Cat-astrophic Spells (7 page)

“
J
ars of liquid and hair
? Oh, dear.” Aunt Astrid looked off in the distance.

Bea poured some of her strong Oolong tea into the tiny flowered cup setting in front of me.

I waved my hand. “Even after getting a couple hours sleep last night, I don’t think I can keep anything down. There is still a twinge of sour that I just don’t want to tempt.”

Aunt Astrid’s house was almost directly centered between my house and Bea’s house. Jake always worked odd hours, so he was pretty understanding that we were always together.

I wrapped my arms around my stomach and sat very still in my aunt’s straight-backed dining room chair, trying desperately not to look at the Dutch apple pie she had within arm’s reach.

“That poor girl,” Aunt Astrid mumbled.

I didn’t have to speak. Bea read my mind. “Poor girl? She stole Treacle. She killed her father and is the kind of ‘witch’”—Bea used air quotes to emphasize her disgust with our cat-napping nemesis—“that gives the rest of us a bad name. How can you say ‘poor girl’?”

Sitting down calmly, Aunt Astrid pushed her long locks behind her and looked sternly at her daughter. “Sit down, Bea.”

Taking a seat next to me, Bea looked at her mother curiously.

“What you saw, Cath, are what we call witches’ vials. This girl is not a witch, but she’s obviously very scared of one.” Aunt Astrid went on to explain that during the days when people would see witches around every corner sabotaging crops, causing diseases, and stealing children and husbands, the fearful would use witches’ vials. The person fearful of the witch would fill the jar with urine, nail clippings, hair, sometimes a scrap of clothing, sometimes drops of blood, small pieces of skin like a hangnail or a scab, then seal it tight. The jars were then set near all the entrances, preventing witches from crossing the thresholds.

“There are various ways witches’ vials can affect a witch. If Bea were to go there and try and get close, she might get lost and turned around. If I went there, it might make me forget who I am and what I was doing there in the first place. In your instance, it made you nauseated.”

“Seriously nauseated. I’m still feeling it.” I rubbed my belly. “I also couldn’t talk to Marshmallow or Treacle for that matter.”

“I believe it. It’s like mountains in the way of using a cell phone,” Aunt Astrid explained. “The signals you are used to get cut off. Nothing can pass. This little girl just put a big mountain in our way. She must have a very scary reason for doing so.”

“But what about the broom?” Bea asked. “Cath said she put a broom down in front of the door. What does that mean?”

“This girl is no dummy. She has obviously done her research.” Aunt Astrid started to slice herself a piece of pie, and I had to look away. I couldn’t handle the sight of food yet. “When people thought there was a witch in their village, some of them would put their broomsticks across their thresholds at nighttime. Because witches were supposed to use these things to fly around on if they came across one lying on the floor, they were forced to count each bristle. By the time they actually counted them all, it was believed the sun would be on the rise, and the witch would be unable to complete her evil deeds.”

“So, would that have happened to me? If I didn’t get all shades of queasy, would I have been forced to count the bristles? That sounds crazy.” I rubbed my head, feeling the sickness from my stomach traveling up the back of my neck. A headache was quickly approaching.

“I’m afraid so,” Aunt Astrid said, taking a big bite of pie.

“And I’d have had no control? How can that be? I mean, what if this girl decides to render us powerless by throwing brooms at us, and we’re compelled to count every bristle?” I was getting angry. First, the woman had my cat, which was bad enough. Then she put out witches’ vials and thousand-bristled broomsticks to compel us to count, and she is the poor girl? I was starting to wonder if someone had put a hex on Aunt Astrid.

“More importantly, how are we going to get to this girl?” Bea asked. “We obviously need to talk to her. A witch did that to Brit Clegg’s father, but Brit isn’t the witch. So who is?”

“Well, we can’t get to her at her place. We might have to bring in the reserves.” Aunt Astrid took another bite of pie. In four forkfuls, the dessert was almost gone. Where my aunt put it was anyone’s guess because she still had quite a cute, soft figure for a woman her age.

We both looked at Bea, who rolled her eyes. “How am I going to nonchalantly tell Jake that Brit Clegg, the daughter of the man who died of one hell of a heart attack, has weird and quite offensive witches’ vials all around her trailer home and also has Treacle?” She put her hands on her hips. “He’ll hit the roof if he knows that we’re sneaking up behind him on this case.”

“I think we need to handle this the way we’d handle Darla Castellan.” Aunt Astrid pushed herself up from her seat, reaching over to cut another piece of pie.

“You mean with a whip and a chair?” I asked as Aunt Astrid placed the plate in front of me. As soon as she did, my headache was gone, my neck relaxed, and my stomach grumbled with hunger. “How did you know?”

“It is also pretty common that the effects of witches’ vials only last a couple of hours. Enough to keep us off our balance but not enough to keep us laid up for long. Besides, the color just came back into your cheeks.” She gave me a wink that made me feel special.

I ate the pie and listened to Aunt Astrid’s plan for getting Brit Clegg away from her home and someplace we could talk to her. “It’s so simple, it has to work.” I wiped my mouth after practically inhaling my dessert. I just needed a hamburger or something to wash it down.

“Bea, I think you should be the one to contact her. You have a natural way about you that sets people at ease,” Aunt Astrid said.

I furrowed my brows after hearing this. “Wait a second. I can put people at ease. I am quite a people pleaser when it comes down to it.”

Both women looked at me as if I were a baby babbling incoherent words into the middle of their adult discussion.

“No,” was all Aunt Astrid said.

I shrugged, giving Bea a wink. The truth was I knew she was much more diplomatic and, well, just kinder than I ever was. I remembered my parents being good, loving people, but I didn’t remember if either of them had a temper or what their limits were. I always had the feeling I developed my pattern of harsh, scratchy behavior after realizing how fate had cheated me.

A
fter another slice of pie
, some strong coffee, a bagel with cream cheese, and some leftover veggie chili, I was feeling much more like my regular self. Yet I couldn’t shake the weird cottony feeling still in my head. It was as if a small corner existed in my mind in which the light couldn’t penetrate. No matter how hard I reached and stretched inside my head, I couldn’t get to that corner, but something was telling me I needed to see what was there.

I left Bea and Aunt Astrid alone to devise a plan in which Brit Clegg would bring me my cat. I couldn’t help because my idea was to stomp over there, nauseated or not, and pound the door down. If she believed witches were so bad, I was more than happy to prove her right. She would be called some very nasty names and told to stay away from my cat and me. I’d also slam the door, if given the chance, and stomp away with a scowl on my face that she wouldn’t soon forget. Yup! That would teach her.

Still, Treacle hadn’t looked hurt or in pain. The worst thing for him was probably staying cooped up all day and night. If I knew my cat, he’d probably already introduced his claws to her upholstery and curtains.
Serves her right.
But if she didn’t like witches, I hoped she wasn’t going to take it out on Treacle. He couldn’t help it that he was an exceptional black cat.

My eyes filled with tears. Treacle didn’t see me last night, and I couldn’t call to him. He hadn’t even known I was there. What really bothered me was thinking that Treacle might think I wasn’t looking for him. That thought broke my heart the most.

I made my way down Bryn Mawr Avenue and took a left onto First Street. There were dozens of little shops and restaurants to look into. The pedestrian traffic was bustling. I looked into the windows of the shops, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. When I came to Standee’s twenty-four-hour diner, I peeked in and saw two faces I knew.

I went inside and walked up to Jake and Blake, who sat at the counter sipping coffee. “Are you guys off duty? I promise I won’t tell Bea and Aunt Astrid you’re getting coffee and lunch at a place that’s not the Brew-Ha-Ha.”

“Hey, Cath. Want to join us? We’re technically getting dinner then heading home. Had a wild morning.” Jake was a handsome guy. Bea was very lucky because as pretty as he was on the outside, he was even more so on the inside. He was the big brother I never had.

“You know, I just ate at Aunt Astrid’s.” I patted my stomach. “So what kind of excitement did you guys have?”

“An 808 at the Walona Motel,” Blake said after he took a sip of water. He was always so stiff.

“Okay, what is an 808, and what is the Walona Motel?”

“Disturbing the peace. The Walona Motel is over in the industrial part of town. It’s on a side street just before you get on the expressway.”

“The Walona Motel? I’ve never heard of it, but it sounds like a respite station for kings. What happened?”

“Apparently, two occupants of two separate rooms decided they didn’t care to share the same air space with each other,” Jake said as the waitress behind the counter served up big cheeseburgers in front of him and Blake. “A loud shouting match between a woman who was there by herself and another woman who was there with her husband. Nobody was drunk. No one had any priors. It just got loud. The woman and her husband said they’d be leaving, so there was no need for us to do anything.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad,” I said. “With the way the world is, it could have been a lot worse.”

“Well, it was over and done with for me, but Blake here had a little more on his hands than just an ornery woman.” Jake chuckled and nudged Blake with his elbow just before he took a big bite out of his burger.

“Really, was she looking for a stone ornament for her yard?” I asked, completely serious.

Blake looked at me then shook his head. “Some people in the world are just a little lonely. That’s all.”

“Or desperate,” I mumbled. “Well, I gotta run. I’ll tell Bea you’re on your way home.”

“Well, if you wait, I’ll drop you wherever you’re headed,” Jake offered.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t know if Bea told you, but Treacle hasn’t come home for a few days.” Technically, it was true, but I couldn’t tell him any more than that, nor could I tell him anything about the mystery rolling around in my head like a silver pinball.

“That’s the big black cat I see at the Brew-Ha-Ha, right?” Blake asked, looking at me oddly.

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a prowler. He has all his claws, and he never likes being indoors for very long. But usually he’s come back by now. I’m just strolling around, hoping maybe I’ll see him.” It wasn’t a total lie but more like a lie of omission.

“Well, I usually take a ten-mile run at the end of the day to get centered,” Blake said. “I’ll keep an eye out on the south side of town for you.” His eyes were serious, and there wasn’t any of the cold hardness that was usually there.

“I’d appreciate that, Blake. Thank you.”

“I lost a pet once. When I was a kid, we had an English bulldog named Buddy. We think someone stole him.”

My heart just broke at the simple tragedy. He said it quickly, but I could tell it held a certain amount of weight in his heart. When I looked him in the eyes, he didn’t look away. I saw the shadow of a memory there, then just as quickly, it was gone. He was back to Detective Blake Samberg and just the facts.

“How terrible.” I put my hand over my heart.

For a moment, we looked at each other. He looked at me as if he were surprised I would say something so kind. I felt bad about that and wondered if he’d become a cop, and then detective, in order to help other people find their lost Buddies.

“Nothing worse.” The right side of his mouth curled up in a sad grin.

“Right.” I nodded. “Well, I better let you guys finish your lunches.” I smiled at Jake and couldn’t help feel my eyes drawn to Blake’s. He was still looking at me a little more intently than usual. I don’t know what was going on behind his eyes, but they were deeper than I had noticed before.

A
couple
of days had passed since Aunt Astrid and Bea put their plan into motion. It was a very simple idea, but we’d have no way of knowing if it worked until Brit Clegg showed up at the café.

“Did you offer her a free lunch, too?” I’d asked when they first told me they had sent her a letter.

“No,” Bea said. “We told her the truth.”

“What?” I hissed over the counter at the Brew-Ha-Ha.

As I looked to see if anyone had noticed my outburst, Bea took my hand. “I told her we were sorry what happened to her father. We were sorry she was afraid, but that we knew what she was afraid of and wanted to help.”

“What about Treacle?”

“Of course. We told her we knew she had a cat that didn’t belong to her, and unless she wanted the authorities involved, she’d bring the cat with her.”

“And when is she supposed to arrive here?”

“Today. We told her we’re open from seven in the morning until eight o’clock at night. We said we understand people have to work and that she probably had many details to tend to. We said we didn’t want to inconvenience her, yet at the same time, we had to talk to her.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, that sounds like you were real nice. I think she might come.”

Bea shrugged and widened her eyes. It was a crap shoot, but what other choice did we have?

All day long, every time the bells over the door jingled their happy little tune, Aunt Astrid, Bea and I looked up to see if it was a woman carrying a cat box. Every time, we were disappointed.

It wasn’t until we were serving our last evening customers at ten minutes before eight that the door opened and the frantic “meow, meow, meow” that had been so familiar to me snapped my head toward the door.

“Treacle!” I cried out loud.
“Treacle, are you all right?”
I called to him inside my head.
“Are you hurt at all? I missed you so much!”

“Cath!”
he meowed loudly.
“You won’t believe what is happening! I was afraid I might never see you again!”

“Hi. Hi. You must be Brit,” I said quickly. As much as I wanted to be mad at this girl, looking in her eyes, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Her expression was a mixture of sadness, fear, and strength. No matter what had happened with her father, something else was going on that had her on edge and ready to fight.

She nodded and handed me the cardboard cat carrier. From the little air holes, a black paw kept sticking out, reaching and scratching for me. All anyone else could hear were wild and continual meows. I heard the relief and happiness coming from my beloved companion.

“Please, sit down,” I said, looking at Bea and Aunt Astrid, who were coming around the counter.

“I can’t stay,” she said curtly. Her eyes bounced from Bea to Astrid to me and back again. She wasn’t just nervous. She was also very, very scared.

“Brit Clegg? It’s really nice to meet you. Thank you so much for coming,” Bea said with her hand stretched out for Brit to shake.

The girl looked at Bea’s dainty, pretty hand as if it were a claw and nervously took half a step backward.

“Honey, believe me when I tell you you are safe here,” Brit said gently.

“Very safe, dear.” Aunt Astrid stepped up with her hands folded neatly in front of her. “Your father was our friend. We did business with him. It was a sad day when we heard he had passed.”

I studied Brit’s face and could tell she was doing something I was familiar with. She was biting her tongue so she wouldn’t cry. How many times had I done that when I was young, and a memory of my mother came vividly into view? When a smell or sound came out of nowhere and sent me whirling back to when I was a kid, I would ache inside even as an adult. Then I’d bite my tongue so I wouldn’t cry.

The furry paw of my friend pushed through a space at the top of the box to touch my hand, and I took him to a table away from the ladies. I barely had the top open before Treacle leapt into my arms, rubbing his soft head under my chin and along my face as his claws poked into my shirt and pricked my skin. He acted as though he couldn’t get close enough to me, and I hugged him back, kissing the top of his head, rocking him gently, and listening to his happy motor purring the whole while.

“I was so worried,”
I said in my mind, feeling tears in my eyes.

“I was so scared she was going to take me away. I couldn’t talk to her. I didn’t know why she had me. Then I thought I saw you, but I couldn’t hear you. I was afraid.”

Squeezing tighter, I held the big black ball of fur in my arms and stroked his head.
“You’re going to have to lie low for a while, Treacle. Until we figure out what is going on, you’re staying in the house. There are two other scaredy cats who’ve been worried to death over you.”

“I miss my friends.”

“Well, be sure to thank Marshmallow. She was the one who found the trailer.”

“How?”
Treacle asked
. “How could she see it?”

“She came with me on a whim. She could see an aura around the place that I would have never seen. You didn’t see her when you peeked out the window?”

“I thought maybe the female was bringing you to me.”

“Was she mean to you?”

“No. She was kind. But she is afraid of something, and that made me more afraid. And I think we should all be afraid.”

I swallowed hard and looked at Brit Clegg as Aunt Astrid and Bea tried to talk to her.

Then Brit started to get loud. “I’m not staying,” she said sternly. “I have to go.”

“We just want to talk to you,” Bea said, and I could tell she hoped to touch Brit’s sleeve or hand. “You aren’t in any trouble.”

“Please,” I said. “Let us put on some tea and fix you something to eat. We’ve got apple pie and some vegetarian chili and—”

“No.” She looked at me sternly. “Don’t let that cat out. Next time, it might not be me that gets a hold of him. Why you’d let a black cat roam around, I don’t know. People don’t like black cats.”

I lowered Treacle back into the box. He lay down immediately, and I could tell he was exhausted.

“What do you mean?” I tried not to come across as scary or intimidating. “Treacle is a roamer. He’s just a tomcat. He’s been roaming the neighborhood since he was a kitten, and nothing—”

“If you love that cat”—her eyes filled with tears—“then you’ll listen to me and keep him inside. Not everyone sees him the way you do.” Brit grabbed the door and yanked.

“Wait!” Bea called after her. “Don’t go. Please, we can help you. We know you’re afraid of witches. We know there’s one in Wonder Falls, and she’s responsible for…” Bea couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “We know she, or
he
, is responsible for what happened to your father.”

Brit froze. Her body began to tremble. She looked over her shoulder at us. Tears soaked her cheeks.
“She,”
she hissed. Brit’s eyes displayed the hatred she was feeling, and she clenched her teeth. “It’s a she.” She threw the door open and stomped out.

For a few seconds, none of us moved.

“Meow?” was the only noise that cut through the silence. I looked into the box and saw Treacle looking contentedly at me as I scratched his head. His green eyes blinked lazily, and his tail waved almost in slow motion.

“Well, that could have gone better,” I said.