thinking was going on. And so when Becca shook her head and kept walking, her pet could only be relieved. It wasn’t that late. This time of year, dusk came early. Still, it was time for Becca and her pet to retire. Clara wanted to think through that odd final encounter with that strange Elizabeth. The two sisters might look alike, but Clara had the distinct impression that they were as different as, well, Clara and her siblings. And no matter how nasty that Margaret might be, Clara couldn’t help but think that she was the safer one for Becca—and for herself.

Clara was musing about how odd humans could be when she suddenly realized that she had lost her person in the growing dark. Panicked, she dropped her shading for a moment, her back arching like a Halloween cat.

“What the—!” A man in a business suit stopped just short of tripping over her, causing the bike messenger behind him to swerve. The cyclist nearly hit a tree, and while Clara looked up at the businessman in a silent, wide-eyed apology, he had turned to vent his rage elsewhere.

“You’re not supposed to ride on the sidewalk!” he screamed at the cyclist. “And you’re supposed to have a light.”

Hopping on one foot as he righted his bike, the cyclist eyed him coolly, blue eyes wide. Dressed in a black pullover and jeans dyed the same hue, he looked lean and fit, a creature of the growing dark, with a helmet to match and a scent that was vaguely familiar. If these two were to fight, Clara would have bet on the cyclist, despite the businessman’s obvious pique. That is, if cats were gambling animals. Which, the plump animal reminded herself, they were not.

Nor was the slender young man the type to take offense.“Sorry, man,” was all he said, but his voice wasn’t the one Clara was expecting. Her faint memory dissipated as, readjusting his helmet, the cyclist kicked off and was gone. By the time the pedestrian had turned back to Clara, she had shaded herself once again and dashed behind him, desperateto figure out where her person had gone.

Being a cat has some advantages. Small and agile, if not quite as lithe as Laurel, Clara was able to weave through the crowd emerging from the T. Shaded and nearly invisible, she had to be extra careful, especially when a young mother pushing a stroller lost her grip, for a moment, on the hand of her toddler, who stumbled right at the calico.

“Kitty!” The little girl chortled with glee as Clara scrambled up the trunk of a small maple.

Alerted by the cry, her frazzled-looking mother reached over and grabbed her hand.“There’s no kitty there, Lily,” she said.

Clara didn’t have time to puzzle out what had happened. Had she let her shading fade once again, startled by the oncoming stroller? Or did the child have power of some sort? She thought again of Elizabeth and her odd farewell. She’d bring it up to her sisters later, she decided as she craned around. The maple wasn’t tall, though its placement broke up the concrete cityscape nicely. And Clara had to maneuver around a squirrel who had already tucked himself in for the night in order to spy through a break in the scarlet leaves.

“I mean no harm,” she murmured as the fluffy rodent started in alarm, scrabbling at the tree’s smooth bark as he did. For a moment, she thought about uncloaking, then decided against it. From the look on that grey face, the sudden appearance of a cat might be enough to cause him to fall off the limb entirely.

The height didn’t help. Even though her feline vision barely acknowledged the growing dusk, Clara couldn’t see Becca’s curls or her silly velvet hat. Not even that perky feather showed itself above the crowd. That didn’t mean she should worry; Clara knew that. After all, maybe Becca had just stopped to pick up some dinner or a treat for later. But something was making the fur along her spine stiffen. Maybe it was the bitterness with which the older woman talked about her employee. Or maybe it was Gaia herself. Something was off with those two women, and every guard hair on her body was on alert. In desperation, she closed her eyes, raising her nose into the air.

Success! She got it—a slight scent of her person, faint but distinct. Over…where was it? Yes, toward the river. Scrambling down the tree in a rush that nearly upset the squirrel, she dashed down into the gutter, the better to make a beeline toward the young woman whose happiness and safety were Clara’s main responsibility.

By the time she reached her, the young woman was heading down a street Clara had never seen before. Though only a few blocks away, it felt like a different city. Clara was used to her own part of Cambridge. In their own neighborhood, even the larger red-brick buildings were softened by window boxes and a few stately beech trees. On the main drag they had just visited, at least the lights were colorful, as was that captive maple poking out of the sidewalk.

The street they had just turned down might as well have been on the moon. Treeless—grassless, even—all was hard and dry, and in the growing dark, the industrial buildings that climbed above the concrete sidewalks loomed like watchful giants. Sniffing the air, Clara caught traces of the river, and the reeds along its shore. Even with her superior night vision, however, she could see no sign of such greenery. Not through the high chain-link fence that Becca now approached, or in the cracked asphalt of the lot beyond.

Instead of grass or trees, Clara could see several cars that seemed to be frozen in time, judging from the fine layer of dust on all but one of them. Only minutes from the bustling city center, the strip felt foreign—and dangerous. Every instinct told the small cat not to go farther. But there was Becca, walking through that deserted lot, toward the cinder-block building at its center. The squat building, at least, showed signs of life. Its glass front shown with light, and from where she watched, Clara could see the glow from another opening in the back. And so, gathering up her courage, the little cat dashed over the open tarmac to catch up with her, just as Becca pushed the door open.

“Hello?” The room was dominated by an empty desk and the strong smell of burned coffee. Overhead, a fluorescent bulb buzzed. “Is there anyone here?”

Becca looked around. The window showed only the lot outside, still and dark, but a door to the right stood slightly ajar. More light and the smell of that coffee emanated from within. Raising her voice, she cleared her throat and tried again.“Hello?”

“Calm down!” a man’s voice called from behind the door.

“Mr. Cross?” Becca’s voice rose with tension as she took a step forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, but I—”

“Please!” The voice sounded agitated, and Becca stopped in her tracks. On the other side of the door, the man started speaking again, only this time his voice was quieter. Clara, whose hearing far surpassed her human’s, made sure to shade herself carefully and crept by Becca. Her person mightwant to respect Frank Cross’s privacy, but it was easy enough for the shadowy calico to slink by, even without additional magic, squeezing through the narrow opening without nudging it further.

The man in the small office might not have noticed her even if she had. Pudgy and sweating, with a skein of brown hair that ran across a glistening pate, he paced, oblivious to anything other than the beige phone squawking in his hand.

“Please, I promise.”

As Clara watched, he pushed his damp hair back farther on his head and patted it. If that hair had been Harriet, it would have bit back, the way he kept at it, flattening it out. He still might not have noticed, as focused as he was on the phone, which was pressed so tightly to his ear that only the faintest sound escaped.

“No, you’re wrong.” He licked dry lips and paused in his pacing. “No.” Leaning forward, he caught his desk chair with one hand, and Clara wondered if he was going to be sick. “Please!”

Something was wrong, horribly wrong, and Clara’s thoughts went to her person. Zipping through the nearly closed door, she found Becca still standing, caught in her uncertainty.

“Let’s leave!” the calico did her best to suggest, thinking of the brisk, fresh air outside. Of the nice warm apartment that awaited. But Clara didn’t have Laurel’s gift, and besides, Becca was caught up in this interaction, despite being unsure of what to do.

“Mr. Cross?” Her voice was so soft that even had he not been on the phone, Clara doubted he would have heard it.

“No!” So loud Becca started. “I didn’t…I wouldn’t ever…” A clatter as the balding man slammed down the receiver, and then a loud sigh. Becca gathered herself up to knock on the half-closed door when another sound broke the silence: wracking sobs, like a man overcome with grief or, possibly, shame. Letting her hand fall to her side, Becca stepped back, and then turned and left, as quietly as she had entered.

“Well,” she said, once she was again on the darkened street. “Maybe that’s settled. It sounds like she reached him!”

She might have thought she was speaking to herself, but the day’s curious interactions had Clara thinking. Perhaps she had misinterpreted Elizabeth’s odd farewell, or the woman had been disoriented by the dusk. Perhaps the toddler on the street had been confused by the squirrel, or simply liked to yell out “kitty!” Clara had little experience of human kittenhood. But, increasingly, she wondered about her own connection with Becca. The bond between them was so strong, wasn’t it likely that her person sensed her presence? At times like this, it was all the little calico could do to resist twining around her person’s ankles. Only the knowledge that her sudden appearance here, in this bleak industrial part of town, would give Becca a fright kept her from letting her presence be felt. As it was, Becca appeared more relaxed as she turned toward home.

“Maddy? I’ve got some good news for you.” Clara wasn’t crazy about Becca talking on her phone as she walked. Cambridge was her home, but it was still a big city, and the spotted cat wished her person would stay alert to her surroundings, especially now that the dusk had given way to night. Still, it was useful to eavesdrop on Becca’s conversation.

“Uh-huh, I’m still taking Gaia’s case,” she was saying to her friend. “But I’m free of the other one, her boss’s.” Clara couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but from the way Becca was nodding, she could guess that her friend was repeating her advice that Becca drop the whole thing.

“There might not even be a case,” she picked up once her friend fell silent. “I mean, Margaret, the boss, was saying that someone was embezzling, but I think she was just angry at Gaia. She thought her husband was having an affair with her. I think she was trying to frame Gaia. And maybe scare her, too.” Becca’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think maybe she saw the root that Gaia brought over and stole it.”

Slight squawks escaped from the phone.

“It’s—no, Maddy, I’m not getting involved in anything criminal. In fact, I’m walking away now. I had a hunch, when she wouldn’t let me call the police, even though she was wailing about jewelry being stolen. She was trying to convince me that her husband had taken it and run off. Sure enough, her husband is at work. To be honest, I think he was dodging her calls, but when I walked in, they were clearly having it out. Don’t worry, Maddy, I’m not getting between them. I don’t know what he did, and I don’t want to know. But I can tell you he feels super bad about it now.”

Becca paused.“Didn’t I tell you? I went to see him. She said something about his lot, and I realized that used car lot over on Putnam had to be his. We pass by it all the time. You know the place I mean—Cross Auto, with that big sign that says, ‘Ask Frank! Make a deal!’”

The sounds from the other line were quieter this time.

“No, I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Maybe, ‘Call your wife,’ or something. I just thought I should drop by. Confirm the facts. I may be a witch, but I’ve got to do the basic legwork, right? But it didn’t even come to that. I was waiting in the front room—I don’t know, maybe his receptionist had left already, if he has one—and I could hear him in his office. He must have finally picked up one of Margaret’s calls. He was apologizing like anything. To be honest, it sounded like he could barely get a word in.”

She was smiling and shaking her head even as she listened to Maddy’s reply.

“I don’t know, Maddy. I don’t think I’d want to be either one of them. I was with Margaret, so I know how angry she can get. Not that she didn’t have reason if what she suspected was true. But I figure whatever was going wrong has been put right. I have never heard someone trying to explain himself so fast,” Becca said. “I mean, he didn’t even sound apologetic so much as he sounded scared!”

Becca was small for a human, but as she relaxed, her stride lengthened and Clara had to trot to keep up. Still, she was grateful for this indication that her person was happier. Even the squawking from the other end of the line sounded quieter.

“Yeah, I know.” Becca nodded, as if her friend could see her. “Believe me, I don’t want to get between those two either.”

Becca broke into a grin as her friend responded, much to Clara’s relief. Still, she tilted an ear forward as her person lowered her voice once more.

“I’m going to stay on Gaia’s case, though. It’s not just that I could use the experience, Maddy. Even if she can’t pay me, I signed a contract.”

More noise.

“No, I’m sorry, but I have to, Maddy. Because what if I’m wrong about Margaret just trying to scare the girl? What if someone really did try to poison Gaia? And what if they try again?”

Chapter 8

Clara was exhausted by the time she got home, racing Becca the last few blocks. Not that this stopped her sisters from pestering her for news.

“What happened?”Laurel nudged her with one chocolate-dipped paw.“Did you find out anything about that girl Gaia?”

“Where has Becca been?”Harriet sat back, her flag-like tail flicking back and forth with anxiety.“Doesn’t she know how we worry?”

“She’s on her way.” Clara made sure to answer her oldest sister first and address her unspoken concern.“I’m sure she’ll feed us as soon as she gets in.”

“Humph,”Harriet snorted, pulling her tail around her toes. She wasn’t satisfied, Clara knew. She was, however, a little self-conscious about being so single-minded.“You think that’s all I care about.”

“Well?” Laurel pushed Harriet aside.“Did she meet anyone cute?”

The image of the brown-eyed stranger flitted through Clara’s mind, and Laurel purred in response.“He was just someone on the street,” Clara snapped.

The little calico wanted nothing so much as to bathe. The dust from the used car lot had gotten beneath her fur. Even her whiskers felt gritty. More than that, a good tongue bath would soothe the lingering concerns that had ruffled her fur. Still, Laurel would not be kept waiting.

“You were right about Gaia,” she said.“That girl is trouble.”Quickly, she told them about the visit to the shop. The fact that Gaia seemed lackadaisical, at best, about her job didn’t seem to concern Laurel much. If anything, that seemed quite reasonable to a cat. When Clara got to the storeowner’s accusations, however, both her sisters’ ears pricked up.

“She…collects men?” Laurel interrupted before Clara could get up to the strange interaction with Elizabeth, and the calico flicked her own tail in annoyance. The sealpoint sister had long wanted Becca to be more romantically adventurous, but Clara didn’t think this was the way to do it.

“Other women’s men,”cautioned the calico.

“Oh, that’s not good.” Laurel’s ears lay flat, and she turned toward Harriet.

“What?”Harriet turned toward the front door.“You told me that you wanted to let Becca do this by herself, and now…”

“Harriet, what did you do…?” But it was too late. Even before Clara could finish her thought, her sisters had raced ahead to stand at attention at the door. A moment later, they could hear the familiar footsteps slowly ascending the stairs and then the key in the lock.

“Hi, kitties.” Becca’s good cheer sounded intact, even if her voice was tired. “How nice of you to meet me like this.”

“You!” Harriet mewed plaintively.“Where were you?”

“I bet you want your dinner, don’t you?”

Laurel’s eyes closed in satisfaction. Not that she’d have had to work that hard to suggest the idea to their generous human.

“I’ll get right to it, as soon as I get my coat and hat off.”

“Thank you!”Clara twined around Becca’s legs, grateful to finally be able to express herself physically. Her person seemed to appreciate the contact, even as she almost tripped, laughing, over the plump cat. It was Harriet who put a stop to the fooling around.

“Stop that!” she hissed, cuffing her baby sister on the ear.

Hunger, Clara figured, and accepted the rebuke quietly. But even though her oldest sister made quick work of her can, Clara couldn’t help but wonder at her comparative lack of enthusiasm. For a change, it was Laurel who looked over, licking her chops, to see if Clara was going to leave anything behind. Harriet had already raced ahead to the living room.

“What’s with Harriet?” Clara asked.“Is she feeling all right?”

“Why don’t you go see?”Laurel eyed the crumbs in Clara’s dish, and after a moment’s hesitation, Clara backed off. Harriet might be a pain, but she was her sister. She trotted into the living room after her.

“Maddy? I’m home.” Becca spoke to her phone in much the tone of voice she used with her cats. “Sorry, I should have called you five minutes ago but I had to feed the kitties.”

A smile down at Clara warmed the little calico.

“No, I think I’m in for the night. It’s been a big day, but thank you.” Even as she spoke, Becca shed her shoes and settled on the sofa. “I haven’t had a chance to even look at my own work today. You know.” She reached to rub her foot, and Clara made a mental note to knead it later. “Those documents about my family.”

She was taking up a position near her person’s ankle as Maddy rambled on. Something about a party, Clara gathered. A man—or men—that Maddy wanted Becca to meet, and for a moment she found herself remembering the kind-faced stranger in the square.

“I think I’m just not ready yet.” Becca could have been talking to Clara, and so the calico bent to her task, kneading the stockinged foot. “I do not want a knight in shining armor, Maddy.” The foot withdrew. “I just…well, for tonight, I’m happy with my cats. Have a blast, Maddy. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”

With that, Clara got back to her work, albeit gentler than before. Becca opened her laptop and soon the machine was purring in her lap, as Laurel stretched her tawny length across the sofa’s back. Within minutes Harriet had joined them on the sofa and was lounging on her pillow, one paw flicking its golden tassels. Another perfect evening, as far as the calico was concerned.

But even as Clara focused on Becca’s foot, she picked up that something was off. It couldn’t be her kneading. She was very careful not to use any claw at all. Nor was it the laptop. Although Becca often reacted strangely to the images she’d summoned, tonight she was actually humming as she read, and Laurel, in an ostentatiousshow of self-restraint, wasn’t even trying to bat at its warm and enticing surface. No, it was Harriet. Although to all outward appearances, her oldest sister was as relaxed as usual, her impressive bulk spread out across the pillow, the oldest of the three cats was holding herself back.

She was not only tense, Clara realized, she was concentrating—on the edge of a small baggie peeking out from beneath the coffee table.

“You returned it?” Clara chirped softly. Harriet didn’t usually admit to mistakes.“How wise of you.”

The compliment earned a snort.“I had to dig it out of the litter.” Harriet’s head reared back in disgust.“But you were right. Becca seems to think this is important.”

“Shall I?”Clara didn’t want to interfere if Harriet had a plan.

“Go ahead!”

Clara jumped to the floor and with a well-aimed tap sent the plastic baggie spinning on the pivot of the lumpy root inside. Sure enough, a moment later, Becca was on her knees beside the sofa.

“Well, I’ll be…” She grabbed the baggie and examined its odoriferous contents. “I could’ve sworn I looked under here.”

Clara, who was licking her paw, didn’t comment. That musty smell carried even through the baggie.

“How do you feel?” Laurel peeked over the edge of the sofa, blue eyes wide.

“A little dirty,”Clara admitted, even as she dug in between her toes.

“No dizziness? Shortness of breath?”

Clara paused, mouth open.“You don’t think that the poison…”

The feline equivalent of a shrug.“Harriet’s got more mass, shall we say…”

“Hey!” A white mitt slapped Laurel’s chocolate ear.“Watch it!”

“Sorry.” Laurel’s face retreated, but Clara could imagine her sister’s head ducked in submission. Harriet’s largesse only extended so far.

“I think we’re fine,”the calico called up.“Only the smell lingers.”

“Good.”Laurel’s head appeared over the lip of the sofa again, her eyes slightly crossed.“’Cause I’m not so sure about Becca.”

Clara whipped around, alarmed. Sure enough, Becca was sitting on the floor beside her, frowning as she held the baggie up to the light.

“I don’t know about this,” she was saying. Clara looked up at Laurel, but her sister only shrugged. “And I’m glad I didn’t come right out and accuse her. But I do think I owe Margaret Cross an apology.”

Chapter 9

“Now you’ve done it!” Clara was struggling to keep her voice level. Her fur was already standing up along her spine and it was only by holding her tail down with one paw that she managed to keep that from turning into a bottle-brush of fright.“Becca was off that case, and now she’s going to talk to that crazy woman again.”

Her slinky sister eyed her, curious, but Clara turned away. Bad enough Laurel could read human minds. Clara wasn’t ready yet to share what had happened at the Cross apartment. That woman—Elizabeth—had unnerved her, as few human beings could, and the moment when she could have disclosed the odd interaction had passed. This left Clara feeling out of sorts, almost as if she were alone in a shelter. Or a trap.

If Becca ran out to confront that woman again, Clara wasn’t sure what she would do.

For the moment, though, her fear was allayed. After another examination of the bagged root, Becca set it aside and, after carefully washing her hands, prepared her own dinner, which involved too many plants to be of interest to her pets. More satisfying was the speed with which she finished and settled back on the sofa with her laptop.

“Of course she does that after eating. For her, that’s like grooming,” Laurel noted as she pretzeled herself around to lick her haunches. The part-Siamese didn’t quite understand Becca’s research—none of the cats did entirely—but Clara saw enough truth in her observation not to correct her. She might not understand Becca’s work in depth, but she did know that “doing research,” as her person put it, made her happy. Besides, she was too grateful for her person’s continued presence to object. For comfort, she joined Becca on the sofa. Harriet was already nestled by her side, her fluffy form stretched not only over her special velvet pillow but extending nearly to the arm rest. But Clara was still too agitated for a nap. Instead, she perched on the sofa’s upholstered back, from where she could peer over Becca’s shoulder at the screen.

If only Clara could feel as single-minded, or as calm, as her person.

“What is it?”Laurel had jumped up beside her, so silently that she startled her baby sister, whose nerves were already on edge.

“She’s looking at pictures.”Clara knew her sister had difficulty making sense of pixels. Laurel’s sense of smell might be better than hers, but her eyesight left something to be desired.“Pictures of plants.”

“How silly.” Laurel whipped her dark tail around her toes.“Why look at pictures when she could simply go outside.”

“But it’s dark out and we don’t want her to go…”Clara broke off.

With a sigh, Becca had closed the herbalism site and clicked open a news alert.“The accident,” she murmured. “No wonder the bridge was closed.”

She read a moment longer, then clicked and another page appeared, one Clara had seen before. Along with the writing, which might as well be sparrow tracks to the cats, it featured pictures, reproductions of old engravings. This was the genealogy project Becca had been telling Maddy about, Clara realized. The research she longed to resume. Although she had seen her person looking through these pages—what Becca called an “online historical database”—before, something about Becca’s silence, or maybe it was her own unsettled mood, showed the word in a new light. Becca was searching for her family. For the small cat, whose only memories of her own mother were few and fading, the search seemed impossibly sad. Yes, Becca spoke to her mother weekly, using one or another of her devices, but she was alone in this city. Alone, except for her cats, Clara reminded herself.

Besides, mused Clara, looking over at her snoozing siblings, blood relations weren’t necessarily a requirement for domestic happiness.

Silently vowing to be a better helpmate to her person, Clara pushed her own sibling issues aside and focused in on Becca. As she watched, Becca scrolled down through the database’s images until she settled on one that the calico had seen before. In it, a woman sat with a cat on her lap. Something about her face—the bright eyes, perhaps—looked like Becca, only with longer hair and any trace of Becca’s curls squashed under a cap. With one outstretched finger, Becca traced the outline of the woman’s round face. Did this strange, flat representation bring back memories of Becca’s mother? Of herself? Clara couldn’t tell. Besides, to the calico it was the feline on the woman’s lap who was the real focus of the picture. That cat, who even in the scratchy black-and-white image bore a striking resemblance to Clara, occupied the center of the composition, drawing the eye even as she stared out at the viewer.

Despite the centuries between them, Clara felt the connection—and felt reassured, as if the calico in the picture was somehow reaching out. An older generation keeping watch over Clara and her person. Maybe, Clara thought, there was something to Laurel’s gift—a psychic connection that went back generations. Or maybe she was just too tired to worry anymore, and what she took as comfort was simply gratitude that Becca had remained on the couch rather than run out into the night.

It had been a full day, even without that strange confrontation. Brief as it was—only three words—Clara knew that encounter with Elizabeth was at the root of her desire to keep Becca away from those women. Knew as well that she was hiding the truth from her own siblings. She told herself this was her sisters’ fault. Harriet and Laurel complained whenever their person didanything involving other humans or the outside world, or, truly, whenever she left them alone. To give them any more reason to grumble could only lead to further unpleasantness if not outright trouble.

“Why trouble?”Clara turned to see Laurel’s blue eyes staring into hers.

“Did you just read my thoughts?” Clara reared up, nearly falling off the sofa. Her sister had startled her—and invaded her privacy.“Please don’t do that!”

“Oh, please!”The Siamese licked at one dark paw.“It’s almost the same as suggesting thoughts, only, more like inhaling…”

Clara eyed her sister with curiosity, even as she tried to keep her own mind blank.

“And I did smell something off about that plant, you know. Something that Becca isn’t aware of. My nose isvery good. I think you did too, only you never focus…”

Before Clara could respond, the woman seated in front of them jerked back and began to type.“Why didn’t I think of this before?” The two cats seated behind her exchanged a weighted glance.

“Dear Aunt Tabitha,” she murmured as she typed. “I’m not sure if you know, but I’m living in Cambridge now, and being in New England, I’ve started to research our family history…”

“Our family?”Laurel’s soft mew dripped with scorn. In her distinctive Siamese yowl, that first word dragged out into a wail.

“She means hers.” Clara translated as quickly and politely as she could. She didn’t want Becca to be disturbed, certainly not by the idea that one of her cats was in pain. But Becca had grown used to her cats’ strange sounds. With barely a glimpse at the felines behind her, she continued typing. And so, after a moment’s pause, Clara carried on, too.“She thinks that it was her ancestor who got them in trouble with the witch trials,” she said. Thanks to her particular gifts, Clara had accompanied Becca to both the library and the city’s archives, and considered herself well versed in that aspect of her work.

“Well, it was their fault.” Another sniff of that neat black velvet nose. Laurel claimed their family history as her own area of expertise.“Great Grandmama would never have been so careless.”

Clara didn’t comment. In part, because she agreed—cats had been caught up in witchcraft trials over the centuries almost always because of mistakes their people had made. In part, because she was also hoping to hear more of what Becca was trying to communicate to this aunt of hers. Although she vaguely understood the idea of writing, she couldn’t read. It was only because of her diligence staring at Becca’s keyboard that she even managed to make sense of the flat, scentless images that popped up there, seemingly at the coaxing of her person’s quick-moving fingers. Thanks to Laurel—even if she was loath to admit it—Clara knew the basics of her own family history. Knew about their ancient lineage and their bond with the special humans with whom they lived. Still, both her sisters had been frustratingly vague about the details of their royal duties. Clara was hoping for more.

So, it seemed, was Becca, from the hopeful lift in her voice.“If you have any information, would you let me know?”

A flourish and a final tap, and Becca sat back with a sigh that would have done Harriet proud. Of course, by then, Clara’s oldest sister was snoring gently once again on her special velvet pillow. In truth, Clara was starting to doze, too. But when Becca roused herself to head toward her bed soon after, her smallest cat joined her, knowing her sisters would be along soon.

Chapter 10

It seemed but a moment later that Becca’s phone began to buzz.

“Aunt Tabby?” Becca sat up, blinking, as if from a pleasant dream, unsettling the three felines who were stretched out alongside her. “No, wait,” she reached for the device, which had begun to skitter across the nightstand like a beetle on its back. “Of course not. Hey, Maddy, what’s up? How was the party?”

A few minutes later and Harriet was once again asleep. Laurel had jumped down in search of some more entertaining company, while Clara, eyes still closed, was doing her best to remember a particularly fascinating dream.

“A cute new feline specialist?” Her person’s voice reached her through her drowse, but even as she listened, she let herself continue to drift. Something about their mother…or was it their great-grandmother? Becca’s voice broke in once more. “Do you mean for me or for the cats?”

A pause, but the dream image was gone.

“Okay, not cute. Sweet. So, did you like him?”

As Becca rambled on, Clara stretched. She had slept through most of the night, which was unusual. The day’s adventures had clearly taken their toll, and she’d been grateful to have her person safe at home. If only she could count on a lazy Sunday, she thought, examining one white front paw, all would be well. However, a tingling of her long guard hairs alerted her that something was up, and she sheathed the claws she’d begun trimming. Becca might not realize it yet, but she was about to require her pet’s full attention.

“Wait, Maddy, you’re not making sense. He does emergency care? Oh, hang on.” Becca held the phone away from her ear and studied it with the intensity Laurel would give a bug. “I’ve got…I’ve got to take this.”

Perhaps to change her view, Becca stood and walked toward the window.“Hi, Mrs. Cross,” she said. The smile on her face must have been a little bit forced, but it lightened her voice regardless. “I was meaning to call you. I might have been a bit rude—uh, hasty in some things I said, but I’m afraid I really can’t reconsider. I understand that you’re upset, but my other client did approach me first. For what it’s worth, I did attempt to speak to your husband…”

Becca jumped down, accidentally nudging Harriet, who grunted.“What’s up?”She blinked up at Clara and then over at their person.“Why’s Becca so awake?”

“I think she’s upset,” answered Clara with concern.

“Wait, no. Mrs. Cross—Margaret, please slow down.” Becca put a hand out, as if she could physically contain the woman on the other end. “No, I didn’t see him. I went down to the lot, though, and I heard him. I thought you two were talking on the phone… What do you mean, did I talk to the police? Mrs. Cross, please—I’m sorry, what? But that’s impossible. I was just there. And I know that when I left, your husband was still alive.”

***

“What is she doing?”Even though Becca had hurriedly served her cats their breakfast, Harriet was fretting. And for once, Clara couldn’t blame her. Here it was, Sunday morning, and yet Becca had already grabbed her coat and was in the process of wrapping a scarf around her neck. The three cats circled her uneasily as she searched for her hat.“Doesn’t she know we need her here?”

“I’m sure she’ll be back in time for dinner.” Laurel had mastered the feline equivalent of side eye, quite a feat considering that her blue eyes tended to cross when she concentrated.“What I want to know is why she’s bundling up like some arctic explorer.”

“A what?” Harriet scrunched up her already abbreviated nose.“Oh, you mean the scarf?”

Becca had found the velvet cloche by then, on the floor behind the sofa. Its distinctive feather was missing.

“It was a fashion decision,” Laurel huffed a bit defensively.“But, no, I meant that awful puffy coat.”

“It must be getting cooler out.”Clara didn’t want to pick a fight, but she couldn’t help feeling protective. After all, her sisters rarely left the house.“And she doesn’t have lovely, thick fur like you do,” she added in an attempt to mollify her oldest sister.

“There are other ways to get warm.” Laurel rolled the last word into a suggestive purr.“And if she happens to meet someone…”Clara knew her sister was going to suggest something slinkier, but Clara didn’t linger to hear it. Becca had donned her hat and was heading out the door.

“I’m sorry, Maddy, you wouldn’t believe what happened.” Becca was walking so quickly, Clara had a hard time keeping pace. Only when she paused to call her friend back could the little calico catch up. “That was Margaret Cross on the other line. Her husband has been in some kind of an accident, I think. No, I don’t have any details. That’s why I’m on my way back there. Maddy, I have to go.” Another pause as Becca waited to cross the street. “I was just at his office, you know, that lot by the river, last night, and she wants to talk with me. She’s really upset.”

This didn’t seem to satisfy Becca’s friend any more than it did Clara. In the bright morning light, the calico deepened her shading to remain unseen. However, being virtually invisible brought its own dangers, and the little cat’s ears and whiskers were on high alert as Becca rushed heedlessly on, weaving between the churchgoers and the students out for Sunday brunch who seemed to congregate on every corner.

“No, you don’t have to.” Becca seemed to be talking her friend down from something as she race-walked into Central Square. “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. I promise.”

To Clara’s relief, the young woman shoved the phone in her pocket and actually looked around as she readied to cross Mass Ave. with its constant traffic. Down the block, Clara could see the red brick building that housed the magic shop and the Cross’s apartment, as well as the blue-and-white Cambridge police cruiser out front.

“Excuse me.” Becca began to work her way through the crowd of onlookers who blocked the store’s brightly painted window. “I’m trying to reach the apartments.”

A uniformed officer stood by the recessed entrance, blocking the building’s metal door. “Are you a resident?”

“No, but I know a woman—”

“Residents only.” He resumed his sentry position, staring over her head once more.

Becca stepped back as another couple pushed forward, either to try their luck or to pass through the crowd. Clara, who had hung back to avoid getting stepped on, saw Becca focus on Charm and Cherish. From this side, she could see the shop’s colorful glass window and the lights that signaled it was occupied, if not open for business. Those lights seemed to draw Becca, and Clara couldn’t help worrying as her person turned and began to make for the little shop’s door.

“Gaia!” Becca called, and waved, perching on her toes to be seen above the crowd. Inside, behind the zodiac symbols, Clara could now see the black-haired shop girl talking to a man in a trench coat. “Over here!”

In the shop, the man had stepped away, and Gaia resumed her customary slump back against the wall, with its shelves of leaves and roots. Seeing an opening, Becca stepped forward, until a hand reached out to stop her.

“I wouldn’t.” Tall and lean, with black bangs that hung over a pale and serious face, he smelled vaguely familiar to Clara. Something about him must have gotten Becca’s attention, too, the calico realized, as her person peered up at him.

“Excuse me?” She pulled her arm away as she spoke.

“I’m sorry.” The flash of a grin as he ducked his head in an apology that even Harriet would understand. “I just…I think maybe it’s better to stay out of this.”

“But I know Gaia,” Becca started to explain. “I mean, not well. I’ve been helping her. It’s complicated.” Becca turned back to the shop, which now appeared to be empty. Gaia and her interrogator had either stepped into the back or left through another exit.

“I get it.” That smile again. Almost wolfish, Clara thought, especially against that dark hair. “Things with Gaia can be complicated.” If he didn’t exactly roll his eyes, he came close, before covering by brushing his hair back from his face.

“You know her? Wait, you’re the bike messenger. The one who almost ran me over yesterday.”

“I did? Gee, I’m sorry.” His light blue eyes widened, dominating his pale face. “Really. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Now it was Becca’s turn to chuckle. “I guess neither of us were paying attention.” She paused to take in the man before her. That hair, which could have come from the same dye package Gaia used, tended to distract from his prominent cheekbones and a generous mouth set in a seriousline. “You’re not Tiger, are you?”

He paused, regarding her with those icy blue eyes.

“I should explain,” Becca rushed ahead. “Gaia told me she had a friend who was concerned for her.” Clara noticed her use of the word “friend.” She also saw the smile that had returned to the young man’s pale face as he turned, once more, to take in the woman in front of him.

“Yeah, I guess I had reason to worry, huh?” As the import of his own words had hit him, the last of the grin disappeared. “Man, poor Gaia.” He shook his head as they both regarded the colorful shop window. “So, I think I’m missing something.” He turned away, and his face fell into shadow. “You said you were helping her?”

Becca nodded slowly, a contemplative look coming over her.“She hired me because she was worried about—about something. But she didn’t expect this.”

“No, she didn’t.” He must have seen the sadness there, because he reached out to gently brush her arm once more, and Clara saw long fingers with nails bitten down to the quick.

“I’m Becca, by the way.” She looked down at his hand, which dropped to his side. “She didn’t say anything about hiring me?”

“She…” He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“She implied that maybe you two weren’t spending as much time together.”

An embarrassed laugh as he wiped that hand over his face.“Yeah, well, you know.”

“I do.” Becca’s voice grew soft, and Clara knew she was thinking of her own on-again-off-again ex, as well as the young man she had dated a few times last spring. Laurel always had a lot to say about human romances, but Clara thought their person was only being sensible to be so careful with her heart. “I’m glad you came over when you heard about Frank.”

Becca paused, as if listening to her own words.“Did she call you?”

“No.” That half-smile again as he shook off the idea. “I wish, but I was just in the area and saw all this.” One wave took in the police, as well as the crowd.

“You must have been worried.”

A shrug.“She told me he had a bad ticker. It’s too bad, though. Poor guy. I don’t think we’re going to get to see her. Not this morning, anyway.”

Becca scanned the crowd. The storefront remained as bright and still as a museum diorama, and although the crowd was beginning to disperse, the uniformed cop standing in front of the residential entrance seemed in no hurry to follow.

“No, I guess you’re right.” Becca sighed with frustration. “Though this seems like an awful lot of fuss if he simply had a heart attack.”

“You call 9-1-1, they send out all the emergency services. Especially if the caller isn’t clear.” He shrugged, then turned toward her, brightening with inspiration. “Hey, why I don’t take your number? If I hear something, I’ll give you a ring.”

“Thanks.” Becca smiled back automatically, though she forced her face back into something more somber as she punched her digits into his phone. “I don’t know how this will effect Gaia, but if you do get to speak with her, please let her know I’m on the case.”

Chapter 11

“Tiger, huh?”Laurel was at her slinkiest, weaving herself around Becca’s legs as soon as the young woman returned home.“I always liked tigers…”

“Please.” Clara sat back, restraining her tail by wrapping it around her paws. It was bad enough that her sister read her thoughts. To have Laurel interrupt her as she filled her sisters in on the strange encounter was unnerving, to say the least.“We don’t know this man, and he may still be involved with that other girl, the client.”

“Don’t be a kitten,”her sinuous sister purred.“He was interested in our Becca. I’m picking up traces of his interest still! He touched her, didn’t he?” Before Clara could even answer, Laurel continued.“That’s how they show their interest, silly! He wants to claim her as his own.”

“Nonsense!” As Becca stepped carefully over her furry welcoming committee, they were joined by Harriet, who was having none of this.“Becca is our person,” she huffed, lifting her foreshortened nose up to sniff Becca’s hand.“If this Tiger wants a person, he can very well get his own.”

Clara couldn’t have agreed more and stepped back to give Harriet pride of place as the small party proceeded into the kitchen. She remembered all too well how sad Becca had been when her last romance had ended. And although their person had gone out a few times with a local painter—Clara had enjoyed the tangy pine smell of the turpentine he used—Becca had cooled on him recently.

“What about the man who caught her arm? The one with the good teeth?”

Clara jumped and wheeled on her sister.“Don’t do that!”Her fur bristled when she was startled.

“Yes, she met someone with a nice smile, but they didn’t even talk, really,”Clara said, as much to settle her fur as to explain.“He was just being kind. He helped her when that cyclist nearly knocked her over.”

Laurel only flicked her tail, but the message was clear. Two men, both fighting over Becca, even slightly. That got the sealpoint’s interest.

“What’s gotten into you three?” Six eyes—green, blue, and gold—looked up in surprise. “I’d swear you’d think I’d been gone for weeks.”

“Now you’ve done it.” Harriet batted at Laurel.“Bad enough you destroyed her feather. She won’t want to give us treats now!”

“Shhh…” Laurel hissed.“She doesn’t know what happened to the feather.”

Clara wisely sat that one out. In truth, the cats had already had their breakfast, before Becca left. But to Harriet’s delight, she headed once more to the kitchen, as Laurel assumed a particularly self-satisfied smirk.

“No, I couldn’t speak to Gaia either.” Becca cradled the device against her shoulder as she scooped out the savory feast. “The cops were talking to her. I wonder if Margaret said something about her and, oh, never mind. Speaking of, Maddy, I meant to tell you. I met Gaia’s ex. He’s a bike messenger named Tiger.”

She paused then as she laid down the dishes for the three felines. But, looking up from her own second supper, Clara noted the strained expression on Becca’s face.

“You going to eat that?” Harriet’s face pushed close, distracting Clara just when she wanted to listen.

“Hush!” Clara pushed closer to her food, but kept her ears tipped.

“Yes, Maddy, a bike messenger…” Becca was leaning back against the counter, eyes back with exasperation. “No, you’ve got the wrong idea. I mean, sure, he’s cute. But what’s more important is that he might be helpful to the case. He might know who would want to hurt Gaia.”

The buzz coming from the phone sounded like a bee was trapped in there.

“They’re still friends,” Becca explained. “They talk. That’s good, right? I mean, it’s civilized. Anyway, she had told me that he was worried about her, so it was natural to start to chat with him. He’s my first lead.”

A pause so weighted that even Harriet looked up.

“I told you, I’m not interested, Maddy. And even I was, I wouldn’t be poaching. I happen to have it on good authority that Gaia was already seeing someone else. Someone she shouldn’t have been.” The three cats exchanged glances. Becca rarely used that particular tone. “Anyway, I have togo now. My coven is meeting here this afternoon. At least they believe in me!”

***

In truth, Becca had several hours before the coven’s circle—if the informal and somewhat reduced gathering could even be called that. The unsettling events of the previous spring had shaken the group, and in the wake of a summer wedding and an August break, attendance at the weekly meetings had become a bit irregular. Two of the coven, Trent and Larissa, were now such infrequent attendees that Becca hadn’t bothered to ask them about rescheduling their usual Tuesday night to a Sunday afternoon until the day before. Whether it was a fit of pique or a real conflict that caused Larissa to text back a curt excuse, Becca couldn’t tell. Maybe the wealthy older woman really was spiriting away her younger boyfriend for the weekend. The two remaining witches—women about Becca’s own age—were the ones she wanted to speak with anyway.

Besides preparing for her guests, Becca did have work to do. Despite what she’d told Maddy, the fledgling investigator was feeling a bit more desperate than defiant. Money was tight, and her unemployment was running out. If she wanted to make being a witch detective a going concern, now was the time.

Clara might not understand the details—finance being of little interest to a cat—but she picked up on her person’s intensity as she huddled over the laptop for the next few hours.

The first was spent on what Becca called“old-school research.”

“I can’t rely on my sensitivity for everything,” she had whispered to Clara. What that meant, as far as the cat could tell, was typing in people’s names and seeing what came up. Gaia/Gail Linquist seemed to have an awful lot of photos. With, Becca noticed, an awful lot of young men.

“Tiger can’t have been that serious,” she said, with what to her cat sounded like a happy upward lilt. Clara wasn’t sure how she felt about this development. A few clicks later, though, she did agree that the goth girl’s jet-black hair was a more striking look than her original mouse brown.

Margaret and Frank Cross seemed to have less of an online profile.“Makes sense,” Becca said. “Given their ages.”

Once again, Clara couldn’t make heads or tails of the comment, or of the few photos that popped up. One, back when the used car salesman had more hair and his wife’s mouth had been smiling rather than puckered, made her sad, though. She leaned on Becca, and the two sat quietly for a moment with that one the screen.

When Becca rose to fetch the smelly baggie, Clara became concerned. Her person had stuck it in the refrigerator, and her cat had hoped it would disappear there, never to be seen again, like that lettuce from last month. She was relieved to note that its smell had faded, somewhat, after its time in the chill—and even more so when she realized that Becca was only going to look at the thing, through the plastic, rather than touch or taste it. When she put it aside to return to her laptop, Clara considered her options. Harriet’s actions might have been troublesome, but her instincts were dead on, hercalico sister realized. If only there was a way to get rid of the thing that didn’t draw attention to the feline sisters’ powers or otherwise break the rules against involving humans in their magic.

“I’m sure Harriet could bury it again.”Silent as a shadow, Laurel had jumped up to join Clara and Becca on the sofa.“She doesn’t have to make it look like anything. She could just dig.”

“Becca would worry.” Clara didn’t even want to admit the truth to herself.“She’d only turn the house upside down.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” Laurel drew back in distaste, any kind of frenzied human activity, including housecleaning, being anathema to a cat.

Before they could decide on any other action, Becca had picked up the bag once more. Holding it close to her laptop, she seemed to be comparing it to one of the odorless images. Clara and Laurel could only trade worried glances as Becca typed madly and then stared long and hard at the screen.

After what seemed like an eternity to the cats, Becca finally put the specimen aside, and with a tantalizing dance of her fingers, the screen before her changed. That picture again—the woman and the cat—moved as Becca read. Although she didn’t have Laurel’s gift, Clara thought she could make out a few stray thoughts as she focused on her person.“Ancestor…”The little cat tried out the word. Yes, that was right.“With her familiar…”

Could Becca be close to understanding? To comprehending, at last, that her cats had a history of power and had protected their people as best they could? Clara closed her eyes to concentrate and found herself visualizing her own mother. Those last days at the shelter…

“Witch.”No, she wasn’t hearing Becca’s thoughts. Her person was whispering to herself, reading, Clara realized, the text on the screen. A story that seemed to dismay her, from the way she blinked and then closed her screen.

She rose, then, but her mood carried over from whatever she had seen. Although their person remained quiet, the set of her mouth indicated trouble, Clara thought, as did the way her brows had pulled together. When she went for the vacuum cleaner, pulling it from the back of a closet where Clara and her sisters had hoped it had gone to die, she and Laurel made themselves scarce. Even Harriet woke in the ensuing tumult, blinking and affronted as they all crowded beneath the bed in safety.

By the time they emerged, Becca had gone into full-on hostess mode, arranging her small apartment for the arrival of her friends. The three cats took refuge on the sofa, until an extra vigorous fluffing of pillows sent Laurel scampering once more, and an aggressive wiping down of the table had even Harriet hesitant to hover, no matter what tempting crumbs might have gone flying.

Only Clara remained, to show her support as her person fussed. She might as well have been invisible, however, as Becca nearly tripped over her in her frenzy.

“I’m sorry, kitty.” She reached down and scooped up her youngest cat. And although the embrace was a tad awkward—Clara’s foot stuck out and she could feel the bulk of her body already sliding through Becca’s arms—she began to purr. Clearly, Becca was still bothered. Whether that was because of her friend Maddy or because of what she’d found on her laptop, Clara couldn’t tell. Still, any opportunity the plump calico had to soothe her person was worth a little discomfort.

“Hang on!” At the sound of the doorbell, Becca shifted, and Clara managed a decent landing on the floor.

“Graceful,”Laurel snarled quietly from under the sofa.

“I just wanted to make her feel better.”Clara sat and began to groom the fur on her back, where Becca’s embrace had ruffled it.

“I thought you wanted her to give up all this witch silliness.”With Becca safely at the door, Laurel ventured from her hiding spot.“Give up the idea of being a detective, too. Too dangerous, you said. Too risky for a human to try. And that root…”

Clara paused, tongue hanging out between her discreet white fangs. It was true that she had hoped that Becca would go back to being a researcher. The idea that she, or any human, could have magical powers was silly. Any cat would agree.

The worst part, of course, was that Clara and her sisters were responsible for Becca’s obsession. It had been Harriet’s summoning of a pillow—the golden velvet pillow that had been plumped up so vigorously—that had started the trouble, when Becca had misread its appearance as the manifestation of her own attempt at a spell. But recently, she’d come around to the idea that her person might be more like, well, like her cats. And if there were humans who had powers, then their Becca should be one of them.

“You look like a dog, with your tongue out like that.” Harriet emerged from the sanctuary of the bedroom to saunter past. Clara quickly closed her mouth as her oldest sister began snuffling up the crumbs that had gone flying.“Not to mention the way you tag along after her,” the marmalade added as she licked up a particularly tasty morsel.

“It’s not like you need to.”Laurel appeared alongside her and, with a wiggle of her hindquarters, launched herself to the tabletop.“Together, we could—”

“Kitties! No!” A loud clapping made Harriet put her ears back and Laurel leap to the floor. Only Clara looked up to see the tall, slender woman who was laughing behind her hands. The first of the guests had arrived.

“Honestly, Becca, they’re fine.” Ande, a member of Becca’s self-styled coven, wiped tears of laughter from cheeks that were a shade darker than Laurel’s fur. “I mean, if you didn’t have cats, maybe you wouldn’t have your powers.”

All three cats stopped at that and stared up at the newcomer as she walked past them into the kitchen. Even Becca froze, mouth open as if about to phrase a life-altering question.

“That’s so funny you would say that,” Becca managed, her voice breathless. “I was just reading—”

“Yoo-hoo!” Before Becca could elaborate, another voice rang out. “Everything okay?”

“Marcia.” Becca turned to greet the petite newcomer who bounded in, dark eyes wide. “How’re you—I mean, merry meet!”

“Merry meet yourself, Becca. But you shouldn’t leave your door open like that!” Taking off her ever-present Red Sox cap, she ran a hand through her brunette pageboy. “I got scared there for a minute.”

“Why?” Ande stepped back into the apartment’s main room. She was holding the teapot that was always filled for the coven’s gatherings. “What’s up?”

“Don’t you come through Central Square?” Marcia looked from Ande to Becca in disbelief. “Something’s happening at Charm and Cherish.”

“Oh, yeah, I was down there this morning.” Becca took the teapot from Ande, who stood stock still, and proceeded back into the kitchen. “Are the police still there?”

“Yeah.” Marcia dragged the word out as she looked from Ande to Becca. “You okay?”

“Of course.” Ande managed a smile. Laurel, meanwhile, had re-emerged and began sniffing at Marcia’s high-top sneakers. “Becca, what were you saying?”

Marcia wasn’t waiting. “Did you hear anything?” She tagged after Becca, stepping over the cat. “Is it related to that hit and run? I got an alert that the police are on the lookout for a red sports car with out-of-state plates. I guess the poor guy is still critical. It’s a good thing there was a vet nearby.”

“Good thing he knew emergency medicine.” Becca raised her voice to be heard over the running water.

“Yeah, well, that’s part of the training, isn’t it?” Marcia looked at Ande. The taller woman simply shrugged. “They’re calling him the hero vet.”

“Isn’t that redundant?” Becca waved Marcia off as she reached for the kettle. “But, no, that was down by the river. The reason for all the fuss around the shop is because of Frank Cross, the owner’s husband. He’s…well, it seems he’s died.” Clara could hear the water reaching a boil. With her superior feline senses, she could also hear Ande’s startled gasp. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I hear it might have been a coronary.”

“And you were there?” Ande’s voice was tense with dread. “At the shop?”

Becca shook her head as she counted out scoops of the fragrant mint tea.“Three. Four. Uh-huh,” she said. “No, not when it happened. I mean, I was at the shop earlier, but I think he was at his office when—oh, bother.”

“You’d gotten to five,” said Marcia. “And it’s just us three today.”

“Well, there’ll be seconds.” Becca shot her friend a grin as she poured the water into the teapot. “But, anyway, Margaret had wanted to hire me for a case—she had a problem with the shop. I told her I had a conflict and I couldn’t take it. But there was one thing I thought I could straighten out for her, just to put her mind at rest. It involved Frank, kind of, so I went down to his office—you know that car lot on Putnam? Anyway, he was alive then.”

“Well, this must be something different.” Marcia turned her Sox cap in her hands as she thought. “There were a ton of cops by the shop, not an ambulance or anything.”

“Margaret did tell me some valuables had gone missing,” Becca confided, her hand going up to the blue stone pendant. “She thought maybe Frank had taken them. That was…well, that was part of what I was looking into.”

“Speaking of, nice necklace.” Marcia reached over. “Lapis?”

“Thanks. It’s supposed to help discern truth from lies.”

“Interesting.” Marcia eyed the necklace as Ande stepped closer. “How’s it work?”

“When did you speak with Margaret?” Ande’s question saved Becca from having to confess her ignorance.

“Late this afternoon.” Becca reached for the mugs. “I went there right after talking with Margaret. She lives above the shop and—”

“Becca,” Ande interrupted her, her face serious. “Tell me you told the police about this.”

“I didn’t get a chance to,” her host said as she fit the mugs and the teapot onto a tray. “I was trying to get to Margaret, but the police wouldn’t let me in.”

“Of course they wouldn’t.” Ande took the tray from Becca and handed it off to Marcia.

“What are you talking about?” Becca turned from Ande to Marcia, who looked as puzzled as Becca did.

“I don’t know if it was just a coronary, Becca.” Ande’s brow furrowed. “And I am so glad you’re not working for her.”

Becca shook her head in confusion.

“You don’t get that many cop cars for a medical emergency.” Ande pulled Becca back into the living room and sat her on the sofa.

Marcia followed up before Becca could protest.“Ande’s right,” she said, setting the tray on the table. “You said there was some kind of a problem and that Margaret thought her husband was stealing from her? Maybe his heart didn’t simply give out. Or not by itself, anyway.”

Chapter 12

The three cats scurried as the three humans all began talking at once.

“That makes no sense.” Becca stared, wide-eyed, at Marcia. “She loved him. She was afraid he was leaving her.”

Marcia couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Oh, goddess help me, you don’t think that my turning down her case drove her to do something—”

“Hold on. Is anyone saying that Frank Cross’s death wasn’t natural?” Ande turned from one to the other. “Anyone besides us, I mean?”

“No. This is pure speculation.” Becca was trying to be the voice of reason. “Besides, I was with her—”

“When he was still alive!” Marcia voice belied her size, and her exasperation along with it. “But it all fits. I saw a cop questioning Gaia—you know, the girl who works at the shop? And they took Mrs. Cross out the back.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Ande was only repeating what Becca had said, but the emphasis she put on the words made both her friends turn. “The way things were between them, she wouldn’t even necessarily know.”

That brought Becca up short.“Ande, what’s up?” she asked.

“Wait, you know them?” Marcia followed her friend as she moved over to the sofa. As she sat, the three cats emerged from under the table. The shouting, at least, seemed to be over.

“I’ve done some work for the Crosses.” Ande, who had settled beside Becca, was staring at her hands. Almost, Clara thought, like she wanted to groom. “And, yeah, I’ve gotten to know them a bit.”

“Work?” Marcia, who had settled in the easy chair, turned from Ande to Becca. “You mean, you’ve done their taxes or something?”

“I’ve done hers.” Ande glanced up, her hands unlicked. “And the store’s. Not his business, though there’s some overlap. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t say anymore.”

“That’s interesting.” Becca drew out the word. “So you didn’t do the books for his car lot?”

“No.” Ande shook her head, her dark face grave. “Becca, you’re not looking into anything at that lot, are you?”

“I’m not,” she answered, her voice still thoughtful. “Margaret Cross tried to hire me because she thought someone was embezzling. I couldn’t take her case because I had a conflict of interest, because something else came up—but when I went to tell her it all got mixed up with her husband.”

“Oh no.” Ande was shaking her head, as if this were worse. “You’re involved in that whole mess between Frank and Gaia, aren’t you?”

***

The flurry of questions and exclamations that followed sent Laurel leaping to the top of the bookcase again, while Harriet remained under the table. Only Clara, who had ventured out to the edge of the sofa, dared the torrent of voices.

“What are they on about?” Harriet was getting annoyed.“Are we going to have to stay here all night?”

“It’s about a man, isn’t it?” From her perch, Laurel’s blue eyes glowed. “I’m sure it’s about a man.”

“I think it’s about money.” Clara, like most cats, had only the vaguest ideas about finance and budgeting. She had learned a little, however. They all had when Becca had lost her last job as a researcher. Once she had set herself up as a witch detective, their person seemed less worried. At any rate, she spoke about it less frequently—at least until recently—and Clara didn’t think that was only because of the time she spent on the computer doing what her buddy Maddy called “freelance.”

“Money, huh!” Harriet snorted, and curled up on herself. Clara suspected that her older sister was even less clear on the topic than she herself was, but she didn’t try to explain. She also knew how grumpy Harriet could get when she was due for a nap. Instead, she turned her ears forward and tried to pick up the thread of the conversation.

“So, you don’t think Margaret Cross did something. Do you?” Marcia’s gaze swiveled between Ande and Becca.

“I know she was angry with him.” Becca’s voice was cautious, and Clara’s tail began to lash in sympathy. “But not that angry. She was worried about him. She thought he’d gone missing.”

“And that was in the afternoon, when she was home with her sister. But you found him easily enough. And you knew she was upset.” Marcia’s eyes fell on Becca’s necklace.

“Yeah, I did.” Becca reached for the stone. “But, honestly, I believe she just felt bad because he was cheating on her.”

“Like he was going to leave her. Only someone made it permanent.” Marcia turned back to Ande. “You knew something was up.”

“Yeah,” the tall accountant acknowledged, a rueful note creeping into her voice. “I know they were having…issues. But Frank would never leave Margaret. He couldn’t.” She bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from saying any more.

“It was her money.” Marcia put two and two together. “So even if he kept on fooling around—”

“Wait, you know about that?” Becca broke in. Her two friends looked at each other. “Did everybody know?”

“I made the mistake of going down to his lot once. Luz thought we could get a good deal on a car, but he had no inventory,” said Marcia. “What he had was a roving eye.”

“And roving hands,” Ande added. “I learned early on never to be in his office alone with him.”

“He’s lucky he hasn’t been sued,” Marcia piled on. “Then again, nobody would get much. Or it would be Margaret’s money. What?”

Ande had made a face.“He was talking with some other investors,” she said. “If you can call them that. Anyway, I stopped working with him.”

“Good for you.” This from Marcia.

“I didn’t realize he was so creepy. Still, this doesn’t look good for Margaret, does it?” Becca drew her knees up and hugged them to herself, prompting Clara to inch closer.“If only these other people would leave.”

“I think she was really upset when she couldn’t reach him.” Becca didn’t even look down as her calico nosed her toe. “But if he cheated on her and might have cost her money, too… I don’t know. Especially if…”

Now it was her turn to clam up. Her friends noticed and began prodding her.

“If what? Come on, Becca, it’s all in the coven.”

“I’ve probably told you more than I should have already, but this is all going to come out, most likely.” Becca’s forehead was creased, though if that was concern over breaking a confidence or worry about her client, Clara couldn’t tell. “The reason Gaia hired me is that she thought someone was trying to kill her. Or, maybe should I say, kill her, too.”

“And once the police hear that, they’ll wonder if they’re connected.” Marcia filled in the blanks.

“Why did she think that?” Ande, the voice of reason.

“Well, her ex-boyfriend told her that he’d seen someone hanging around, like a stalker. She said she didn’t think anything of it, but now she says she thinks someone put wolf’s bane in her tea.” Becca looked from one of her friends to the other. “An entire root. I know it sounds preposterous, but the tincture is really dangerous—a tablespoon or two can kill—and I don’t know how much would be in a raw root.”

“But who would put a root in someone’s tea?” Ande pinpointed one of the issues that Clara knew had been troubling Becca. “I mean, it’s kind of blatant. Like, wouldn’t you notice it when you lifted your mug? That sounds more like what you do to scare someone than to seriously hurt them.”

“Not only that, but I’m not convinced it’s actually wolf’s bane.” Becca looked around at her sister witches. When nobody spoke, she continued. “Gaia said it was, said she’s an herbalist. But I’ve been doing some research online. It doesn’t look right, and also, there’s somethingabout the smell.”

“Wolf’s bane doesn’t smell,” Marcia said softly.

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t want to taste it, obviously. Hang on.” Becca ducked into the kitchen and returned with the baggie. “Smell that.”

Ande opened the bag and recoiled.

“I should have left it buried,”Harriet muttered.

“That smells familiar.” Marcia wisely didn’t put her face too close.

“I know. Asafetida, right?” Becca looked around for confirmation. “So maybe Margaret wanted to scare her. I mean, she was really upset about Frank, and if she thought Gaia was the other woman…”

“What about this ex-boyfriend?” Ande tilted her head at a quizzical angle. “He might be the one trying to scare her. Convince her that her new romance is too risky and that she should come back.”

After a moment’s thought, Becca shook her head. “Could be, he is the one who’s been looking out for her. Maybe he’s playing both sides, scaring her and then offering to take care of her. But he’s been warning her about a stalker, not poison. Plus, I get the feeling that he’s over her. Of course, thatdoesn’t mean the crimes aren’t connected. Gaia really thought it was wolf’s bane. Maybe Frank did, too. Sometimes, accidents can be deadly.”

Neither of her friends had a response to that.

“The first thing I have to do is get this tested.” Becca put the bag on the table. “But after that, well, I think I’ve got to hand it over to the police.”

Ande and Marcia exchanged a look.“Becs, I think you should just hand the baggie over now.” Ande spoke in the conciliatory tones of someone breaking bad news. “I know she’s a client, but this is serious.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Becca sighed. Whether it was doubt or concern over a man they only tangentially knew, a pall hung over the rest of the gathering, even as the three friends settled down to their wiccan routine. When Ande suggested a purifying ritual, Becca appeared visibly relieved. Laurel fled to the bedroom and Harriet recoiled, drawing one mitten-like paw up to her sensitive nose as Marcia waved the smoldering sage and Becca sprinkled salt. Clara made herself watch, however. These humans had no real powers, she knew that. But something about their rituals was vaguely familiar, even if it was simply that their ancestors had witnessed similar foolery through the centuries, at times with a tragic result. Clara hadn’t heard of any such nonsense in Cambridge. Not this century, anyway. But she wasn’t taking any chances. Besides, the way the three women waved their hands was positively entrancing. Almost like one of them was about to throw a toy for her to fetch.

“Look at your cat, Becca.” Clara looked up to see Ande smiling down at her, brown eyes warm with—could it be?—humor. “I swear, she’s trying to learn the ritual.”

“There is something uncanny about her.” Becca sounded unusually thoughtful as she knelt to stroke Clara’s multicolored back. “Even more than her sisters, I feel like she’s an old soul.”

In response, Clara licked Becca’s hand. Salt might not have any magic powers, but it did taste good.

Chapter 13

The ritual did not have the desired effect. Becca slept badly, tossing and turning to the point that her cats fled their regular posts by her feet long before dawn to sleep instead on the sofa.

“I knew she shouldn’t go out!” Harriet kneaded her velvet pillow before settling down. Her complaining came more from concern for Becca than from any real discomfort. At least, that was Clara’s hope, as she nestled on a footstool.“That’s what started all of this.”

“She could at least bring a new man home.” Laurel stretched to her full length along the sofa’s back, a luxury she could rarely indulge in when the three shared their person’s bed.“Then things might get interesting.”

Clara, knowing how her sister could get when she was overtired, didn’t comment. Bad enough the sealpoint had sussed out Becca’s exchange with Tiger, Laurel’s imagination was already a tad overheated. Hoping to keep her sister from reading her mind for more, the plump calico jumped up to the windowsill and watched as the rising sun warmed the red brick across the street to a rosy glow. Not long after, Becca herself rose, a tad rumpled, and promptly provided breakfast. But even as she brewed her own coffee, her gentle face seemed to firm into resolve.

“What’s up with Becca?” Once she’d cleaned her bowl, even Harriet noticed.

“She’s deciding something.” Laurel lashed her tail. More out of habit, Clara suspected, than because it served any purpose of concentration. Laurel was good at suggesting ideas to people. Whether she could always accurately fish them out, however, was a subject of debate. At times, Clara suspected her middle sister of inflating her own skills so Clara and Harriet would take her more seriously.

Even if it was simply a good guess, Laurel purred with pride when Becca muttered something about“getting it done,” and went to get dressed. Hoping for a bit more insight, Clara hopped down from her perch to follow the young woman as she prepared for whatever was to follow. Her usual attire of jeans and a sweater offered little clue, and even Laurel seemed disappointed when she joined Clara to observe their person from the bedroom doorway.

“So it’s not that new man yet.” The Siamese’s rumbling purr began to slow.

“Her new what?” Clara turned toward her sister in alarm.“Laurel, you can’t know—please don’t push Becca into something. We don’t know this Tiger.”

“Tiger.”The purr was back at full volume, Laurel’s whiskers bristling as her eyes closed in delight.

“What?” Harriet ambled up beside them. But Laurel was enjoying her private musing and Clara was inwardly kicking herself for feeding her middle sister’s fantasy as Becca reached for her coat and hat and, stepping over her pets, set out on her mystery mission.

“See if you can steer her toward this Tiger.” Laurel didn’t even look up as Clara summoned up the power to shimmy through the front door.“I do like the sound of him!”

Harriet’s round yellow eyes were the last thing Clara saw as she passed through the door.

***

After their previous outing, Clara was careful to keep Becca in sight as she made her way down the brick Cambridge sidewalk. The scents and sounds of a city could be overwhelming, but the way the young woman walked—a happy bounce, most days—made her easy for the little feline to follow. Today, however, that bounce was almost gone, replaced by a more purposeful gait. Becca was heading to the Cambridge police headquarters, a multistory brick complex in the heart of Central Square.

Despite her best intentions, though, her steps slowed as she entered the busy commercial area—and not just because of the pedestrians. While Clara looked around for stray bicycles or anything else that might trip her person up, Becca’s pace had eased to an amble.

“She is my client.” Clara could hear Becca’s justification, as well as the sense of doubt—or was it guilt?—in her voice. “I should tell her first, so she can relax. Besides, the cops are going to want to talk to her.”

At that, Clara turned from the sidewalk to take in the storefronts. They were walking down the block that held the magic shop as well as the apartment where the murdered man had lived.

“Gaia?” To Clara’s relief, Becca opted for the former, turning in at Charm and Cherish and calling out for the sales girl even as the tinkling bells announced her arrival. “Are you here?”

“As always.” The raven-haired waif appeared from the back room, her smile softening the untruth. When she saw who her visitor was, she brightened further. “Becca! You missed all the excitement.”

“Excitement?” Although her voice had dropped, Becca’s distress could still be heard.

“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Gaia waved her hands, as if to clear the air. “Not poor Frank. Oh, that was a terrible shock. I gather you…well, you know about that?”

Becca nodded.“That’s why I came to see you, actually.”

“Me?” The other girl’s voice squeaked, rather like a mouse that had briefly gotten into the apartment. Unlike that tiny invader, Gaia didn’t immediately scurry beneath a counter, never to be seen again.

“Yes.” Becca began to sound more confident. “I have some good news. But in light of all that’s happened, I was wondering if you still wanted to continue your case.” A pause, and Clara could see the shadow of doubt crossing her face. “I took a moment to examine the root you dropped off, Gaia.”

The sales girl’s gaze dropped to the counter before her, as if she could hide behind those blue-black bangs.

“I’m not an herbalist, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t wolf’s bane.” Becca spoke gently, but with purpose, as she held the baggie up. “But I was thinking I should bring it over to the Cambridge police, just to be sure. Because even if it isn’t poisonous, somebody was trying to scare you, and that could be dangerous. Especially in light of what happened with Frank.”

Gaia didn’t look up, so Becca took a deep breath and continued talking. “I like to think no actual harm was intended. But sometimes a scare could cause someone to, well, you know…especially if that someone already has a health condition. Like a heart condition.” The more jumbled she got, the lower Gaia’s head hung. Clara waited, hoping her person would just come out and explain her theory—that Margaret, or maybe even Tiger, had planted the root to scare Gaia and had, in fact, planted something similar for Frank to find, but with more serious consequences.

“I’m sorry. I’m making a hash out of this. I just wanted to let you know that I don’t think you were ever in any actual danger. I guess I should just go tell the cops.”

“No.” Gaia raised her head finally, eyeing first the front window and then the back door, looking at everything, it seemed, except Becca. “No, you don’t have to do that.”

“But if Marg—I mean, if someone accidentally provoked…”

Something in Gaia’s face stopped her short.

“You knew this wasn’t wolf’s bane?”

The slightest motion of that dark head indicated her assent, as Gaia turned back to the front of the shop, hoping perhaps that help would walk in the door.“Yeah.” Her voice as soft as a kitten’s. “It’s asafetida.”

“And you knew that because…” Breath escaped in one long, drawn-out “oh” as comprehension washed over Becca. She rested the bag on the counter and took in the young woman before her. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“Well, when I said I’m learning about herbalism, I really meant it. I mean, I’m going to.” The shop girl exhaled noisily. “Okay, I bought a plant, right? I was at that Spirit of Change festival and it was really pretty. It had these blue flowers and spikey leaves, and I figured this placecould use some livening up. So I brought it in. I mean, I knew it had power. The lady who sold it to me said it was a healing plant. I thought it looked nice in the window.”

Becca waited without comment.

“Then Elizabeth, you know, Margaret’s sister? She came in all furious, talking about how my new plant was poisonous and how could I leave it where a child could get at it, and blah-blah-blah. She showed it to me in one of those books.” A pointed look at the packed shelves. “Hey, there’s lots there. I can’t read everything. Anyway, I was going to take it home, only then it disappeared.”

“You said some things had gone missing.”

“Yeah, okay, one thing—my plant. Maybe someone took off with it. It was really pretty. But I can’t help but think Elizabeth, that old witch—I mean, in a bad way—took it. I’d told her I was going to take it home.”

“She may have seen it as a danger.”

“I guess.” Gaia didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, I got so mad and then, well, Margaret started sniffing around, and I thought I might need some leverage. I figured she’d found out about Frank, though we were already basically over and—”

“Hang on.” Becca reached into her bag for a pad. “When did this all this happen?”

Gaia rolled her eyes.“I don’t know. Maybe, like, five days ago? Yeah, I got it last weekend and that old—Elizabeth saw it, like, right away.”

“So you thought about it for a few days?”

Gaia winced.“It wasn’t like that. Only, it wasn’t until, like, Friday that Frank started wigging out on me. Talking about taking off for Mexico or someplace. I wasn’t going to go with him, but I figured something had happened.”

“So you saw him on Friday?”

“Barely.” The aggrieved girlfriend. “I mean, he said he had to go back to work. That’s usually what he tellsher.”

Becca bit back her response.

“I mean, I’d made the place nice and everything.”

“The candle that I asked you about?”

A shrug.“Maybe. They all cost too much anyway. But he wasn’t into it. Just kept going on about having to take care of something. Told me to be ready to go.”

“And were you?”

“You kidding? I know about their arrangement. I figured he was just trying to scam some more money out of the old bag. I mean, he was just wigging. And his old lady was already all over me, so…” Another shrug, like the response was self-evident.

“So you came to see me, to put the blame on her.”

“Look, I was under a lot of pressure. But I’ll be okay now, I think.”

“You think you’ll be okay?” Becca tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t making it all up.” Gaia leaned in. “I mean, Tiger says he’s still worried about me, but really…after the latest?”

Becca waited. Clearly, the woman in front of her was drawing out her story for dramatic intent.

“Maybe you didn’t hear, but the neighbors are saying that the wife is always the obvious suspect.” When Becca still didn’t respond, Gaia went on. “Of course, they don’t even know about her sister, most of them. Everyone just knew Margaret and Frank weren’t getting along, and that she had a temper. Though they could’ve been in on it.”

“You think she—theymade him have a heart attack? They brought it about?” Becca’s voice trailed off. Clara looked up, waiting. Surely, her person was going to bring up the previous night’s discussion. The subtleties of poisonings seemed inconsequential to a cat. The only real way to dispatch something was with a good, fast shake. But cats would never be so brutalto one of their own, anyway. And secretly, Clara had always been grateful for that one mouse’s speedy retreat.

“Some heart attack.” A dramatic eye roll dismissed that. “Tiger thinks there’s something else going on, maybe something with Frank’s business, such as it is. Some kind of conspiracy, even.”

Becca looked faintly green, but Gaia didn’t seem to notice.

“Makes me kind of glad her old witch of a sister got rid of my plant. Right? Because otherwise they might be looking at me.”

“I–I guess.” Becca’s brow furrowed, as it did when she was thinking.

“So, we can toss this, right?” Gaia poked at the baggie as if it were a hairball. “I mean, I’ll pay you for your time.”

“You don’t have to.” Becca sounded relieved. “Though maybe Tiger should talk to the police. I mean, if he’s seen someone suspicious hanging around…”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” With a shrug, the goth girl dismissed her sometime boyfriend’s concern. She seemed lighter now and was already turning toward the shelves behind her, ready to re-start her day. “He’s a bit of a drama king, anyway.”

Her own concerns dismissed, the young woman didn’t seem to think anything of it as Becca nodded and left the shop without another word. Clara, however, thought the behavior odd. As she watched, Becca strode, quickly but not breaking into a run, back toward the end of the block. Before Clara could catch up, however, she stopped cold, inches from a dark opening in the brick wall at the edge of the storefront. Carefully shading herself, Clara passed by and immediately saw what had caught Becca’s eye.

A shadow—no, a person had slipped into the yawning alley and was moving slowly along its wall. That had been what Becca spied outside the window while Gaia had been going on about the store’s owner, Clara realized. Someone walking too slowly and too close to the store to be an ordinary pedestrian.

Clara kicked herself for not paying attention. She could have easily slipped out and followed the figure in the shadows. Even if she couldn’t have passed along her findings to Becca, she might have prevailed on Laurel to convey some message. Only now, it was too late. There was no way that Clara was going to leave her person.

Instead, she stood by, guarding faithfully while her person waited, frozen in place, as the figure crept to the end of the alley. For a moment, he was caught in the sun—blond-tipped hair, denim jacket, and eyes wide with fright as he turned the corner and disappeared.

Chapter 14

“No!” Clara wailed as Becca took off down the alley.“Becca, don’t!” Of course, being a cat, her mewl of horror came out as a caterwaul—a faint one at that, her ordinary cat voice muted by the magic that helped her blend into the shadows around her. More like the wheeze of a passing bus or the squeak of a bicycle’s brakes than a cry of panic, her yowl blended in with the street noise of the busy Monday morning and died away, unnoticed.

Not that this mattered. Even if the young woman in the alley could have heard her terrified pet, she wouldn’t have understood her. Not unless Clara could suddenly assume Laurel’s gift of implanting ideas in a human’s mind, her pet thought with growing frustration.

But Clara had no time for envy or even the most natural sibling resentment. And so, although her own fur was standing on end with fear, Clara darted after Becca, determined to do what she could to aid the person she loved.

“Bother!” Unseen by Clara, Becca stopped short, and only by a quick leap sideways did the little cat manage to avoid colliding with her at the passage’s end. Panting, more from the stress than the exertion, the calico looked up as her person craned her head, peeking beyond the brick wall. Thealley, Clara could now see, opened onto a paved lot, barely big enough for the two cars and the dumpster parked there. Unaware of the faithful feline nervously shadowing her every move, Becca slipped out to make a careful examination of the space. She started with the cars. As Clara watched, the young woman crouched beside the first, rising up so that only the maroon cloche and the few curls that escaped were visible as she peered through the windows. She needn’t have been so careful. These vehicles were empty; their passenger compartments gave off no vibrations, their engines cool and still. Clara could have saved Becca the effort—and the worry—of examining them so carefully had she been able to communicate with her person.

That lack continued to try the pet’s patience, but her own superior senses helped her keep her temper. By the time Becca had progressed to the dumpster, checking around the back before peeking inside, Clara had even begun to relax. Just as they hadn’t picked up any signs of life in those cars, her whiskers hadn’t picked up the vibrations of anything man-sized between the metal receptacle and the brick wall. Becca might not like the family of rodents who had made their home in the storm drain tucked in the corner, but Clara knew they were no real threat to her person, even if their presence might make her squeal.

If Clara was hoping that Becca would ignore the metal door that led out to the alley, however, she was disappointed. As she watched, the young woman strode up to it and tried the handle. Locked tight, the latch barely responded to her energetic pull; the dull gray door not at all. With a sigh of exasperation, she proceeded to examine the frame and then the wall. A frosted window to the right of the door was set too high for her to reach, and no bell or buzzer could be seen. Increasingly exasperated, Becca rapped on the door with her knuckle, but the thick metal only gave up a dull thud in return. Only after a few more tries did she finally give up. But instead of moving along, as her pet would have hoped, Becca began to backtrack. Perusing the little lot and the adjacent street one more time, she peered down the alley and then started the longer walk around the block back up to the store’s front.

“Her boyfriend was right.” Becca was speaking to herself, but Clara, trotting to keep up, heard her loud and clear. So clearly, in fact, that she found it a bit unnerving. Becca’s words could have been her own. “I need to reach her,” she was saying. “To warn her…”

But all the cat could do was tag along back to the brightly painted little shop, which was now locked tight.

“Gaia?” Becca called as she knocked on the glass door, and then leaned in, trying to peek through a green and yellow yin-and-yang symbol. “Are you there?”

Becca squinted. The morning sun reflected off the glass, making it difficult for her to see if her former client was inside or, indeed, if the little shop’s lights were even on. Clara could have told her that nothing was stirring, but the neatly lettered sign taped to the door—Back in Fifteen!—should have been enough. Still, Becca kept at it for at least that long before turning with a sigh and slumping back against the metal frame.

Clara waited with her, tail curled around her paws, willing herself to be grateful for the respite. But although she would have appeared the model of patience if her person could have seen her, the little cat fretted. The shop girl had made no attempt to hide her own erratic work habits. The fact that she had a sign to post should have reminded Becca of this. Besides, if something had happened—Clara’s ears flicked in search of any indication of a struggle that she might have somehow missed—there was little her person could do about it now. As Becca waited, one foot tapping in impatience, Clara found herself channeling her sister Harriet. Maybe it would be better if Becca never left the house.

Laurel would argue with that, of course, and as the minutes ticked past, Clara found herself wondering just what her slinky sister had been able to discern. Could her part-Siamese sibling have picked up traces of that young man, Tiger? Or had she somehow implanted a willingness to flirt in their person? Clara had long felt pretty sure of the extent of her own powers—the shading and the ability to pass through doors pretty much went paw in paw, as if her corporeality was tied in part to her visible self. What her sisters could do, though, she wasn’t completely sure. Harriet was so lazy, she rarely pressed her powers. Summoning up a pillow or a new toy was apparently all she was interested in. And while Clara had been reasonably confident that Laurel’s abilities extended only to implanting suggestions in the minds of humans, her middle sister’s recent brags had the ring of truth.

If only her siblings trusted her more, Clara thought, her ears beginning to sag. If only they shared more. Acted more like family. Then maybe she wouldn’t worry so much about the person they had all adopted. If only Laurel weren’t so obsessed with Becca’s love life. The tawny sister was awfully quick to incite interest in just about any possible suitor, Clara thought. Although there had been that one man…

Her musings were interrupted as Becca’s phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts.

“Hello?” She answered with something like suspicion. “Becca Colwin.”

She stood up straight as she spoke. A sign, Clara knew, that she might be addressing a potential client.

“Oh!” An outburst of surprise as her posture relaxed. “Tiger. Of course I remember you.”

Clara strained her ears forward, hoping to catch the other side of the conversation. From the faint color that rose to Becca’s cheeks, she suspected it wasn’t about business—or not completely. But as Becca put her shoulders back, clearing her throat, Clara realized that perhaps her person had made a decision. Whether it was going to be a good one, the little calico couldn’t tell.

“Why, yes, I’d like to get together.” With that, Becca began to walk, leaving the colorful storefront behind.

Clara’s ears flicked back in alarm.“This is Laurel’s doing!” A low growl rose beneath the white fur of her chest.“Not every man is good boyfriend material.”

Worse, Clara realized as she trotted along behind her person, Becca wasn’t going to the police station. Despite what she’d told her coven, what she’d promised Ande and Marcia, Becca was heading home. For the first time in Clara’s memory, the familiar path didn’t fill her with joy. Between the plans she was hearing and the direction Becca had chosen, it was clear her person was getting more deeply involved, just when they had all hoped she was pulling back from the investigation.

“Lunch sounds great,” Becca was saying. And there was nothing the little cat could do.

When Becca’s phone rang again, Clara dared to hope. But the young woman didn’t even slow down as she took the call.

“Hey, Maddy. What’s up?” Clara picked up her own pace, hoping to hear Becca’s friend talk some sense into her. “Yeah, I know. I was just at Charm and Cherish. No, wait…”

Becca rolled her eyes as her friend interrupted. It was a move Laurel had tried on occasion, with comic results. But while Harriet had chuckled, Clara kept her jaw firmly clenched. Laurel was trying to relate to their person, at least, and her youngest sister believed such an impulse should be encouraged.

“No, that’s just it.” Becca was speaking again. “I’d already told Margaret that I couldn’t take her on as a client, and I went to tell Gaia that she wasn’t in any real danger. Her case was, well, I can’t get into details, but let’s just say we both decided that I shouldn’t pursue it. Only, Maddy, now I’m not so sure.”

The faint squawking from the phone stopped her in her tracks.

“No, it’s not like that.” Becca started walking again, albeit slowly, her voice as thoughtful as her face. “I mean, yes, I don’t have clients to spare. I’d hoped to make this a going concern by the time the unemployment ran out. And, you know, I’ve done some good—”

Another burst of sound, a little softer, cut Becca off.

“Thanks, Maddy. I may need to pick up some freelance after all.” Becca sounded so down her cat was beginning to regret her own wishes. “But, you see, I can’t come down to the office today. No, I’m not going to the police—or not yet. I’m having lunch with Tiger, that bike messenger I told you about.”

From the sounds coming through the phone, Maddy was as surprised and upset as the calico.

“It’s not a date.” Becca emphasized the last word, even as her cheeks grew pink. “I mean, I do believe he and Gaia are over, but still, that would just be too awkward.”

Becca raised her hand, as if her friend could see her.“Maddy, listen. Gaia told me that she and Tiger still talk, and he told her that he thinks she’s still in danger. And when I went down to tell her about the root, I saw someone hanging around the shop. Lurking, actually. So I want to talk to Tiger, hear why he thinks Gaia’s in danger and if it has anything to do with whatever happened to Frank Cross. I gather he’s not keen to talk to the police, but maybe he’ll talk to me and then I can take it to the cops. Because this guy? He wasn’t doing anything criminal, but he was clearly watching the entrance. It was creepy.

“No, Maddy, I didn’t call 9-1-1. The guy disappeared as soon as he saw me watching him. And I couldn’t just tell Gaia. That’s the problem. I tried to, but when I went back to the store, it was all locked up. No, I think she just she took off. She has a habit of doing that. But just in case,or in case there is some connection to Frank, I want to hear what Tiger has to say. And I want someone who cares about her to know what I saw.”

Chapter 15

“We’ve got to do something.” As soon as Clara slipped into the apartment, she rounded up her sisters. Waking Harriet from a nap was never easy, but the sense of urgency that had set her fur on end had made the calico fierce.“Becca’s getting more involved with this Gaia girl, and there’s something weird going on!”

“I thought you didn’t want us using our powers?” Harriet wasn’t happy about having her nap interrupted.“Don’t let the human know, you always say. Your sister and I have been trying to give you some leeway on this, you know.”

“I know.”Clara dipped her head in a hasty feline apology.“But I’m worried. And if Becca gets in trouble, who knows what will happen to us?”

“Maybe we’ll find someplace better.” Laurel had been sleeping, as well but Clara knew better than to mention it. The slender Siamese liked to present herself as always watchful.“Someone who leads a more interesting life.”

Clara bit down on her initial response and took a deep breath through her bi-color nose instead. Laurel was always cranky when she woke up, she reminded herself.“Part of this trouble might involve a new man.” Clara offered up the half-truth like a small mouse, the kind likely to interest her flirtatious sister.

“I knew it.” Laurel stretched seductively, then began to groom, her customary calm returning.“And this is a problem, why?”

“It’s not the man,” Clara began to explain when Becca came into the room.“It’s something he told—”

“Look at you three.” Becca beamed down at them. “So nice to see you’re not fighting for once.”

“Don’t smirk.”Clara couldn’t help it. Laurel had a way of arching one eye that drove her mad.“Please,” she muted her criticism.“I’m trying to think of what we can do—what we ought to do. I mean, within the rules.”

“Good luck with that,” her middle sister purred and sauntered off, tail high, to the bedroom. Clara knew Laurel was going to get involved in Becca’s wardrobe choices. What she didn’t know was how to stop her.

“This isn’t a date.” She trotted after her sister, her mew softening with a slight pleading tone.“She wants to talk to him.”

“Exactly.”Laurel leaped to the bed without sparing her sister a glance.“And he’ll take her so much more seriously if she would only lose that chunky sweater. I mean, who doesn’t like Angora?”

“Angora?”Harriet lumbered in.“You mean that pink sweater?”She reached up to groom her wide face, revealing a few silky, pink strands stuck in her claws.

“You dragged it down from the shelf.” Clara closed her eyes, but not before she saw Harriet pull the fibers free and swallow them.

“Silly!” Laurel hissed.“I had plans for that sweater.”

“So did I.”Unruffled by either her sisters or the pink yarn, Harriet continued bathing, straining to lick what on any other cat would have been the small of her back and nearly toppling over in the process.“It was very soft.”

“You missed a spot.”Resigned, Clara reached over to hook a tuft of the super-fine wool in her claw.

“Clara! What have you gotten into?” The little calico gave a startled mew as hands reached around her middle, pulling her up in the air. “Is that from my new sweater?”

Unable to explain, Clara could only blink in silent apology. On the bed, Laurel’s blue eyes closed in a satisfied smile.

“I could let her know, you know. Point out that Harriet was the one to pull that sweater down from its shelf.” Laurel’s low feline muttering was too quiet for human ears.“I could also suggest to her that we’re more than she knows. That we are, in fact, royalty.”

“Please don’t.”Clara turned toward her sister in silent appeal. It was too late. Becca was carrying her to the bedroom doorway, and then she closed the door behind her.

With mounting frustration, she waited outside as Becca got ready for her lunchtime meet, knowing full well that Laurel, if not Harriet, would be turning the situation to their own ends. Pacing outside the shut door, and unable to pass through without alarming Becca, Clara fumed, and then began to blame herself. Of course Laurel had jumped on the romantic potential of lunch with a new man. Clara hadn’t explained the situation properly. In part, she had to admit, that was because of her own confusion over what was going on.

For starters, Becca had said that her meeting with the bike messenger wasn’t a date. But even without the astute feline hearing that picked up a quickening heartbeat and a slight shallowness in her breath, Clara knew her person well enough to sense that she was intrigued by the dark-haired man. More intrigued, the calico feared, than she had been by anyone since her longtime boyfriend had broken up with her the previous spring.

That had been touch and go for a while, too. Matt, Becca’s ex, had regretted their breakup, even though he had been the one to initiate it. The computer programmer had, in fact, tried to woo Becca back, and there had been moments when Clara had feared he would succeed. But the puppy-ish programmer had cheated on Becca, and, cute as he was, she knew hecouldn’t be trusted. For a long while after that, Clara had worried that Becca would never again trust any man.

That didn’t mean she wanted her person to just jump into something with this Tiger. And despite what Laurel thought, that wasn’t simply because of his name. Clara knew she was more protective of Becca than her middle sister would like. But Laurel hadn’t been the one who had stayed by Becca’s side after Matt had broken up with her. Laurel and Harriet both knew the faithless Matt had done their person wrong, and they had taken the insult personally, as all good cats would. Still, it had been Clara the heartbroken girl had cried with, cuddling her close as if her soft fur were the only comfort she would ever find. Clara didn’t know if she could find a way to explain how sad that time had been. Laurel might be her sister, but sometimes she felt like she and her littermates were not only not a real family. They were like different species entirely.

Chapter 16

Tiger was waiting when Becca arrived at the coffeehouse forty minutes later. Clara smelled the bike messenger—that mix of sweat, gear grease, and sandalwood—even before she spotted him uncoiling a heavy chain from his bag.

“Tiger! Thanks for coming out.” Becca walked up to him as he squatted to weave the chain between the spokes of his front tire and the body of his pared-down bike. “Are you working?”

“What? Oh, the bike?” Tiger blinked up at her. “No, I ride everywhere.”

As he stood, she noticed a phone-like device attached to his belt.“Is that a pager?”

“You’ve got a good eye.” He tilted his head, looking rather like Laurel as he took her in. “Yeah, my boss is old school. But, hey,” he said, unclipping the device and tucking it into his pocket, “like I said, I’m not working.”

Becca inhaled, and Clara looked up in anticipation, not knowing if Becca had another question or was simply going to respond. But Tiger had already reached for the coffeehouse door, which he pulled open.“After you.”

“Thanks,” she said, even as Clara waited for more, and led the way to a butcher block table in the corner.

“Not a date.”Clara repeated Becca’s words, hoping to impress them back on her person.

The corner table offered a modicum of privacy, the better to discuss the case. Clara didn’t need any of Laurel’s powers to follow her person’s reasoning. But Clara had also seen her color rise as she walked by Tiger. The bike messenger was handsome in an outlaw way, with that dramatic dark hair and long, lean muscles sculpted by hours on the bike.

“Just a conversation,” the little cat murmured from the shadows as they placed their orders—a turkey sandwich for Becca, a veggie wrap for Tiger. Even as she settled in to observe while they ate, Clara found herself once again wishing that she had more of Laurel’s particular power.

“I wanted to talk because I gather you’re worried about Gaia.” Maybe it was simply that her part-Siamese sister was on her mind. Maybe it was the blue eyes, but as the bike messenger ferried their sandwiches over from the counter, it occurred to Clara that he really did look like Laurel. Maybe it was the way he tilted his head as he waited, silently, for her to continue. “Do you think she’s in danger? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but she and I were talking.”

A nod.“She told you what’s going on?” He raised his brows.

“She said that you two still talk…” This time, there was no mistaking the question behind Becca’s pause.

“Well, yeah.” The man sitting opposite her shrugged. “We’re friends.”

“I know how hard it is to stay friends with an ex.”

The deep sigh that followed turned into a chuckle.“Tell me about it,” he said, the relief giving his deep voice a lift. Then, seeing Becca’s wide-eyed response, he caught himself. “You don’t have to. I mean, I’m just glad you understand.”

“I do.” Becca lowered her eyes as Clara scrambled to her feet. There was nothing the little cat could do. Not here, where she was, for all intents and purposes, invisible, and suddenly appearing would only distress her person. Still, she couldn’t resist reaching up with one paw. Maybe she should touch her person. Distract her from the intense young man facing her. If she only reached out…

For a moment, Clara wondered if perhaps her ardent desire was enough. Or perhaps, she told herself, Becca had more resolve than her pet gave her credit for. Because, after taking a deep breath, Becca dove in.“Anyway, I am kind of still working with her, and I’m hoping you can share why you’re still worried about her.”

“Well, just because we broke up doesn’t mean…” He shrugged as he took a bite of his veggie wrap.

“No, I’m sorry. I meant if you had specific reasons to be concerned.” Becca leaned in, her own sandwich forgotten. “I’d like to know what they are.”

Silence while he chewed and took another bite.

“She said you saw someone hanging around?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head even as he tore into the wrap. “I don’t know if I should be talking about this.”

“If it helps, I think you may be on to something.” Becca spoke softly, although Clara’s sensitive ears had no trouble picking up the intensity of her tone. “And it worries me, because I don’t think Gaia is taking your concerns seriously.” No response. “I’ve heard that maybe Frank Cross didn’t die from natural causes.”

That got his attention.“Like an accident, or that he was killed?”

Becca shrugged.“There were an awful lot of cops around for what was supposed to be simply a medical emergency.” Her voice dropped to near a whisper. “Someone told me that Margaret Cross was taken in for questioning.”

Tiger leaned in with a speed that set Clara’s fur on edge. “You think she’s a suspect?”

To her pet’s relief, Becca sat back in her own chair, considering. “I don’t know,” she said, her focus on something Clara couldn’t see. “I wish I understood what was going on better. I don’t see Mrs. Cross as a…a dangerous person.”

“She might have had motive.” Tiger’s words got her attention back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to say anything, but, well, it’s true.”

“I think I may know what you’re talking about.” Becca bit her lip. “But please, tell me what you mean.”

Now it was Tiger’s turn to stare off into space, as if he were gathering courage from the list of coffees available. When he turned back, he seemed to have made a resolution. “Frank was having a fling with Gaia.” He stated this as fact, although Clara knew how much this could hurt a human. “That wasn’t why we broke up,” he was quick to add, almost like he could hear her thoughts. “I mean, we were never that serious. But this thing with Frank? Well, I think he was kind of obsessed with her.”

“And you know this…how?” Clara could have leaped into her person’s lap and begun to knead, she was so happy. Becca’s question showed that she was being smartand careful.

Tiger dropped his gaze, but he didn’t seem to see the remainder of his lunch. “I’m not a stalker, okay? But my boss has had a lot of deliveries for Mr. Cross recently. I’ve been down at that car lot of his a fair amount, as well as around here most days. So I see when someone keeps showing up.”

Becca gestured for him to continue, waiting.

“And I heard some of the fights he had with his wife.” Tiger was talking to the table, one long finger tracing the wood grain. “‘Margaret, cut it out! Margaret, please stop!’ I heard him yell that a lot. And he wouldn’t think to protect himself from her.”

“So you think Margaret might have hurt him?” The words came slowly, as if Becca were trying them out.

Tiger shrugged.“Maybe.”

“But I thought they were making up. I heard him on the phone with her the day he died. He started off by telling her she was wrong, that she should calm down and everything. But I think he was basically apologizing.”

He shook his head slowly, his blue eyes sad.“I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, I don’t want to think it was anyone. But you said that word is his heart attack was suspicious, right? Well, they do say that poison is a woman’s weapon.”

Becca recoiled, and then broke out into laughter.“Sorry,” she said as he stared, his handsome face blank. “I thought maybe you were in on it.”

“Excuse me?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Gaia.” Becca sighed and shook her head. “She shouldn’t have, but it didn’t go anywhere. Maybe I’m not such a bad detective after all.”

“I’m still missing something here.”

“Gaia’s case. The reason she wanted to hire me. The poison in her mug.” Faced with Tiger’s baffled stare, she explained about the root and how her coven identified it as asafetida, as well as her friends’ suggestion that her ex-boyfriend might have played a role. “Even when she confessed, I wondered if maybe she was covering—covering for you. You know, if you’d wanted to scare her. And so when you said poison…I’m sorry.” Becca was trying to dig herself out. “In conclusion, it was stupid, but it was harmless.”

“Ah.” Now it was his turn to chuckle, and he picked up his sandwich again. “Yeah, that sounds like Gaia, all right.”

“Anyway, I know she was hoping to frame Margaret—and I’m not saying Margaret doesn’t have reason to be angry. But I’m more concerned about someone else.”

“Someone else?” Tiger leaned forward. For a moment, Clara thought he was going to reach for her, and she strained to see over the edge of the tabletop.

Becca’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “When I left the shop, I was sure I saw someone—a man with light hair. Maybe dyed blond. He was acting strange. Lurking, kind of, like he didn’t want to be seen. I followed him down the alley, but then I lost him.”

“Did you tell Gaia?” Tiger attacked his sandwich with renewed fervor.

“I didn’t get a chance to,” Becca confessed. “She was gone when I went back. And then you called, and I remembered that she said you’d been worrying about her. And I thought she said you’d seen someone hanging around too?” She paused, waiting for an answer.

Tiger only laughed, a small, sad laugh.“Gaia,” he said the name softly, more to himself than Becca. “Yeah, I did. But she’s not the type to listen to anyone. Certainly not her ex. And what was I going to say? That I was afraid her new romance was going to get her into trouble?”

“You wanted her to be careful.” Becca repeated the words. “And you didn’t want her seeing her boss’s husband, right? So you didn’t see anyone?”

“I wanted her to be careful. I didn’t expect any of this.” Tiger tilted his head. It wasn’t a nod, exactly, and it wasn’t a shrug. It was an acknowledgment of an awkward situation. Still, as Becca watched her lunch partner’s face, she must have wondered. Clara certainly found herself considering the options. Gaia had already shown herself to be a liar. Might she be covering again? Lying for her former lover? What, after all, did Becca know about this man and his motives? About his strangely spicy scent? Tiger had clearly wanted Gaia to quit seeing Frank. Might he have gone to other lengths? Done something desperate to stop her? Or to shield her from an injured wife’s wrath?

Chapter 17

“I’d really like to talk to Margaret.”

True to her word, Becca had called Maddy to check in after the lunch. But while she did her best to reassure her friend that the meeting had not been a date, she wasn’t able to put her fears entirely to rest. “I know you don’t want me involved in this, Maddy. And I tried to get out of this case—these cases—but I am involved, whether I like it or not. And, well, I know what Tiger said, but something about it just doesn’t sit right. I mean, I don’t see Margaret Cross as a murderer.”

From the way Becca held the phone, Clara could tell that her friend was yelling. While that had to be unpleasant—no cat liked loud noises—she was grateful that Maddy felt protective. And relieved that Becca wasn’t taking the bike messenger’s story at face value.

“Don’t worry! I am going to the cops. I’m on my way now.” Becca was beginning to sound exasperated. “I just wish I could talk to Margaret first. I mean, I knew she was angry. I could almost understand it if she’d lashed out. But would she really have killed him? Have planned it in advance?

“When Tiger said poison, I figured he was simply referring to Gaia’s, uh, incident.” Becca might be addressing her friend, but Clara had the feeling her person was really talking to herself. “But now I’m wondering… There are some poisons that would induce or mimic cardiac arrest. I was reading…”

More yelling stopped that train of thought. But Becca kept walking, even as she appeared to change her approach.“You’re right, Maddy. I’m not going to get involved in what happened to Frank Cross. I’m leaving that to the police. But maybe I’ll just stop into the store first. Because Gaia really ought to be talking to the authorities too, and maybe I can get her to come with me. She and Frank were involved, and she might know something. Maybe she heard him talk about an enemy or someone who had a grudge or something.”

The voice on the other end of the line sounded nominally less frantic. Or maybe, Clara realized, Maddy was simply tired.

“No, I didn’t ask her about money. I’m leaving that to the police, just like you said.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “Besides, between you and me, I don’t think he had much of a business. Margaret kind of implied that, too. But still, Gaia might know more than she thinks she knows, if you know what I mean.”

That one almost made Clara stop cold. Becca was beginning to sound as logical as a cat. Only as she caught up with her person did she realize that the young woman hadn’t yet aired all of her concerns.

“There’s more, Maddy. That root? It wasn’t wolf’s bane. It wasn’t anything poisonous at all. Gaia planted it in her own mug to get back at Margaret.” She stopped walking. “I guess that’s all going to come out. I don’t want to get Gaia in trouble with the police. It sounds like it was just a stupid prank. But especially if the cops are now saying that Frank’s death was something other than a heart attack, then they should know. I wish I could give Margaret a heads-up about that. Or her sister. A sister might see things that a wife wouldn’t, and that Elizabeth seems prettysharp to me.”

She paused, and Clara waited. But Becca didn’t bring up the other possibility that she had considered out loud—that Gaia hadn’t put the root in her own mug but knew who had. That Tiger had done it to scare his ex into giving up her new lover, or at least to take his warnings seriously. Clara didn’t know if Becca had taken the bike messenger’s shrugged denial as truth, or if she still suspected him of some complicity. She did know that her person was smarter than her sisters gave her credit for, though, and the implication that she might be protecting the handsome young man for some reason made the loving feline uneasy.

But even as she mulled over this possibility, Becca kept talking.

“Besides, Maddy, I can’t help but wonder, what if Gaia didn’t plant that thing herself? I mean, Gaia admits to having an affair with Frank, so maybe it was a warning, someone trying to scare her. And that could mean she’s in real danger.”

***

Becca picked up her pace after that, heading back into the heart of Central Square, where the Cambridge police had their precinct offices. Clara had accompanied Becca to the red brick building before, and they’d both come out unscathed. Still, the little cat found herself on edge, every whisker alert, as they drew closer. Sure enough, Becca’s pace slowed ever so slightly as they entered the bustling business district. It was only coincidental, Clara told herself, that they were also approaching the block that held both the Cross’s apartment and the magic shop where Gaia worked.

“She’s only thinking that she wants to talk to Gaia again,”the little cat thought.“She wishes she could have gotten her to come talk to the police with her. She told her friend that.”

But even though Clara trusted her person more than Maddy apparently did, Clara couldn’t help but feel a shiver of fear as they neared the brick building. After all, Becca had also talked about stopping back at the widow’s apartment and trying to enlist her sister. Clara didn’t relish another encounter with the weird Elizabeth, especially now, when Becca should be handing thiscase over to the police. There was something eerie about that woman, thought the cat. Distracted, she nearly collided with her person as Becca stopped short at the corner.

“Gaia?” The name burst out in surprise. Sure enough, the salesgirl was standing on the sidewalk, one hand pushing her jet-black hair back from her face. From the looks of her eyeliner, she’d been crying. “I was going to stop by the store—”

“Good thing you didn’t.” She turned away, as if to wipe her face. Then, with a defiant toss of her head, she grabbed Becca by the arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Why? What happened?” Becca resisted, looking back toward the glass storefront with its colorful symbols. The skulking figure from before was nowhere in sight, but Gaia acted like she was in a hurry, pulling at her as she began to walk quickly away.

“I’ve been fired. That’s what. At least, I think I have.” She mugged, trying to smile. Only it didn’t quite take. After they’d crossed the street, retracing Becca’s steps, the goth girl slowed her stride and let her head hang down.

“I’m sorry.” Becca immediately went into comfort mode. “What happened?”

Clara looked from her person to the downcast girl at her side. All the options—the absences from her post, the possible theft, the philandering—ran through her mind. Becca had to be aware of these, and yet she appeared as focused and concerned as she’d be if one of Clara’s sisters had started to limp. Becca was tender hearted, Clara knew. She loved her for it, but atthe same time, it made her worry about her person, too.

Gaia took so long to respond that they’d reached the end of the block. By then, Becca had her arm around the other girl. Taking a deep breath, she asked, her voice gentle, “Was it because of Frank?”

Gaia started, and her quick intake of breath must have been audible even to human ears. Exhaling even more noisily, she nodded, and reached up to wipe a tear that had escaped to roll down her cheek.“What a jerk,” she said.

Becca’s eyebrows went up at that, but she held her tongue. After another pause—not so long this time—Gaia began to speak.

“That was stupid,” she said, staring off down the block as if she could transport herself even farther away. “I didn’t even really like him that much, you know?”

Becca wisely chose not to respond. Sure enough, Gaia kept on talking.“He was funny. He used to come into the shop all the time and flirt with me, even though he was this little pudgy bald guy. Like he had all this confidence, you know? He’d bring me a muffin when I opened in the morning. He used to say I was too skinny. I needed someone to look after me. He’d tell me I should get more sleep. Take more breaks. At some point, he started massaging my shoulders. And, you know, he was really good at it. And then he asked me to read the Tarot for him. A private reading in the back, even though he knew I couldn’t really read the cards.”

She broke off and blinked back more tears, though if they were for the man who had died or the job she had lost, Clara couldn’t tell.

“Anyway, it wasn’t more than a couple of times. It wasn’t like I was going to be his girlfriend or anything.” Clara saw Becca open her mouth to comment and then close it again, unable to find the words. “If it weren’t for that old witch of a sister-in-law showing up, I don’t think anyone would have found out.”

“You mean Elizabeth?” Becca latched onto the name.

“Yeah, it was right after she stole my plant. She marched in and said something about ‘dangerous friends.’ I knew then the jig was up.”

For a moment, Clara thought Becca was going to speak out. Gaia was being as unreasonable as Laurel or Harriet. When she didn’t, Clara had to wonder once again at the similarities between them. When Becca finally did respond, it was in a deliberate tone that Clara knew meant she had put some thought into her words.

“Gaia, we need to go to the police.” When the other girl started to speak, Becca put up her hand to hold her off. “Not about the asafetida. I understand that you were upset, and I think we can just pretend that didn’t happen. But about what you heard or may have heard about Frank. And now with this about your plant… I spoke to Tiger.”

The other girl stared at her like she’d grown a second head, the black smears around her eyes adding dramatic emphasis. “Tiger? How did you…?”

“I am a witch detective.” The corners of Becca’s lips twitched. She didn’t, Clara noted, mention her lunch with Gaia’s ex. “And I’m sorry if I overstepped. But you did hire me to look into what was going on, and then you said that he was still worried about you, and I saw—I might have seen—someone hanging around the shop after I left this morning.”

“That might just have been Tiger.”

Becca shook her head.“I know you said he worries too much. But maybe he’s got reason. I gather that he knew about your affair with Frank.”

“Tiger? No, he didn’t…”

Becca cut her off before she could continue.“Maybe he didn’t want you to know that he knew, but he did. I don’t know if that’s connected. But he told me he thinks there was bad blood between Margaret and her husband. Really bad.”

A shrug led Clara to believe the black-clad girl didn’t care that much about the other woman’s distress. “Frank wasn’t serious about me. He was never going to leave her.”

It wasn’t a question, and Becca didn’t answer.

Gaia acted like she had heard something, though. Kicking at a pebble, her lower lip jutting out like a toddler’s, she glanced over at her companion. “I guess I messed up, huh?”

Becca held her tongue and the two walked in silence for a bit, until Gaia stopped and turned toward Becca.“You think that’s why she tried to frame me?”

“Frame you? Did you ever, um, meet at his office?”

“No.” Gaia looked miserable. “I went down to the lot once, but I didn’t like the sleazy guys he worked with. Is that where he…?” For a moment, the death of her former paramour seemed to register, before she brushed it away as if it were a mere annoyance. “No, I didn’t mean…that. Poor guy. Just that she tried to set me up for stealing.” She bit down on the words. “Why she told you, told everyone, that I was taking money out of the register.”

“And you weren’t?” Becca’s voice was as soft as kitten fur. “Not even as a loan?”

“Me? No.” Gaia scoffed at the idea. “I don’t care about money. If I did, you think I would have stayed in that dead-end job? Besides, Tiger’s always telling me I can work with him. He makes pretty decent money.”

“Do you like to ride?” Clara couldn’t tell if Becca was curious or slightly miffed. The little calico found herself relieved by the idea that the pale messenger still harbored feelings for this pale and painted girl.

“What? No, in sales. I’m good behind a counter,” she said, waving off any evidence to the contrary. Even as she did, the reality of her situation seemed to hit home. “Not that I’m going to get any kind of a reference now,” she moped.

“It does seem like maybe it was time to move on.” Becca spoke as gently as she could. “But you said you weren’t even sure you were fired.”

Another shrug.“I don’t know for certain. I mean, it’s Margaret’s shop, but I think her sister is really behind it. She’s the reason Margaret hired me.”

“She is?”

Margaret’s words came back to Clara as she watched her person take this in.

Gaia stretched out her black-clad arms.“I guess I look the part. Or I thought that’s what was happening anyway. Margaret said something about her sister telling her to get ‘that girl,’ like she had me in mind, special. Only I think Elizabeth had it out for me for a while. Just last week, I heard her telling Margaret that she’dmade a mistake. That she’d hired the wrong girl. Actually, she kind of liked you.”

Gaia regarded Becca with a gimlet eye.

“Me?”

Gaia nodded.“She must have seen you when we talked. Or maybe it was when you came in to hang up that flyer. Anyway, she was all excited that you’d come back to the shop. Wanted Margaret to reach out to you right away.”

Becca bit her lip, and Clara knew she had to be thinking about Elizabeth and her sister. Margaret had reached out to Becca, all right, but as a client. And Becca had sent her away.

“Anyway, I don’t know for sure what’s going on, only that she came in and told me to get lost. That I was gone. But I don’t know. Truth is, I think she’s going senile. That old bat couldn’t even get your name right. She kept saying she was waiting for Clara.”

“Well, that’s curious.” Now it was Becca’s turn to look distracted. But Gaia didn’t give her a chance to think it through.

“Wait a minute.” She reached out for Becca’s hand again. “Something doesn’t make sense.”

Becca shook her head, waiting.

“If Tiger was only warning me because he wanted me to be more careful around those Cross witches, then why is he still worried? I mean, it’s not like I’m still going to see Frank. Unless…” Even under her smudged makeup, the goth girl’s pallor was obvious.

“You don’t think that Margaret, that that crazy lady… Or maybe she’s working with her sister. Maybe they did do something to Frank, and now they’re going to come for me.”

“But you just said that Elizabeth basically threw you out of the shop.”

“Yeah, she did. But maybe she did it because she knows something—something about Margaret.” Gaia held Becca’s wrist in a death grip as she leaned in close. “She wants me gone before I can find out what really happened. Or before her crazy sister can kill me, too.”

Chapter 18

“We’re going to the police.” It was a statement, not a question. Still, Gaia tried to wriggle out.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she quailed. “I was being silly. Tiger always says I overreact.”

“Tiger should be coming with us, too.” Becca pulled her phone out.

“No, please.” Gaia reached for her hand, but it was a plea not a grab for the device. “Let’s leave him out of this. I’ll go with you.”

Becca thought for a moment, then accepted with a quick nod. It must have taken all her self-control not to hold the other girl’s arm, Clara thought as she turned and started back into the square. At the end of the block, she slowed. The brick building that housed the shop and the Cross’s apartment lay straight ahead.

“Why don’t we duck behind the store?” Becca asked, turning toward Gaia. “Just in case.”

Gaia managed a wan smile in return, and the two turned down the side street that would take them past the back of Charm and Cherish. This was a boon for Clara, as the smaller one-way was both less trafficked and, at this hour, shadowed by the block of buildings. The lack of light appeared to have affected the two young women, however. As they passed the neighboring structures, they walked in silence, each lost in her own thoughts.

Once they neared the small lot in the rear of Charm and Cherish, Becca paused to look up the alley that ran alongside. But the narrow passageway was empty now except for shadows. Still, Becca was so preoccupied that she almost missed Gaia’s sudden intake of breath.

“What?” Becca turned to her.

The other girl appeared frozen in place, as if her glittery sneakers were glued to the sidewalk.

“I can’t,” she said. “I really can’t, Becca.”

She was staring ahead at the tiny lot. Only one car was parked there now, a battered tan Toyota that was rumbling as it belched out clouds of blue smoke. Over the top, Becca could see a wiry head of grey hair.

“Elizabeth.” Becca sighed. The older of the two sisters had clearly just exited the shop, that gunmetal gray door propped open behind her. The light from the small window just past the door shone down through the shadow, highlighting the silver in her hair. “Well, she’s probably just takingout the trash.”

Clara peered up at her person. Even from here it was apparent the older woman was speaking to someone in the car. Gaia must have seen it too, because she emitted a faint groan.

“Maybe it’s just someone asking for directions.” But sure enough, the Toyota began backing out with a scraping sound that didn’t speak well for the exhaust. As it turned, Becca strained to see. There was something familiar about the driver, Clara thought. But with the windows up, she could catch neither scent nor sound.

“Funny.” As Becca looked on, the car headed away, leaving the small lot empty except for the dumpster. Elizabeth turned back toward the building, then paused to examine a plastic milk crate that had been left beside the door. A moment later, she stood, shaking her head, and left it there as shewent back inside, letting the door shut behind her.

“Anyway,” said Becca, “she’s gone.” With that, Clara’s person turned to her companion, only to find that the goth girl had disappeared as well.

***

“Gaia?” Becca called quietly, whirling around to check up the alley. But the black-haired girl was nowhere in sight.

“I may as well talk to Elizabeth.” Becca sounded resigned. “At the very least, she can fill in some blanks for me.”

With that, Becca walked up to the alley and, after a moment’s hesitation, followed it up to the street, Clara hard on her heels. When she paused on the street out front, Clara waited. For a few seconds, Clara thought she might even have thought better of her errand and decided to continue on her original mission. But to the little cat’s dismay, Becca was only once more looking around for the missing girl. And possibly, she realized, strategizing. Then, pulling herself upright, to make her petite frame as tall as could be, she walked up to the colorful store and entered, to the now familiar jangle. Clara had no choice but to follow behind, passingthrough behind her before the bells had quieted.

“Hello.” The shop appeared empty. Although Clara could make out sounds, nobody stood in Gaia’s place behind the counter or between the packed shelves. “Anyone here?”

“Coming,” a familiar voice called from the back room, and Becca headed toward it. But if she was hoping to check out the storeroom, she moved too slowly. Elizabeth stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her. She was wearing a smock and work gloves, and in one hand held a pair of secateurs. “Becca, dear,” she said with a smile as she pocketed the pruning shears. Although she was fully shaded, Clara ducked behind a display of crystals as her person stepped forward. “Welcome.”

“Elizabeth.” Becca was smiling, Clara could hear it in her voice. She could also hear the strain underneath. This was a ploy, she realized. Her person was trying to disarm the older woman. “I was hoping to speak with you or, perhaps, with Margaret.”

She stepped forward, toward the back room. Elizabeth didn’t move. “I’m afraid Margaret is indisposed,” she said. “I’m sure you understand, what with Frank and all.”

“Of course.” Becca agreed. “I’m wondering if the police have shared any information with you?”

“The police?” Elizabeth’s voice rose as she began to pull off her gloves. “Why would they tell me anything?”

“Well, I gather you’re here, taking care of your sister…” Becca caught herself before she finished the sentence. She wanted the older woman to reveal herself, Clara realized with admiration.

“I don’t take care of Margaret,” Elizabeth said so quickly that Becca caught her breath. “I do try to advise her, of course. But it’s not like she ever listens to me.”

“I gather you didn’t like Gaia, the girl who was working for her.”

“That fake?” She brushed her hands together, dismissing the shopgirl like a last bit of dirt. “No. I had no use for her. I told Margaret.”

“And I assume you shared your suspicions with the police?”

“Of course.” Elizabeth sounded very matter of fact. “But that doesn’t mean… Oh, dear! Becca!”

Clara started forward in time to see Becca begin to fall, her knees buckling. She grabbed the counter just as Elizabeth raced around to catch her.

“Poison!” The calico stared, wide-eyed, unsure of what to do or how to help.

“I’m fine.” Becca leaned heavily on the older woman. “I just got a little lightheaded. If I could just sit down for a moment?”

“Of course.” Arms still around Becca, she began backing up, kicking open the door behind her. And as Becca apparently regained her strength enough to walk through it, Clara relaxed. The move had been a ruse, a trick to get into the back room.

“Would you like some water?” Elizabeth asked, showing Becca to a worn couch. Despite its sprung upholstery, it looked comfortable, Clara thought, with deep cushions and soft velvet that still retained some of its pile. As her acute nose informed her of its other recent usage, her ears went back. This, then, was where Frank and Gaia had their assignations.

The odors were too faint for Becca to notice, however. And as Elizabeth hurried over to a corner, where a sink and hot plate made for a makeshift kitchenette, she took in her surroundings. In front of the sofa, a scarred wooden coffee table held two dirty mugs as well as an opened deck of Tarot cards. Metal shelving lined the walls, stuffed with books and boxes, several wrapped in cellophane. The door to the shop remained ajar, as did one by the sink, revealing a small lavatory below a smoked-glass window. As Elizabeth ran the tap, Becca craned around to see the exit to the street. Her view was nearly blocked by large cardboard boxes, some open, others taped shut. Someone was in the midst of packing, though whether that work would require pruning shears or gloves, Clara didn’t know.

“Here you go.” Elizabeth slid onto the sofa beside Becca, handing her a plastic beaker of water.

“Thanks.” Becca managed a smile but did not, Clara was glad to see, drink. Instead, she turned to face the open boxes. “Are you, uh, changing out the inventory?”

“That? Oh, yes.” Elizabeth appeared flustered, as if she were seeing the boxes for the first time. “I’m afraid Margaret let things go, and so I figured that while I’m here I would try to get things in order. There’s so much that’s outdated and nothing has been taken proper care of. Ofcourse, it would be a huge help if we had a proper staff.”

Becca nodded.“I ran into Gaia.”

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.“That girl,” she said. “She didn’t belong here. She had no feeling for the craft.”

Becca’s eyes narrowed. For a moment, Clara thought, she resembled Laurel. “That’s why you let her go?”

A startled laugh.“You thought—because of Frank? No, she did Margaret a favor, though my sister doesn’t see it that way. Frank was a liability from the get-go. She’ll be much better off now that he’s gone.”

Before Becca could respond, the jingling of bells announced the opening of the store’s front door.

“Elizabeth, are you there?” a voice, nasal and a little whiny, called.

“Margaret?” She rose and turned. “Coming!”

Becca followed her back through to the front of the shop.

“Glad you’re feeling better.” She greeted her sister with a hug.

“What? Oh, hi, Becca.” The shorter sister had her coat on, and her pink cheeks attested to a longer walk than the half block from her apartment. Still, she bobbed her head toward her sister. “Yes, thank you, Elizabeth. The nap did me good.”

Becca looked from one sister to the other, but bit back whatever response she was about to make.“I’m glad you came by,” she said instead. “I’ve been meaning to offer my condolences. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The new widow sniffed, a bit dramatically.“Thanks. It was a shock.”

When nothing else followed, Becca leaned in.“If you’re up for it. I was also hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“Questions?” Even a human couldn’t have missed the way the two sisters locked eyes. But if Becca saw anything, she chose, once more, not to comment. Instead, she simply smiled and waited. “Of course,” said Margaret. “Elizabeth, would you make tea?”

With another glance at Becca, the taller of the two sisters retreated into the back. Margaret, meanwhile, removed her coat and carried it around the back of the counter. Although she sniffed again, Clara suspected that had as much to do with the chill outside that had pinked her cheeks as with grief. Surely, Becca had to notice that the widow had seemed more upset at the idea of her husband leaving her than at his death?

“With everything that’s going on, I can’t believe that Elizabeth fired my only employee.”

“I thought she was following your wishes?” Becca spoke quietly, so as not to be overheard by the woman in the back.

“Elizabeth?” Margaret shook her head. “Hardly. She thinks she knows best. As always.”

As she settled onto a stool behind the counter, Becca leaned forward.“She was telling me about Gaia.” Another quick peek, but the older sister still had not emerged. When the widow sniffed once more—perhaps she had a sinus condition—Becca hesitated. But when Margaret only dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up handkerchief, she began again. “I’m sorry. I’m not interested in gossip, but Gaia’s been having some problems, and you have to see how this looks. I was thinking that if, perhaps, someone was angry at Gaia, she might have thought to scare her a little.”

The wiry-haired widow sighed, and for a moment Becca looked like she was about to apologize. Clara understood—Becca was a sweet girl and inclined to be sensitive—only just then she hoped she’d hold firm.“Please, Becca, you need answers,”she muttered in a low feline rumble. If only she had a little of Laurel’s powers of persuasion, the calico thought yet again, as she concentrated as hard as she could.

“Have you spoken to the police about the theft?” It sounded like a digression, and Clara stared up at Becca, wondering what her person was aiming at.

Margaret seemed to deflate further, and Clara realized there was, indeed, some kind of connection.“Frank,” she said, as her bowed shoulders rose and fell once more. “He was a dreamer. He thought bigger than he was. What else can I say?”

“So you didn’t report the jewelry? The watches?”

A single sad shake of the head.“It doesn’t matter now, does it? I mean, to anyone but me.”

“But if you think someone was stealing…” Becca’s tone stayed even, her voice soft, but she wasn’t giving up.

“Someone was. Only, well, that’s all over.” Another brush of her hand, as if larceny were a pesky fly.

Becca sucked in her lip. Clara recognized that move. It meant she was thinking about something or, no, regretting it.“Margaret, when I said I couldn’t take your case, it wasn’t because I didn’t think it was legit.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear.” The large eyes raised to meet Becca’s were dry but sad. “I did some silly things, too.”

“I was wondering.” Becca’s voice, already quiet, grew powder-puff soft, as gentle as a kitten’s paw, and Clara waited. “Was that what happened with Frank, Margaret?” Becca glanced quickly toward the door, expecting Margaret’s older sister to emerge at any moment. “Tell me, Margaret.Did you want to scarehim a little? Bring him back in line?”

“Frank?” Margaret’s head went back as she screwed up her face in confusion. “You think I…that I made him sick? You think that’s why he left? You can’t, possibly…”

Becca reached out to take her arm.“I don’t mean it was anything intentional. Of course not.” Becca remained quiet, the voice of sympathy, though Clara could hear how tightly controlled her breathing was. “But if there was an accident with one of the herbs from the shop, maybe? I mean, I would understand.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Margaret pulled away, any trace of that brittle giddiness gone, replaced by an acid scorn. “I don’t know where you get your information, but I didn’t dose my husband with anything. Not from my shop, not from anywhere. I’ve never hurt anybody, not even that cheating little trollop you seem to have become friends with.”

Becca started to protest, but Margaret cut her off.

“I’m extremely glad I didn’t spend any money on your so-called psychic services.” Her dark brows descended as she glared at Becca. “It’s pretty clear you’re no good at detecting anything. Frank’s heart gave out, you silly girl. He was a cheater and a loser, and it’s his own fault if his guilty conscience finally caught up to him.”

***

“Why don’t we step outside?” A hand gripped Becca’s upper arm and she turned to see Elizabeth, who proceeded to march her toward the door. “Shall we?”

Clara bristled, ready to spring. But as soon as she had Becca out on the sidewalk once more, the older woman released her. Blowing out her lips, she reached up and pushed that wiry hair off her face.“Stupid girl.” It sounded more like frustration than a reprimand.

“I’m sorry.” Becca still seemed stunned by Margaret’s outburst. Or perhaps, thought Clara, by the widow’s lack of grief.

“Not you—that Gail. Gaia, as she calls herself.” Elizabeth peered back into the shop. Checking for her sister, Becca thought, and giving Becca a moment to collect herself. “She was a menace.”

“You mean, because of the wolf’s bane?” After Becca threw out the name of the poisonous plant, Clara could hear that she held her breath, waiting.

“So foolish.” Elizabeth frowned. Her bushy black brows arched like a cat’s back, but she didn’t pretend not to understand. “You do know that aconite can bring about arrhythmia, a heart attack, don’t you? If the police found that plant in the shop…well, Gaia should be happy I made her get rid of it.”

“You made her get rid of it.” Becca repeated the words to make sure she heard them correctly.

“Didn’t she tell you?” Elizabeth barely noticed. “Yes, I tried to make her understand the danger. Not that a girl like that takes anything seriously. I was glad when it disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Surely, thought Clara, the older woman would notice the emphasis her visitor placed on the word.

“Re-homed. Tossed. Whatever. As long as it was no longer sitting right there in the Charm and Cherish window. Stupid.” She shook her head again, but slowly, as if consumed more by disappointment than anger.

“So you didn’t take it?” A tilt of the head.

“Me?” Elizabeth laughed, face up in an appeal to the heavens, and then focused those dark eyes on Becca. “You should know better, Becca. You more than anyone. But never mind.” She turned and reached for the door, ready to rejoin her sister. “Just stay clear of this, okay? It’s not safe.”

Clara looked up at Becca then, but her person simply stood there, too stunned to respond. The little calico, meanwhile, couldn’t help but notice how the older woman’s eyes flickered under those heavy brows as she nodded once more to Becca, and then slid over to the cat who stood at her side.

“Especially with your family history,” she said.

Chapter 19

“You’ve been gone all day!”Harriet greeted Clara at the door with an eager sniff.“This is as bad as when Becca had that job of hers. We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Did she spend all afternoon with that Tiger?” Laurel circled, her tail lashing with the excitement of the hunt.“Is she bringing him home soon? Are they going to his place?”

“No!” It was all Clara could do to contain her temper.“Everything’s gotten so much more complicated! You don’t understand, either of you. Ow!”

That was in response to Laurel, who had batted her ear. Harriet merely stared, affronted, her own flag of a tail flipping back and forth in annoyance.

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, runt.” Laurel was not going to forgive easily.“Especially about men and women like our pretty Becca.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s this whole situation.” Clara looked at Laurel and then Harriet. The time for secrets, she realized, was over.“There’s something I haven’t told you. A lot, actually.”

With her ears tuned for Becca’s footsteps on the stairs, Clara filled her sisters in on what had happened. The lunch, running into Gaia, and, more disturbing to the little calico, her interaction with both Margaret and Elizabeth. As she described the older woman, tall with that wiry silver hair and a beak-like nose that seemed to draw her dark eyes close together, Harriet rose to her feet. Thinking that her oldest sister was simply getting restless, Clara hurried to finish.

“That look was bad enough,” she said, ears flicking backward at the memory.“But then that Gaia said something that really freaked me out. She said that this Elizabeth was looking for Becca, only she called her Clara. Like maybe she was really looking for me.”

“Huh.” Eyes closed, Laurel sniffed dismissively.“Like the runt of the litter, Clara the clown, would be the feline she sought.”

“I’m the one she saw,” Clara offered, hoping to appease her sister. She had her own thoughts as to why the wiry-haired woman had asked for her, but there was no sense in antagonizing her sisters.“Becca’s smart. She must have figured it out. Elizabeth is taking over the shop. She’s getting rid of stuff, and it looked like she was maybe gardening. That could mean she was doing something else with that poison plant. Plus, she said that her sister was better off without Frank.”

“And she fired Gaia?” Harriet took a while to understand, sometimes.

Clara resisted the urge to nip her older sister.“The girl is lucky! At least she got out alive. But that’s not the strangest thing. This Elizabeth, it’s like she staged all this to bring in our Becca. She spoke as if she knew Frank was going to die. As if she was already planning—”

“Well, what’s going on here?”

Clara turned. Harriet sunk down onto her belly, and Laurel jumped as Becca shut the door behind her. They’d all been listening so intently to Clara they’d missed the sound of their person, who now stood, smiling down at her three pets.

“It almost looks like you three are having a conference. Or, should I say, a convocation?”

“More later,” Clara mewed softly as she turned toward her person.

“No sign of poison.”Laurel had already rubbed her face against Becca’s legs and now stood to bury her brown snout in Becca’s palm.“She’s clean.”

“Well, that’s a mercy!” Harriet made a desultory pass.“There are some odd scents on her though.”

“Really?”Clara pushed in, earning a slight snarl from Laurel.

“Hey, I’m working here!”One brown paw raised to bat her little sister.

“Just when I thought you were all getting along so well.” Becca’s tone was enough to make Clara slink off, tail down. “Ah well, never mind, kitties. Let me get you some dinner. I’ve got some strategizing to do.”

“Sorry.” Clara slipped in behind Laurel as the three cats followed their person into the kitchen.“Can you…?”

“On it,” said Laurel.“Something about this ‘strategizing’ I don’t like.”

“Gaia?” Even before the third can was down on its mat, Becca had her phone out. “Call me please.”

When the phone rang only a few minutes later, Becca grabbed it. By then, she was on the sofa, feet up, with her computer on her lap. Laurel was bathing on the armrest, while Clara, at her feet, sat up at attention. Harriet could still be heard in the kitchen, hoovering up the last few crumbs.

“Hey, Maddy.” As Becca closed the laptop, she put one hand over her eyes. “No, I didn’t get to the police today. I was on my way when I ran into Gaia outside the shop. I was hoping to get her to come to the cops with me, but she bolted, and I ended up talking to Margaret Cross and her sister, and it all got complicated. I’ll go tomorrow, I promise. With or without her, but it would be better if she’d come with me.”

As Clara listened, Becca ran through the events of the afternoon. When she got up to her decision to come home rather than continue on to the police station, Clara couldn’t help but feel like her person was intentionally leaving something out.

“You just don’t want to admit that she messed up.” Laurel, stretched along the couch back, managed to mute her usual Siamese voice.

“You weren’t there.” Clara shifted.“She was afraid. That woman—Elizabeth—seemed to be warning her off.”It made her uncomfortable when Laurel eavesdropped on her thoughts. Besides, she wanted to listen to the conversation.

“Like that’s any different?” The distinctive yowl grew a bit louder.

“Hush, now.” Harriet landed with a thud and, seeing that Becca had taken up most of the sofa, began to knead her instead.

“Come to think of it,” Becca was saying. “I’m going to try Gaia again now.”

Laurel glared at Clara, but Clara only had eyes for Becca as she punched in the by-now familiar number. Something was very wrong. She could feel it.

“Hey!”With a startled mew, Harriet leaped sideways to avoid the laptop, which slid to the sofa beside her.“What’s going on?”

Neither of her sisters answered, although Clara joined Laurel on the sofa back as Becca rose and began to pace.

“Hey, Gaia. Thanks for picking up.” Becca was doing her best to be casual. Clara could hear the slight singsong cadence of her voice. Until she stopped and stood up straight. “Gaia, what’s wrong? You don’t sound good. You—what? Did you say ‘numb’? Where are you?” She started looking around, and Clara rolled a pencil out from under the sofa for her person to grab. “I’ll call you right back.”

“Emergency? I just spoke with a friend at 932 River…” As Becca spoke, she headed toward the door, grabbing her coat as she did. “You need to send an ambulance there now.”

Chapter 20

Clara didn’t even consult with her sisters. As quickly as she could fade her orange spots to gray, she followed Becca out the door and down to the street, where Becca hailed a passing cab. Overcoming her natural feline distrust of motorized vehicles, Clara even managed to scramble onto the black vinyl seatbeside her.

“Mount Auburn Hospital,” Becca told the cabbie. “I’m sorry, I don’t have the address.”

“Emergency?” The cabbie’s voice emerged from his darkly shadowed jowls.

“What? No, I’m fine.”

“Emergency room, I meant.” Dark eyes caught hers in the rearview. “Don’t worry. I actually drive for a living.”

“Of course.” Clara didn’t understand the slight blush that crept into Becca’s cheeks. She did know that the car was moving more smoothly than Becca’s usual ride shares. In the seat beside her, Clara was taking no chances, however, and dug her claws into the slick upholstery. The small risk that Becca would notice the indents was worth not being thrown around should the car stop short.

“Uh, miss?” Clara needn’t have worried. Becca was so distracted that she was halfway out of the cab before the driver called her back.

“I’m sorry.” Becca fished out her wallet and handed the driver a bill. “And thanks.”

If Clara thought the ride was bad, the scene that met her when she followed Becca through the sliding glass doors was worse. Beeps and blats, along with a terrifying array of smells stopped her in her tracks. Only the rattle of wheels alerted her to jump to one side in time to avoid being run down as some kind of a trolley rolled by, propelled by four white-clad feet clearly in a hurry.

“Gaia—Gail Linquist?” Becca’s voice, over by a window, made Clara focus once more and she hurried to join her by the safety of the wall. “Has she been brought in?”

“One moment, please.” Considering all the noise and activity, the woman who responded sounded surprisingly calm. “Are you family?”

“No, I’m a…a friend.” Becca leaned in. “I’m the one who called an ambulance for her.”

“Becca Colwin.” A male voice, deep and oddly familiar. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Detective Abrams.” Becca, breathless, barely got the words out as Clara identified the large and rumpled man who had come up behind her. Clad in a tweed jacket that sagged at the elbows and wrinkled khakis, the man smelled of stale coffee, the dust of paperwork, and the sweat of many, many hands. In other words, he was a cop. That he was familiar with Becca, and she with him, put the small cat somewhat at ease. She, too, remembered the unexpected gentleness of the big man. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Becca’s voice lifted with relief. “I’ve been meaning to come talk to you.”

Eyebrows like untrimmed hedges rose as the detective sipped from a paper cup.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” A rumble like the wheels of that trolley. “Only when your name came up, I thought I would insert myself into this…situation.” He motioned with the cup. “Shall we go have a chat?”

“I can’t.” Becca looked over the window, but from all Clara could see, the woman on the other side did not respond. “I’m waiting to hear about Gaia. Gail, I mean. She’s a friend. A client. Well, sort of.”

“Let’s go chat, Becca Colwin.” One large hand reached out behind her to propel her along. “I think you’ll want to talk to me about this ‘Gaia Gail friend client sort of’ of yours.”

Chapter 21

As relieved as Clara was to leave behind the noise and traffic of the waiting room, the idea of her person heading off with the rumpled cop wasn’t exactly comforting. Yes, she knew—or hoped she knew—that the big man was both kind and fair. However, he did work in a building that resembled a giant cage. Also, as he walked Becca along, one big mitt behind her as if to stop her from escaping, he propelled her first through a set of double doors that threatened to close on the skittish cat and then a long passage that smelled of chemicals, all the while herding Becca like a determined sheepdog. Even as she paused, looking back toward the loud room, he kept his sad, dark eyes on her, taking in everything, Clara thought.

In the past, this large man had proved himself more gentle than his rough exterior suggested. Still, Becca was clearly ill at ease, looking up at him as they walked, and so, despite her own discomfort with their surroundings, her loyal cat stayed close, waiting for a chance to break them both away.

“Why don’t we have a seat?” Holding out a hand the size of Harriet’s water dish, he directed Becca toward a row of molded plastic chairs in relatively quiet alcove. Apparently carved out of the hallway, it appeared to be a waiting room, though for what, the little cat could not tell. It hadno windows, and she couldn’t read the signs that hung overhead. It also had no carpet, and no plants for cover, and so Clara focused hard on her shading as she ducked around her person to take up position beneath an orange seat.

Looking as skittish as Laurel, Becca perched on the edge of one of the hard plastic chairs like she was readying herself to leap.

“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Abrams fished a pad out of his jacket as he settled, more heavily, beside her. “What brings you to the ER this evening, Ms. Colwin?”

“I told you. I’m here for Gaia—you probably know her as Gail.” Becca glanced back down the hall. “When I called for an ambulance, the EMTs said they would be taking her here.”

“And you know this Gail, how?”

“She hired me. She thought—well, it doesn’t matter now. It can’t. Not really.”

The big man leaned forward.

“It was a stupid prank. That’s all. But when I went to talk with her again, I saw something.”

The big man’s capacity for stillness was impressive, thought Clara. He’s a hunter, she realized, waiting for small prey to emerge. Waiting for…Becca?

Clara jumped to her feet, the fur along her spine rising as her back arched. Eyes wide and whiskers flared on the alert, she eyed the hallway. If she darted out, she could turn and jump. She had no hope of holding the large man, but she could create a distraction. Buy a few seconds, maybe, that would allow Becca to escape. Her ears picked up that Becca’s tone had risen and she could feel the air as she gestured. She was helpless, and only Clara could help.

Only Becca didn’t seem to realize the danger she was in. In fact, the calico realized as she readied to spring, her person was leaning toward the big man and almost touching him as she explained the day’s events.

“So that’s why I was trying to reach Gaia,” Becca was saying. Her voice, Clara realized, was raised in excitement or frustration, perhaps. Not fear. “I wanted her to come with me to talk with you. Something odd is going on, and I don’t know how it all ties together. But both Gaia and Margaret Cross were accusing each other of the most awful things, and Gaia was involved with Margaret’s husband—”

“Hold on, please.” That big hand went up like a stop sign. Even Clara had sat to listen by this point. “What exactly is your role in this?”

“I’m a witch, ah, investigator.” Clara’s ears flicked as Becca stumbled over her customary title. “Because these women are in the community, they asked if I could help them out.”

A slow nod made Clara think that the big man understood more than he was letting on.

“So both Gail and Margaret hired you?”

“Well, they both tried to. I told Margaret I couldn’t work for her because Gaia had hired me first. That was before Margaret lost her husband.”

Another nod.“And how exactly did you come to be here, at the hospital, this evening?”

“Well, I had been trying to reach Gaia. She and I were going to come talk to you about…about, well, something I saw. And a plant. It’s a long story. Honest, but when I finally reached her, she said she was feeling funny. Her mouth had gone numb, and she was slurring her words. So I called 9-1-1.” She’d glided over the part with Gaia slipping away, Clara noted. The way the big man waited made her think that he’d noticed something was missing from her story, too.

“You were coming in to speak with me?” His voice flat as a stepped-on mouse.

“Yes.” Becca paused, and Clara thought she was going to explain, then, about seeing Elizabeth—about the missing plant and Gaia bolting. Instead, she simply forged ahead. “She and I had talked about it. Her ex-boyfriend—I’d just met with him. He was worried about Gaia. He thought someonewas out to get her, and I guess he was right.”

“This boyfriend have a name?”

She nodded enthusiastically.“Tiger. I mean, that’s probably a nickname, but that’s what everyone calls him. Have you spoken with him? Because he thought that someone was stalking Gaia. He warned her to be careful.”

“And you’ve met this Tiger?” His voice was still soft. His eyes, dark and kind. Maybe it was the way he leaned forward or some undefinable note underlying his questions, but Clara’s fur began to rise once more.

“Yes, we had lunch and he told me that he thought that Margaret maybe, but no…” Becca shook her head, picking up on the shift in tone that was causing Clara’s unease. “I just saw her, and Tiger’s wrong, at least about Margaret and her sister. I mean, she was angry at her husband. And atGaia, too. But she didn’t put the root in her mug. Besides, it was just asafetida, which smells awful but isn’t dangerous.”

“I’m not talking about this Margaret or any smelly root,” Detective Abrams interrupted gently, as if he were correcting a kitten. “I’m talking about you, Becca Colwin. Because before you arrived, I interviewed the victim’s friend, this so-called Tiger. And he says he hasn’t spoken to you. In fact, he says he’s never met you at all.”

Chapter 22

“That’s crazy.” Becca sat up, her eyes turning once more to the double doors at the end of the corridor. “He’s upset. Or maybe he’s pretending? He and Gaia have broken up, but our lunch was, well, I had the feeling that maybe he thought it was a kind of a date, and maybe he…”

Becca’s theory petered out under the big man’s skeptical gaze.

“Okay, then. Let’s move on to some other questions. Shall we?” The detective flipped a page in his pad. But as he did, the double doors slammed open, and a dark woman in pink scrubs came striding through.

“Is there a Becca Colwin here?” She craned her head around, and Becca stood to greet her. “Becca Colwin?”

“That’s me. Did something happen?”

“The patient has been asking for you.” The nurse beckoned, then paused, turning to the portly man at her side. “And you are?”

“Abrams.” He tilted his head, taking her in with eyes that were suddenly smaller and quite sharp. “Detective Eric Abrams.”

“Well, Detective Eric Abrams, I need Becca here to come with me. Gail has woken up.”

Becca turned to the large man.“I’m sorry, Detective. I really should go. But I will come down tomorrow and speak with you.”

“Like you were going to today?” A note of skepticism.

“Becca?” The nurse was waiting.

“Go.” The hand holding the pen rose in dismissal, while the other tucked the pad away, and Becca went.

“We’re hoping you can answer some questions for us.” As the doors buzzed, the nurse shepherded Becca through. “After you speak with Gail.”

Steeling herself against the noise and odors, Clara ducked in behind them into what looked like another hallway, with curtains sectioning off more scents and sounds than the little cat had ever encountered. Blood and other bodily fluids in excess. But also something sharp and chemical, all hard to process as a series of high-pitched beeps kept up their frantic call.

Even Becca didn’t seem immune. Her head swiveling, she took everything in, wide-eyed, even as the nurse strode ahead. She didn’t go far, though. At the fourth curtain, she stopped and short and motioned Becca, who had scurried to catch up, ahead. As Clara, unseen, pushed in beside her, she slid behind the curtain where the goth girl lay on a narrow hospital bed, her dark, damp hair pushed back from a face that was nearly as pale as the pillow she reclined on.

“Hey, Becca.” A ghost of a smile spread her bloodless lips. Her voice was so soft even Clara had to strain to hear. “I owe you. I guess Tiger was right, huh?”

“Oh, Gaia.” Becca stepped forward, but stopped herself even as she reached for the other girl’s hand. Needles and tubes extended out of her right forearm and into an IV bag suspended above. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I had some tea, and I started to feel funny. My lips got numb. I knew something was wrong, but, I don’t know, maybe I was too confused. Then you called…” Her eyes closed for a moment before flitting open again. “I guess just firing me wasn’t enough.”

“What?” Becca drew back.

“The tea. It came from the shop. I figure Margaret added something. Or her sister.” Her voice dropped even lower, more breath than sound. “Maybe I gave her the idea, huh?”

“But that’s crazy,” Becca responded in urgent tones. “I spoke with Elizabeth. She says she didn’t take the plant. She thought you got rid of it.”

The pale girl pursed her lips as she considered.“Who else could it be? Margaret hates me, and that sister of hers…” Gaia lay back, her eyes slowly closing once again. “My wolf’s bane…”

“That’s why I wanted us to go talk to the police.” Becca leaned in, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “I know you faked that first poisoning and anyone else who knows might try to discredit you. But this proves it. Someone really is trying to hurt you.”

“Excuse me, miss.” A young man in scrubs had slid inside the curtain, his eyes on a monitor that pinged regularly. “She needs her rest. You have to go now.”

“Will she be okay?” The ping was accelerating, like an agitated cricket.

“Now.” Another set of scrubs pushed in front of her, and she looked around for the nurse who had brought her in. But that nurse had now joined the others, reaching for a metal tray.

“Miss?”

Becca started toward her and stopped. Hands on her shoulders were turning her. Propelling her past the curtain, through the steel doors, and back out to the waiting area.

Chapter 23

“Becca! Did you get in? Did you see her? They won’t tell me anything.”

Becca turned at the sound of her name. But even before she registered that the harried male voice didn’t belong to Detective Abrams, Clara had identified the newcomer. Panting and wild-eyed, the bike messenger had apparently rushed into the ER waiting area only moments before.

“Tiger!” Becca started back, mimicking Clara’s own reaction. Although the calico was still shaded, her presence a mere flicker of color and shadow in the busy, brightly lit room, her instincts had taken over. As she had started, stiff-legged, her back had arched and her fur begun to bristle from tail tip to head, to make herself appear larger in the face of an oncoming threat. “Wait.” Becca held her hand out, stopping the man in his tracks.

“What?” He looked like he might rush the door through which Becca had just emerged. “Is she—”

“They’re taking care of her.” Becca grabbed his arm, and he turned. But if Becca—or Clara at her feet—were concerned that the slim man could be violent, his next words put those fears to rest.

“Please,” he pleaded, taking her hand in his. “Tell me. You’ve seen her?”

“Yes. She’s in there.” Tiger pulled away, turning toward the window. This time it was Becca who reached for him. “They’re working on her now, Tiger. They just kicked me out.”

Maybe it was her voice, gentle with concern. Maybe her words had sunk in. Clara couldn’t tell, but she followed as the lean young man let himself be led to a quiet—well, quieter—corner of the room.

“How is she?” Tiger searched Becca’s face for answers. “Did the doctors say? Is she…will she be all right?”

“She was awake but weak.” Becca bit her lip. “But then she started to fade. I don’t know.”

With a cry, he pulled away and would have charged the closed doors. Only Becca’s hand stopped him, turning him around once more.

“So you were with her?”

“Me? No.” He looked toward the attendant’s window, the cords of his neck distended with the strain.

“But the detective said you spoke with him.” Becca frowned as she glanced around the room. “Detective Abrams. He was just here.”

“Oh, him? Yeah, well, I came by after. She was already feeling sick by then, and I, well, I just have my bike, so I went for help. I thought that’s what you meant.”

“Oh, she didn’t tell me…” Becca bit her lip, a sure sign, Clara knew, that she was holding herself back. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment’s pause. “It’s just that the detective was questioning me. And he said that you didn’t know me.”

“Excuse me?” She had his attention now, but the pale man appeared as confused as Becca.

“The detective,” she said, speaking slowly, like one would to a child. “He said he was just talking to you, and that you didn’t know me or know anything about me.”

“That’s…no.” Tiger shook it off. “That’s not what happened.”

Becca tried again.“I was telling the detective what I’d learned, and your name came up. He said you had no idea who I was. And you were just talking with him.”

“I’m sorry.” He pushed the hair off his face, revealing his bunched brows. “This is all just so much. He was…it was all very fast.”

“I gather he heard my voice messages or saw my number on her phone…”

“Yeah, I was just so flustered. The paramedics had just taken her.” He strained to see behind him, but the door was still closed. “I had to follow, and I just got here.”

“You might be able to go in.” Becca felt for him. That much was clear. “You should go ask.”

He sighed and gave something between a nod and a shrug.“I’m just hoping….” He licked dry, chapped lips and then, perhaps distracted by the noise of the room, turned back toward Becca. “I’m sorry. You said you learned something? Something about Gaia?”

“Yeah.” Becca agreed. “Elizabeth has it out for her, all right. You know she fired Gaia, and she made her get rid of her plant. And she had those shears… But I don’t think either Elizabeth or Margaret could be behind this.”

“What are you talking about? What shears? Who else could it be?” As Tiger spoke, his voice rose, and Clara became aware of several bystanders turning to stare. “You’ve got to tell the cop that!”

Becca stepped back, one hand reaching up to her lapis pendant.“I think Elizabeth was telling me the truth. She was angry. Her sister’s devastated, but they’re not killers.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.” Tiger reached out, touching Becca’s arm with his fingertips. “I’m upset. That’s all.”

“Of course you are.” Becca didn’t draw back, not immediately, but she didn’t sound convinced either. Instead, she raised her hand to her pendant, shedding his fingers along the way.

“I just…” The pale young man craned around, as if suddenly aware that he was the center of attention. “I wish we had more information, you know? I guess I was hoping that, with you being a detective, that you could, maybe, find out more.”

“Ihave been speaking to people.” Becca sat back, stung. “I ask questions.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I did find out the truth about the asafetida.”

“Of course.” Tiger reached to take her hand. “I’m sorry. I mean, I guess I always thought of detectives as people who looked for physical clues.”

“I do that, too.” A bit stiff.

“No, please, I understand.” A shake of the head. “I would never expect you to put yourself at risk by sneaking into someplace or anything like that. That’s not the kind of detective you are.”

“How dare you! You’re talking like I’m some timid bookworm rather than a woman of power.” Becca pulled herself up to her full five-six. Towering to her pets, but surely not to this tall, muscular young man. And yet, he appeared to back down.

“I’m sorry.” He even stared down at the ground like a submissive kitten. “I shouldn’t push. I guess I’m worried. I feel guilty, okay? Gaia and I are through, but I still care for her, of course. Only, I think maybe she thought we could be more again. Now that…well, you know.”

“You mean, now that Frank is out of the picture.”

A half-hearted smile said it all.

“That’s kind of a quick turnaround.” Becca bit her lip against the sharpness of her rebuke, but the words were already out.

“I didn’t mean that she had no feelings for him. I know she did.” His voice had gotten quiet again. Clara was reminded of Laurel’s attempts to modulate her Siamese yowl when she was trying to get treats from Becca. “I think turning back to me was more about comfort and familiarity. She was really shaken up by everything that happened.”

“I get it. It has been a lot.” Becca’s eyes strayed, recalling the week before. “Her boss turning against her, then Frank, and getting fired.”

“Exactly, and, well, there’s something else.” As his voice grew quieter, Tiger stepped forward and slid his hands down so that his fingertips gently cupped hers. “I know you two are friends, and I respect that.”

Becca started to speak. Clara thought she was going to argue with that definition of her relationship with the goth girl. But—maybe it was because of the way Tiger’s long fingers were gently stroking hers, maybe it was a furball—only a choking sound came out.

“And, like I said, I still care about her. As a friend. And so I wanted to be honest with her and tell her first. That’s why I went to see her today. Becca, I know this has all been very sudden, but I feel there’s something here. Something between us. Don’t you?”

Chapter 24

Becca’s eyes went as round as Harriet’s. But before she could respond in a more articulate manner, a short shriek caused her to spin around, and the ensuing clatter had everyone in the waiting area rushing over. Ducking through the crowd, Clara could see white shoes and legs clad in lime green scrubs splayed on the floor.

“Are you all right?” A large hand appeared.

“Careful.” Another set of scrubs pushed by. “What happened here? Do you feel lightheaded or dizzy?”

“What? No.” The woman on the floor, a slight thing who seemed more surprised than hurt, waved off the outstretched hand. Instead, she flipped onto her knees, the better to gather the various surgical tools that had emptied out all over the floor. Clara leaned forward to sniff at a small clamp. Disinfectant, rather than blood, she noted with relief.

“I thought I saw…never mind.” Green scrubs turned to reach for the clamp. Clara ducked back, holding her breath as the orderly, her voice lowered to be nearly inaudible, explained to her colleague, “Dale, I thought I saw something scurry by me. You know, like a rat.”

“A rat?” The distinctive yowl made Clara spin around. Sure enough, two blue eyes were staring from beneath one of the chairs.

“Hush!”The calico raced over to join her sister, crowding in beneath the orange plastic seat.

“These people.”Even though Laurel’s body was nearly shaded, Clara could make out the toss of her apple-shaped head, the blue eyes closing briefly in disgust. “They’re all listening to those machines. They wouldn’t hear me if I sat up and caterwauled.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”Clara knew it made more sense to humor her sister than to argue.“But, Laurel, why are you here?”

“Because of Tiger, of course.”The blue eyes were momentarily veiled as Laurel dipped her head.“I knew he would come after Becca and I wanted to see what would happen.”

“You wanted to influence her.” The words slipped out, as the truth will.“Laurel, we don’t know this man.”

“We know he likes her.”Even muted, Laurel’s voice rose in that distinctive Siamese yowl.“You heard what he just said.”

Clara didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to look out at Becca. On her knees only feet away, she was reaching for a small silver object she must have fished out from underneath the couch. As Clara watched, she stood, handing the metal tool to the orderly, and Clara couldn’t suppress a slight purr. Her person was always helping others.

“That’s why I want what’s best for her, too.” Laurel’s voice, softer now, broke into Clara’s reverie.“I know you love her. We all do. But, little sister, believe it or not, hanging out with us is not the way she should spend her life.”

“I know.” Clara sighed, her purr dying away.“If only we knew this Tiger better.”

“Well, now’s our chance.”

Clara felt a damp nudge as Laurel nosed her ear. She turned to look at the young man, who had hung back even as Becca had raced forward, his pale face unreadable. Was that rejection, Clara wondered? Or was he simply unsure how to approach the woman he had just bared his soul to? A quick sniff might answer some questions, Clara realized. But as she started toward him, another familiar voice boomed out and sent her scurrying under the nearest chair.

“Becca? Becca Colwin?” The detective had emerged from the double doors. “Oh, good, you’re still here.”

“What is it?” Becca stood and started, looking past him at those doors. “Is it Gaia?”

“A moment, please.” The detective motioned her forward with a scoop of his big hand.

Becca turned back, to take in Tiger. But he had gone deathly pale and only nodded. And with that, she turned and followed the detective back into the treatment area, with Clara close behind.

***

“What’s happened?” Even as the doors were swinging shut behind them, Becca was demanding answers. “Please tell me. Is Gaia…is she going to be okay?”

Instead of escorting her back to that fourth cubicle on the left, the detective herded Becca over toward the right, where two chairs faced an empty bed.

“Why don’t you have a seat?”

“No.” The edge to Becca’s voice made Clara’s ears tilt back, even if she understood her person’s impatience. “Not until you tell me what’s going on with Gaia.”

The big head bowed in assent.“She’s talking,” he said. “So I don’t know for sure, but I figure that means she’s going to be all right.”

“Thank the Goddess.” Becca flopped into one of the chairs and leaned her head on her hands.

“That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods, young lady.” If anything, the large man’s tone had grown more serious.

“What do you mean?” She swallowed.

“You’ve told me about this Gaia and about Margaret Cross, and yet you failed to disclose that you saw Frank Cross shortly before his death.”

“But I didn’t.” Becca’s voice rose to a pitch reminiscent of Laurel’s.

“We’ve had a report that you were seen at his place of business.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

“His…” Becca paused to correct herself. “Yes, that’s right. I went down to his car lot. Margaret was really upset and I was hoping to figure out what was going on. But I left without seeing him or speaking to him. I overheard him on the phone. He was in the next room. That’s all.”

The cop waited, silently.

“It sounded like he was talking to his wife, so I left.” It sounded lame. It was also the truth. “It sounded personal, so I thought I should keep out of it.”

If the man in front of her mumbled something about that being a good idea, Becca didn’t hear it. Besides, he had more to say.

“That’s not all, though, young lady. You’re working as a private investigator without a license.” One hand went up to stop her before she could protest. “Don’t argue with me on that. The laws exist for a reason, you know. And one of those reasons is that you’re not equipped to deal with an attempted murder.”

“But it wasn’t.” Becca closed her eyes. “Gaia just faked it because she wanted to get Margaret in trouble. That’s all.”

“Faked it?” Those large eyes scanned Becca’s face. “You were by her bed when she nearly crashed just now, Becca. Do you really think that was faked?”

“No.” Becca shook her head, staring at the empty bed as if the answer would be found there. “I’m sorry. The first time. She was trying to frame Margaret.”

“We know.” Abrams sounded tired. “We understand that there was bad blood between the women even before Mrs. Cross’s husband was killed.”

“But you can’t think that Margaret… She loved her husband…”

“I’m not saying anything. It’s not my place to charge anyone with a crime. We will be talking with Ms. Linquist, and we have people at her apartment looking into what may have sickened her at this moment.” The detective leaned forward, bringing his large dog-like face close to Becca’s. “Which is our job. This is serious, Ms. Colwin. People are being hurt, and you are not qualified to investigate who is doing it or why.”

“But I’m part of their community.” Clara could see that Becca was struggling to explain without seeming like a flake or, worse, a dilettante. At times like this, she wished she could rub against her person’s shins, or even jump into her lap and butt her head into Becca’s hand, knowing that whenever her person massaged the velvet base of her ears, they both felt so much better. “And I promised them.” Her voice had a dying fall that broke Clara’s heart. “I promised to help and be fair to everyone.”

“I understand.” The detective didn’t attempt any physical contact, but a certain warmth in his voice made Clara think that maybe he did comprehend some of what her person was saying. “And I’m glad of it. After all,” he said, hands on those tree-trunk thighs as he pushed himself out of the plastic chair, “that might be the only reason you’re still alive.”

Chapter 25

“That’s ridiculous!” Becca spoke with a sharpness that set Clara’s ears back. It wasn’t just her tone. While it was true that Becca was addressing a nurse who had, in fact, been ignoring her repeated requests to be let in to see Gaia. And it was also true that this nurse was now staring at her computer monitor like Becca was no longer standing right in front of her, the uniformed woman who was very clearly avoiding Becca’s fierce gaze really hadn’t earned this rather loud outburst of temper. Not from Clara’s normally very polite person.

Her ordinarily sweet young woman was at the breaking point, the calico realized, bringing her ears back up to a perky point, and she believed she understood why. When the stout police officer had first called Becca’s name, she had seemed to welcome the interruption. Tiger’s declaration, as flattering as it might be, had disconcerted Becca, Clara could tell, if in a different kind of way. As he had spoken, her cheeks had pinked up, and she had looked down and then away, unable to find the right response.

However, the respite the detective offered had proved short-lived and maybe, her pet realized, not altogether welcome. He had cowed her, especially when he implied that she might be at risk legally because of her attempts to set herself up as a private investigator. The suggestion that she might be in danger had thrown her, too, although after he had walked away, she had muttered something about how he was simply trying to scare her away from the case.

On top of all that, the bike messenger had disappeared by the time the detective had released her. Embarrassed, perhaps, or regretting his hasty words, which Becca had finally had a chance to absorb. Clara didn’t know how her person would respond, though she was pretty sure Laurel would want to weigh in, but she could see Becca’s increasing frustration as she scanned the room. And now she couldn’t get in to see Gaia either. Maybe it was understandable that her person had lost her cool.

Following her outburst, it did appear as if she were trying to be reasonable.“Please, can you at least tell me if she’s being admitted?”

From her tone, her pet realized, Becca was close to tears, and her tender feline heart went out to her person as she tried once more to explain why she should be given this really quite basic information. Already, she had told the nurse that she had been visiting with Gaia only minutes before. That it had been her quick action that had resulted in her friend being brought in to the ER. It did no good. Becca wasn’t authorized to receive confidential information. And so, no, she couldn’t even tell her if Gaia was being admitted or what her status was.

“I gather there’s a security issue,” the nurse said without looking up from the screen. “And I’m not going to say anymore. Do I have to call security?”

“No.” Becca admitted defeat as the other occupants of the waiting area quickly returned to their phones. It really wasn’t surprising that her person had lost her temper. And since all she had done was raise her voice, Clara didn’t think that any person, no matter how sensitive, could blame her.

“I’m not blaming her.”

Clara jumped. She had forgotten Laurel.

Shaded into near invisibility, her sister was crouched beside her, under one of the waiting area’s molded chairs.“Really, Clara, sometimes you act like you’re the only one who cares.”

Clara rounded on her sister, ready to hiss. It had been a trying day, and having her sibling read her mind was the final invasion of privacy.

“I’m trying to help, silly.” Laurel’s blue eyes, the only part of her visible, flared as she backed away.“You could tell she was thinking of Tiger.”

“She shouldn’t be.”Clara felt her ears go back.“The last thing she needs now is to be romanced by some stranger.”

“No, silly,” Laurel started to explain, but just then Becca turned and walked out into the night, and the two cats leaped to follow. Although Becca was striding swiftly, Clara caught up to her as she exited the hospital grounds. But while she wished with all her heart that her dear person would simply go home, her desires lacked the power of persuasion. Worse, Becca stood on the sidewalk, staring at the passing cars, long enough for Laurel to make her way up behind them. The Siamese might be nearly silent, but Clara was determined not to be taken by surprise again.

“What’s the matter?” Clara couldn’t resist. Even though she had no problem shimmying through the door that had swung closed in Becca’s wake, she had seen her sister struggle.“Did you find another man for Becca?”

“Hush, baby sister.”Laurel’s tail might be invisible, but Clara could see the swirls of dust as it lashed back and forth.“She’s about to—”

“Who told the police I was down at the car lot?” Becca might have been talking to herself, but her voice was clearly audible to the cats’ sensitive ears. And as she looked around the darkened parking area, Clara could feel her sister’s eyes on her.“And why did Tiger run off?”

“Enough!” Clara was ready to take on her sister, precedence or not. But before she could even raise a paw, a car pulled up.

“Becca Colwin?” As their person climbed inside, the two feline sisters exchanged a glance and jumped to follow her. Out of habit, as much as anything, Clara even waited for Laurel to go first. If she had to, she knew, she could sidle into the trunk, even as the vehicle pulled away.

She didn’t have to. Becca, it seemed, had changed her destination. “I know I said that car lot down by the river, but it’s late.” She leaned forward to explain to the driver. “I think I’ll just go home, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s your ride.” With a shrug, the driver took off, and Clara began to relax.

“This is incredible.” Laurel, meanwhile, was entranced. Now that she knew where to look, Clara could just make out her sister’s outline. Standing with her forelegs on the car door, the sealpoint was staring out at the street, her eyes wide as she watched the world go pass.“No wonder you like this.”

“I don’t go out in the world because I like it.” Clara, whose nerves were a bit frayed, wasn’t so easily mollified.“I do it because I worry about Becca.”

“Yes, but…”Laurel adjusted, as the car took a turn.“I’ve got to tell Harriet about this.”

Clara closed her eyes, regretting all the times she had wished her sisters shared her concerns. Bad enough that she had to deal with Laurel and Harriet’s interference at home. If the two of them really did start to follow her out in the world, protecting Becca was going to become exponentially more difficult.

“Maddy?”

Clara woke with a start.

Becca was speaking quietly into her phone.“Are you free tomorrow? I need your help with a kind of experiment. Call me?”

Clara looked around to see Laurel staring back, eyes wide with curiosity.

Nothing the rest of the evening made Becca’s plans any more clear. As soon as she was home, she reached for her laptop.

“Nothing new on Frank Cross.” She clicked on the keypad. “They’re still looking for that driver though.”

Within minutes, she’d gone quiet, and when Clara slipped behind her, she could see that Becca was focused on an image she had often spent time with before. Laurel had gone to sleep on her usual shelf by then, exhausted, Clara figured, by the outing. Even though she could feel her own lids growing heavy, Clara remained perched behind her person, determined to figure out what she was up to.

“I don’t understand why that thing is so fascinating to her.”Harriet landed with a thud on the sofa and began kneading her pillow by Becca’s side.“She can just as easily look at us as at those pictures.”

Clara started. Yes, it was true. The familiar engraving that Becca often consulted was more detailed than she had first noticed. The odd flatness of the computer screen had obscured its details, as did the technique of the original. To Clara, it looked like it had been scratched out with particularly dexterous claws. But as she stared, she realized that although she had been taken by the likeness of the woman in the picture to Becca, albeit with that strange headdress, and to the calico at the picture’s center, there was more to the image. Almost hidden in the crosshatching of the sitter’s background—or maybe shaded—two other cats peered out. One large and pale, the other with the distinctive round head of a Siamese.

“The wise woman came to the aid of her community,” Becca read quietly to herself. “With the aid of her familiars.” Clara looked over at Harriet, but her oldest sister was focused on her pillow, clearly ready for her evening nap, while Laurel’s faint snores let her know that their middle sister was also otherwise engaged. Even as she felt her own eyes start to close, Becca shifted again, this time reaching for her phone.

“Not that kind of detective,” was all she said. But as Clara looked on, wide awake now, her person seemed to second guess the move, and put the phone away for the night.

Chapter 26

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Maddy had met Becca in Central Square early the next morning at her friend’s request. Sunny and clear, the weather was perfect for an outing, the sky that deep blue New England only gets in autumn, setting off the gold and russet of the trees around them. None of which had made Maddy happy about accompanying her friend once Becca laid out her plans. “You do realize that this is crazy? Not to mention the fact that the cop already warned you off.”

“I shouldn’t have told you about that.” Becca led the way at a rapid clip that had Maddy, not to mention Clara, struggling to keep up. Clearly, admiring the fall foliage was not the purpose of this outing. “Besides, I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m helping my community. Looking into things.”

Maddy’s sigh might have been because of the pace, but Clara didn’t think so. “I can’t believe I’m taking personal time to do this. Speaking of, Reynolds would still take you on as a researcher.”

Becca stopped at that and waited for her friend to catch up.“Oh, Maddy, I know you mean well. But can’t you see what I’m doing now is what I was made for? I get to do research, but I can use my other skills as well.” The slight pause before “skills” didn’t go unnoticed. Maddy raised her eyebrows, but she was too good a friend to comment. “Besides,” Becca added a little shyly, “this way, I have time to research my own family.”

“Oh, Becca.” It was the sympathy, rather than the scorn, that made Becca turn and start off again, her cheeks as red as the maples along the sidewalk.

“Maddy, I’m onto something.” Becca lowered her voice, even though there was nobody around to overhear on the shady street. “The craft runs in my family, through the matrilineal line. We’ve long been wise women, serving the community.”

Maddy only shook her head.

“You’ll see,” her friend said. “But that’s not why I called you. I have a theory about who told the cops about me, but this time I want to make sure before I do anything.”

The two fell silent as they continued walking. Clara, trotting to keep up, could feel the tension between them. What she couldn’t figure out was how to ease it. Becca needed friends, the little cat felt strongly. Maddy might not agree with all of Becca’s ideas, or even the path she’d chosen to pursue professionally, but she’d been there for her friend in ways that Clara could only envy. Even before Clara and her sisters had come to live with Becca, Maddy had been an integral part of Becca’s life. Clara might not be able to define exactly why that made her more trustworthy, but it did. Maddy was more like a sister than a buddy. Or, she silently corrected herself, like one would want a sister to be—not annoying like Laurel and Harriet.

It was a pity Maddy couldn’t believe in Becca. That seemed to be the sticking point between them, but, in truth, that made Clara trust her more. Maddy at least had the sense to know what was real. When Clara thought of that Gaia, with all her piercings and black, she knew there was a lot to be said for someone a little less fancy and a little more committed to hard work and honesty, even if she pooh-poohed the idea of magic and hurt Becca’s feelings in the process.

Besides, she was here, helping Becca out, a fact Becca didn’t seem to fully appreciate. As the two made their way down the street, the silence was growing increasingly awkward. Clara could see Becca stealing peeks at her friend, while Maddy fumed, so intent on staring at the ground in front of her that it was a wonder she didn’t walk into a lamppost.

“So, where are we going?” Maddy asked finally. If Becca could hear the effort Maddy was making to keep her voice even, she didn’t let on. And Clara was grateful. Not only should these two be on better terms, but the little cat was curious as well.

“Frank Cross’s car lot.” Becca smiled as Maddy gasped and came to a sudden halt. “Please, I’ll explain.”

Urging her friend along, Becca did just that, her voice rising with urgency and purpose.“It was what that cop told me,” she said as they turned a corner into the industrial area that Clara remembered all too well. “That they knew I’d been down there the day that he was killed. It got me thinking.”

Now it was Becca’s turn to pause, and she met her friend’s eyes. “How did they know I was at the lot? I didn’t leave anything, and I never even spoke to Frank Cross, so it wasn’t like he could have told anyone or written down that I was there.”

“And you think that going back there is going to tell you something?” Maddy sounded incredulous, even as the two started off again, the brick beneath them giving way to concrete.

“I’m not sure.” Becca smiled mischievously. “But with your help, I’m going to find out.”

***

By the time they got to the lot, Clara was as curious as Maddy. She may have had more faith in Becca, but she still watched her intently, following her every move as she walked slowly around the perimeter. The lot was still a moonscape, though in the morning light she could see that the pitted asphalt was punctuated by a few dying weeds. Plus, the small building at its center had taken on some color. Yellow crime scene tape circled it, crossing that front window and running over the door that Becca had entered on her earlier visit—and which now looked locked tight.

That didn’t stop Becca, who crossed the now-empty lot to try that door. Maddy followed, watching as Becca rattled the knob. From the way her head swiveled back and forth, it was clear the larger woman wasn’t comfortable.

“Becca, I don’t know if we should be here.” She eyed the trees they’d left behind, like she would scurry up one if she could.

“We’re not doing anything.” Becca turned to circle the building. “This is a commercial property, so we’re not trespassing. And we’re not breaking in.”

Maddy opened her mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, she took off after Becca, who had darted over to the river side of the building. Before long, the heavier girl was panting like Harriet after a serious game of toss-the-mouse.

“How far do you think we are from the bike path?” Becca squinted up into the morning sun.

“A hundred yards? I don’t know.” Maddy shielded her eyes as she looked up and then out to the Charles. “Does the path even run here? I think maybe it’s down below the level of the road, over by the river.”

Becca considered.“So not from this angle.”

“Becca.” Maddy turned toward her friend, her round face serious. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m trying to figure out who might have seen me, and working out where I was seen from might help.”

Maddy shook her head in confusion.

“The lot was nearly empty that day. Three cars, I think. I remember because I wondered if Frank was going out of business. His wife—widow—had implied that it was more of a vanity project than anything, but at the time I thought maybe she was just lashing out.” Becca was scanning the roadwayand the river opposite as she spoke. “It was late in the day, around dusk, but it was really dead, and I didn’t hear any cars going by. But someone saw me. Someone must have, and then they called the police.”

“Maybe it was someone who lives around here.” Maddy made a sweeping gesture that took in the rundown triple-deckers behind the concrete monolith at the block’s end.

“I doubt it.” Becca crossed her arms. “What are the odds someone in one of those apartments would remember seeing someone who had simply dropped by, and even then, only for a few minutes? And I know someone who says he comes down here often for business. By bicycle.”

“That guy Tiger.” Maddy crossed her arms, too. “Becca, I knew he sounded like trouble. He’s—”

“No, that’s just it.” Becca was still shaking her head, trying to puzzle it out. “I mean, yeah, I think it might have been Tiger. But why? He can’t really think that I’d be involved in Frank’s murder. Can he?”

“I don’t know, Becs.” Maddy began looking around again, as if she expected a score of strange men to suddenly appear. “But can we go now? Did you find out what you wanted?”

“Not exactly.” She reached out to steady her friend. “Wait here.”

“Wait, what?” By the time the question was out of Maddy’s mouth, Becca had taken off, jogging across the lot and down the street to where a shaggy brown-leafed copse of trees hid her from view. Maddy looked like she was about to take off after her, but stopped, relief flooding her face as Becca raised her hand, palm out. Thirty seconds later, Becca was back, her cheeks flushed red from the run.

“I was right.” She sounded triumphant. “If someone was coming down Putnam, they’d have a perfect view of whoever was standing out here, wondering if she should go in.”

“But that could have been anyone.” Maddy pointed out the obvious.

“It was someone who identified me to the police,” said Becca. “So it was someone who knew me.”

“So now what?” Maddy, at least, seemed amused. “Please don’t tell me that you’re just going to go talk to this guy Tiger again. Even if he didn’t do anything wrong, it still sounds creepy.”

“No, I’m not.” Becca sounded thoughtful as she turned to take in the small concrete building before them. “I’ve done too much talking already, Maddy. In fact, I’ve spent all my time on this case talking to the participants in the hope of reaching some kind of agreement.”

Before Maddy could respond, she continued.“In all fairness, that’s kind of worked. I mean, Gaia hasn’t admitted to stealing from the shop, but she did admit to having an affair with Margaret’s husband. And she also admitted to trying to frame Margaret by putting the root in her own tea. So I wouldn’t have thought there was anything else. Except that—”

She stopped mid-sentence, and then shook her head.“I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” she said. And before Maddy could respond, she was walking around the small building once more.

“Becca, what are you doing?” Maddy tagged along, following her to the compact structure’s rear, but there she stopped, standing back, eyes wide as she scanned the empty lot. “That’s…I don’t think you should do that.”

Clara couldn’t have agreed more. Becca didn’t seem to take any notice of her friend’s hushed protest. Maybe she hadn’t heard her, as all her attention seemed to be focused on an awning window, set high on a wall. Small as it was, it seemed to have been overlooked. At any rate, no yellow tape ran acrossits surface, and even from where Clara stood, it was clear that the bottom wasn’t quite flush with the wall.

“I’m looking for clues. You know, like a proper detective.” Becca, on tiptoe, picked at the opening with her fingertips, trying to get a grip on the metal frame. “Want to lend me a hand?”

“No, Becca. I don’t think so.” Maddy frowned. “And I really don’t think—”

Her friend didn’t even wait for her to finish. Instead, she’d pulled over one of the metal trash cans. Gingerly balancing on top, a sneaker on either side of the rim, Becca was able to grab the bottom of the window frame and pull it toward her, opening it outward.

“You sure?” Rather to Clara’s surprise, Becca was smiling. “You’re going to miss all the fun.”

“Please, Becca.” Maddy took a step forward, and Clara wondered if she were about to grab her friend, much like Becca would grab Clara or one of her sisters when they were about to investigate those intriguing bubbles that sometimes appeared in Becca’s bath.

She wasn’t fast enough. With a scraping sound, Becca slid the screen out of her way, then pulled herself up and, sneakers gaining just enough purchase against the textured concrete wall, climbed in.

“Becca!” Maddy’s whisper sounded frantic as Becca’s feet disappeared through the opening. Clara didn’t know if Maddy’s ears were sensitive enough to pick up the thud that followed, but for a moment the calico forgot to shade herself, standing on her hind legs as she attempted to peer through the wall.

“I’m okay!” The top of Becca’s face appeared. “I had to kind of dive to not fall into the toilet. But, Maddy, if you’re not going to join me, I need you to stand lookout.”

Maddy sighed, closing her eyes in resignation, but then she nodded and even forced a smile. That’s when it hit Clara how well the heavy-set woman knew her friend, and how much she loved her. Maddy had been arguing with Becca all day about her quest, as well as about her new profession, but when push came to shove, she did what she could to support her.

“I’ll be over by the corner,” she called back. “That way I can keep my eye on the street.”

Maddy was a loyal friend. But she was still human. And as Clara watched her nervously looking around, her head moving so fast that a few strands of her neat dark hair shook loose, she pondered her own next move. She wanted to be with Becca, of course. But she knew well that cats are so much more attuned to the environment, so much more sensitive than even the most attentive human. No, she decided, weighing her desire against these factors, better to stay out here with Maddy. That way, if she heard or smelled someone approaching, she could alert her. How exactly she’d do that, she’d figure out later.

“How odd.” Becca was speaking softly to herself. To Clara’s sensitive ears, her voice from the other side of the building’s concrete wall was as clear as a bell. Pitching her ears back to catch any other utterances, she began to patrol, leaving Maddy to make her own way around the small building.

“Though that doesn’t mean…” Becca’s voice was suddenly interrupted by a clattering. “Oh, that is strange.”

Her person’s exclamation, quiet as it was, along with that clanging metallic sound, proved too much for the cat. Smoothing the fur over her brows and pulling her head back into her ruff, Clara shimmied through the concrete and between pieces of rebar to find Becca hunched over an open desk drawer, a puzzled expression on her face.

As quietly as she could, Clara leaped to the desk, where only her natural grace kept her from colliding with the odd, flat objects piled there. Three of the strange sheets were stacked beside Becca, all smelling slightly of motor oil and the dust in the room, while a fourth appeared to have fallen by their side. Clara stepped delicately around them, noting their uneven painted surfaces. There was something cold about them. Something that made Clara want to retreat to the warmth of her person, who stood there, staring down.

Clara eyed the sheets with distrust. These could have made that horrible clatter, Clara thought as she reached out a sheathed paw to touch one cool surface. Metal, she realized, drawing back. Cold and dead. And yet, these weren’t what Becca was looking at, not anymore at least, and so the calico stepped carefully to the edge of the desktop so she could gaze down at the drawer below. Even though she had a cat’s eye view, improved by her superior vision in the shadowy room, it was hard to see what had captured Becca’s attention. The drawer that she had apparently opened was completely empty.

As Clara watched, Becca pushed it back in an inch or two, and then released it. With a rattle, it rolled back out, almost like it was waiting to be filled.

“Now, now, don’t get greedy.” Becca must have had the same thought, Clara realized, as her person gently closed the drawer once more and turned to examine a miniature kitchenette.

Set next to the bathroom that had permitted Becca to enter, the kitchenette appeared to have been built into a repurposed closet. On the bottom sat a tiny refrigerator, with shelves above climbing up to the ceiling. Becca’s search was methodical, starting with that fridge. But if she expected a bottle of poison, or even an interesting herb, she was bound for disappointment. The dorm-sized appliance held only an ice cube tray, empty, and a sad lime, brown at its edges. Becca ran her hand over the top of the fridge, but it came away so dirty she went into the bathroom to rinse it off.

Her examination of the shelves wasn’t any more fruitful. The first held a microwave, but that, like the fridge, proved to be empty, if one didn’t count a sticky film that even a human might notice. The second was also empty, and even from the desktop, Clara could see the fine layer of dust that had settled there. That left one shelf, above Clara’s sight line. While she could have leaped up with a minimum of fuss, she didn’t need to. Becca, on tiptoes and holding onto the shelf’s lip for balance, had struck gold. With an exclamation of glee—“A-ha!”—she reached back to grab a mug that had been pushed back, apparently the only dishware of any kind left in the sad kitchenette.

“So you did sometimes take a break with—” Becca’s head snapped back just as the acrid stench reached Clara. “Whoa!” Becca blinked as she stepped back reflexively, bumping into the desk with a thud and causing the empty drawer to rattle open. Clara didn’t have to get that close to catch the reek of burned coffee and something sharper—whiskey?—mixed in. What she didn’t smell was any of that bitter root or the sad, sick odor that had clung to Gaia. She looked at her person, wondering if Becca could tell that, too, or if there was some way she could share her insight. But Becca had shaken off the burned and bitter stench and had turned to push the desk drawer back into place. It rolled easily enough with a gentle rumble. But as soon as she released it, it once again slipped open, nudging against her like a hungry kitten.

“Oh, come on.” She pushed it in once more. Only this time, the drawer didn’t quite close. And as soon as she released it, the drawer rolled open once again.

“Becca?” Maddy’s voice, tight with anxiety, reached her from outside. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Kneeling now, Becca pushed the drawer shut deliberately. But this close even she could see that the metal front wasn’t flush with the desk’s frame. Something was keeping the drawer from latching.

“If it’s nothing, maybe we should get moving.” Maddy was keeping her voice low, but the tension had her pitch rising like a young bird’s. “I did say I’d be in sometime before noon.”

“Just a minute, Mad.” Becca tried again, opening the drawer to its full extension before pushing it closed. But no amount of force that the petite young woman could exert would make it click into place. Then, as Clara looked on, Becca opened the drawer once more, pulling it out as far as it would go. Watching, the little calico felt her ears twitching, taking in the distant sounds of the traffic by the river as well as the anxious fussing of Becca’s friend. The cat couldn’t tell for sure what Maddy was seeing outside, but she could hear her breath quickening, just as she caught the rising fear in the other girl’s voice. This was no time for Becca to keep trying what clearly wasn’t working.

“If only…” Leaning on the opened drawer, Becca managed to tip the metal desk ever so slightly. As she did, she reached her arm back into the drawer. Alarmed, Clara rose from where she had been sitting. The slight tilt wasn’t enough to dislodge her, but seeing Becca strain like that was concerning. And the way her arm disappeared into the desk brought to mind a small creature being devoured, one limb at a time.

“Hello there!” Becca even sounded like she was talking to a beast, although a friendly one, if her growing smile was any indication. “Come to Mama.” Becca leaned even further in, the motion of her fingers rattling something inside the desk.

When she pulled her hand out, she was holding another flattened piece of metal. The back of the drawer, Clara thought. It was certainly bent and a little battered, as a broken piece would be, and although one side had been painted blue and white once, the colors were nearly scratched away. But the way Becca was eyeing it, turning it over in her hands, made her pet wonder. Standing on her hindquarters, the plump cat reached up to sniff. If only Becca would hold it a little lower…

“Becca!” Maddy’s stage whisper was coming directly from the bathroom window, and Becca turned away from the desk.

“Just a minute, Mads. Reynolds can wait.”

“I think someone’s coming.” The whisper became more of a hiss.

“Bother.” Becca looked at the piece in her hand and then, holding it at arm’s length, took several photos of it with her phone.

“Becca!”

A few more pictures, and then she slipped it back into the drawer, which closed this time with a satisfying click. Clara jumped noiselessly to the floor as it did and eyed the desk. It was metal, but she could shimmy through it if she tried. Only, she could already hear Becca in the bathroom. She was climbing up on the toilet tank to the window, and so the calico joined her, out on the pavement, where Maddy was shuffling anxiously.

“What is it?” She asked as Maddy ushered her off the lot. “Was there really someone?”

“I think so.” Maddy dared a glimpse over her shoulder. “I’m not sure, but there was a big black car, like a town car or a limo, and I’m pretty sure I saw it twice. I think it circled back.”

“Did you happen to see the plates?” Becca strained to see the road. Clara didn’t think she sounded convinced.

“No, sorry.” Maddy nearly pushed her friend along. “Please, let’s get out of here.”

Becca let herself be hurried, and after a long look at her friend’s face, she picked up the pace herself. “You’re scared,” she said.

Maddy rolled her eyes.“Well, yeah.” But the ice seemed to have broken. “So, did you find anything?”

“I did, but it’s odd.” Becca spoke almost as if to herself. “I didn’t find anything in the office that I expected. No teapot or tea bags.”

“I’m sure the cops took all of that.” Maddy might have relaxed, but she wasn’t slowing down.

“Yeah, but there’s not even a kettle or a hot plate. Just a microwave.” She slowed, lost in thought. “And they did leave one mug, but unless I’m very wrong, nothing was ever in that except for coffee and booze.”

“Becca, please.” Maddy had her arm know and was dragging her further up the street. “The police are investigating. It makes sense that they’d take everything.”

“Everything? Even the kettle?” She paused. “Though I guess you could make tea in a microwave.” The grimace that followed showed what she thought of that idea. “They sure cleaned the files out.”

“You looked at the files?” Maybe it was the question, or that the two were simply over a block away by then, but Maddy had turned toward her friend. “What were you looking for, anyway?”

“I’m not sure.” Becca stared off in the middle distance, reminding Clara of nothing so much as Laurel when she was trying to focus on a moth. “Insurance records maybe, or vehicle registrations. I mean, have you ever seen any cars down there?”

“Maybe one or two.” Maddy shrugged. “It never seemed like the busiest lot, but I don’t know the used car business.”

“I did find some license plates. Dealer plates, for the most part. You know, the ones you put on a car when someone takes it for a test drive or has to move it? But there was also an old Rhode Island plate. It looked kind of beaten up.”

“Great. The guy was a car dealer. Let’s just get out of here.”

“It was curious.” Despite her friend’s desire to move on, Becca was worrying the thought like it was live prey. “It seemed to have fallen behind a drawer, only the drawer was empty. I figure the cops must have gone through everything, right?”

Maddy shrugged.“I guess. I mean, I figure the authorities keep track of those.”

Becca wouldn’t let it go. “Only, Frank was a dealer here, in Cambridge, right? So why’d he have a Rhode Island plate?”

“Maybe that’s where he got his stock from?” Maddy had started walking again. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Becca. And, to be honest, I’m sure the police are looking into it.”

“The police think Margaret poisoned her husband because he was cheating on her,” said Becca. “I’m wondering if there was something else going on and Margaret was simply set up to take the fall.”

“You do realize you’re talking like someone out of a TV show, right?” Maddy had sputtered for about a block after Becca’s pronouncement. Even now that she could speak, she didn’t seem too happy with Becca’s line of thought.

“I just think it’s all tied together, and whatever happened to Gaia is in the center of it. You’re the one who was seeing black cars circling.”

“Car, singular.” Maddy’s head swiveled, but the tree-lined street they now walked along was quiet. “And I don’t know if it was circling, exactly. I am pretty sure that it did come by more than once, though.”

“Well, it’s not here now.” Becca took her friend’s hand. “And we’re out here on the street, where everything is perfectly safe. You sure you didn’t see its plates though?”

“Becca!”

“I’m sorry, Maddy. Please, I was teasing. If you want to get to work, I understand.”

“I’ll feel better when you agree to drop all of this.” Her friend squeezed her hand. Becca smiled back but didn’t respond. “But until then, I’m coming with you.”

Chapter 27

This time, Becca wasn’t going to be stopped. All the way to the hospital, she’d been trying stories out on Maddy. The friends had hopped a bus in Central and, swaying from the hanger into Harvard Square, Becca rehearsed options.

“They’re not going to let you in as her roommate.” Maddy dismissed one after another, bending to look out the window. “And they won’t believe you’re her girlfriend.”

“What if I say I’m Gaia’s sister?”

Maddy only rolled her eyes.

“What?” Becca had protested. “I mean, I can say I usually dye my hair black.”

“Please, Becca.” Maddy had calmed down enough to laugh a little. “That girl sounds like enough of a drama queen on her own. And here’s our stop.”

The hospital was a few blocks away, and Becca kept peppering Maddy with possibilities as they walked the quiet streets up to Mount Auburn. As it turned out, no theatrics were necessary. When Becca asked for Gail Linquist’s room number, she was directed to an elevator and went up to the fourth floor. As soon as they stepped out, the friends were greeted warmly.

“I’m glad she’s getting visitors,” the nurse on duty, an older, motherly woman told them. “We’re keeping her company, but it’s not the same.”

“Thanks.” Becca smiled and walked past the nurse’s station toward Gaia’s room, which had a window on the hall. Halfway there, Maddy stopped and turned, apparently gauging the distance between the room and the station.

“Becca?” Maddy called. “Does this setup seem odd to you?”

“That she’s still in the hospital?” Becca shook her head. “I’m glad she’s not in intensive care. You didn’t see her, Maddy.”

The pale face that looked up from the bed didn’t bear much resemblance to the kohl-lined goth girl. With some of her natural color coming back, and none of the paint, she appeared younger and, in truth, prettier. “Becca! Thanks for coming.”

“Hi.” Becca walked around the bed and pulled up a chair. “This is my friend Maddy.”

The two exchanged greetings, with Maddy eyeing the girl like she thought she might grow wings. While Clara jumped soundlessly to the counter, where a now silent monitor propped up a smiley face card, the visitors made small talk. Yes, Gaia was feeling better. Yes, she hoped to be getting out of the hospital soon.

“If they’ll let me,” Gaia said with a meaningful glance out the window, to where the motherly nurse stood guard.

“I’m glad they’re taking care of you,” said Becca. “Any security is a good thing if it keeps you safe.” Maddy opened her mouth at that, but shut it as Becca leaned in close for privacy.

“I wanted to talk to you about Frank, if that’s okay.” Becca lowered her voice. “Because I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“I’d say.” Maddy’s comment, muttered under her breath, might not have reached Becca, but it brought a rash-like blush to Gaia’s cheeks.

“Maddy.” Becca turned on her friend. “We’ve got to take this seriously.”

Clara wasn’t sure, but she thought that Maddy and the girl in the bed exchanged a look. Becca, however, kept on talking.

“I need to know if you were down at his office the day he, well, the day he was killed.”

“His office? You mean the lot? No.” Gaia shook her head. “I thought I told you. I never went down there after the first time. I didn’t like the guys he worked with.”

“He had employees down there? Mechanics?”

Gaia snorted.“Those guys? No way. They were suits. Investors, maybe.”

“I thought his wife supported him?”

Another laugh, almost like a bark.“Yeah, that was Frank.” Her smile turned sad as she shook her head. “He wanted to be independent. I mean, he was never going to leave her, but he wanted so badly to stand on his own. And these guys, you could tell they had money. The way they talked. The big town car. One of them even had a diamond ring. Frank thought they believed in him, in his business. Maybe they did. I didn’t like the way they looked at me, though. And Frank? Well, I think he’d have handed me over if they’d asked.”

“Romantic.” Becca didn’t raise an eyebrow at Maddy’s caustic comment, but Clara felt her tense at the interruption.

“That sounds awful, right?” Gaia didn’t seem fazed. “I mean, that’s what was so weird about what happened. I know Margaret was all bent out of shape. But, to be honest, our thing—okay, our affair—wasn’t really that big of a deal. I had the feeling Frank had done this before. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. I’d just broken up with Tiger, and it was pretty clear Frank wasn’t going to leave his comfy life. Only that last day, he got all weird, telling me he was leaving town and that he wanted me to come with him. I said no. I mean, I liked my set up. I liked working at the shop and everything. Of course, seeing Frank soured that, too. Once my boss’s loony sister found out, I knew I was going to get fired. That’s when I, well…”

“The asafetida.” Maddy bit her lip, but Clara could see the effort she was exerting to not chime in.

“That was stupid.” Gaia must have picked up on Maddy’s response too because she addressed this latest comment to the coverlet, which she’d started to pick at. Clara’s ears twitched at the change of tone. The motherly nurse apparently noticed as well, and she looked over from her station.

“Are we doing all right?” she called, her voice kind but insistent. “Does anyone need anything?”

“We’re fine.” Gaia managed a smile. “Thanks.”

“Becca…” Maddy’s sotto voce carried the hint of a growl, but Becca held out her hand to silence her.

“Gaia?” She left it at that.

With a sigh that should have deflated her, the girl in the bed began to talk.“I’ve told them about that, and about how I wanted to get Margaret in more trouble.”

“And they’re thinking you tried again?” Becca spelled it out.

Gaia grimaced.“I guess I shouldn’t have told them about the aconite. But I was scared. And I swear, I don’t have it.”

“That’s why the fishbowl room.” Becca nodded, taking in their surroundings with a fresh eye. “But also why they let us in. They think this was a suicide attempt—a real one this time. Gaia, this isn’t good.”

Gaia looked at Becca as she and Maddy exchanged glances. Neither seemed happy.

“Oh man,” muttered Maddy.

“What?” A note of fear had crept into Gaia’s voice.

“Someone tried to kill you, but the authorities don’t believe there’s a real threat. They don’t think you need security.” Becca put it as gently as she could. “You’re the girl who cried wolf’s bane.”

Chapter 28

“I knew it.” Becca spit the words out in an angry whisper. “I knew something was going on with Frank. Something besides him being a lousy husband. Money men, indeed. I told you I have sensitivities, Maddy.”

Maddy opened her mouth to comment but, at a look from Becca, refrained. They were waiting by the elevator outside the ward. Becca had insisted on visiting the nurse’s desk before they left, concocting some story about how she feared that too many visitors might upset Gaia.

“It was the first thing I could think of,” she explained to Maddy once they were in the privacy of the elevator. “Because we don’t know for sure who else might be involved. There’s Margaret, of course. But even though she was angry, I just don’t see her as a killer, and I don’t believe she poisoned her husband either.” Becca looked intent. “Besides, she knew about Frank. She’s known for a long time. I remember something Elizabeth said when I met her.”

“Elizabeth? That’s the sister, right?” Maddy’s tone hinted that she was leading up to something as she counted off the floors.

“Yeah, I want to speak with her again.” Becca was also watching the counter with growing impatience. As the doors opened, she strode forward. “First thing.”

“Speak with her?” Maddy almost squeaked as she followed her into the busy lobby. “No, wait! You need to report her to the police.”

Becca stopped in her tracks and turned to her friend, uncomprehending.“What?”

“You’re getting all worked up about Frank and some possibly shady characters, but that’s all speculation, Becca. This Elizabeth knew what was going on. She was the one who had access to the poison, right? Didn’t she ‘confiscate’ Gaia’s plant?” Maddy made air quotes around the word.

“Well, we don’t know what happened to it. She says it disappeared.” Becca stopped and turned toward Maddy. “You can’t think that she…that Elizabeth…”

“Come on, don’t you?”

“No.” Becca shook off the idea. “She’s a wise woman. She’s not going to use her knowledge to harm anyone.”

“Becca, please. Listen to yourself. You’re talking like she’s a saint. She’s not. She’s a witch—okay, a Wiccan and an herbalist. But she’s also someone who had access to a powerful poison. And she had motive.” As Becca started to protest, Maddy kept talking. “She didn’t like Frank. You said so yourself. She knew about his cheating before anyone. And she certainly didn’t like that Gaia was collecting a paycheck while she was canoodling with her sister’s husband.”

“Canoodling?”

“Don’t make fun.” Maddy was trying to be serious. “As I see it, she probably figured Gaia would be blamed. I mean, she’s the one who brought the nasty thing into the store, right? I bet this Elizabeth didn’t even know that her sister was going to try to implicate Gaia in some embezzlingscam.”

“But she would have—”

“Don’t say it’s because she has the sight or something.”

“I was going to say she would have known. Elizabeth knows her sister. And she’s super protective of her.”

“That’s why she was so angry—”

“Wait, just wait.” Even though the two had kept their voices down, their heated conversation was beginning to get stares. Suddenly aware of the attention, Becca grabbed Maddy’s arm and pulled her into a corner.

“There are too many factors that still don’t make sense,” she said in an excited whisper. “For example, why did Frank suddenly want to leave his wife? By your account, he was a serial philanderer.”

Maddy shrugged.“I don’t know. Maybe he really loved Gaia. Or maybe he knew his sister-in-law was onto him.”

“No.” Becca shook her head, unsatisfied. “He was trying to make up with Margaret. I heard him. He was pleading. I think there’s something else going on, something to do with those license plates.”

“Becca, the police went through that office. If it was important, they would have taken it.”

“One of them was hidden.”

“No.” Maddy spoke slowly and deliberately. “You told me that you bumped into the desk, and it fell behind a drawer. That doesn’t mean it was hidden. It may have been in plain view in an upper drawer. We don’t know, and that’s the point— ”

Becca wasn’t having any of it. “Now, I know you don’t believe me, but I do have some kind of sensitivity, Maddy. And there was something odd about that plate. It was almost like I was supposed to find it.”

“Becca, do you hear yourself?”

“Problem is, I can’t tell the police about the plate because of how I found it.” Becca didn’t even pause. “I don’t even think I can make an anonymous phone call, ’cause then they’ll think I planted it. No, I need to talk to Elizabeth.”

“Talk to her?” Maddy’s eyes were wide. “You want to give her a heads-up that we know she had means and motive?”

“I want to consult with her. She’s got more insight into her sister than any of us, Maddy. I know enough to know that.”

“No, no, no.” Maddy had trouble keeping her voice down. “Please, Becca. You’re too smart for this. We’ve got to go to the police and tell them what we know. We’ll just tell them we were visiting Gaia. She’s the one who told us about the plant and about Elizabeth–”

Maddy stopped short, like she was hearing her own words for the first time.“Wait, do you think that Gaia could be setting Elizabeth up? I mean, along with Margaret? Maybe she did poison herself, only she miscalculated or something, and it was all an attempt to shift blame.” She shook her head, closing her eyes. “Now I’m sounding like you.”

“No, now you’re thinking about the possibilities.” Becca took her friend’s hands in her own. “And that’s another reason I have to talk to Elizabeth. Please, Maddy. I know you don’t believe, but trust me on this. Elizabeth has some kind of power.”

“I don’t know, Becs.” Maddy sounded so sad that it was clear she had given up. “All I know for sure is that I don’t trust her.”

For once, Clara realized that she agreed with them both.

Chapter 29

“At the very least, let me come with you.” Maddy wasn’t happy with Becca’s plan. The two had exited the hospital by that point.

“I can’t. You know that.” Becca tried to let her friend down gently. “Margaret approached me as a client. She has an expectation of privacy, and I have to respect that.”

“But Elizabeth…”

“Is her sister, and she’s got sensitivities.” Before Maddy could object, Becca explained further. “She’s going to know something’s up anyway. It’s better if it’s just me. I mean, this is a delicate matter.”

“Murder?”

“Infidelity,” Becca corrected her. “But, yeah, maybe this is a case of two sisters looking out for each other. Besides, don’t you have to get to work?”

Maddy was silent for a moment as she struggled to come up with a response to that. When she finally spoke, it was with resignation.“Promise me that if you do find out anything, you’ll bring it to the police and call me, too. And promise me that you won’t drink anything she gives you. Okay?”

“I promise.” Becca knew she had won.

Maddy, visibly restraining herself, took her friend’s hands in her own and clasped them hard for a moment before turning to walk away.

“Remember, Becca,” she called as the bus pulled up, “nothing to drink!”

Becca smiled and waved as her friend’s bus pulled away with a sound like a disgruntled pug.

“Nothing to drink?” She whirled around to see Tiger, on his bike. “Are you having a procedure?”

“What? No.” Becca, flustered, laughed in a kind of confused, embarrassed way. “I’m—no. Tiger, you startled me.”

“Sorry.” He tilted his head as he grinned, making him seem more boyish. “It’s none of my business anyway. I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“No, she was talking about…about something else.” Becca took in the tall, dark-haired man as he dismounted, and Clara waited to see if she would mention their last interaction. “Oh, you must be here to visit Gaia.”

“Yeah.” He uncoiled the heavy chain that had been draped over his shoulder. “Are you going in?”

“We just came from there.” She watched as he paused, open lock in hand. “Have you had a chance to talk with her yet?”

He bent over, focusing on the lock.“Not yet,” he said, his voice strangely muted. “It’s been weird.”

“Because of Frank?” She spoke quietly, and Clara knew her person only meant well. Still, the cyclist seemed to shudder slightly.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment’s pause that might have been attributed to problems with the lock. “Maybe.”

Becca turned away, giving him privacy. She was embarrassed, Clara knew. Her person had a tender heart and disliked causing pain.

“She wasn’t serious about him, you know.” When she started speaking again, she might as well have been addressing the no parking sign. “She said it was ending. In fact, I’m wondering if it was a bit of a rebound. You know, after you two…”

The exhalation could have been a laugh or it could have been a sigh.“Right. She wasn’t serious.”

“No?” She was giving him permission, Clara knew. Room to vent about his ex.

“I think she loved the idea of a sugar daddy. An older man with money to burn. You know they were planning on running off together, right?”

Becca bit her lip as Tiger turned and stood, the lock still in his hand.“Whatever she says now, don’t believe it.” He frowned at the lock, like it was to blame. “I’m not saying she loved him, but the idea of him? Or maybe it was just rubbing their affair in her boss’s face.”

“You think she intentionally let Margaret know?”

His dark eyes burned.“Is she playing all innocent now? She hates that woman. I mean, not that she deserved what happened.”

“But Margaret didn’t…” Becca caught herself. “I mean, we don’t know what happened.”

Tiger’s eyes went wide and for a few seconds, he was silent. “You know she had access to wolf’s bane.”

“I heard that she recognized it. Or, well, her sister did.” Becca looked around, as if she would see where to begin. “Gaia brought a plant in, but Elizabeth—that’s Margaret’s sister—got rid of it. Or made her get rid of it. That’s a little unclear.”

“Elizabeth.” He said the name like it tasted sour. “Yeah, I know her, and she would say that.”

“What?” Becca had to be thinking of her friend. Maddy’s face had puckered up the same way at the mention of the widow’s older sister.

“You just said it—Gaia brought in a poisonous plant and it disappeared. Right?” Tiger brushed his hair back as his tone changed to something softer. “Gaia never could resist picking up whatever she wanted, whether it was bad for her or not.”

Becca had no response, and the cat at her feet felt for her. The cyclist’s outburst was both too personal and too specific to ignore. The tension broke, though, as Tiger suddenly burst into a laugh, his teeth flashing in a wide grin.

“Listen to me!” He smiled at Becca. “I’m sounding like the wronged spouse, and I’m the one who thought we should split up. Maybe I’m dreaming up this whole conspiracy, and it’ll turn out that she ate a bad chicken wing or something.”

He sighed as he shook his head and then looked again at the lock in his hand.“But maybe this isn’t the best time for me to visit Gaia,” he said. “Anyway, I’m here, and it’s a gorgeous day. Would you want to take a walk by the river?”

Clara waited for her person to say no. Becca had an investigation to pursue, after all.

“I was going to head into Central Square, if you’d like to join me.” Clara whirled to look up at her person. “I don’t know if that’s what you were thinking of.”

“I think a walk would do me good.” He slung the chain over his shoulder. “Let me guess, you’re going to interrogate Margaret?”

“Actually, I want to talk to Elizabeth,” Becca confided. “Not about the wolf’s bane, or not only, but she said some things the other day that I want to follow up on.”

“Ah, now I understand why your friend was so worried.” Tiger reached for his bike, holding its handlebars in one hand. “But never fear,” he said, the smile audible in his voice. “You’ve got a tiger by your side.”

“Don’t you have to work?” Becca couldn’t resist grinning back. Tiger’s smile was contagious now that his dark mood had lifted. “I mean, I’m happy for the company and all.”

“You mean these?” He motioned to his bike’s panniers. “Nothing in there but my tools. I don’t have any deliveries or pickups scheduled for today. Besides, I was planning on taking a break.”

As if on cue, the device clipped to his belt flashed. With barely a glance, he thumbed a switch and it went black.“See?”

“If you’re sure.” Becca was smiling in a way that Clara didn’t fully understand. “But what if you get other calls?”

“Not to worry. I only work for one client, and they know whatever it is, I’ll get to it.” He leaned in. “I’m kind of on call twenty-four seven.”

“Maybe Gaia wouldn’t be a great choice, then.” The words slipped out, and Becca bit her lip, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That was rude,” she said.

His face was blank.“Gaia?”

“She told me that she might be coming to work with you, but with her habits…” Becca shook her head, flustered. “Anyway, I guess that’s no longer an option.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Tiger looked down at his hands, like they could give him an out. “Not that she wouldn’t be welcome, of course.”

“Of course?” Becca was examining his face. For what, Clara couldn’t tell.

Tiger’s smile was back, as broad as ever. “Hey, the more the merrier, right?”

With that, they started out, Tiger walking his bike and Becca strolling beside him. Once the uncomfortable topic of Gaia was behind them, the two humans chatted casually. Becca, who seemed determined to avoid any mention of Tiger’s earlier declaration, focused on her work and had explained about her coven by the time they passed through Harvard Square.

Becca showed no interest in catching a bus, not with Tiger asking for reading suggestions. And so the two kept walking, while Clara, unseen beside them, dodged the busy foot traffic as she did her best to tune into their voices. Laurel, she knew, would be better at reading the signals between these two. Yes, they were interested in each other. Yes, the young man was being respectful. Any male human who asked Becca about herself was an improvement over Becca’s cheating ex, she figured. It was only her own memory of Becca’s previous heartbreak that made her nervous, Clara told herself. That made her wonder that his interest was so sudden and seemed so intense.

Whatever its impetus, the mood was broken when the two humans arrived at the colorful storefront to find the lights out and the closed sign posted in the window.

“I guess they couldn’t get anyone to cover for Gaia.” Becca peeked in, between a ram and a lopsided bull. Although she couldn’t see any movement, the back storeroom appeared to be lit. “I could go to Margaret’s apartment, but I was hoping to catch Elizabeth.”

“You want to try around the back?” Tiger followed her gaze. “I’ll stay here in case anyone shows up.”

“Thanks.” She flashed him a grin and took off toward the alley, her unseen cat at her heels.

“Elizabeth?” A minute later, she was knocking on the back door. “Are you in there? It’s Becca.” She waited, then pressed her ear against the gray metal. Being a cat, Clara didn’t need such proximity to know that nothing stirred inside. “I’d like to talk to you, if you have a moment.”

She stepped back and brushed her hair off her face. But nobody came to the door, and after another round of knocking, Becca retreated back to the street.

“I guess I’m going to have to try the apartment,” she said, as much to herself as to Tiger. “I wonder if Elizabeth is avoiding me?”

“If she has something to hide, she might be afraid of you.” The thought didn’t seem to please her companion, and he frowned as he fussed over his bike. “I don’t know if you should confront her, Becca.”

“I’m not going toconfront her.” Becca stressed the word. “I want to talk to her. I want to find out what was going on with Frank. Elizabeth seemed to have some insight into her brother-in-law, so maybe she knows why he was planning on running away.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tiger looked up in disbelief.

“You mean, to be with Gaia? I don’t think so.” Becca’s stare fixed on a point somewhere beyond her companion. “I think something else was going on.”

“Like maybe his wife was sick of him fooling around?” That earned him a scowl, and he put his hands up in surrender. “Sorry,” he said. “Just pointing out the facts. But aren’t the cops looking into all the angles?”

“I don’t know,” Becca confessed. “I mean, they warned me away from trying to help Gaia, but she’s told me things. And I really don’t want to get Elizabeth in trouble if she was just trying to protect Gaia from herself.”

Tiger’s brows went up at that. “Protect her from herself?”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? It was Elizabeth who told Gaia that her plant was poisonous. Gaia didn’t even realize what she had.”

“That’s what she told you?” Becca couldn’t read Tiger’s expression, and neither could Clara. Once again, she wished she had Laurel’s power. “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s gotten rid of it now.”

“What do you mean?” Becca put her hand on Tiger’s handlebars to stop him as he turned away. “Gotten rid of itnow?”

“Elizabeth’s not telling you the truth—or not the whole truth,” he said, his voice disconcertingly matter-of-fact. “She took the plant, whatever she says. I saw it in the back room of the shop the last time I went to visit Gaia. I guess Gaia didn’t recognize it, or maybe it was after she was fired.” He paused, his eyes going wide. “Maybe that’s why Gaia was fired.”

“You’ve got to tell the cops that, Tiger. This is serious.”

He shook off the idea.“My ex gets fired and suddenly I’m accusing the owner of attempted murder? Besides, I was never supposed to be back there. Gaia used to sneak me in sometimes late at night—she had a way in through the window and showed me how. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. That old crow probably got rid of it.But, hey, you could ask the cops to check it out.”

To her credit, Becca took a moment, chewing on her lip as she considered the option.“No,” she said at last. “They’ve already warned me off. Besides, I don’t have any proof.”

“But you’re really resourceful.” Clara could feel Becca flush slightly at the compliment. But Tiger wasn’t done. “Maybe you could find a way to look for it. I don’t think you’d be able to miss it. It’s pretty distinctive, with those poisonous blue flowers and all.”

“Maybe.” Becca didn’t look thrilled at the idea. “But now, I’d better go beard the lion—or the lioness—in her den. And I should do this alone.”

Clara expected him to protest, but he only nodded.“Good luck. Let me know how it goes. On top of everything else, now I’m curious. If Elizabeth did dump that plant, when did she get rid of it? And if not, why do you think she’s been keeping it? And where? You should be careful, Becca.”

“I will be,” said Becca, her mouth set in a determined line. “And thanks.”

Chapter 30

Becca watched him pedal off before she headed down to Margaret’s apartment. Clara might not have Laurel’s skill, but she thought that her person looked a little wistful as well as curious. Wistful, the calico understood. This Tiger might be a tad odd, but he was trying to help, in his way, and he’d spent a good chunk of his afternoon with Becca. The curiosity was more than the cat could figure out. Her person was both sweet and warm, and to Clara it was no wonder why a man would want to get close to her. Surely, despite her searching gaze, staring back at the way Tiger had ridden, Becca must understand that much.

For now, Becca’s thoughts were her own, and so Clara trotted along, tail up, when she rang the apartment bell and, soon after, made her way up those stairs.

“Becca!” Margaret’s dark eyes widened with surprise. Clad in a velour track suit, she appeared even smaller than she had the last time Becca had seen her.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” She truly was, Clara could tell from her posture as well as her voice. “I know these last few days must have been difficult.”

“Thank you.” The widow collapsed against the doorframe, suddenly appearing both older and smaller than usual. “It’s bad enough that Frank is gone, but all the fuss.” She bent her head, exposing the white roots of her part, and Clara could feel her person’s resolve crumble.

“I am so, so sorry.”

The widow accepted the condolences, the white line bobbing briefly.

“Are you—I’m sorry, you must be caught up in funeral plans?”

“No.” One syllable shared with the doorframe. “Not yet.” Margaret cleared her throat, her voice growing stronger. “We’ll have a service, some kind of memorial, at some point. They—the police still have him. They’re doing tests…” Her voice trailed off again as one hand waved her sentence to completion.

“That’s part of what I was hoping to talk to you about,” Becca ventured, the effort audible in her voice. “Or Elizabeth, really.”

“Elizabeth?” Margaret’s head popped up and those big eyes blinked. “Why?”

“I gather she might have some insight into what happened.” When Margaret didn’t respond, Becca kept talking. “With Gaia.”

“You can’t still think that I… That Frank…” A second wave of fatigue seemed to wash over her, deflating her once again as she stepped back, opening the door to her visitor. “Whatever,” she said, her voice flat. “You might as well come in.”

“Thanks.” Clara slipped in alongside Becca and followed her through to the sunlit living room. The space appeared much as it had the other day, although Becca made a more careful examination of the plants on the sill. “Let me get my tea,” Margaret said, her voice flat, as she walked throughto the kitchen. “You want some?”

“Ah, no, thanks,” Becca called back. “I really just had a few questions.”

“What do you want to know?” Margaret returned holding a mug that smelled strongly of peppermint. She sipped, watching Becca over the mug, her eyes dry.

“Well,” Becca took a moment to recalibrate. “I was wondering if you would tell me a bit about Frank’s business.”

“His business?” The tea seemed to have revived the widow. At any rate, Clara thought, if she was nonplussed by the question, she didn’t show it. “He had that car lot down by the river. That was the extent of it.”

Becca took this in.“Used cars? Did he buy them or bring them in from other locations?”

A frown rippled the little lipstick left on her lips.“I don’t really know. Took them on consignment, I think. It was just a little thing, more a hobby than any kind of big going concern. I know he saw himself as some wheeler and dealer, but I doubt he had more than three cars for sale at any given time.”

Becca paused, apparently storing the words away, as Margaret drank her tea. Before she could phrase another question, the widow continued, her voice taking on a tone of resignation.“That’s not where he got his money from. You probably know that already, right?”

Clara could feel Becca holding her breath as she waited.

“I spoiled him.” A sigh as she placed her mug on the table. “I know I did. The watches, the rings. The car lot itself.” She peered up at her guest. “You’ve probably never been in love, have you?”

“Well…” A half smile from Becca.

“I thought we had a good relationship. No,” she raised her hand, not that Becca had made any move to interrupt, “I know what you’re thinking. But we had our ways. It had…he had never done anything like this before. I thought, well, it’s just another phase.”

“Maybe it was.” Becca spoke softly. “Maybe he didn’t mean to end it this way.”

“You don’t think… Is that why you were asking for my sister?” Her brow bunched together as she reached once more for her tea. “Elizabeth didn’t like him, but she wouldn’t do anything to…to harm him.”

“I believe you.” Becca tried to keep her voice calm and even. “But I don’t know if the police will, and I think she has information that could help us all.”

The widow inclined her head over her mug.“You may as well talk with her, then. She’s checking in on the shop.”

“She is?” Becca leaned in.

A curt nod.“She got a call, probably a prank. That girl…”

Clara looked at her person. Becca appeared to weigh several responses, but wisely decided to hold her tongue. Or maybe she simply hadn’t settled on one quickly enough as the sound of the front door opening had her craning around in her seat.

“Elizabeth.” Margaret looked up at her older sister. While Becca had turned to face the newcomer, Clara could see the curious expression on the widow’s face—eyebrows raised and mouth pursed. “Becca here was just looking for you. She has some questions.”

“Of course she does.” The taller sister breezed in, looking quite calm and collected, Clara mused. What Becca thought wasn’t clear, but her pet could see that she had been taken aback by the older woman’s response, if not by her sudden appearance. “I need to wash up, Becca. Would you joinme?”

Becca rose and followed the other woman down the hall to a bathroom, where Elizabeth proceeded to roll up the sleeves of her corduroy workshirt.“So, where shall we start?”

“Your sister said you were at the shop?” Becca watched as Elizabeth lathered up her hands. “Is there anything going on?”

Elizabeth grinned in the mirror.“Very good,” she said. “You’re learning to gather information for yourself before you give it. But everything is fine.”

Becca raised her chin.“Well, then, I’ve just got a few questions.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth focused on her hands. “I’m going to have some more cleaning to do. Gaia was a bit of a slob. Surely, that doesn’t surprise you.”

“No,” Becca had to admit. “But I’m curious as to why you went down there.”

“Why?” Their eyes met in the mirror. “Well, Margaret’s not up for anything right now. And I don’t think she should close.”

“She was thinking of closing?” That appeared to hit Becca hard.

Elizabeth shrugged.“She’s had a loss. And she no longer has a sales clerk. Plus, she’s going to have legal bills.”

That was Becca’s opening. “Is she going to be charged in her husband’s death?”

Again, their eyes met, but if Elizabeth was surprised by Becca’s awareness of the latest development, she didn’t show it. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I guess the police would say she had motive.” Becca eyed the older woman curiously. “But as for means… Margaret already told me they’re doing an autopsy. I’m assuming that they’ll find that Frank Cross was poisoned with aconite—wolf’s bane.”

Elizabeth shook her head, staring straight into the mirror.“I don’t know what they’ll find.”

“We know Gaia had a potted wolf’s bane plant.” Becca’s voice was calm. “We know that you recognized it. You told her what it was. And then it went missing.”

“Wait, you think that I took it and lied about it?” The white-haired woman turned toward her, hands dripping. “Or that Margaret…? No.”

“I’m simply stating facts.” Becca tensed, but if she thought of retreating, Clara couldn’t see any sign of it.

“You’re re-stating what other people have told you.” Elizabeth took on a schoolmarmish tone. “Letting yourself be manipulated. Gaia, for example, is as careless with logic as she is with dangerous plants.”

Becca didn’t respond. Clara hoped it was because she wanted to draw the older woman out, rather than that she was stymied by this turn of events.

“Yes, I recognized wolf’s bane.” Elizabeth reached for a towel, shaking her head as if she could shed stupidity like water. “That girl pretends to study the craft, but all she saw were pretty blue flowers. Goddess keep her. I read her the riot act. Bad enough she had it. She was keeping it in the shop window. If anything had happened, we’d be liable.”

“Something did happen.” Becca studied the other woman’s face. “Gaia was brought to the emergency room last night. She may have been poisoned.”

Elizabeth started back, and then relaxed.“You know, she might not be the most reliable person to talk about being poisoned.”

“I know she tried to fake something earlier,” Becca confided. “This was real, though. I was with her in the emergency room.”

“That doesn’t mean…” For a moment, Elizabeth looked her age. “Poor girl. Poor, stupid girl. I assumed she took the cursed thing home.”

Becca was shaking her head.“She says she doesn’t have it. She thinks you took it.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, appraising Becca anew. “And you believe her.”

“I believe that she doesn’t have it anymore.” Becca searched for an explanation. “And I don’t even know if she knows how Frank died. Honestly, I don’t know if she cares that much. From what she’s said, the affair was basically over. She’s just feeling sorry for herself because you fired her.”

“And so she’s looking to pin the blame on me.” Elizabeth turned toward the bathroom mirror, her face unreadable.

“She’s scared,” Becca said.

“Sounds like she should be.” Elizabeth was still holding the towel, and now she looked down at it, as if it held the answer. “Sounds like maybe Gaia has begun to grow up.”

Chapter 31

“You’re going to tell that detective all this, right?” Maddy’s relief was audible when Becca reached her at work. “’Cause you’re done, right?”

“I don’t know, Maddy. I’m not sure I see the point. I mean, I told him everything I know when he ambushed me at the hospital.”

“Ambush?” Maddy’s surprise must have gotten her a few looks, because her next comment was muted. “Becca, what are you talking about? You’re involved in a suspicious death, and another person has been poisoned.”

“Yeah, I know, only the police might not see it that way.” Becca was walking slowly down the block as she spoke with her friend, her mind on the conversation she’d just had. “If they still think Gaia made herself sick, they might not be looking at all the implications.”

“What implications? That woman Elizabeth said she was cleaning the place out, and I bet that means that stupid plant is gone. But don’t they have tests? Can’t they find traces of things like poisons?” Maddy watched a lot of TV.

“I don’t know, Maddy.” Becca stopped to look up at the late afternoon sky. “They might just dismiss that, or say that’s where Gaia was hiding it. I mean, it was Tiger who told me Elizabeth took it. And honestly? I don’t know how reliable he is on this. He’s told me he’s over Gaia, but I think there’s still something there. He’s more upset about all of this than he’s letting on this, and I’m not entirely sure what to believe.”

***

By the time they hung up, Becca had promised her friend that she would at least seriously think about calling Detective Abrams to fill him in on what Tiger had said.“Really seriously, Maddy,” she vowed. “Even though it’s all hearsay.”

But by then, she’d lost her newfound equanimity. As Clara trotted alongside her, she could see that her person’s focus had turned inward, bringing with it a frown and the kind of bunched brows that the little calico associated with ruffled fur.

When Becca slowed on the walk up to the library, Clara knew her worst fears were being realized. As much as she didn’t want her person looking too closely into her family’s long history with magical felines, she really didn’t want her getting more involved with this case. Although Clara was loath to take any human’s side against Becca’s, for once, she had to admit that Maddy was right. A person had died, and this was no longer a case for an amateur. Becca needed to leave it to the police.

Once again, Clara wished she had Laurel’s gift. Not for anything as trivial as her choice of clothing, but to make her see the sense in Maddy’s words—and to make her as careful of her own life as she was of her pets’. Even if she could simply eavesdrop like her sister did on her person’s thoughts, she’d be grateful. What washer dear person thinking about? Clara looked up anxiously, trying to read Becca’s face, and almost collided with her as Becca’s steps slowed.

Only then did Clara look around her with an almost imperceptible feline sigh of relief. Becca had come to a halt not ten feet from a familiar modern structure, its glass walls revealing the kind of benign busy-ness that Clara would wish her person engaged in full time. Even unable to read the words spelled out over the foyer in oversized letters, she recognized this as one of Becca’s regular haunts: the Cambridge public library.

Eager for her person to enter, Clara gazed inside to where a young boy was checking out two books as his father looked on and an employee pushed a cart loaded with oversized hardcovers. All of this would usually be as irresistible as catnip to Becca, and Clara waited for her person to pull open the great glass doors.

When she didn’t, Clara looked back with growing concern. Becca had her phone out, something she never did inside the building. Which, the cat told herself, must be why she had turned away.

“Tiger? It’s Becca.” Clara felt her whiskers sag. “I was wondering if you could tell me more about the plant you saw. Would you call me?” And with that, she hung up, but if Clara had any remaining hope that her person had put the matter to rest and would proceed inside the library, that soon dissipated. As she watched, Becca began to chew her lower lip and stare off into the distance. Since there was nothing out there beyond a rather drab brown oak, Clara began to fear the worst. When Becca turned her phone off and began to walk back toward the street, picking up her pace as she left the library behind, she knew what to expect.

“Becca, no!” Clara trotted to keep up. When it became clear that Becca was heading once more into Central Square, the calico began to panic. There was a reason Becca had been adopted by the three cats. She needed the gifts of all three, and just then, Clara felt the burden of being the only cat to accompany her person sorely.

“Please…”She did her best to project her thought, her ears twitching back with the effort.“Laurel, if you can hear me, can you help us out?”

Surely, her sister could pick up on her thoughts. She had already revealed her ability to travel shaded, much as Clara herself did. Ears up and every guard hair alert, Clara waited, hoping to get some sense that her slinky middle sister had heard her call and would respond. All she heard was the twittering of birds, though, and so she scurried to follow as Becca began walking even more quickly away from the library and the safety of the known.

Chapter 32

As the familiar storefront came into view, Clara let herself hope. While she didn’t like the idea of Becca asking more questions—certainly didn’t like the way that that woman Elizabeth seemed to know more than she should—at least she could understand such an action. Her person was thorough, a researcher at heart. Maybe Becca wanted something clarified. Maybe she had forgotten some important information. Maybe she had left her hat. But a quick glance to the velvet cloche that still topped Becca’s brown curls killed that hope.

Still, as Becca approached the storefront, Clara dared to believe. The store’s darkened interior showed no sign of life, and Becca knocked and waited—normal behavior, her cat told herself. Not rash at all. Only Becca wasn’t giving up. After trying to peer inside, her face pressed against the painted glass, she tried again, rapping on the window, to no avail. And so when Becca ducked around the back of the building, hurrying down the alley like some small and timid animal, the little cat began to feel ill.

“No, Becca!” She tried once again to project her thoughts. To implant the idea of the library, so safe and warm. Or, even better, of the cozy sofa at home. Maybe she had too much imagination, however, and she could see all too well where this was all heading. Because Becca, despite Clara’s fervent desire to warn her, appeared to be doing just what her pet feared most. She was going to try to duplicate her stunt of the previous day—only, this time, without a friend to stand guard. Not a friend who could call out to warn her, at any rate.

If she needed to, she would alert Becca somehow, Clara promised herself. Sure enough, as Clara watched, tail whipping in anxiety, Becca stared up at a high inset window with the intensity Laurel would use to gauge the jump to the top of the bookshelf. But Becca was no cat, and when her bottom didn’t twitch in anticipation, Clara began to breathe easier. Until, that is, she saw that Becca’s gaze had been distracted and she remembered. What Becca lacked in feline grace, she more than made up for in logic. Sure enough, a quick exploration of the back lot uncovered that plastic milk crate over by the dumpster, and it occurred to Clara that someone might have left it for just such an illicit entrance. Someone like Gaia, who wanted an easy way in and out. And although Becca was a good three inches shorter than the goth shop girl, when she stood on the milk crate and raised herself on tiptoe, she was able to reach the window.

“Now if only…” Clara’s ears perked up as Becca spoke, more to herself than to any possible passerby, her pet realized. “Yes!” Her agile fingers, so much more flexible than any talon, had managed to raise the edge of the window and from there it slid easily. With a grunt and a bit of a squeal, Becca pulled herself up, her sneakers finding purchase on the brick. And a moment later, she was inside.

“I’m getting rather good at this.” Becca’s musing would have been inaudible to most, but Clara heard her self-congratulations with dread. As much as she wanted her person to learn new skills, breaking into locked buildings was not a good thing. Surely, Becca knew that. Her reluctance to alert her friend and onetime lookout was proof of that. In Maddy’s absence, Clara hunkered down, determined to keep watch and to be ready to alert her person in case of trouble.

This late in the afternoon, the street was quiet, and Clara was grateful for the shadow of the building, which cloaked her spotted coat further even than her abilities allowed. Invisibility wasn’t everything, however. Despite her abilities, the calico was a housecat by nature, only venturing outside to accompany her person. Not being able to see Becca or, even worse, smell her warm scent, was unnerving, making the little beast feel even more vulnerable. As much as she trusted Becca, shecouldn’t help but wonder if this entire venture was misguided and if, perhaps, the person she loved was in way over her head.

A muted crash made Clara jump. Here, in the rear of the building, she was protected from the street. Even if a car were to pull into the lot, she could duck behind the dumpster. Besides, that sound was from inside the building, she realized as she willed her fur back into its proper confirmation. That sound, more of a thud, had probably been occasioned by Becca knocking into something inside the darkened store. No cries of alarm or pain had followed, and none of that horrid squealing of bicycle tires that she could only too well remember.

“Becca?”Clara tried once more to reach her person. The only response was a thump and a soft grunt. The cat could stand it no longer and, bracing herself against what she might find, she shimmied through the brick wall toward her person.

The room Clara found herself in wasn’t that dark. Granted, the afternoon sun was clouded by the glazing on the bathroom window as well as a rime of dirt. And while Becca had opted against turning on the electrical light, she had opened the door to the storefront, where the early twilight illumined the colored paint on the window, if not much else. Still, there was no reason for a creature to bump and flail, as Becca seemed to be doing. An upended side table explained the earlier crash, and even now her person shuffled slowly, hands out in some weak improvisation of whiskers.

Whiskers! Of course! Clara had forgotten how dull human senses were, and so as she sat back and watched her person fuddle, she tried to come up with a way to help her. Clara couldn’t exactly turn on the lights for her. Cats simply didn’t do that, and she was sure there was a good reason why. Nor could she guide her, as dogs seemed to do for their humans at times.

“If only Laurel were here.” She never thought she’d miss her sister. Only now it would be so useful to have her here. She could suggest that Becca close the door to the storefront. If she did that, she could turn on the overhead light. Surely, the slight glow that would leak out the bathroom window would not cause any alarm.

“If only…”

Her thought was interrupted by another crash and muted cursing as Becca reached down to caress her shin. But even as she did, hopping a bit as she rubbed the sore spot, she reached out her other hand for balance and soon found herself leaning on the open doorframe. As if a light had gone on in her mind, she stood, closed the door, and, running her hand along the doorframe, found the light switch. The light that flooded the room was almost too bright for Clara, who squinted as she ducked back into the shadow of the shelving. To Becca, though, it must have seemed wondrous. Clara looked up to see her person beaming back up at the fixture, like it had come to her aid by itself.

Newly empowered, Becca began a search in earnest. Working her way around the store room, she looked inside boxes and behind shelves. She opened canisters to check out their contents, and even though she sniffed some of the more pungent ones—Clara could smell ginseng and ginger, before the stench of asafetida filled the room—she was careful enough not to taste any.

When she moved on to the small kitchen area, Clara crept closer. Becca was concentrating too hard to notice the slight shadow she still cast, and the little cat wanted to observe her person at work. Becca was methodical, moving slowly through the items on top of the tiny fridge one by one and replacing them with care. Opening the fridge, she made a point of sniffing at various jars and bottles, even when the rancid nature of some long-forgotten takeout nearly knocked her head back. For Clara, this was enlightening. She’d only seen Becca research in books or on her computer. Here she could witness for herself the disciplined and thorough nature of her work.

It wasn’t quick, though, and Clara was aware of the passage of time as her person made her way around the room. Although it wasn’t spacious, taking up maybe half as much footage as the tiny shop out front, the room was packed. And the lounge area that had been carved out of one corner, with that overstuffed couch and the coffee table, the tiny kitchenette and the bathroom, were the only areas not lined with shelving and boxes and paper. Clara didn’t know much about inventory, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Margaret was as disorganized a record keeper as she was an employer.Missing funds indeed, the little cat thought with a disdainful sniff.

As she watched, Clara grew increasingly aware of the daylight fading outside—and increasingly alarmed that Becca was not. Becca still had not closed the bathroom door, and while the indoor light would not be that noticeable during the afternoon, as twilight descended, the illuminated window would certainly call attention to itself. Even if Margaret or Elizabeth came by to turn off a forgotten light, Becca could get in trouble, she realized with growing concern. If only her person would notice and shut that door. If only she had Laurel’s power of implanting a suggestion in a human’s brain. If only her sealpoint sister was here with her now.

Clara did her best, concentrating on the window, the light, trying to visualize the portal from Becca’s viewpoint, only showing it as brighter and more obvious. When she failed at transmitting that image to her human, she pictured it instead as it might seem from outside, glowing in the growing dark like a beacon. A clear indicator, if anyone was looking, that someone was inside.

It was no use. Becca was oblivious. And as her cat, all Clara could do was wait, which she did, with an impatience more akin to a hungry Harriet than her usual forgiving self. By then, Becca was working her way down the shelving behind the lounge area, and Clara could only hope she would soon turn and notice the bathroom light. Indeed, when Becca stopped and stared for a moment at the open door, her feline heart leaped. Either her thoughts were finally getting through to her person, or Becca had realized her error.

“The windowsill!” Becca exclaimed out loud, confusing her cat. “Of course!”

Following her person back to the small bathroom, Clara soon had her hopes dashed. Instead of flicking off the light, Becca simply stopped in the doorway and studied the long, high window. Open on one side, where Becca had made her way in, the window had a deep sill that ran along the top of the wall. Sure enough, down at the other end, three potted plants enjoyed the fading glow of the back room’s only natural light. Two were succulents, the closest, an aloe, showing signs of a recent trimming. The third, however, had glossy green leaves and a dying blossom, a sad bruised purple, still hanging from its stem. As Clara watched, Becca climbed up on the toilet seat and, reaching, broke off one of those leaves as well as the limp flower. Wrapping them in toilet tissue, she slipped them in her pocket and washed her hands. Smart moves, Clara knew, but steps that kept her pet from giving the plant material the thorough sniffing she would have liked.

The running water also covered a sound that immediately put Clara’s fur on edge. A sound that Becca’s less sensitive ears were likely to miss. The scrape of metal on metal, followed by the slide of a bolt.

Someone was unlocking the shop’s front door.

Clara whirled around as the door creaked ever so faintly, her tail fluffing as her multicolored fur spiked in alarm. She and Becca would make a run for it. They would fight. They would…but Becca did not react. Whoever was out there was being careful, opening the door carefully so as to not cause the bells to jingle. Was it possible that Becca really hadn’t heard anything? How could she not be aware, as the cat at her side was, of the slow footsteps making their way into the front room?

To Clara’s horror, Becca appeared lost in thought—or in contemplation of the paper towel she was using to dry her hands—and no amount of concentration on her cat’s part was getting her attention. To make matters worse, Becca had pulled her phone from her pocket and had begun fussing with it.

“This is no time to check your messages!”Clara’s urgent warning went unheeded. As the footsteps approached, the calico considered her meager options. Should she run to the front room? Perhaps if she dropped her shading, she could startle the intruder into making some sound. Or better yet, trip the person and also slow her—his?—approach.

If only Laurel were here…

“Move over!”The hiss startled Clara so badly, she nearly fell. But as she scrambled back, she was able to see a chocolate-tipped shadow leap to the sink. Blue eyes blazed down at her for a split second, then turned upward to focus on the pale and distracted face of their human.

“Becca! Listen! Someone’s coming!”Laurel’s thoughts were so loud, even Clara could hear them.“You’ve got to get out of here. Now!”

It wasn’t a tone Clara would ever take with Becca. Even as a silent suggestion, her sister’s distinctive Siamese yowl was sharp enough to pin Clara’s ears back. But whether it was that psychic caterwaul or Becca had finally come to her own senses, it broke through their person’s preoccupied daze. Suddenly alert, Becca started, staring wide-eyed at the open bathroom door.

“She’s going to close it.” Clara began to panic.“She’s going to try and hide!”

“No!”Laurel’s silent cry stretched out into three syllables, and Clara could have sworn she heard the rasp of claws.“Na-oh-wow!”

Becca turned at last back toward the window. From the toilet to the sill, she clambered, almost as graceful as a cat herself. And then through the window and out.

“Thank you!” Clara turned to her sister once Becca was safely through.

“No more sense than a kitten!” Those blue eyes flashed, and then Laurel, too, was gone.

Chapter 33

Clara didn’t even stop to smooth her fur before she leaped too, emerging in the lot behind the store in time to see Becca dashing for the dumpster. After a quick grooming—necessary for her nerves as well as comfort and appearance—Clara joined her, slipping behind the metal container to where her personwas crouching.

“Laurel?” Clara cast about for any sense that her sister was still around.“Are you here?”

A faint shimmer in the air made her turn. But when neither Laurel’s blue eyes nor her distinctive yowl emerged from the darkness around them, she settled back. Her sister had come to the rescue of their person, Clara told herself. She had heard her call and done what Clara could not. For that, the plump calico knew, she should be grateful.

If only she could get Becca to move on. Although her sensitive feline ears could pick up movement from inside the building, all appeared still out here. And yet Becca remained in what had to be an uncomfortable position for a human, squatting behind the dumpster like she was stalking prey.

“Of course!” Clara turned toward Becca with a new appreciation. Now that her person was out of danger, she would want to gather information and find out what was going on.

She didn’t have long to wait. With a squeak like a frightened rodent, the back door swung open. Although Clara’s eyes were trained on the entrance, she could hear the intake of breath as Becca saw the door swing open. Maybe it was the shadow that reached across the lot as the back room’s light spilled out. Maybe it was the way the figure paused, scanning the empty space and seeming to settle, if briefly, on the dumpster, where Becca had frozen motionless following that one quick gasp.

Or maybe it was who had stepped into the darkness, holding the back door open behind her. Elizabeth Sherman, a scowl on her hawk-like face, stared into the darkness as if she could see the young woman and the cat hidden there. Then, without a word, she stepped back inside and closed the door. A moment later, the light went out, and all was still.

“Elizabeth.” Becca said the name out loud, like she was trying out the taste in her mouth. “She can’t know…” Her voice dropped off as her awareness of her surroundings grew, but Clara could fill in what her person left unsaid. Becca had been careful during her brief exploration of the store’s back room. It was unlikely that the older woman would be able to tell if anyone had been there—a light could have so easily been left on by accident. There was certainly no way for Margaret’s sister to know that Becca had been the trespasser. And yet, the way she had stared at the dumpster had been unnerving, reminding Clara of how the woman had apparently seen her the day they had first met, despite the magical shading that cloaked her from others’ eyes.

After a few more minutes went by, Becca rose cautiously and, hanging close to the wall, made her way to the street. She walked slowly, and at first Clara wondered if the prolonged hiding had left her stiff. But a glimpse of her person’s face revealed Becca’s preoccupation. Clara couldn’t be sure if Becca had been able to see how the older woman had stared, with almost catlike focus, at their hiding place. But Becca was certainly mulling over the ramifications of that plant—proof, it seemed, of a dangerous lie.

A metallic shriek had them both spinning around, and Clara’s back arched in fear.

“Tiger!” Despite her excitement, Becca kept her outcry to a whisper, for which Clara was grateful. Still, the little cat eyed the black bicycle, which had come to an abrupt halt by the curb, warily. “You were right!”

“You checked out the shop?” He sounded impressed. “They let you in?”

“I snuck in, to be honest.” Becca sounded half ashamed and half proud of her feat.

“Wow, good for you!” Smiling, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “You’re getting good at this.”

“Thanks.” Becca didn’t bother to hide her answering grin. “When you told me that Gaia used to sneak in, I realized it was possible to get in through the back window.” She stood up straight, head back. “She’s a little taller than me, but not by much. And you were right. I found the wolf’s bane in the bathroom. Up on the ledge, where it could get some light.”

“You think the cops will believe you?”

“They have to.” Becca was beaming. “I’ve got proof. I broke off a branch for evidence.”

“This is so great.” He laughed, showing those white teeth. “You’re brilliant, Becca!”

“Thanks.” Becca looked down, blushing, though whether because of the young man’s praise or the way he was looking at her, Clara couldn’t tell.

“I couldn’t have done it better myself.” He reached for her hand. To Clara’s surprise, Becca stepped away.

“I don’t know…” Even in the dim light, Clara could see that her person had gone pale. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“What?” Tiger appeared confused by Becca’s sudden change in mood.

“I’m wondering if it was foolish of me to take a sample. I mean, if I show up with some of the poisonous plant, that could make police suspect me, don’t you think?”

He laughed.“You? Becca, come on. They’d know better.”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I think maybe I’ve got to think about this a bit. Maybe go see Gaia again.”

“Gaia?”

“Yeah.” Becca’s brow wrinkled in thought. “I want to find out more about when Elizabeth warned her about the wolf’s bane and when it disappeared. I mean, maybe there’s been a mistake. I’m getting the feeling that I’m missing something.”

“But if you wait, then Elizabeth might get rid of it.”

“Doesn’t matter. I also took some photos of the shelf in the bathroom, but the light wasn’t great.” She held her phone over for Tiger to see as she clicked on the app. “See?”

He took the device.“Is this inside the store?”

She nodded as he thumbed through, growing more concerned as his face grew serious.“They’re not great shots, are they?”

“I don’t know.” He sounded doubtful.

“Of course! They can still say it was a plant, so to speak.” Becca leaned over. “Wait, that was from earlier. Here, this is the best one. Between this and the sprig, that’s got to be enough for them to at least look into Elizabeth, right? Even if they also suspect me?”

“You know, maybe the police have a point. Maybe you should just let it go.” Tiger sounded shaken. “The cops are already investigating Margaret, and Gaia’s had a hard enough time. Besides, this could still implicate you.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Becca didn’t sound convinced. “But this is what I do, Tiger. Or, well, what I want to do. I’m a researcher, and that means I’m an investigator, and Gaia is my client, so I owe it to her to find out what I can and bring her the results. Besides, I kind of have a friend in the department.”

“Well, just leave me out of it, okay?” He chuckled, but there was a brittle edge to his laugh. “Gaia already thinks I’m kind of a nut. Next thing you know, she’ll think I’m trying to get back together with her or something, and I, well, you know how I feel, Becca.”

“Thanks, Tiger. I do.” Becca smiled at Tiger as he righted his bike and rode off down the street. But even as she began to walk the other way, back to the square, it was clear to her cat that her mind was already a million miles away.

Chapter 34

“If only I could ask you three for advice.” Becca appeared lost in thought. “Maybe you could help me decide what I should do.”

Worried about any additional detours, Clara had stuck close to Becca’s side as she walked home. Still, she managed to slip in moments before Becca unlocked the door to find Harriet and Laurel sitting there waiting.

“What took you so long?” Laurel’s sharp Siamese yawp sounded like a question and an accusation all at once.“Can’t you manage her any better?”

“Now, now, Laurel.” Once Becca had fed them, Harriet immediately became more conciliatory.“We each have our tasks.”

“What tasks?” Clara looked up at her oldest sister, but Harriet’s round golden eyes merely blinked once before returning to her dish.

“If only you were really my familiars.” Becca was leaning back on the counter. Although Clara’s ears flipped back to catch the sigh that followed those words, it was clear that Becca was simply airing her thoughts. “My great-great-grandmother referred to her cat as her familiar, but maybe that was just a figure of speech. Or, I don’t know, a convention of the time. She couldn’t have actually conversed with her cat, could she?”

Clara’s ears flicked, but a heavy paw came down on hers. Harriet.

“No.”

Clara pulled back.“But you were the one who started her on this whole magic thing. If you hadn’t summoned…” She stopped. There was no way to remind Harriet that it was her laziness that had prompted their person to believe she was a witch without insulting her. Besides, Becca had already shown an interest in magic by then.

“It’s in the family,” Harriet mumbled, her mouth full.“It was going to happen anyway.”

“And you’re the one who is supposed to look out for her.” Laurel shot a glance Clara’s way as she sat back and began to wash her face.“Not lecture your elder sisters!”

“I’m sorry.” Clara dipped her head and stepped back from her food dish. Laurel eyed the leftovers, but wisely let Harriet dive in.“But I don’t understand.”

“Don’t be such a kitten.” Laurel sat back to wash her face, scrubbing at her tawny fur with one brown mitt.

“I just feel like you could help me sort this out.” Becca was speaking to herself. Clara knew that. And yet she couldn’t help reaching out to her person, which she did, batting at her leg with one gentle paw.

“What is it, Clara?” Becca roused to lift her pet, cradling her in her arms. “Did Harriet steal your food again?”

“Did not!” A faint grunt of protest as the marmalade cat looked up, her yellow eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t say you did,” Clara mewed softly.“I only wanted to let Becca know that we’re here.”

“So much for being discreet.”Laurel’s implication was clear.

“That’s not fair.”Clara squirmed in Becca’s grasp, desperate to make her sisters understand.

“Whoa, okay!” Becca released her and she jumped to the floor, but even as she did, she turned toward her person with a plaintive mew.

“You three.” Becca shook her head. “You’re worse than the coven sometimes.”

The three littermates froze. This was too close to home.

“Speaking of, I wonder if I should consult the coven?” Becca wandered back into the living room.

“We have to be more careful!” Clara did her best to keep the hiss out of her tone. It wouldn’t help to antagonize her sisters more.“You know the law!”

“I’m not the one who was squealing like a…like a…”Harriet’s short nose bunched up in thought.

“Like a little mouse,” Laurel purred.“Clara, you’re such a clown sometimes.”

“Clara the clown!”Harriet echoed, her voice taking on a singsong quality.

It was all Clara could do to keep from snarling in her own defense. Instead, tail down in a dispirited droop, she followed her person into the living room and jumped up on the sofa beside her.

“Hi, Ande?” As Clara leaned in, Becca absently stroked her spotted back. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Clara couldn’t hear the response as Becca shifted, reaching for her laptop. And as much as she would have liked to spread herself across the warm keyboard, she contented herself with leaning against Becca’s hip as her person quickly typed out some notes.

“Thanks. I’ve been working on this case, and I’ve sort of hit an impasse.” As Clara watched, Becca summoned up a familiar picture. The plant they had just seen, only set in what looked like a lush summer garden. “What can you tell me about aconite—wolf’s bane?”

A slight squawk, as if from a startled sparrow, had Becca shifting.“No, I’m not. I’m trying to stay clear of what happened to Frank Cross. I promise.” Clara looked up at her person. Becca rarely lied, but this was stretching the truth. “Though I do wonder…”

More squawking, and Becca put the phone on the table.

“Hang on,” she said. “Okay, I’ve put you on speaker so I can look it up. Yup, this looks right.”

“What? Becca, what’s going on?” The voice of the other coven member was tinny but recognizable. “You have an aconite plant there? With your cats?”

“No.” Becca shook her head, although the other witch couldn’t see her. “I mean, I have a cutting, but it’s all wrapped up. I wanted to make sure it was from Gaia’s plant.”

“Wait, Gaia, who was having an affair with Frank? Asafetida Gaia? She has aconite, the real thing? Do the police know? Because aconite poisoning can look like a heart attack.”

“I gathered that already.” Becca’s voice dropped. “I also think it might be what made her so sick. I don’t know if you heard—she’s in the hospital.”

“She’s—” Ande caught herself. “Becca, this sounds bad. You don’t think it was some murder-suicide pact, do you?”

“I don’t think so.” Becca bit her lip, deep in thought. “Though someone told me that Gaia knew Frank had a heart condition. A ‘bad ticker.’ Only Gaia’s plant was stolen. That’s the one that I have a clipping from.”

“Wait, I’m missing something.” Ande’s confusion came through loud and clear. “Back up. You have a cutting, but you got it from a plant that was stolen?”

“Yeah, it’s a longish story, Ande. Gaia said Elizabeth Sherman, you know, Margaret Cross’s sister, took the plant from her after telling her how dangerous it was. But Elizabeth said she didn’t, even though I found it at Charm and Cherish, in the back room, and—”

“Hold on.” Clara could almost see the taller witch holding up a long, slim hand to stop Becca from going further. “You went into the back room? I thought the store was closed.”

“It is.” Becca lowered her eyes even as she worked to keep the embarrassment from her voice. “But, Ande, I had a tip. And, well, this is what I do now. I investigate.”

“You got atip?” Clara’s ears pricked up. The other witch sounded suitably disturbed. “Becca, why aren’t you taking this to the police? This is serious.”

The calico breathed a sigh of relief at this good common sense, but Becca was shaking her head.“I can’t, exactly,” she told her friend. “I mean, Tiger pointed out that it could make it look like I’m involved. You know?”

“Tiger?” Ande might not have been able to see the slight flush that crept over her cheeks, but she must have heard something in her tone. “I don’t think I’ve heard about any Tiger.”

“Oh, Tiger? He’s, uh, he’s Gaia’s ex. He’s been helping. Well, kind of…” There was no hiding the stammer now.

“Becca.” Ande cut her off. “I don’t need any special powers to know that something else is going on here.”

“It’s not…it’s not what it seems.” Becca rallied to complete the sentence. “They’re broken up, but he still cares about her. She told me that herself.”

“Uh-huh.” Ande’s voice dripped with skepticism. “And he’s telling you all of this and not her, why?”

“Because.” Becca was firm. “He doesn’t want to talk with her. He feels he needs to keep his distance and not, you know, give her false hope.”

“Well, then, that makes things easy for you.” Clara looked up as Becca drew a breath. “I didn’t mean like that, Becca. Though, if they really aren’t together, well, why not? But what I meant was kind of the opposite. I may be wrong, but it sounds like this guy is getting your head in a muddle.”

Clara looked at her person, but Becca didn’t respond and Ande kept talking.

“Okay, I don’t like any of this, but you want my advice, right? I say you should go to the cops. But if you’re not ready to do that, and you want to know more about this plant and the sisters Gaia used to work for, then why don’t you ask Gaia? She doesn’t have to know her ex-boyfriend wasinvolved. Does she?”

Chapter 35

“I don’t like it. But I never liked any of this.” Laurel was grooming as Becca hurried to get dressed the next morning. Much to the sealpoint’s dismay, Tiger hadn’t called, and Becca had spent the evening online. Her one call in the morning had been to the hospital to ask about visiting hours.“I blame that girl, with her fake hair and all those piercings. That girl is a liar.”

“If someone wasn’t such a stickler for the rules…” Harriet fixed Clara with her yellow eyes. For once, Clara felt she couldn’t meet her gaze.

“I know,” the multicolored cat acknowledged, dipping her head. She had already let her fluffy oldest sister finish her breakfast, the uncertainty of the day having chipped away at the plump calico’s own appetite.“But we have to be extra careful,” she murmured to her sisters in her own defense.“Becca suspects something, I know it.”

“Well, of course. Because you let yourself be seen by that Elizabeth woman.”Laurel wasn’t letting this drop. But Clara didn’t hear her. She was already shimmying through the door to follow Becca as her person hurried down to the street.

That didn’t mean the calico wasn’t mulling over what her sisters had said as her person set out at a brisk pace, her hat jammed down over her brown curls. Laurel’s claim that Clara herself was responsible for the cats almost being revealed struck particularly close to home, she thought as she trotted down the sidewalk, careful to stay shaded in the early morning sun. Clara still couldn’t forget how the store owner’s older sister had looked at her—hadaddressedher—although Clara had thought she was being so careful, and she replayed the scene again and again as Becca made her way swiftly through the morning commuters. Clara had to dart to keep up, but the questions kept resurfacing, distracting the little cat as she ran. Had she let something slip in her concern for Becca? Was Becca beginning to suspect that her three cats were more than ordinary house pets? If their person kept up with her research, she was sure to uncover more about the long interaction between the women of her line and the cats who loved them.

That history, Clara knew, was why the rules had been initiated. Centuries may be long to humans, but to cats, who pass along memories from generation to generation, they were only a swish of the tail. And Clara knew as well as her sisters that when humans had last found out that their cats had the powers to protect and serve them, well, that had ended badly for both the pets and their people. Those bad old days were why the cats had the rules that now governed Clara’s family.

But was it time for them to change? As Clara followed Becca back to the hospital, she thought about the coven that her person had joined so openly. Witchcraft was no longer forbidden, and while it seemed in some ways like magic had become devalued, it also appeared that any actual danger in practicing the old ways was past. Clara had always been so careful in how she observed the law, even taking on her sisters. Only now that she thought about it, about Elizabeth seeing her and how much easier it would make things for Becca if she could do the same, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Would it really be that awful if Becca knew what her feline family could do for her and how much the three of them really loved her?

That is, assuming they did.

“I’m pretty sure Laurel and Harriet love Becca. They have to…” Clara barely voiced the thought. After all, Laurel had come to Becca’s aid. Or was that only because Clara had called her? And surely Harriet had grown fond of the curly-haired young woman who had proved so reliable with the treats.“Just because they complain…”

The little cat was brought up short as Becca stopped suddenly before her. It took her a moment to realize they had already arrived at the main entrance to the hospital, and the law-abiding Becca was taking a moment to power down her cell.

Gaia was expected to be released today, she had gathered from Becca’s earlier inquiry. That explained why she had rushed right down after feeding the cats and before even taking any coffee for herself. But Clara could see no sign of the slight, black-haired girl anywhere on the sidewalk or inside the big glass doors once Becca had stepped through them. In fact, she could only make out three people in the lobby, an elderly couple and an orderly, his eyes on the elevator as it pinged its way down.

“Hey there!” The voice made Becca turn. Gaia, looking pale but happy, was walking toward her, a white hospital bag under one arm. “Did your sensitivities let you know I was being released?”

“Not exactly.” Clara could hear the happiness in her person’s voice. “Admissions did. But I’m glad. Actually, I was hoping we could talk, really talk. I’ve got a ton of questions.”

The other woman nodded. Without her usual makeup, she looked younger. Better, too, thought Clara.“Sure, I owe you, I think. Besides,” she held up her phone, which, contrary to the posted regulations, glowed with life. “My ride’s going to be a few. I’m not quite up to walking yet.”

“I’m sorry.” Becca backtracked. “I didn’t even ask. How are you feeling?”

“A little weak. I’m glad you…well, you may have saved my life.”

“I wish I could credit my powers, but I really just kept calling you because I wanted to get you to come down to the police with me.”

“Stupid me, huh?” The pierced brow rose as she smiled. “But now I’ve told that fat cop everything I know.”

“You told him about the wolf’s bane?” Becca asked. The other woman dipped her head in a quick, embarrassed acknowledgment. “Did you tell him that you thought Elizabeth stole it?”

Gaia’s expression turned equivocal. “I told him that it disappeared, but I don’t know…”

“That’s just it.” Becca leaned in. “I do. I saw it. Tiger told me where to look.”

“Tiger? How did he know?”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him up. Though, to be honest, I have some questions about him, too.”

“I know, you want him to talk to the cops, and I’ll work on him.” She sighed. “I think he’s hoping that, after all this, we’ll get back together.”

Whatever Becca had been about to say appeared stuck in her throat.“Gaia?” After a moment’s pause, she tried again. “How well do you know Tiger?”

A snort of laughter.“What’s to know? He’s a nice guy. Hey, he brought me a change of clothes.” She hefted the white plastic bag. “I did not want to wear these home again. Not after being so sick.”

Becca wasn’t going to be distracted. “You don’t think he’s a bit too involved in what’s going on? I mean, with Frank and all?”

“Tiger?” She didn’t bother to hide her humor. “No way. He’s sweet, but he’s a straight shooter. I mean, his motives are clear.”

“Poor Becca.” As much as Clara wanted to, she couldn’t rub against her person. She didn’t really understand what Becca was getting at, but she did know she didn’t want her person to be hurt again.“And Laurel didn’t see this coming.”

“I’m glad for you.” Becca managed to sound normal. She even wrangled a smile as the other woman turned toward her. “I mean, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah, I think so.” A girlish shrug and another smile. “We’ll see, right? Hey, you want a ride? We can talk to him together.”

“Now?” Becca squeaked like a cornered mouse. “No, no, thanks.”

“Okay.” Gaia was too distracted to notice. “Well, thanks for coming by. I appreciate the visits, and, you know, everything you’ve done. Maybe that crazy Elizabeth is right.” She flashed a wide grin. “Maybe you really do have some magic powers after all.”

“Miss, are you feeling ill?”

The orderly hovered. Becca had stepped back as Gaia had headed out the door. She’d only closed her eyes for a moment, but the hospital staff was alert.

“I’m fine.” Becca stood up straight. “It’s just…personal stuff. Men.” She was trying for brave, Clara knew, and loved her all the more for it.

“Tell me about it.” The woman in scrubs turned toward the glass double doors. Gaia could be seen on the sidewalk, craning her head eagerly toward the street. “They go for the fragile type, don’t they? She has that poor Tiger wrapped around her finger.”

Becca’s smile wobbled, only to give out entirely as she made her own slow way toward the exit. Clara couldn’t blame her. As grateful as she was that her person found out about Tiger’s duplicity before anything had happened between them, she still understood her disappointment. It might not be exactly the same as waiting at a promising mouse hole all night, only to realize it was really a crack in a baseboard, but it was similar. One got one’s hopes up, and it hurt to reconcile with reality.

Clara kept her eyes on Becca as she ambled through the hospital lobby. Of course, Becca was dispirited, but she was moving so slowly her cat began to worry. Was she remembering her questions, the ones she hadn’t asked? Or, no…as Clara caught her looking out through the lobby’s glass doors, she understood. Becca was waiting for Gaia to be picked up, hoping to avoid an awkward meeting with the faithless Tiger.

“She could have him if she wanted.” An unexpected voice in her ear caused Clara to jump. Although she couldn’t see Laurel, she would recognize her sister’s distinctive yowl anywhere.“He was seriously interested in her. I could tell.”

“She doesn’t want him if he really wants to get back with Gaia.” Clara turned toward the where a glint of blue betrayed her sister’s presence.“Even if he doesn’t, he’s nasty to lead Gaia on.”

“She was sad.” A faint disturbance in the air signaled the flick of a tail.“He wanted to make her feel better.”

Clara wisely held her tongue. Besides, Becca had stepped closer to the windows that looked out on the entrance. If her person was braving the visual confirmation of her crush reuniting with Gaia, she was going to stand there with her, whether she could comfort her or not. She could feel the shuddering breath Becca drew as she watched Gaia raise an arm in greeting. A tan beater—a Toyota, easily twenty years old—pulled up, its fender held in place with a bungee cord. But it wasn’t the reappearance of the battered old car that made Becca gasp.

The young man who had jumped out of the driver’s seat wasn’t the tall, pale bike messenger Becca had come to know. This man wore a leather jacket with his jeans, and the blond tips of his black hair stood out as he reached for Gaia’s bag.

Chapter 36

“Gaia, wait!” Becca broke into a run, plowing through the knot of people waiting for the revolving door. “Gaia!”

But even the haste that won her several hard stares and one loud complaint wasn’t enough. By the time she was through, the car had driven off, with Gaia settled in the passenger seat. Becca pulled her phone from her pocket and stared at its blank screen in disbelief.

“Guard!” Becca whirled around and then raced back inside, looking for a uniform. An official. Anyone.

“That girl your friend?” A graying man stroked what looked like a day’s growth of beard.

“Yes, and she just—that driver…she thinks it’s her ride share, but he may be dangerous.” She punched a code into her phone. “Come on!”

“She got in the car willingly?” the man asked, his voice thoughtful.

“Yeah, but…” Glancing up from her device, Becca looked once more out the window and then, turning back, she took in the slight, elderly man on crutches beside her. Purple bruising ran from the edge of his tonsure of graying hair down to his whiskery chin, but the dark eyes that peered into hers were clear, their gaze piercing.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “That was rude of me to push through like that. Pointless, too.”

He shrugged and a smile brightened his features.“You were scared. I’m used to it. Nobody sees us old folks. ’Specially not girls like that. I wouldn’t worry too much about that one, though. Like I said, she got into that car with her eyes wide open.”

“I really am sorry.” Beck paused to take in the man before her. It wasn’t just the beard that gave him a slightly scruffy appearance. His khakis, which dragged as if sized for a taller man, were stained, and that cheery smile revealed several missing teeth. “Do you need some assistance?” Her voice, as she asked, became soft, like she was afraid of offending.

“Me? Nah.” He waved her off with hands chapped rough. “I’m doing better than anyone expected. Charmed, I am. One vet helps another.” He chuckled at some private joke.

“Mr. Harris?” a worried male voice called across the lobby. “There you are. Come on, Bill, we’ve been waiting.” A tall orderly in lime green scrubs was loping toward them.

“My valet,” the ragged man said with a wink to Becca.

“Bill Harris.” The orderly took the older man’s upper arm. “You’re due in PT. You weren’t trying to walk out again, were you?”

“Just keeping an eye on the young lady here.” That smile again. “Sentry duty.”

“More like an old sailor’s tricks.” The orderly looked over at Becca, his wide face creased with concern. “He wasn’t bothering you, was he, miss?”

“No, not at all.” She shook off the suggestion as comprehension dawned. “Wait—Bill Harris, are you the man who was hurt in the hit-and-run? They said a veteran…”

“At your service, miss.” A dip of the tonsured head. “Only it may be a while before I’m cleared for duty again. Gotta watch out for those waves.”

“Mr. Harris?” The orderly tugged gently, turning the man. “Don’t you remember we talked about this? You’re not in the Navy anymore.”

“We’re still at war, son.” The bruised face gone serious. “And this young lady, she’s on the front lines. You remember what I told you, missy,” he said as he was led away. “Eyes wide open!”

***

“What was that about?” Becca mused as the two slowly ambled off. “Maybe he thought I was USO? I mean, I’ve heard of the WAVEs but…” Although she wasn’t addressing Clara, the calico took her question seriously. Becca was mostly concerned with Gaia and with the identity of the man who had driven her off, the little cat knew. But the stranger who had accosted her person was of more interest to the little cat.

“I wish I understood.” Clara looked up to see Becca chewing on her lower lip, a sure sign that she was deep in thought. When she once again consulted her phone, Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, her person was going to call for aid or a consult. As much as her cats were not fans of Becca’s coven, there was a place for other humans in their person’s life. But when Becca simply stood there, staring at the device, she realized something else was going on.

“Is it possible?” Becca’s voice was too quiet for any but her cat to hear. But lacking Laurel’s particular skill, the shadowed feline could do nothing but wait.

The hospital lobby, however, was not a safe place for a small creature. Although Becca was standing by the door, Clara soon realized that she needed to take cover. The same craft that enabled her to virtually disappear could all too easily cause even the most careful pet lover to trip over the little feline. So after the third near collision, Clara scooted over to a bench that ran along the window. She might not be able to hear everything that Becca said from here, but she could keep an eye on her and keep herself safe.

“Watch it!”

Clara whirled at the unmistakable hiss.“Laurel?”

A slow blink made the almond-shaped blue eyes disappear and then appear again in the shadow by the bench’s legs.“I was wondering when you’d have the sense to get out of the way.”

“What are you doing here?”This was the second time Laurel had surprised her, and as much as she welcomed her sister’s assistance, Clara had to admit the sealpoint’s sudden appearance had unnerved her.

“Whataren’t you doing is more like it.”Laurel’s distinctive voice wound her own question up into a caterwaul, and Clara looked around in concern.“Oh, don’t be such a clown, Clara! You think these people can even hear themselves think?”

That stopped her, and she looked toward where her sister’s shadow could be seen as a vaguely lighter area against the bench.“Laurel, can you hear what Becca’s thinking? The way she was staring at her phone has me a little concerned.”

The eyes went wide in mock surprise.“But I thought you didn’t want me listening in on Becca. Now this is interesting…”

“Please, Laurel.”Clara was at a loss to explain.“Something is going on, and I’m worried.”

“Why don’t you just go back out there?” Her sister blinked, her shade retreating into the darkness.“And listen for yourself?”

Sure enough, Clara saw, Becca was no longer staring at her phone. Instead, she held it up to her ear. But even feline senses were no match for the cacophony of the lobby, and so Clara made her way back to her person, darting around a family of four and a large man on crutches to stand as close to Becca’s feet as she could without touching.

“Detective Abrams, please.” She kept walking, the phone up to her ear. “It’s Becca Colwin returning his call. Calls, I guess. He’s…what? He’s looking for me? I’m—no, you don’t have to pick me up. I’m going to Charm and Cherish. I should be there in about fifteen minutes. If hecan meet me there, I expect to have something to show him.”

Chapter 37

Clara looked around for her sister, but Laurel’s blue eyes didn’t peer back from under the bench. When the calico’s sensitive nose failed to catch any hint of another feline in the crowded foyer, she realized her sister had slipped away without her.

For one awful moment, Clara thought Becca had, too. Then she saw her person on the sidewalk and with a leap made it through the glass of the front window to land on the sidewalk beside her. But even had Clara not been shaded, Becca might not have noticed the sudden appearance of her pet beside her. As she walked through the small crowd of a taxi line, Clara’s person seemed to be focusing on another world. Almost, the cat thought, as if she could see the unseen.

Could it be? As recently as a week before, the little cat would have thought this to be impossible. As much as Becca wanted to have magical powers, such abilities were solely the province of cats, or so the little calico had always believed. And although Becca’s research had brought her perilously close to the truth about her ancestors—those brave women who assisted their felines in the application of the craft—her approach was all wrong. As much as she loved the three littermates she’d adopted, Becca still viewed them merely as pets, rather than guides and teachers, a mistake that Clara had blithely assumed doomed any attempts at magic to failure.

In the last few days, however, Clara had found some of her core beliefs about her beloved person, and about her own powers, to be challenged. She simply didn’t know.

To be on the safe side, Clara kept herself cloaked as she tagged along after her person. Although they had cleared the crowd immediately outside the hospital, the little cat was concerned. Becca seemed to be lost in thought, oblivious to the city around her. Trotting alongside her person, Clara saw that she was frowning, her sweet face intent on something beyond the little cat’s perception. But since Clara could not smell any predators in the immediate vicinity, all she could do was fret over what was occupying her person so.

Hearing, however, was different. Clara was a city cat, and from her earliest days in the shelter she had become accustomed to the sounds of people and their machines. As a reasonable creature, she had an aversion to cars, and thus she was grateful when Becca turned down a residential street. She had a sense of where her person was heading—the store where she had asked that big detective to meet her was not that far away, especially if she took the bus from Harvard Square. Still, she stuck close by Becca’s feet.

As they turned down another corner, Clara realized that Becca was retracing her path of the other day, when she and the bike messenger had walked to the nearby square. This route was not only quieter, it was, Clara suspected, what her person would term a“shortcut,” a very human concept, but one that she accepted as her person’s choice.

As one tree-lined block followed another, Clara began to relax. The roar of the city’s traffic never totally disappeared, but as she trotted alongside Becca, she could hear other sounds that recalled different times. A bird sang somewhere unseen, and two squirrels squabbled over the first of the season’s acorns. In such a setting, the click of a bicycle gear merited no more than the flick of an ear. The squeak of a brake, though, that caused the cat to turn, as a sudden whiff of a familiar scent made her fur begin to rise.

“Becca!” The voice, friendly if a bit breathless, startled Clara’s person, who whirled around with a gasp.

“Sorry.” He smiled as he jumped off his bike and walked it up to her. He reached to embrace her and Becca almost tripped as she scrambled out of reach. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Tiger! Goddess bless.” Those were strong words for Becca, and for a moment Clara worried that her person had fallen harder than her pet knew. Only, there was a note in Becca’s voice that Clara couldn’t place. What was her person thinking? “It’s Gaia. I think she’s in trouble,” she started to explain, her face clouded with worry.

“Gaia?” He stepped back, considering.

“Yeah, I came by to talk to her. Only she left with someone, and, well, I’m heading over to meet with the police now.” Becca could have been talking to herself, she seemed so preoccupied. “But I think you were right. I think maybe Elizabeth was behind the poisoning.”

“I knew it.” Tiger nodded, a grim half smile spreading across his face. “I bet they’ll tie the poison in with Frank’s death, too.”

“That’s right.” Becca looked up at him. “You said Frank was poisoned from the start. Back before any of us had heard anything.”

She paused ever so briefly, lost in thought, and began to walk once more, heading, Clara knew, into the square.“Before Gaia had heard anything, come to think of it. Although, didn’t you say Gaia knew he had a bad heart?”

“Yeah, she did.” His face was unreadable as he walked beside her, rolling his bike by his side. “I remember her telling me. She must’ve forgot.”

“Funny thing for her to forget.” Becca could have been addressing the bricks of the sidewalk. “Come to think of it, you knew about Gaia being poisoned before anyone else, too.”

“Well, yeah. I was with her.” Those blue eyes went wide with innocence as he strode beside her.

“No, you weren’t.” Becca shook off his assertion as she kept walking. If her pace picked up a little, it was barely perceptible to any but the small cat who trotted by her side. “I was on the phone with her when she started getting sick. She was alone. I’m the one who called 9-1-1.”

As she talked, Becca turned a corner, and Clara saw the traffic of Harvard Square ahead. His bicycle at his side, Tiger lengthened his stride to move slightly ahead, a tilt of that handsome head as he tried once again to catch her eye.“And am I ever glad you did, but she called me first, and then I came by.” The assertion came out with force, like he was claiming the sick girl. “Truth is, I thought she was just being dramatic. Trying to get my attention.”

Becca shook her head again slowly and sighed, Clara thought, with a trace of sadness.“She wouldn’t do that. She broke up with you. She’s told me you’re the one who’s been trying to get back together.”

“Well, yeah.” That grin as he sped up, moving slightly ahead of Becca. Trying to get in front of her. To catch her eye. “The girl has some pride, after all. Good old Gaia. Crazy girl.”

“Not like her buddy Gail Linquist, huh?” Becca’s voice was flat. She was waiting as she walked, Clara realized, though for what, the loyal calico couldn’t tell.

“No way.” He was laughing, a broad chuckle that matched the slight rattle of his bike, as he shifted his grip on the black metal frame. “I never understood that friendship.”

“You don’t know her, do you?”

“Excuse me?” A burst of laughter followed, but when Becca finally turned to face him, she didn’t join in.

“Gaia—Gail—they’re the same person, and you don’t know her. You’re not her ex-boyfriend.” She said it simply, her voice a trifle sad. The noise of the traffic would have drowned out her words if they hadn’t stood so close to each other. “Your name isn’t Tiger.”

“I’m not?” One look. A laugh, and he gave it up. “Yeah, well…” With a tilt of his head, the tall, lean man smiled down at her. “You made that assumption, didn’t you? I just went with it. Come on, Becca. It was no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Her voice had taken on a steeliness that Clara didn’t recognize. “Why did you pursue me?”

Neither, apparently, did the cyclist beside her.“Why?” He chortled as if she had told a joke. “Why does a guy like me usually pursue a girl like you?”

“Why?” The steel replaced by ice. Another laugh, but something had shifted. He leaned back, straightening the bike. Becca started toward the intersection ahead, then stopped once more. “It had to do with the photos, didn’t it? The plant I saw, or…”

She paused, her eyes going wide.“You were the one who suggested I go back to the store. You egged me on, hoping I’d get caught. You called Margaret to tell her that you saw someone breaking in, only I hadn’t done it yet. But then, when I was foolish enough to break off a branch…” A gasp as the implications of that call—the missed messages, the police looking for her—hit home.

“Now wait a minute.” He reached out to take her hand, but she jerked her arm away. To Clara’s relief, Becca began to walk again, heading swiftly toward the noise and bustle of the busy street ahead. Taller than her by a head, the bike messenger had no problem keeping up, wheeling his black-framed bike by his side. They were almost at the corner. Clara lashed her tail, unsure what to do or how to intervene. “I never told you to climb in a window—”

“You knew I would.” Becca pulled her phone from her pocket and peered down at it as she walked, talking all the while. “You knew, because you saw me break into Frank Cross’s office. You must have been the one who told the police. Only you didn’t know what I’d found, did you? Until you saw…”

She slowed as she began poking at her phone.

“I’m sending that photo to the police.”

What happened next was too fast for Clara to react. Like a real jungle beast, the man they knew as Tiger lunged, grabbing for the phone in Becca’s hand. But Clara jumped as his bike clattered to the ground, tripping him as he surged forward.

“No, you don’t understand!” The fake Tiger struggled to his feet, reaching for Becca as she stumbled backward. Stumbled to the curb, desperate to get away. “I was trying to protect you. I would have if I could—”

To Clara’s dismay, Becca stopped. “What?”

“My bosses.” He stood and brushed off his knees as two women in suits pushed by. When he looked up, his face was sad. “They are not people you cross.”

“His new business partners…” Becca could have been talking to herself. “The ones Ande knew about but Margaret didn’t. The ones Gaia didn’t like…”

“I’m just the messenger,” he said, taking a careful step forward. “I pick things up and I drop them off. Sometimes, they have me clean up the mess.”

“Like Frank Cross?” Becca took another step backward. Already, the noise of the busy traffic was enough to nearly drown out her quiet query. “You knew about his affairs. About how he’d died before anyone else did.”

He nodded, coming closer.“He had a sweet deal, but he panicked. All he had to do was change out the plates and keep his mouth shut.”

Waves. The Ocean State, the symbol of Rhode Island. Clara didn’t know if she was picking up Becca’s thoughts or if she had heard this. Only that it was true.

“The hit-and-run?” Becca must have made the same connection. In the midst of the square’s bustle, she was a point of quiet inquiry.

The man before her nodded once again, his pale face sad.“It was an accident. One of the boss’s sons. He was drinking.” He shrugged. “We could get rid of the car, but we needed clean plates right away to make the trail disappear. All Frank had to do was keep quiet.”

Pedestrians parted around them. Behind her, the morning traffic was only beginning to die down.

“That’s all you have to do, too, Becca.” His voice was soft. The warmth had returned. “I don’t want to hurt you. Never did. Honest. I really like you. Now, just give me the phone.”

Time stood still as Clara looked from the man back to her person. Surely, the little device wasn’t worth the trouble. As the calico looked on, Becca held it up and took a step back.

He lunged. Grabbing the arm that held the phone, he wrestled it from her grasp. Only then did Clara see the cold glint in his eye as he pulled it free and pushed her backward into traffic.

“No!” Clara yowled. She was too small to push Becca to safety, too small to take down this predator with the assumed name. But appearing out of nowhere, she had the element of surprise. As Becca’s hat went flying, the calico leaped, making herself visible as her person stumbled after the little cloche, into the street.

“Clara?” Crying out the name, Becca caught herself, and, turning, fell to her knees beside the curb as a passing pickup truck crushed the hat into the pavement. “How…?”

But whatever she was going to say was caught up in a thunderclap of pain and noise, and Clara knew no more.

Chapter 38

“Wake up, little one.”A kind voice, long remembered.“Wake up!” The rough warmth of a tongue.“Wake up!”

“Mama?” Clara struggled to open her eyes, only to find Laurel’s steely blues glaring down at her.

“Move it!”Her sister’s hiss had an edge of—could it be?—fear, and Clara struggled to her feet.“Quickly!”

She was in Harvard Square, with Laurel’s shaded body, the merest hint of milky coffee in the afternoon light, propping her up against a curbstone.

“What happened?”Clara took a step and nearly fell as her right front leg gave out. Before she could hit the pavement, however, she felt herself pulled upright. Laurel had her by the scruff of the neck. Despite the pain—her paw was throbbing—the grip was strangely comforting, and Clara relaxed.

“Great Bast, you’re heavy!”Laurel muttered, her breath warm on Clara’s neck.“All righty, then. Off we go!”

Clara felt herself being lifted into the air, and the strange tingling of her guard hairs that signaled a passage through an earthly barrier.“Wait!” she managed to yell as she felt her sister begin to take flight.“We can’t leave Becca!”

“Becca’s fine.” Laurel growled through clenched teeth.“See for yourself.”

She turned, maneuvering Clara like a kitten. Sure enough, Becca was standing on the sidewalk, alone. The man she had known as Tiger appeared to have fled, leaving her gaping, her head swiveling between the sidewalk and the hat that now lay squashed flat in the road before her. But it wasn’t the cloche she seemed to see.

“Clara?” She was blinking at the traffic, which sped past unabated. “Clara kitty?”

“She can’t see us.”Laurel muttered.“Not now.”

“But she’ll be worried.” Despite the pulse of pain, she yearned to be back on the ground with her person.

“She’s about to be very busy,”said her sister. Sure enough, a siren added its wail to the noise, causing Becca to turn in its direction and set off at a run.“Now are you content, you silly clown? Because I’ve got enough to do to get us both home without having to answer all your questions.”

With that, Laurel began to purr, and the rising and falling vibration lulled Clara, who closed her eyes and felt herself a kitten again. She was carried like this once. She recalled a storm and a sudden exodus. The abandoned shed where she and her sisters had been born was no longer safe, a soft voice purred. They were going to a new home and to a new responsibility. They were to take up the mantle of the cats before them, joining forces to assist a young woman who was also just beginning to make her way in the world.

“You’ll be fine here.”She recalled a gentle push. A nudge with a wet nose sending her waddling after her sisters into the box trap the shelter worker had set out.“Look out for each other, girls!”

“We will, Mama,” Clara called. And her sisters? They must have been there before her. All she could remember was that rough, warm tongue.

“There we go. Almost all better now.”

It felt so good. The pain was almost gone, and Clara looked up to see not green eyes but gold. Harriet’s warm bulk towered over her as she groomed Clara’s injured leg. They were on the sofa, in Becca’s apartment. Safe.

“Harriet?” Clara blinked, confused.

“Hush, little one.” Between Harriet’s warm bulk and the reassurance of her purr, Clara relaxed. Strangely, she did feel better. She didn’t know Harriet could heal.

“There’s lots you don’t know, Clown.” Laurel, washing her own booties, murmured from her perch on the sofa’s back.“Not that you’d ever listen…”

“Hush.” Harriet looked up. Clara felt it too, the rapid patter of footsteps running up the stairs. A moment later, the sound of a key in the lock, and then Becca,their Becca, was racing in. She scooped Clara up in her arms.

“Clara! I was so worried.” She hugged the calico close. “I thought I saw you outside. I thought you were hit by a car. I was so scared.”

Clara mewed softly and squirmed to be put down. The affection was lovely, but the embrace was making her leg ache.

“Clara?” Becca held her pet before her, then gently placed her on the floor. Clara stepped gingerly. Yes, her leg no longer throbbed, and it bore her weight. Still, she lifted it ever so slightly. “You’re limping,” her person noted.

As if to prove her wrong, Clara walked over to Harriet and nuzzled her oldest sister. It was the least she could do.“Thank you.”

***

“I don’t understand. I was sure…” Becca shook her head. Without her new hat, her curls sprang free. Clara had never seen a more welcome sight. “Anyway, you’re here. All three of you, and now I’ve got to go. I’ve got to meet Detective Abrams and explain everything. The minute this isall settled, though, I’m taking you to the vet.”

“Good job.” Laurel’s retort lacked its usual bite, and Clara looked over at her sister.“Little Miss Know-it-all.”

Harriet, settling back on the carpet, simply closed her eyes and continued with that self-satisfied, healing purr.

“I have to say, this one is coming along rather well.”Laurel watched as, after another round of pets and some treats, Becca found another hat and, with a last backward glance, locked the door behind her.

“Coming along?”Clara looked at her sister.“You mean, she can learn?”

But Laurel only gave the feline equivalent of a shrug. And since Harriet was now sound asleep—snoring, in fact—Clara lifted her tender paw, shimmied her hind quarters, and leaped through the wall to follow their person back down to the street.

“Oh, don’t be silly.”The voice beside her startled Clara, and she landed hard on the sidewalk. Laurel’s presence was unnerving. Even more so was the feel of teeth on her skin as her older sister once again lifted her by the scruff. Sleepiness and that strange tingling, and then they were in Central Square, outside Charm and Cherish, as Becca came up the block.

“How did you…?”Clara twisted around to face her sister.

“Quiet, silly! Listen and learn.”

“Elizabeth!” Becca was banging on the door.

“Calm down, child.” The older sister was opening it, still in her cleaning clothes. “I knew you’d be back. All of you.”

“All? Never mind, I’m here to warn you. A plant, a poisonous plant, has been planted…I mean, someone is trying to frame…”

“Ah, Ms. Colwin.” She stopped talking as a large, familiar man stepped out of the back room. “Why am I not surprised to see you again?”

“I left a message that I’d meet you here.” Becca sounded a bit defensive. “I had to make a stop first.”

“And you thought you’d warn Ms. Elizabeth?” His voice rumbled like a growl. “Tell her to get rid of evidence?”

“It’s a plant.” Becca caught herself. “In both senses. I don’t think Elizabeth took it. I think Tiger, or whatever his real name is, did. He’s had it all along. The real Tiger said he’d seen someone hanging around. He must have stolen it from the shop after hearing Elizabeth lecture Gaia. He thought it might come in handy while he was keeping an eye on Frank Cross. Maybe he knew Elizabeth did some gardening—she had an aloe plant. Maybe he’d seen that and it gave him the idea, and when questions came up about Frank’s death, he tried to frame Margaret and Elizabeth.”

“I think you’re forgetting someone.”

“Gaia? She was an afterthought. Part of his ‘cleanup,’ in case she knew anything. Though I guess he might have wanted it to look like a guilt-ridden suicide attempt.”

Abrams was shaking his head.“No, Becca. You.”

“Me?” Becca blanched, and her hand went to her bag.

But the detective only smiled.“An over-eager amateur poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong could get in trouble, you know.”

Becca’s color turned from pale to pink. “You wouldn’t have known about the license plate without me. Or the wolf’s bane, for that matter.”

“We have Frank Cross’s financial records,” he said gently. “We have a description of the car. We knew he was in over his head.”

“But I gave you Tiger.”

“And I’m not going to prosecute you for soliciting as a private investigator without a license.”

Becca didn’t need Laurel’s suggestion to let the detective have the last word.

Chapter 39

The next few days were crazy, with phone calls and visits from Detective Abrams and his colleagues. Harriet was permanently fluffed with annoyance, and Laurel had taken to sleeping on her perch on the bookshelf, what with all the interruptions. Clara, however, kept closer to her person than ever. She’d seen the hat and remembered all too well how close she’d been to losing her. The plump calico was on the back of the sofa, nuzzling up to Becca’s neck, when Maddy came by with the news.

“They’ve found him. Tiger, that is.” Maddy held out her phone. “Your Tiger, I mean. That’s him, right?”

“Yeah.” Becca’s voice went soft as she read out loud. “That’s him—Thomas O’Hara. ‘A onetime bicycle racer, O’Hara had been disqualified for betting on his own races.’”

On the small screen, Clara could see that wide grin and the jet-black hair that fell over his eyes. Before she could examine the photo more closely, Becca let out a small cry.

“He’s dead,” she said. “Found unresponsive and later pronounced dead. Traces of the same toxic substance that have been linked to both an earlier homicide and an attempted poisoning of a potential witness were found on the victim.’” Becca looked at her friend, eyes wide. “The wolf’sbane.”

“Read on.” Maddy’s voice was grim. “They’re calling it an apparent suicide.”

“Suicide?” Becca didn’t sound convinced. “I remember what he said about his bosses. ‘Men you don’t want to cross.’”

“Either way, good riddance.”

Becca didn’t respond to that, but Clara could see how sad she was, even if her friend chose not to, and leaned in, purring. Sometimes, all you can offer is love.

***

When the carrier came out later that same day, Clara stared at it, confused. Surely, Becca didn’t think that her attentiveness, those extra cuddles and purrs, signaled something wrong. But before Clara could object, she was bundled inside the box-like contraption.

“Have fun!” Laurel looked at her through the metal grid.“Remember to howl like you’re suffering.”

“Maybe they’ll give you treats.” Harriet pushed her sister aside to stare into the case.“Maybe I should come, too.”

“Too late, Fatso.”Laurel ducked as Harriet’s big paw came swinging.

“Kitties! Cut it out!” Becca was putting on her coat. “I promise, your little sister will be back soon.”

“Like we care,”said Laurel. But Laurel, Clara was beginning to understand, talked a very different game than what she felt.

***

That realization, as well as the growing idea that perhaps her sisters were less useless than she had once thought, kept Clara distracted during the bumpy T ride that followed. Accustomed to moving freely, the little cat found the so-called cat carrier particularly uncomfortable. She knew, however, that sidling through its plastic sides to take a seat beside her person would cause more trouble than it was worth, and so she settled in as best she could, thinking about her strange deliverance as the subway rumbled along.

“Look after each other.” The voice, so warm and strangely familiar, didn’t belong to Becca. Even as her eyes closed in thought, Clara felt that to be true. Felt, as well, that Becca was part of the larger story, one that was only now being revealed.“You must all help each other to learn and to be strong.”

“Hello.” The deep male voice that broke into Clara’s reverie sounded vaguely familiar, as did the plain but friendly face that looked through the carrier’s grill.

“What happened to you, Miss Kitty?”

“Her name’s Clara.” Becca’s voice was tight with concern. “And I’m not exactly sure. I thought I saw, well…I thought maybe she had an accident, and then she was limping, so I thought I should bring her in.”

“Always better to check.” Warm hands lifted Clara out of the case and deposited her on a metal surface. “You know, if it’s an emergency, you can come in right away.”

“I know. I thought about it.” Clara glanced up, concerned. She had never meant to worry her person. To her surprise, Becca looked slightly flushed. “But I heard the hospital had a new feline specialist, and I really wanted you to see her.”

“Well, we can do some X-rays.” Those warm hands ran gently down her leg, which, by this point, barely ached. “Though she isn’t reacting like a cat ordinarily would to a break.”

“She’s very special.” The catch in her voice made Clara look up. The vet, too, apparently.

“Of course she is.” That deep voice sounded sympathetic, the brown eyes wide with concern. “Ms. Colwin? Didn’t we run into each other…I’m sorry, bad turn of phrase.”

Becca summoned a flash of a smile.“Yes, you pulled me out from under a cyclist. You told me to be careful, not that I listened. Wait…” She blinked, looking rather catlike, Clara thought. “You’re the one—the vet who helped the homeless man.”

That smile at last, with the dimples.“Yeah, I guess I should be glad that all emergency medicine is pretty much the same.”

“They said a vet, but I figured…never mind. I spoke with him, you know. I guess he’s going to be okay.”

“I’m glad.” Silence fell as their eyes met over the cat. “I gather he was living rough,” said the vet as the moment passed. “Maybe now he’ll get some support. Speaking of which…”

While the two humans had been speaking, Clara had stood and begun to explore the metal table. Sure enough, her leg now took her weight without any pain at all. Tail up and ears erect, she stood at the table’s end, looking from the vet to her person.

“Mew,” she ventured.

Chapter 40

“Frank Cross was mobbed up.” Becca’s bombshell elicited the expected gasp from Marcia, who sat back and stared, wide-eyed, at her host.

Ande, however, seemed unnaturally involved with the tea, fussing with the measurements as if they were rocket science.

“Ande, you knew?” Becca reached out to still her friend’s hands.

“I told you what I could.” She looked up, her face sad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know for sure, and I didn’t want any trouble. I told you I wasn’t doing his books anymore.”

“I thought that was because he acted inappropriately.” Becca bit her lip. “Gaia said he was in league with some sleazy guys, and all the while Margaret kept insisting he worked alone. I should have figured it out.”

“You’re not psychic.” A trace of a smile lit up her dark eyes. “Even if you are a fine witch detective.”

“Yeah, but I thought…” Becca fondled the lapis pendant. “I guess I should trust my instincts more, and the magic less.”

“Man, this doesn’t look good for Charm and Cherish.” Marcia had recovered, though her eyes were still saucer-wide.

“No.” Ande’s voice was firm. “I made very sure that the store’s accounts were not involved with Frank’s. Money went out to him for his allowance, but that was it.”

“That’s good news.” Becca looked from one friend to the other, a grin spread across her face. “Because I’ve taken a part-time job there. Elizabeth insisted, and, honestly, I can use a regular income. She seems to think I have real potential—as a sales girl at least.”

Becca shrugged, and Clara looked from her to her sisters. The gray-haired woman had implied more than that, she knew. And for once, the little cat wanted her person to believe. Becca was good at what she did. She had figured out that Tiger was involved before her pet had. More to the point, there was more to their shared history than Clara had ever before considered.

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 caf? 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.”

Content

Клеа Саймон A Spell Of Murder. An Incantation Of Cats