There, that was the house.
Hayley drove by it and around the corner, then turned again, and parked there by the locked back gate that opened onto this street. From the pet carrier in the back seat came another howl of distress, amazingly loud for such a small animal. Hayley winced. “I'm sorry, I hate making you unhappy,” she murmured reassuringly, circling the car to take out the carrier. “I have to do this, though, for everyone's good. Cordell and Dextra only see one way to fix the problem. But this way will be best for everybody.” She'd chosen a cat from the pound who had no one to love her and take care of her, one who was as domesticated as cats ever were so she'd be easy to catch afterwards, one who was young and healthy so she'd live a long time. Okay, so the cat was a female, but she was fixed, so that shouldn't matter much. And if he shapeshifted into a girl sometimes, he probably wanted to be female anyway. “Just a little longer, and then I can take you home and personally make sure you're well-treated forever. That's much better than being in a little cage in the pound, right?”
Christian was home alone. You had to give Dextra that, the techniques she'd devised for spying were powerful and accurate. Hayley had watched from her motel room until both of the others living there had left, and waited long enough to make sure neither had just gone to the nearest store. One had headed for the university campus, and the other had vanished into the public library with a backpack full of books.
Ha, Dextra had been right about the yard, too: there were protections on it, but they were light ones. As long as she didn't use her gifts while crossing the boundary, there should be no reaction at all; the spell she'd laid on the cat was a gamble, and she held her breath, but she sensed nothing to suggest that alarms had been triggered. Obviously someone was on her side!
Already aware of the layout, she went quickly to the woodshed, removed the cat from the carrier hastily, and fled with the carrier, nursing scratches she felt she deserved for such cavalier treatment. Mid-November though it was, they'd had only scant snow around here, and it hadn't lingered enough to show footprints betraying her presence, yet another thing to be grateful for. She didn't go far, only back to the car and the mirror Dextra had made for her months ago, so she could keep an eye on events. This shouldn't take very long at all.
* * *
The plaintive howl of a frightened cat echoed clearly through the kitchen; Christian dropped the plate he was washing, and barely managed to cushion its fall enough to keep it from breaking. That wasn't Sid, he'd recognize the voice, and besides, it was coming from outside. It didn't sound like any of his ferals, either. What was wrong?
Not even bothering to grab a jacket, he ventured out the kitchen door to the back yard. The ferals knew to come here if they needed him to make something stop hurting or needed protection, but there were none in sight. The howling led him across the frost-killed grass and into the low woodshed, where a small cat cowered. She was fine-boned, her short fur clean and shiny, white with irregular patches of orange and black here and there, and she was wearing a collar with a tag. One of the ferals, the big tatter-eared orange male who ruled benevolently but absolutely, had noticed already and was approaching to investigate.
“Poor baby,” Christian murmured to himself, and switched to communicating in feline. Moving slowly in hopes of not startling her, he reassured her that he wouldn't hurt her, that he wanted to help her and take care of her, that whatever was wrong he'd fix it.
Definitely no feral: she believed him readily. He knelt beside her, and offered her a hand to sniff before gently stroking her head and halfway down her back. He sensed no pain or discomfort, nor the tiny presences of unborn lives inside, only fear and confusion, but best to make sure. It took only seconds to drop into a light trance and reach, shifting his awareness into sync with her body...
The world twisted and lurched; alarmed, Christian struggled to break the connection and reorient himself. This wasn't supposed to happen!
Everything stabilized again.
And the first thing he saw was his own body, slumped on the ground halfway into the shed. Breathing, but no one home. Which meant... where was he?
The plaintive yowling rang inside his head, this time.
Oh. He’d shifted his senses to those of the little calico. That was odd, he'd never thought of a healing scan triggering a telesensory connection by accident. This was something he'd have to look into, and maybe ask Pearl about the next time she dropped by. With a mental shrug, he willed the connection to break and effectively return him to his own body.
Nothing happened.
Um... what? What's going on, here?
The little cat sniffed at his body, pawed at him hopefully, and let out another yowl. Christian winced, and tried reaching to her mentally to calm her. Poor little thing, she was terrified.
Distracted by that, he didn't notice the approach of a human until they were being scooped up—gently, back feet carefully supported. Christian's brief hope that it might be Eric or Mark died instantly: he had no idea who this woman was, but she was witchblood, and that was a combination that worried him.
There was something he'd done, reluctantly, a few times when it was necessary for the good of one of the strays or ferals, one of Pearl’s more advanced tricks. It was both harder and easier from here: he pushed the consciousness of the little cat aside, down into sleep, as delicately as he could. Given where his own awareness currently was, that meant he took control, no longer just a passive observer.
He looked up at the witch, accustomed to the different colour range and skewed perspective of feline senses. Short light-coloured hair, probably fairly tall but definitely slender, probably not a lot older than him... the arms and hands holding him knew exactly what they were doing, and he was being cradled against her chest, where he could smell mostly cotton and herbal scents. “Mrrowr?” he said questioningly. Behind her, he saw the big orange male regarding Chris' body with concern.
She sighed, and her fingers found just the right spot behind one ear. “I'm sorry about this, I really am, but it's the best way to make sure you can't do anything dangerous any more. It's not like killing you or anything, nobody gets hurt, and I'll make sure you're taken care of, I promise.”
She did this! On purpose! She'd left an empty cat carrier on the ground just outside the shed... to put him in, and take him away, intending to leave him trapped in the cat's body! Christian yowled, not in fear but in rage, and backed it with all the power he could reach at the moment—admittedly, not a lot.
It was enough. The orange male hissed, suddenly half again his normal size, and crouched between the witch and Christian's body protectively. The senior queen, a grey and white female who still limped slightly on one hind leg in bad weather despite Christian's best attempts, loped out of the covering vegetation along the treeline and placed herself on top of the carrier, fur fluffed out, teeth bared. A somewhat younger female tabby raced out of the gazebo to confront the strange witch directly; abandoned pregnant, terrified of confinement, she’d trusted Christian's promise of good lives for her kittens, and had them in a nest-box in the porch once he’d sworn to leave the door open for her. Val had helped him find a good home for the two kittens together, and the tabby had stayed in the area. He still hoped he could coax her to stay inside someday.
The witch sighed. “You shouldn't have done that. I'm very good with animals, it's my strongest talent. All you've done is upset them. I'll just send them away.” Her tone turned darker. “For someone who cares so much about animals, you've certainly left a lot of them living outside.”
You go right ahead and try. You haven't been feeding and healing them. And the ones still living wild aren't gentle little house cats, they're the tough ones who choose to live that way, the ones that have been abused and betrayed until they can't trust, the ones who grew up feral and can't adapt to indoor life. They won't take kindly to even a witch trying to force them to do anything. Besides, all they need to do is distract you. More were coming, he could smell them, hear them, sense them.
He turned his attention inwards, searching for the threads of the spell that held him. It was a variation on the techniques he used for eavesdropping, which explained why he'd thought it was his own mistake. But that meant that the tricks he’d learned from Pearl across several visits should work, with a little adaptation...
The witch's cry of pain distracted him briefly, and he was jostled uncomfortably as she backed away from the irate tabby and two others, a wiry young male with the same grey and white fur as his mother, a tiny fierce black and white female whose white paws had extra toes and thus extra armament. One of them must have scored on her ankle, to make her jump and limp like this. The young male’s sister placed herself in front of the carrier with her sleek fur all on end and her tail lashing.
Christian experimentally tried flexing his claws, digging them in hard, and the witch cried out again and dropped him. Despite his inexperience, this body landed on its feet anyway, and Christian scooted for shelter behind the orange male, next to his own body. Maybe here, he could have a minute to concentrate...
There!
He stretched, making sure everything was working right, and got to his feet. The orange male glanced up at him, but held his ground.
“How...” The witch looked utterly taken aback. “There's no way you could have undone that from inside!”
“Then you're imagining my standing here.” He crossed his arms, scowling at her . “What the hell is your problem? I've never met you before, and you pull this? The only people I know of who don't like me are the Fellowship, and as I understand it, taking action this direct goes against the rules.”
“You're dangerous,” she protested. “Sooner or later, something's going to be too much for you to handle, and everyone in the area, people and animals and all, will end up paying for that. You've been warned, it's not like you haven't been.”
“And I've explained already, to what's-her-name, Dextra, that I am very careful about precautions. Just because you don't understand something doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to take risks with other peoples' lives, and it certainly doesn't give you the right to decide whether it should be allowed or not! You're really in a position to talk about being concerned about innocent lives, aren't you? This poor baby here,” he gestured to the still-sleeping cat, with the young tabby and the black-and-white crouched and vigilant on either side of her, “never did anything to put anyone in danger! But you were willing to sacrifice her!”
“I wasn't! She was in the pound, but I was going to make sure she was spoiled for the rest of her life!”
“She wouldn't have had the rest of her life! With my consciousness trapped in her body, what do you think would have happened? Even if I had done everything possible, it would still inevitably have had an impact on her mind. You don't know me and you already think the worst of me, for all you knew, I might have been willing to override her mind and self completely in order to hold onto my own a little longer! You might've taken care of her body, but what's inside it that's her apparently doesn't matter! And you have the nerve to tell me that I'm playing with innocent lives!” He gestured to the alert, wary cats. “Do they look like they think I play God with their lives? I give them what they can accept! Have you had any complaints from the people I've done work for? I suppose you and the rest of the Fellowship would be just as happy leaving them to face goblins and house-spirits and nasty beasties by themselves, regardless of the cost to the humans and animals living there? But I risk lives, and you try to protect them?”
Her expression turned to horror. “I wouldn't hurt her... I... oh god...” He saw the tears start, just before she turned and bolted towards the back gate.
Christian tossed the carrier in the woodshed to deal with later. It might be useful, or he could donate it to the local shelter, but either way, he didn’t want to look at it right now.
The little calico stirred, and raised her head with a small plaintive mew. All the anger over the assault melted away into worry for the other intended victim; Christian gathered her up carefully, but she seemed unharmed by the experience, only groggy. “It's okay now, little one,” he said soothingly. “Let's go inside, you're not an outdoor kitty.” He looked around at the others, and, in feline, told them how grateful he was for their assistance, and promised them a special treat as soon as he had the little female settled.
The tabby rubbed her head against his leg, and the orange male let him know they'd wait.
Sid was in the living room watching out the windows, his tail fluffed out, extremely agitated. Christian had to stop long enough to reassure the cat that he wasn't hurt, and explain the need to settle the little calico safely. Sid followed them across the room, frustrated at not being able to help protect Christian and determined not to let him out of his sight—or so he said.
He took her to the porch infirmary and laid her gently in a cardboard box that held an old worn quilt, folded enough times to make a soft but easily-washed bed. He poured kibble into the waiting bowl from the sealed plastic jug of food here; there was a litter box, always disinfected and refilled when the last occupant left, waiting at the far end. Until she had a chance to calm down, this would be the safest place for her. He filled the water bowl in the kitchen and put a small amount of wet food in another bowl, left both on the tray with the kibble, and shooed Sid out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Several cans of tuna, split into a bowl for each—including Sid, indoors—pleased the ferals, and they wandered off about their business with full bellies.
But what was he going to do with their guest? he wondered, on his way back to her.
Sid trailed him, but reluctantly agreed to wait outside so he wouldn't scare the little calico.
She was exploring the room, and had used the litter box, which was a good sign. He sat down on the bare linoleum floor, and she came to him, uncertain but not afraid.
“She got you from the pound, she said, so there's no family to take you back to. I don't know whether that was the local one or not, I don’t think they’d just let her walk in and take you with no checks, but I don’t want to take you to them anyway, they're already spread too thin and far too many cats go in but don't come back out. What's on your tag? Amber. That's a cute name, and it matches the colour of your orange spots. Now what on earth am I going to do with you? You're certainly a friendly little thing.”
He gave her a thorough check-up, and confirmed that she was generally healthy. She was fixed, too, which was a relief.
Well, maybe one of his friends would have some idea. He wasn't sure he wanted another cat living here permanently, Sid and the ferals were enough responsibility. He hunted down one of the shoelaces Sid liked to chase, and twitched it along the floor for her; she brightened instantly, and pounced with enthusiasm. Sid watched from the doorway, alert and protective, but didn't interfere.
“Chris?” Mark called from the living room.
“In here!”
Footsteps, and Mark paused to crouch next to Sid and pet him. “That one doesn't look like a stray.”
“She's not. I've had an interesting afternoon.”
Mark frowned. “I don't like the sounds of this.”
Christian described the encounter for him. “I don't think she'll be back,” he added thoughtfully. “She was pretty shocked when she realized she'd been about to sacrifice Amber. Even more shocked than she was that I could get out of her trap.”
“And I wasn't here,” Mark said in disgust. “Some protector.” He looked, the witch thought, quite a lot like Sid had when Chris had come back in the house, and had to stifle a giggle. Saying that out loud would not be a good plan.
“I don't think you could've done much, this time. And it was indirectly because of you that I knew how to get out of it. It's not like she tried to kill me or anything.” Now was not the time to point out that, after an extended period with his awareness trapped in a cat's body, his sense of self would have faded until he was as good as dead, while his body lay in a coma with no one home.
“Huh. I suppose you want to keep her.”
“I don't know. Company for Sid might be nice, but I'm not sure she's the right one. She'll have to stay here until we find her another home, anyway, somewhere safe from psycho witches who might try to reclaim her. Maybe one of Eric's cousins likes cats. Anyway, don't worry about it, okay? There's no harm done, everything's fine. Did you find lots of new books at the library?”
Unwillingly, Mark dropped the subject, but Christian doubted that meant he'd stop thinking about it.
There, that was the house.
Hayley drove by it and around the corner, then turned again, and parked there by the locked back gate that opened onto this street. From the pet carrier in the back seat came another howl of distress, amazingly loud for such a small animal. Hayley winced. “I'm sorry, I hate making you unhappy,” she murmured reassuringly, circling the car to take out the carrier. “I have to do this, though, for everyone's good. Cordell and Dextra only see one way to fix the problem. But this way will be best for everybody.” She'd chosen a cat from the pound who had no one to love her and take care of her, one who was as domesticated as cats ever were so she'd be easy to catch afterwards, one who was young and healthy so she'd live a long time. Okay, so the cat was a female, but she was fixed, so that shouldn't matter much. And if he shapeshifted into a girl sometimes, he probably wanted to be female anyway. “Just a little longer, and then I can take you home and personally make sure you're well-treated forever. That's much better than being in a little cage in the pound, right?”
Christian was home alone. You had to give Dextra that, the techniques she'd devised for spying were powerful and accurate. Hayley had watched from her motel room until both of the others living there had left, and waited long enough to make sure neither had just gone to the nearest store. One had headed for the university campus, and the other had vanished into the public library with a backpack full of books.
Ha, Dextra had been right about the yard, too: there were protections on it, but they were light ones. As long as she didn't use her gifts while crossing the boundary, there should be no reaction at all; the spell she'd laid on the cat was a gamble, and she held her breath, but she sensed nothing to suggest that alarms had been triggered. Obviously someone was on her side!
Already aware of the layout, she went quickly to the woodshed, removed the cat from the carrier hastily, and fled with the carrier, nursing scratches she felt she deserved for such cavalier treatment. Mid-November though it was, they'd had only scant snow around here, and it hadn't lingered enough to show footprints betraying her presence, yet another thing to be grateful for. She didn't go far, only back to the car and the mirror Dextra had made for her months ago, so she could keep an eye on events. This shouldn't take very long at all.
* * *
The plaintive howl of a frightened cat echoed clearly through the kitchen; Christian dropped the plate he was washing, and barely managed to cushion its fall enough to keep it from breaking. That wasn't Sid, he'd recognize the voice, and besides, it was coming from outside. It didn't sound like any of his ferals, either. What was wrong?
Not even bothering to grab a jacket, he ventured out the kitchen door to the back yard. The ferals knew to come here if they needed him to make something stop hurting or needed protection, but there were none in sight. The howling led him across the frost-killed grass and into the low woodshed, where a small cat cowered. She was fine-boned, her short fur clean and shiny, white with irregular patches of orange and black here and there, and she was wearing a collar with a tag. One of the ferals, the big tatter-eared orange male who ruled benevolently but absolutely, had noticed already and was approaching to investigate.
“Poor baby,” Christian murmured to himself, and switched to communicating in feline. Moving slowly in hopes of not startling her, he reassured her that he wouldn't hurt her, that he wanted to help her and take care of her, that whatever was wrong he'd fix it.
Definitely no feral: she believed him readily. He knelt beside her, and offered her a hand to sniff before gently stroking her head and halfway down her back. He sensed no pain or discomfort, nor the tiny presences of unborn lives inside, only fear and confusion, but best to make sure. It took only seconds to drop into a light trance and reach, shifting his awareness into sync with her body...
The world twisted and lurched; alarmed, Christian struggled to break the connection and reorient himself. This wasn't supposed to happen!
Everything stabilized again.
And the first thing he saw was his own body, slumped on the ground halfway into the shed. Breathing, but no one home. Which meant... where was he?
The plaintive yowling rang inside his head, this time.
Oh. He’d shifted his senses to those of the little calico. That was odd, he'd never thought of a healing scan triggering a telesensory connection by accident. This was something he'd have to look into, and maybe ask Pearl about the next time she dropped by. With a mental shrug, he willed the connection to break and effectively return him to his own body.
Nothing happened.
Um... what? What's going on, here?
The little cat sniffed at his body, pawed at him hopefully, and let out another yowl. Christian winced, and tried reaching to her mentally to calm her. Poor little thing, she was terrified.
Distracted by that, he didn't notice the approach of a human until they were being scooped up—gently, back feet carefully supported. Christian's brief hope that it might be Eric or Mark died instantly: he had no idea who this woman was, but she was witchblood, and that was a combination that worried him.
There was something he'd done, reluctantly, a few times when it was necessary for the good of one of the strays or ferals, one of Pearl’s more advanced tricks. It was both harder and easier from here: he pushed the consciousness of the little cat aside, down into sleep, as delicately as he could. Given where his own awareness currently was, that meant he took control, no longer just a passive observer.
He looked up at the witch, accustomed to the different colour range and skewed perspective of feline senses. Short light-coloured hair, probably fairly tall but definitely slender, probably not a lot older than him... the arms and hands holding him knew exactly what they were doing, and he was being cradled against her chest, where he could smell mostly cotton and herbal scents. “Mrrowr?” he said questioningly. Behind her, he saw the big orange male regarding Chris' body with concern.
She sighed, and her fingers found just the right spot behind one ear. “I'm sorry about this, I really am, but it's the best way to make sure you can't do anything dangerous any more. It's not like killing you or anything, nobody gets hurt, and I'll make sure you're taken care of, I promise.”
She did this! On purpose! She'd left an empty cat carrier on the ground just outside the shed... to put him in, and take him away, intending to leave him trapped in the cat's body! Christian yowled, not in fear but in rage, and backed it with all the power he could reach at the moment—admittedly, not a lot.
It was enough. The orange male hissed, suddenly half again his normal size, and crouched between the witch and Christian's body protectively. The senior queen, a grey and white female who still limped slightly on one hind leg in bad weather despite Christian's best attempts, loped out of the covering vegetation along the treeline and placed herself on top of the carrier, fur fluffed out, teeth bared. A somewhat younger female tabby raced out of the gazebo to confront the strange witch directly; abandoned pregnant, terrified of confinement, she’d trusted Christian's promise of good lives for her kittens, and had them in a nest-box in the porch once he’d sworn to leave the door open for her. Val had helped him find a good home for the two kittens together, and the tabby had stayed in the area. He still hoped he could coax her to stay inside someday.
The witch sighed. “You shouldn't have done that. I'm very good with animals, it's my strongest talent. All you've done is upset them. I'll just send them away.” Her tone turned darker. “For someone who cares so much about animals, you've certainly left a lot of them living outside.”
You go right ahead and try. You haven't been feeding and healing them. And the ones still living wild aren't gentle little house cats, they're the tough ones who choose to live that way, the ones that have been abused and betrayed until they can't trust, the ones who grew up feral and can't adapt to indoor life. They won't take kindly to even a witch trying to force them to do anything. Besides, all they need to do is distract you. More were coming, he could smell them, hear them, sense them.
He turned his attention inwards, searching for the threads of the spell that held him. It was a variation on the techniques he used for eavesdropping, which explained why he'd thought it was his own mistake. But that meant that the tricks he’d learned from Pearl across several visits should work, with a little adaptation...
The witch's cry of pain distracted him briefly, and he was jostled uncomfortably as she backed away from the irate tabby and two others, a wiry young male with the same grey and white fur as his mother, a tiny fierce black and white female whose white paws had extra toes and thus extra armament. One of them must have scored on her ankle, to make her jump and limp like this. The young male’s sister placed herself in front of the carrier with her sleek fur all on end and her tail lashing.
Christian experimentally tried flexing his claws, digging them in hard, and the witch cried out again and dropped him. Despite his inexperience, this body landed on its feet anyway, and Christian scooted for shelter behind the orange male, next to his own body. Maybe here, he could have a minute to concentrate...
There!
He stretched, making sure everything was working right, and got to his feet. The orange male glanced up at him, but held his ground.
“How...” The witch looked utterly taken aback. “There's no way you could have undone that from inside!”
“Then you're imagining my standing here.” He crossed his arms, scowling at her . “What the hell is your problem? I've never met you before, and you pull this? The only people I know of who don't like me are the Fellowship, and as I understand it, taking action this direct goes against the rules.”
“You're dangerous,” she protested. “Sooner or later, something's going to be too much for you to handle, and everyone in the area, people and animals and all, will end up paying for that. You've been warned, it's not like you haven't been.”
“And I've explained already, to what's-her-name, Dextra, that I am very careful about precautions. Just because you don't understand something doesn't mean I'm stupid enough to take risks with other peoples' lives, and it certainly doesn't give you the right to decide whether it should be allowed or not! You're really in a position to talk about being concerned about innocent lives, aren't you? This poor baby here,” he gestured to the still-sleeping cat, with the young tabby and the black-and-white crouched and vigilant on either side of her, “never did anything to put anyone in danger! But you were willing to sacrifice her!”
“I wasn't! She was in the pound, but I was going to make sure she was spoiled for the rest of her life!”
“She wouldn't have had the rest of her life! With my consciousness trapped in her body, what do you think would have happened? Even if I had done everything possible, it would still inevitably have had an impact on her mind. You don't know me and you already think the worst of me, for all you knew, I might have been willing to override her mind and self completely in order to hold onto my own a little longer! You might've taken care of her body, but what's inside it that's her apparently doesn't matter! And you have the nerve to tell me that I'm playing with innocent lives!” He gestured to the alert, wary cats. “Do they look like they think I play God with their lives? I give them what they can accept! Have you had any complaints from the people I've done work for? I suppose you and the rest of the Fellowship would be just as happy leaving them to face goblins and house-spirits and nasty beasties by themselves, regardless of the cost to the humans and animals living there? But I risk lives, and you try to protect them?”
Her expression turned to horror. “I wouldn't hurt her... I... oh god...” He saw the tears start, just before she turned and bolted towards the back gate.
Christian tossed the carrier in the woodshed to deal with later. It might be useful, or he could donate it to the local shelter, but either way, he didn’t want to look at it right now.
The little calico stirred, and raised her head with a small plaintive mew. All the anger over the assault melted away into worry for the other intended victim; Christian gathered her up carefully, but she seemed unharmed by the experience, only groggy. “It's okay now, little one,” he said soothingly. “Let's go inside, you're not an outdoor kitty.” He looked around at the others, and, in feline, told them how grateful he was for their assistance, and promised them a special treat as soon as he had the little female settled.
The tabby rubbed her head against his leg, and the orange male let him know they'd wait.
Sid was in the living room watching out the windows, his tail fluffed out, extremely agitated. Christian had to stop long enough to reassure the cat that he wasn't hurt, and explain the need to settle the little calico safely. Sid followed them across the room, frustrated at not being able to help protect Christian and determined not to let him out of his sight—or so he said.
He took her to the porch infirmary and laid her gently in a cardboard box that held an old worn quilt, folded enough times to make a soft but easily-washed bed. He poured kibble into the waiting bowl from the sealed plastic jug of food here; there was a litter box, always disinfected and refilled when the last occupant left, waiting at the far end. Until she had a chance to calm down, this would be the safest place for her. He filled the water bowl in the kitchen and put a small amount of wet food in another bowl, left both on the tray with the kibble, and shooed Sid out, closing the door quietly behind him.
Several cans of tuna, split into a bowl for each—including Sid, indoors—pleased the ferals, and they wandered off about their business with full bellies.
But what was he going to do with their guest? he wondered, on his way back to her.
Sid trailed him, but reluctantly agreed to wait outside so he wouldn't scare the little calico.
She was exploring the room, and had used the litter box, which was a good sign. He sat down on the bare linoleum floor, and she came to him, uncertain but not afraid.
“She got you from the pound, she said, so there's no family to take you back to. I don't know whether that was the local one or not, I don’t think they’d just let her walk in and take you with no checks, but I don’t want to take you to them anyway, they're already spread too thin and far too many cats go in but don't come back out. What's on your tag? Amber. That's a cute name, and it matches the colour of your orange spots. Now what on earth am I going to do with you? You're certainly a friendly little thing.”
He gave her a thorough check-up, and confirmed that she was generally healthy. She was fixed, too, which was a relief.
Well, maybe one of his friends would have some idea. He wasn't sure he wanted another cat living here permanently, Sid and the ferals were enough responsibility. He hunted down one of the shoelaces Sid liked to chase, and twitched it along the floor for her; she brightened instantly, and pounced with enthusiasm. Sid watched from the doorway, alert and protective, but didn't interfere.
“Chris?” Mark called from the living room.
“In here!”
Footsteps, and Mark paused to crouch next to Sid and pet him. “That one doesn't look like a stray.”
“She's not. I've had an interesting afternoon.”
Mark frowned. “I don't like the sounds of this.”
Christian described the encounter for him. “I don't think she'll be back,” he added thoughtfully. “She was pretty shocked when she realized she'd been about to sacrifice Amber. Even more shocked than she was that I could get out of her trap.”
“And I wasn't here,” Mark said in disgust. “Some protector.” He looked, the witch thought, quite a lot like Sid had when Chris had come back in the house, and had to stifle a giggle. Saying that out loud would not be a good plan.
“I don't think you could've done much, this time. And it was indirectly because of you that I knew how to get out of it. It's not like she tried to kill me or anything.” Now was not the time to point out that, after an extended period with his awareness trapped in a cat's body, his sense of self would have faded until he was as good as dead, while his body lay in a coma with no one home.
“Huh. I suppose you want to keep her.”
“I don't know. Company for Sid might be nice, but I'm not sure she's the right one. She'll have to stay here until we find her another home, anyway, somewhere safe from psycho witches who might try to reclaim her. Maybe one of Eric's cousins likes cats. Anyway, don't worry about it, okay? There's no harm done, everything's fine. Did you find lots of new books at the library?”
Unwillingly, Mark dropped the subject, but Christian doubted that meant he'd stop thinking about it.
