Feral Magic

by Robin D. Owens

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author‘s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2012 by Robin D. Owens

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

eISBN: 978-1-937776-47-3

Mystic Circle Series:

Enchanted No More

Enchanted Again

Enchanted Ever After

The Summoning Series:

Guardian of Honor

Sorceress of Faith

Protector of the Flight

Keepers of the Flame

Echoes in the Dark

Celta Series:

HeartMate

Heart Thief

Heart Duel

Heart Choice

Heart Quest

Heart Dance

Heart Fate

Heart Change

Heart Journey

Heart Search

Heart Secret

Hearts and Swords (a novella collection)

Visit Robin online at
www.RobinDOwens.com
.

To my critique group, as always, and to Deidre and Jia for giving me this chance.

Denver, Colorado, August, late afternoon

The skinny black alley cat slid through Brandy's open back door and spoke to her telepathically. 
One is lost and confused, needing help.

Brandy Svensson braced herself.  She wasn't used to such conversations.  She'd been feeding the ferals for years.  But it had only been a couple of months since she'd drowned and been revived. After that she'd discovered her new "gift" and become telepathic with cats.  Licking her lips, she answered aloud, deciding not to struggle with her rudimentary mind-speech skills.  "Where is this 'one'?"

One is where the lights end and the cars zoom fast and the grass smells dry and there are large-fat-tailless-rats.  So I was told to say to you by cats outside city.
  The information came with enough images of landmarks to clue Brandy in: the edge of an eastern suburb of Denver, just north of the highway, near a prairie dog town.  She sighed.  She didn't know how she'd become the recipient of cat secrets and expectations in the Denver area.  Maybe someday she'd get some answers.

The black cat flipped its tail, showing it was female.  Her whiskers twitched.  Brandy didn't need to be told that she wanted a reward.  Brandy went to the fridge and took out a baggie of chicken cubes, poured it into the feral cat dish.  The cat ate with dainty bites until full, leaving half the food, then slid her eyes to Brandy. 
I want the pleasure, too
.

"Catnip."

Yesss,
it hissed.

Brandy put a pinch of catnip on the plate, her every movement watched.  The cat sniffed and licked and rumbled a purr as the evening darkened into night. Pausing on the step, the feline stared back at her. 
You must go now to help that one.

Frowning, Brandy said, "Why can't I wait until morning?"

It is odd, worthy of attention
.  The cat licked her whiskers.  Worthy of Brandy's attention, but not this cat's.  The feline opened her mouth in amusement, showing little pointed teeth. 
It needs help.  It is larger than Me.  And it glows
.   The cat disappeared into the shadows.

*~*~*

Ferix Dimension, Castle of the Shapeshifter Dark Panther Klatch, morning

"The baby Chief has vanished, my lord regent," the head nursery guard said.

Rage flooded Dak; his scalp prickled as his hair thickened to mane and his claws clicked out of his human fingers, bad signs.  The guard flung himself on the floor, beyond the desk and Dak's anger-fixed vision.  Good.  If the man was out of sight, Dak might be able to keep himself from killing him.  The guard was his cousin, after all.

Dak's roar, more panther than human, echoed against the paneled walls of the small, richly appointed office of royal red and gold.  He only found his voice after he'd let the grief-fury challenge-to-the-death roar out, then spoke softer than a purr.  "You refer to the Chief, the heir to this throne and all the panther klatches, my late brother's child?"

The reek of fear rose from the guard, instinctively pleasing Dak.  "Yes, my lord regent."

"Vanished how and when and from where?"  The first heated red wash of anger subsided, but Dak itched to lash out.

The guard spoke in a rug-muffled voice, "From the nursery.  The babe vanished an hour ago from his pen.  We think the he crossed dimensions."

Dak's mind blanked.  Only the sound of the guard's shallow breathing disturbed the chamber.  Finally, Dak said, "That should not be possible."

"The babe's magic is very powerful.  His dam came from a klatch of dimension walkers."

"You choose such a defense!"  Dak's roar was back, so rough and loud it hurt his throat.

A full minute passed before the guard answered, "There is no sign of forced entry, no magical trace of anyone; the windows are barred, no one came through them.  No one got past the guard at the door.  No sound was heard by the nanny or the inside guard.  They were gone from the room less than a quarter hour!"  More fear-sweat odor rose from his cousin.

"I do not believe this."

"There was a hint of
otherworld
tang."    Dak slid his claws from the holes they'd made in the wood of the chair arms, forced them to retract.  His chest pumped unsteadily under his leather tunic.  He had failed to protect his kin, a babe.  Guilt rose to heat him more than his rage.

The babe was gone, unprotected, vulnerable.  Anything could happen to him.  Terrible things
would
happen to him if the klatch's enemies found him.  Dak must track and find and safeguard the child; his heart would shatter if the baby was harmed.

Every nerve twanged as he thought of the terrible consequences of this event.  "They will say I killed him.  That I wanted the throne and disposed of my beloved brother's kit, a babe I love.  That is the worst."

Then the blackness of this situation hit him like a dark bolt of magic.  "Our enemies will gleefully circulate that rumor.  Our klatch will be smeared and outcast and shunned.  We will have trouble courting mates...we will diminish and become a lost klatch."  He dropped his voice.  "If the missing babe is found by unfriends, he can remain...missing."  Cold swept through him at this disaster.  He could not sit, so stood and saw the trembling legs of his prone cousin.  That posture satisfied an atavistic need in Dak.

"We will go to the nursery.  You will tell me
everything
.  After that you will get out of my sight along with the nursery guards and nanny.  I must find Favel."

"Yes, my lord regent."

"I will see the nursery now."

*~*~*

Denver

"It
glows
."  Brandy snorted.  She gripped the wheel of her car as she slowed on the highway, following a little buzz in the back of her brain.  From trial and error, she knew that if she concentrated on that sense of direction, she'd lose the impression.  If she pretended not to notice that particular sense, it would guide her to her quarry.

That little-something-extra had led her to more than one lost cat.  Sometimes when she returned pets she got rewards, and money was always welcome to augment her web designer income.  She might put up an online ad for cat finding on local lists. She wondered how much a glowing cat would bring.

Brandy pulled onto the shoulder of the highway and waited for several trucks to whiz by before getting out of her car.  Since she’d be trespassing, she didn't turn on her blinkers.

She took out a flashlight, then locked the car.  The full moon – the second full moon in the month, a blue moon – beamed huge and round and orange in the sky.

Grumbling, she slid down the embankment to a dry field, kept her own light low as she let her eyes and ears adjust to the night.  Rustlings.  Grass rustlings from...animals?  Prairie dogs?  Were they nocturnal?  She hadn't thought so, but she didn't know much about them.

She saw no glow.  Stupid notion.  Cat vision wasn’t the same as human.  Taking small steps, glad she'd worn long jeans and hiking boots despite the heat, she moved away from the highway, trying to think of other things while she followed the tickle in her mind.  The cat should be near.

Something bit her ankle, and she leapt and yelped.  Didn't jump far because the thing got a good grip on her pant leg.

Rumbling, purring, satisfied got-ya! cat laughter.  She aimed her flashlight down, caught amber-colored eyes.  Round tummy.  Round
ears
.

She gasped.  This wasn't a cat, but some sort of
cub
.  Black, like maybe a panther, but as she stroked the light over the chubby body, she saw a ruff of fur like the beginnings of a – mane?  Didn't look like any mountain lion or wildcat she'd ever seen photos of.

It finished shredding the bottom of her jeans and stood up, rambling unsteadily around her, sniffing.  Finally it made a little noise and collapsed on her toes, gazing up at her with huge, light-brown eyes, whimpered, and
glowed
with a golden aura.

Then it went limp and dark.

Brandy sucked in a quick breath, bent down and kept her hand on the cub's side until she felt it go up and down.  Breathing.  Good.  She sensed it was exhausted from some huge effort.

What was it?  And what was she going to do with it?

She could check the news for any zoo – or circus, was the circus in town? – escapees.

The cub appeared well cared for.

Good.  You come to take it away,
said a cat voice in her head.  She turned and saw a semi-circle of cats, got the impression they were local barn cats.

"Where's its mother?" she asked.

HIS mother is not here.  He came by himself.

"Came from where?" Brandy asked.

A ripple of fur from the cats, shrugs. 
He smells of otherwhere.

Well, that was a lot of information.  But she'd learned the hard way not to be sarcastic with cats if she wanted data.  She cleared her throat.  "Are there any more like it...him?"

Not now,
said one of the cats as the others slipped away.

"When?" she asked.

Sometime.  Long ago.  Or not.  Future.  Maybe.

Brandy shivered.  She'd never understood how very weird cats were until she'd died and come back and begun talking with them.

She picked up the cub and staggered. It was heavier than she'd expected.  How heavy
were
mountain lion, or wildcat, or panther cubs?  He felt soft, cuddly.  He purred, vibrating against her chest, and she smiled.  She went to the car, and set him on the ground so she could shove back the car seat and open the crate she'd brought, move aside the bag of stuff she'd stopped for at the store.

He wobbled to his paws, then peed.  The urine stench wasn’t the same as her housecats.

The cub reeled from the spot.  Sighing, Brandy picked him up and got him in the carrier, a little small for him.

When she returned home, her own cats trotted up as she hauled the carrier from her detached garage across the backyard to her house, grunting with the effort.

What do you have there?
asked Tom-Tom, her black and white cat.

"A cub of something," she said.

I do not like the smell of it,
said Tom-Tom.

I do not like the smell of it,
said Gypsy, Brandy's long-haired black cat.

"
He,
" Brandy corrected.  "Sorry, he's staying until I figure out where he belongs."

Gypsy snorted and sped toward the back door, Tom-Tom stayed behind.  Neither of her cats were very vocal, and they still didn't say much now that they could speak with her.

The cub slept through being placed on the ratty rug in the storage room where Brandy also put a clean litter box and a bowl of dry food.  Not that she thought kibble would hold this little guy for long.  He’d need meat, wouldn’t he?  How much would he eat?