The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller (15 page)

“Alice who?”

“Never mind. Just put on your thinking caps, people. It’s all about inspiration.”

“C-can we at least b-be s-s-sexy?” asked Crystal hopefully.

“Sexy comes from within,” said Mr. Baxter, sounding somewhat stodgier than his normal self. He really felt like laughing, imagining how Crystal might attempt to portray herself as sexy. “And we have to keep the show classy.”

The kids groaned.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t strut your stuff a little. All I ask is that you keep it tasteful. No Janet Jackson costume slips or filthy four letter words. And if you feel you must incorporate lingerie as part of your costume, remember that those stage lights give the audience something akin to x-ray vision.”

The kids laughed.

“Any more questions? No? Good. Then we’ll meet again on Monday after school and I expect you all to be loaded with brilliant ideas.”

***

Felicia slipped away before Crystal could ask to join her on the walk home. She’d been troubled with an uneasy feeling all afternoon and felt an urge to visit Granny Dola.

The weather was balmy, a touch of Indian Summer, and unlike past trips through the woods, Felicia felt comfortable and unafraid this time. As if she belonged to some secret woodland society and the woods were her turf.

But as she approached Granny’s rustic homestead the atmosphere grew strangely gloomy. Even before she set foot inside the cabin she could feel a pall, hanging in the air like a shroud.

“What’s going on?” she asked apprehensively as Elmo answered her knock.

Granny sat silently in her rocker, gnarled hands tense on the arm rails, staring into the fireplace. Elmo shot a telling look at the old woman and lowered his head.

Felicia walked over and put a comforting hand on Granny’s wrist. “What is it, Granny, what’s wrong?”

The old woman handed her an official looking letter printed on county stationery. Felicia read it quickly. “It’s just a notice that some surveyors will be coming around.”

“To throw me from my home,” Granny replied in her quaint accent.

“No. It doesn’t say that at all. Just because they’re coming to do some survey work doesn’t mean they intend to evict you. It might not affect your property at all.”

“They’ve been trying for years to evict me. I’m getting too old to fight them.”

“Don’t say that. Even if they are trying something funny, you’re not alone. I can help you get a lawyer. Mr. Villani in town is very nice. I baby-sit his kids. They love me. I’ll bet I can get him to help you for free. Pro bono.”

The old woman smiled and patted Felicia’s hand knowingly. “To help a mean old witch like me? He might help a pretty young girl like you, but he wouldn’t be doing his business any good by siding with me. Not in this town. I know what they all think of me.”

“Now you just sound silly. And you’re getting all worked up over nothing. There’s no reason to assume anything until you know what’s really going on.”

“You’re a sweet girl, Felicia. But I know which way the wind blows. I know it before the trees start to rustle and the leaves flutter through the air.”

She took Felicia’s hands and squeezed them between her own. “Ah. Your power is strong. I can feel it. Much stronger than the first night we met. That’s good. You were given your gift for a reason. Use it wisely. You know what you must do.”

“I’ve been doing alright so far, I guess.”

The old woman smiled. “You must go now. This old woman needs her beauty rest.”

Something in her tone was disturbing. It sounded so final. “Granny, are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” The old woman smiled, pleased that Felicia had finally addressed her like family.

She gave Felicia’s hand a final pat, then closed her eyes and rocked quietly in her chair. The glow of the fireplace seemed to erase the age lines on her face, giving her a look of healthy serenity. The acrid imprint of power seemed to fade from her face as well, leaving only a gentle old grandmother resting by a cozy fire.

169

Felicia’s transformation into a bobcat was her easiest and smoothest yet. Like a practitioner of transcendental meditation, she’d learned to tune her brain to a highly receptive and responsive wavelength. Painting her face was still a necessity to effectuate the shapeshift, but it now felt secondary to her will power and focused intent.

Although the bobcat was larger and heavier than her previous feline forms, her powerful rear legs made running a breeze, and she cantered towards the woods with grace and confidence. The wildness coursing through her body like a damp electric current was now an integral part of her psyche, and she wore her heightened senses like a glove.

No movement escaped her peripheral vision as she ran. A mouse dove into its burrow. A grouse screeched in terror as she startled it in passing. Every tiny creature darting from cover to cover was hers if she wanted to claim it. But her heart was set on bigger game.

Earlier that day she’d googled Sparrow’s home address and charted the quickest route to his house through the woods. It would take her directly through Devils Point, but that was no longer a concern.

She feared nothing now. No creature living or dead. She had strength and speed and agility and four sets of razor-sharp claws, not to mention her dagger-like teeth. And as for the supernatural, she was part of it now, a member in good standing of Granny’s magic clan.

As she maneuvered the last stretch of forest approaching the invidious Point, she heard rustling in the woods around her, and nearly collided with a terrified deer bolting away through the brush.

Run, Bambi, run. I’m not here for you. But run and hide anyway. There are other things here that can hurt you.

A confident smile puffed her bobcat’s jowls as she leaped over a massive log, secure in her place in the food chain.

Being a predator’s not half bad. It certainly beats being prey.

She hopped a thorny shrub at the edge of the woods and in three mighty bounds reached the ring of boulders in the center of the Point. Amazed at the ease with which her sinewy muscles propelled her through the air and the sprightly grace with which she steered herself over and around obstacles large and small, she indulged herself by leaping playfully from boulder to boulder, tracing a dizzy circle in the night air.

Around and around she went, faster and faster, feeling freer and freer with every hop. She felt like she was flying, her padded feet barely touching the tops of the boulders before she was airborne again, moving faster than any carousel or merry-go-round could spin. The nocturnal smells of the forest streamed over her—the delicious flavors of pine and wild herbs—the earthy scent of leaves decaying into dark rich soil—the musky territorial markings of animals.

A gunshot shattered her reverie, cracking through the autumn air like a bullwhip.

A 243 Winchester bullet hit the boulder below her, smacking up dust and a small chip of stone that stung her furry thigh like a hornet.

The shocking noise and stinging pain caused her muscles to spasm. She lost her nimble footing and tumbled into the clearing.

Landing on her feet she stood trembling, partly with rage but mostly in terror. Luckily, she landed behind the cover of the boulders, safe from follow-up rounds.

“Damn!”

The shooter’s disappointed voice was followed by mocking laughter from his companions.

“Almost don’t count, Floyd.”

Felicia peeked around the edge of a boulder and saw a trio of hunters eagerly aiming their rifles in her direction. She sprang back to safety as their guns erupted and a volley of hot metal blasted the space where her head had just been.

With the pungent odor of cordite in her nose and her brain flooded with adrenaline, it took some effort to regain control of her nerves and her senses. Her human reason tried to intervene with her animal instincts, and only succeeded in adding to her confusion.
Get a grip or you’re dead!

“Come on. She’s hiding behind that boulder.”

“Smart little critter, I’ll give her that.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got her. Circle around there, I’ll go this way. Floyd, you stay put and keep your rifle aimed on those boulders in case she makes a run before we can flank her.”

Felicia stood frozen. She seemed doomed no matter what she did.

If I try to run they’ll shoot me.

But you can’t stay here either! Move!

Felicia heard the sliding of rifle bolts and footsteps creeping toward her on either side. In seconds they’d be stepping around the boulders and she’d be trapped in their gun sights.

A dozen futile scenarios whirled hopelessly through her mind. Her human reason finally surrendered and let her animal instincts take control.

Without another wasted moment she leaped into the air and landed atop the nearest boulder—and instantly launched herself again as Floyd squeezed his trigger.

The bullet creased the air so close to her flank she could feel its passing heat. The other hunters spun back as they heard the shot. “There!”

Bullets chased Felicia across the clearing. She ran a zigzag pattern, swinging her torso this way and that, never slowing down for an instant.

Bullets punched the ground at her feet and whizzed past her head, just missing by inches.

Her human brain re-emerged with the thought that the men behind her wouldn’t risk shooting if she got too close to Floyd, so she turned in his direction.

Floyd whipped his rifle up at her but as she leaped toward him he stumbled back in a panic, thinking she was launching an attack. He tripped on a rock and slammed onto his back. The butt of his gun hit the ground, causing it to discharge.

Felicia jumped over him and escaped into the woods, losing herself in the underbrush.

Bullets continued chasing her, pinging off rocks and cracking tree branches. But the brush was too thick and she was too fast and the hunters were merely firing off rounds in frustration.

“Goddammit!” Their curses echoed behind her.

Felicia didn’t stop running until the sounds and the smells of the hunters were no longer with her. Then she rolled onto her side in a pile of musty leaves and lay panting. Wondering how many of her allotted nine lives she’d just used up.

169

The week leading to Halloween passed quickly, but not without angst for Felicia. She had not even attempted to transform again after recovering from her frightful night as a bobcat.

Retreating from the woods, no longer feeling quite so mighty and invulnerable, she had aborted her mission to Sparrow’s house, retreated to the safety of her bedroom, and prayed all night for dawn to come. And for the first time since her initial transformation, she was afraid that when the sun finally did show its face, the transformation would fail and she’d remain in the body of a cat.

To her great relief, that didn’t happen. When the first rays of sunlight filtered through her open window and reflected off the mirror onto her face, she began the now familiar shift back to human form. Soon she was her bipedal self, sporting a few new scratches and an ugly bruise or two but otherwise physically intact.

Mentally and emotionally, it was a different story. Severely shaken and only somewhat comforted by her return to human form, she almost skipped school with a feigned illness. But after wrestling with her conscience and absorbing some cheerful morning sun, she felt a bit more normal and realized she’d regret it if she missed out on the big Halloween show because she blew off a drama club meeting.

Her anxiety took a new turn during the meeting. The drama club kids were expected to submit their ideas for the show, and she wasn’t prepared. Although she’d spent hours trying to come up with a suitable idea for her performance, everything she came up with seemed clichéd and unspectacular.

It was Mr. Baxter who relieved that stress, while simultaneously injecting a whole new strain into her life. “Felicia? How would you feel about performing a dance number?”

Dance? Where is this coming from?
Felicia loved to dance in her room when no one was there to watch her, and managed to make it through Miss Robinson’s dancersize classes without embarrassing herself, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about dancing in front of a few hundred judgmental townies. She had proven to herself that her singing voice was good enough, but wasn’t quite as sure of her dance moves.

“Think about it, will you?” Mr. Baxter continued, “Nelson has proposed an interesting dance number he’d like to perform, but he needs a partner. It’s a duet.”

Nelson?

The thought of dancing with Nelson was unnerving, as might be expected.
Probably clad in what? Some kind of skintight leotard? Oh my God.
What if he sees me in my costume and doesn’t like what he sees? Or I do something idiotic like miss my cue and fall on my stupid face? Or worse, fall on
his
face?