The small bell on the shop door chimed softly.
Christian glanced away from the shelf of books he was straightening—one would think anyone looking through books would be literate enough to understand alphabetical order, though the chronic mess suggested otherwise.
“Something wrong, Julie?” She looked miserable, hands buried deep in the pockets of her denim jacket, no trace of her usual easy smile at all, her light brown hair pulled back in a careless ponytail as though she simply wanted it out of her way.
“I have to move back in with my parents,” she said unhappily. “Which wouldn't be so bad, but I can't take my cat, and no one wants him. I'm going to have to take him to the shelter, I think. I don't want to, but unless you know someone who wants a really sweet eight-month-old male cat, I'm out of other options.”
“I'll take him.”
Did I say that? Why did I say that? Gods, I hope Mark likes cats.
Julie blinked, and raised her head to really look at him for the first time. “Are you serious?”
In for a penny... “Sure. It's a huge house and it's only me and one other person living in it. Lots of room for three or four cats, I know that from experience, let alone just one, and I'm sure I can afford to keep him fed. There are still some climbers and things around, I think, although a bunch of stuff went to the local shelter. When do you have to leave?”
“Day after tomorrow.” The change was spectacular: she stood straighter, some of the life coming back to her expression. “Oh, god, thank you, I've been so afraid for him. A lot of people still have stupid ideas about black cats, they don't get homes as much and he's not a cute kitten anymore, plus it’s Hallowe’en in a couple of weeks, I don’t know whether it’s just an urban legend about black cats being in danger or not but I was scared...”
He smiled. “No problem. And it doesn’t matter to me what colour he is. Hmm. Want to tell me where you live, and I'll come get him tomorrow?”
She gave him directions, which he jotted down on a scrap of paper. “I'll be there pretty much all day, finishing packing and stuff.”
“Probably early afternoon I'll come over. What do I need to get for him?”
“Not much right away. There's a litter box and I still have about enough litter to fill it once more, and enough food for a few days.”
Wonder if I can get Mark to help me carry stuff. “Okay, that helps. I'll be there tomorrow. And don't worry, I'll look after him.”
Impulsively, she hugged him. “Thank you.”
“The house feels a bit empty with no animals around. My great-aunt always had cats, but after she died, my grandpa and grandma looked after them but didn't get any more when they followed her.” Which they all had within a year or so, even the youngest, though Seth and Cecilia had done their best. The cats just hadn't wanted to stay without Ruth. “I'm sure he'll fit right in.”
* * *
“Hush, baby, hush, we're almost home,” Christian murmured, praying that the taxi would reach the house quickly. A small black nose peeked out of the folds of an old sweater of Julie's; the cat was trembling violently, though not struggling at all. Too terrified to fight, Christian thought. He did his best to calm him, with voice and power, but neither seemed to have any significant effect. It didn't take witchblood ability to understand what the cat was currently expressing, and he was too upset to pay any attention to anything Christian was trying to tell him.
The cabbie was sympathetic: he helped Christian get the bags with litter box, litter, and food up to the front step. Patiently, he waited while Chris juggled his frightened burden to one arm and fished out the money to pay, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand as they began to slip. All things considered, including the driver allowing Sid in the car without a box or carrier, he added a generous tip.
“There we go, baby, we're home. And I don't care how annoyed Mark is, if he yells at you he's in deep horse manure. You're having a rough enough day as it is. There we go.” He got the door open, shoved everything inside with his foot, and closed the door behind him. “Down you go, little one. You're home now, start exploring.” He set the cat down gently. “Kitchen's probably a good place to put your litter and stuff.”
“I would say so,” Mark said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “So, that's our refugee?”
“He's terrified, be nice to him.”
“Does it have a name?”
“Obsidian's his full name, but Julie usually just calls him Sid. That's what he's used to, I'd rather not change it.”
“Whatever, one name's as good as another. It's just an animal.”
Christian forced himself to unclench his fists and take a deep breath before he answered. “He's a living creature with feelings, and right now, he's scared and confused. If you want to ignore him, that's fine, your choice, but please don't make his life any harder. For that matter, he's just a smaller version of the big cats you seem to enjoy watching so much on TV.”
Mark shrugged. “They evolved as predators, same as I did. That doesn't mean I consider them equals.”
Sid sniffed around the hall warily, tail low, ears swivelling to track every sound alertly. He was a beautiful animal, all black except a small white mark on his chest, his fur short and dense, his eyes bright green-yellow. Judging from the size of his skull, he wasn't nearly done growing yet, though he had to be a good eight or nine pounds already.
“So don't consider him an equal. I intend to keep him safe and make him as happy as I can. Keep him inside, okay? I'd hate to see him get hit by a car or grabbed by someone who'd hurt him or have him run into the coons.”
Mark sketched a bow. “As you command, milord witch.”
Christian found a corner in the kitchen for the litter box, then picked Sid up and showed him where it was, though he could probably find a better location later. A couple of bowls, one for food, one for water, went in a different corner, since he remembered Ruth telling him cats hated having food and litter too close together. The cats had agreed, once she'd taught him how to understand them. He couldn't blame them, really.
“You just take your time and explore, little one.” Christian crouched to offer Sid his hand to sniff, then stroked his back very gently. “You'll be safe here, nothing can hurt you. We'll get you some better quality food than the stuff Julie's been buying. She did the best she could, but I can afford better. And we'll get you some toys and treats and things, and there won't be crowds of people coming and going around here to make you nervous like there are at Julie's, to judge from what I saw and what she said.”
“It doesn't understand English, y'know,” Mark said.
“I'm aware of that, but he can understand the tone.” He straightened, slowly, and put the rest of the food away in the pantry. “I am sorry I didn't ask first, I wasn't planning to tell her I'd take him, I just kinda did. And I don't completely regret the fact that he's here. He's such a sweet cat, and he might never have gotten a home. Humans have some stupid prejudices. I hope he gets over being scared soon. I should have talked to you first, I know.”
“It's your house.” Mark turned around and walked away.
Christian winced and sighed. “I hope you manage to charm him, pretty kitty, 'cause he is really not impressed with me right now. Ah, well, I’m sure he'll get over it, and at least you've got a good safe home.”
* * *
Christian rummaged around in the pantry for something resembling lunch. The thought that he'd been spoiled recently had crossed his mind more than once in the three days or so since he'd brought Sid home. Mark was definitely not happy: no take-out, barely speaking to him at all, back to spending quite a lot of time out of the house. Christian wasn't particularly worried about his own safety, which had nothing to do with that abominable binding he was still working on, or about Sid's, but he devoutly hoped Mark would get over it soon. And the food had nothing to do with it.
A knock at the front door brought him back out into the bright kitchen and along the hallway. He peeked through the window, and opened the door with a warm smile. “Val, hi! What's up?”
“Oh, I thought I'd bring back the books you loaned me and meet your new friend,” she said cheerfully. His height or maybe a fraction taller but much more solidly-built, her wavy dark-brown hair kept just above shoulder-length, Val was generally ready with a smile for anyone, and somehow it was hard not to return it. She followed him back to the kitchen, fishing a trio of books out of her plum canvas knapsack. “I really appreciate it, they were absolutely fascinating.”
“If you want, I'll take a look around and see if I have anything else on Minoan Crete. I'm sure there are more.”
“By all means, I'd love to see them.” She set the books on a corner of the table and dropped into one of the chairs.
“In that case, I'll dig around later, and bring them to the store tomorrow when I pick up my pay-cheque. I'll try to come after three so you'll be there, but if not, I'll leave 'em with Amanda to give you when you come in. As for Sid, I'll see if I can find him, but keep in mind that he's still pretty skittish.”
Val nodded. “No problem. For that matter, if it'll scare him to meet me, let him be and I'll see him another time.” She smiled. “I'll say a few prayers to Bast for him.”
He knew Val had no witchblood at all, but his grandfather had told him long ago never to underestimate the power of belief, and he knew as well that Val genuinely cared and genuinely believed in her own rather eclectic path. “Can't hurt,” he said. “Poor baby can use all the help he can get, what with having lived somewhere there were just too many people coming and going constantly, getting moved around so often all his life, being in another new place without even a familiar human, and Mark not liking him.” He took a quick look around with inner senses, and picked up a suggestion of Sid's presence in the den. “He's probably across the hall in the den again, I'll take a look, but I won't go hunting for him if he's hiding. Fair?”
“Sounds good.”
The den across the hall was dark and quiet: being in the centre of the house, it had no exterior walls for windows, and the sounds of the city were virtually inaudible. With the protections currently not active, it was simply unwelcoming to liminals, although they could and did disregard that to clean it. Sid, however, seemed to consider it a sanctuary.
Christian switched on a lamp near the door, scanned the room, and spotted a darker bit of shadow curled up in the large chair near the empty fireplace. Not the first time he'd found the cat there, and he suspected it wasn't the chair so much as the afghan draped over it. He should really check his grandmother's notes to see what spells she'd worked into that particular pattern of chromatic greys of varying darkness and hue. He thought it might be the one she'd made to calm him and help him sleep when he was small and anxious, which would make sense.
Any time he’d been here instead of his parents’ house, Ruth had asked one of her cats to stay with him as well. Now there was a cat using it to counter his own anxiety.
He called Sid's name softly, but waited until the cat raised his head before approaching. Soothingly, he ran a hand over his dense midnight fur, and scooped him up carefully. “C'mon, furball, Val came to see you. Bet she'll fall in love with you, but she can't have you.”
He was right: Val was utterly enchanted by him. Christian set him down on a chair, and Val offered a hand for him to sniff before daring to pet him, very gently, ready to draw back immediately if he objected. Sid shifted a bit, uncertainly, the tip of his tail flicking in indecision, but he stayed, and after a moment, pressed towards her hand with a quiet purr rumbling in his chest.
“He's beautiful, Chris. A black cat for a witch, how very traditional. Maybe you and he were meant for each other.”
“Could be. A week ago, I didn't have a cat, and had no thought of getting one. Now, I think I'd miss him like crazy if he weren't here.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a good sign, just as soon as Mark learns to deal. And he’s better off here with you where he’s safe and will never have to worry about anything again.”
“Once he feels less jumpy, anyway. I already planned on giving out candy for Hallowe’en. I really don’t want him to panic and try to run out the door. Since he likes the den anyway, I think I’ll move his litter box and food in there for a while and close the door. Or possibly upstairs in my bedroom. I need to check how badly sound will carry from the front door.”
“Good plan. You’re just hanging around home all night?”
Christian shrugged. “I’m not good at crowds, and I’m a bit too old for trick-or-treating. Costumes are fun, though. I think I’ll dress up anyway, just because I can. I still need to get a pumpkin, too, and see if I can figure out how to carve it by myself.”
Val laughed. “Not Mark’s thing, huh? I never get any kids at my place. I don’t think they can find the door, since it’s around the side and down. How would you feel about help with the jack-o’-lantern and company for giving out loot? I’ll likely go out later, the AIDS project has a dance and that’s usually the most queer-friendly one around. You can come for a while if you want, but absolutely no pressure. Same for Mark, if he wants to come and you want him to.”
“That’s... that sounds awesome. Not going to ruin your night?”
“Dances never get going until long after the kids are done anyway. It’ll be fine. And fun, I bet. You doing anything right now?”
“Was looking around for lunch, actually.”
“Want to go grab some fries or something?”
Christian thought about that briefly, weighing options. “Sure, why not?”
“Cool.” She scratched Sid lightly behind the ears before she rose. “Bye, sweetie. See you later.”
Christian found his shoes and locked the door behind him.
Val had him talking about Minoan Crete before they even reached the sidewalk, and for the moment, he stopped fretting about Mark.
The small bell on the shop door chimed softly.
Christian glanced away from the shelf of books he was straightening—one would think anyone looking through books would be literate enough to understand alphabetical order, though the chronic mess suggested otherwise.
“Something wrong, Julie?” She looked miserable, hands buried deep in the pockets of her denim jacket, no trace of her usual easy smile at all, her light brown hair pulled back in a careless ponytail as though she simply wanted it out of her way.
“I have to move back in with my parents,” she said unhappily. “Which wouldn't be so bad, but I can't take my cat, and no one wants him. I'm going to have to take him to the shelter, I think. I don't want to, but unless you know someone who wants a really sweet eight-month-old male cat, I'm out of other options.”
“I'll take him.”
Did I say that? Why did I say that? Gods, I hope Mark likes cats.
Julie blinked, and raised her head to really look at him for the first time. “Are you serious?”
In for a penny... “Sure. It's a huge house and it's only me and one other person living in it. Lots of room for three or four cats, I know that from experience, let alone just one, and I'm sure I can afford to keep him fed. There are still some climbers and things around, I think, although a bunch of stuff went to the local shelter. When do you have to leave?”
“Day after tomorrow.” The change was spectacular: she stood straighter, some of the life coming back to her expression. “Oh, god, thank you, I've been so afraid for him. A lot of people still have stupid ideas about black cats, they don't get homes as much and he's not a cute kitten anymore, plus it’s Hallowe’en in a couple of weeks, I don’t know whether it’s just an urban legend about black cats being in danger or not but I was scared...”
He smiled. “No problem. And it doesn’t matter to me what colour he is. Hmm. Want to tell me where you live, and I'll come get him tomorrow?”
She gave him directions, which he jotted down on a scrap of paper. “I'll be there pretty much all day, finishing packing and stuff.”
“Probably early afternoon I'll come over. What do I need to get for him?”
“Not much right away. There's a litter box and I still have about enough litter to fill it once more, and enough food for a few days.”
Wonder if I can get Mark to help me carry stuff. “Okay, that helps. I'll be there tomorrow. And don't worry, I'll look after him.”
Impulsively, she hugged him. “Thank you.”
“The house feels a bit empty with no animals around. My great-aunt always had cats, but after she died, my grandpa and grandma looked after them but didn't get any more when they followed her.” Which they all had within a year or so, even the youngest, though Seth and Cecilia had done their best. The cats just hadn't wanted to stay without Ruth. “I'm sure he'll fit right in.”
* * *
“Hush, baby, hush, we're almost home,” Christian murmured, praying that the taxi would reach the house quickly. A small black nose peeked out of the folds of an old sweater of Julie's; the cat was trembling violently, though not struggling at all. Too terrified to fight, Christian thought. He did his best to calm him, with voice and power, but neither seemed to have any significant effect. It didn't take witchblood ability to understand what the cat was currently expressing, and he was too upset to pay any attention to anything Christian was trying to tell him.
The cabbie was sympathetic: he helped Christian get the bags with litter box, litter, and food up to the front step. Patiently, he waited while Chris juggled his frightened burden to one arm and fished out the money to pay, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand as they began to slip. All things considered, including the driver allowing Sid in the car without a box or carrier, he added a generous tip.
“There we go, baby, we're home. And I don't care how annoyed Mark is, if he yells at you he's in deep horse manure. You're having a rough enough day as it is. There we go.” He got the door open, shoved everything inside with his foot, and closed the door behind him. “Down you go, little one. You're home now, start exploring.” He set the cat down gently. “Kitchen's probably a good place to put your litter and stuff.”
“I would say so,” Mark said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “So, that's our refugee?”
“He's terrified, be nice to him.”
“Does it have a name?”
“Obsidian's his full name, but Julie usually just calls him Sid. That's what he's used to, I'd rather not change it.”
“Whatever, one name's as good as another. It's just an animal.”
Christian forced himself to unclench his fists and take a deep breath before he answered. “He's a living creature with feelings, and right now, he's scared and confused. If you want to ignore him, that's fine, your choice, but please don't make his life any harder. For that matter, he's just a smaller version of the big cats you seem to enjoy watching so much on TV.”
Mark shrugged. “They evolved as predators, same as I did. That doesn't mean I consider them equals.”
Sid sniffed around the hall warily, tail low, ears swivelling to track every sound alertly. He was a beautiful animal, all black except a small white mark on his chest, his fur short and dense, his eyes bright green-yellow. Judging from the size of his skull, he wasn't nearly done growing yet, though he had to be a good eight or nine pounds already.
“So don't consider him an equal. I intend to keep him safe and make him as happy as I can. Keep him inside, okay? I'd hate to see him get hit by a car or grabbed by someone who'd hurt him or have him run into the coons.”
Mark sketched a bow. “As you command, milord witch.”
Christian found a corner in the kitchen for the litter box, then picked Sid up and showed him where it was, though he could probably find a better location later. A couple of bowls, one for food, one for water, went in a different corner, since he remembered Ruth telling him cats hated having food and litter too close together. The cats had agreed, once she'd taught him how to understand them. He couldn't blame them, really.
“You just take your time and explore, little one.” Christian crouched to offer Sid his hand to sniff, then stroked his back very gently. “You'll be safe here, nothing can hurt you. We'll get you some better quality food than the stuff Julie's been buying. She did the best she could, but I can afford better. And we'll get you some toys and treats and things, and there won't be crowds of people coming and going around here to make you nervous like there are at Julie's, to judge from what I saw and what she said.”
“It doesn't understand English, y'know,” Mark said.
“I'm aware of that, but he can understand the tone.” He straightened, slowly, and put the rest of the food away in the pantry. “I am sorry I didn't ask first, I wasn't planning to tell her I'd take him, I just kinda did. And I don't completely regret the fact that he's here. He's such a sweet cat, and he might never have gotten a home. Humans have some stupid prejudices. I hope he gets over being scared soon. I should have talked to you first, I know.”
“It's your house.” Mark turned around and walked away.
Christian winced and sighed. “I hope you manage to charm him, pretty kitty, 'cause he is really not impressed with me right now. Ah, well, I’m sure he'll get over it, and at least you've got a good safe home.”
* * *
Christian rummaged around in the pantry for something resembling lunch. The thought that he'd been spoiled recently had crossed his mind more than once in the three days or so since he'd brought Sid home. Mark was definitely not happy: no take-out, barely speaking to him at all, back to spending quite a lot of time out of the house. Christian wasn't particularly worried about his own safety, which had nothing to do with that abominable binding he was still working on, or about Sid's, but he devoutly hoped Mark would get over it soon. And the food had nothing to do with it.
A knock at the front door brought him back out into the bright kitchen and along the hallway. He peeked through the window, and opened the door with a warm smile. “Val, hi! What's up?”
“Oh, I thought I'd bring back the books you loaned me and meet your new friend,” she said cheerfully. His height or maybe a fraction taller but much more solidly-built, her wavy dark-brown hair kept just above shoulder-length, Val was generally ready with a smile for anyone, and somehow it was hard not to return it. She followed him back to the kitchen, fishing a trio of books out of her plum canvas knapsack. “I really appreciate it, they were absolutely fascinating.”
“If you want, I'll take a look around and see if I have anything else on Minoan Crete. I'm sure there are more.”
“By all means, I'd love to see them.” She set the books on a corner of the table and dropped into one of the chairs.
“In that case, I'll dig around later, and bring them to the store tomorrow when I pick up my pay-cheque. I'll try to come after three so you'll be there, but if not, I'll leave 'em with Amanda to give you when you come in. As for Sid, I'll see if I can find him, but keep in mind that he's still pretty skittish.”
Val nodded. “No problem. For that matter, if it'll scare him to meet me, let him be and I'll see him another time.” She smiled. “I'll say a few prayers to Bast for him.”
He knew Val had no witchblood at all, but his grandfather had told him long ago never to underestimate the power of belief, and he knew as well that Val genuinely cared and genuinely believed in her own rather eclectic path. “Can't hurt,” he said. “Poor baby can use all the help he can get, what with having lived somewhere there were just too many people coming and going constantly, getting moved around so often all his life, being in another new place without even a familiar human, and Mark not liking him.” He took a quick look around with inner senses, and picked up a suggestion of Sid's presence in the den. “He's probably across the hall in the den again, I'll take a look, but I won't go hunting for him if he's hiding. Fair?”
“Sounds good.”
The den across the hall was dark and quiet: being in the centre of the house, it had no exterior walls for windows, and the sounds of the city were virtually inaudible. With the protections currently not active, it was simply unwelcoming to liminals, although they could and did disregard that to clean it. Sid, however, seemed to consider it a sanctuary.
Christian switched on a lamp near the door, scanned the room, and spotted a darker bit of shadow curled up in the large chair near the empty fireplace. Not the first time he'd found the cat there, and he suspected it wasn't the chair so much as the afghan draped over it. He should really check his grandmother's notes to see what spells she'd worked into that particular pattern of chromatic greys of varying darkness and hue. He thought it might be the one she'd made to calm him and help him sleep when he was small and anxious, which would make sense.
Any time he’d been here instead of his parents’ house, Ruth had asked one of her cats to stay with him as well. Now there was a cat using it to counter his own anxiety.
He called Sid's name softly, but waited until the cat raised his head before approaching. Soothingly, he ran a hand over his dense midnight fur, and scooped him up carefully. “C'mon, furball, Val came to see you. Bet she'll fall in love with you, but she can't have you.”
He was right: Val was utterly enchanted by him. Christian set him down on a chair, and Val offered a hand for him to sniff before daring to pet him, very gently, ready to draw back immediately if he objected. Sid shifted a bit, uncertainly, the tip of his tail flicking in indecision, but he stayed, and after a moment, pressed towards her hand with a quiet purr rumbling in his chest.
“He's beautiful, Chris. A black cat for a witch, how very traditional. Maybe you and he were meant for each other.”
“Could be. A week ago, I didn't have a cat, and had no thought of getting one. Now, I think I'd miss him like crazy if he weren't here.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a good sign, just as soon as Mark learns to deal. And he’s better off here with you where he’s safe and will never have to worry about anything again.”
“Once he feels less jumpy, anyway. I already planned on giving out candy for Hallowe’en. I really don’t want him to panic and try to run out the door. Since he likes the den anyway, I think I’ll move his litter box and food in there for a while and close the door. Or possibly upstairs in my bedroom. I need to check how badly sound will carry from the front door.”
“Good plan. You’re just hanging around home all night?”
Christian shrugged. “I’m not good at crowds, and I’m a bit too old for trick-or-treating. Costumes are fun, though. I think I’ll dress up anyway, just because I can. I still need to get a pumpkin, too, and see if I can figure out how to carve it by myself.”
Val laughed. “Not Mark’s thing, huh? I never get any kids at my place. I don’t think they can find the door, since it’s around the side and down. How would you feel about help with the jack-o’-lantern and company for giving out loot? I’ll likely go out later, the AIDS project has a dance and that’s usually the most queer-friendly one around. You can come for a while if you want, but absolutely no pressure. Same for Mark, if he wants to come and you want him to.”
“That’s... that sounds awesome. Not going to ruin your night?”
“Dances never get going until long after the kids are done anyway. It’ll be fine. And fun, I bet. You doing anything right now?”
“Was looking around for lunch, actually.”
“Want to go grab some fries or something?”
Christian thought about that briefly, weighing options. “Sure, why not?”
“Cool.” She scratched Sid lightly behind the ears before she rose. “Bye, sweetie. See you later.”
Christian found his shoes and locked the door behind him.
Val had him talking about Minoan Crete before they even reached the sidewalk, and for the moment, he stopped fretting about Mark.
