A Spell of Murder

“Larissa Fox.” A doorman blinked at her, his face impassive. “17 F, I think?” Becca added, and he shoved a book toward her to sign. While she did, Clara scoped out the lobby. Two plants, in the corner, wouldn’t offer much in the way of protection. She lowered her head, willing herself to become more deeply cloaked, and then trotted along behind the young woman as she headed toward the elevator.

***

“Becca, you poor dear! Blessed be!” Larissa ushered the younger woman into her apartment so quickly, Clara barely had time to follow. Once she did, however, she found plenty of cover. The lobby of the high-rise might be modern and spare, yet Larissa’s space inside it was anything but. Potted plants clustered around a freestanding bookshelf that served to separate the entranceway from a large living room. Hanging lamps inset with stained glass cast colored shapes on the rugs, which overlapped, almost tripping Becca as her host led her to a wide, low-set couch covered with bright, patterned throws. More lamps at either end were dimmed by shawls, their fringe so enticing that Clara forced herself to turn away.

By then, Becca was seated, her slight form almost disappearing in deep, plush upholstery. An image of Harriet kneading those pillows sprang into Clara’s mind, and she willfully dismissed it. As much as she knew her sister would adore a setup like this, Clara had more important concerns right now.

“Please.” Larissa was handing Becca a saucer, on which stood more colored glass. Green this time, with a filigree pattern. Clara’s discerning nose sniffed at the steam that rose from its gold-rimmed edge. This wasn’t the usual foul brew. “You must be distraught.”

“Thanks.” Becca took a tentative sip. “Peppermint!”

“It’s healing.” Larissa settled next to her, one hand brushing her long, dark locks out against the cushions in an almost feline fashion. “How have you been, my dear? Not taxing yourself emotionally?”

“I don’t think so.” Becca had to struggle a bit to lean forward but managed to place her glass on a brass tray that rested on the nearby footstool. “Thanks for seeing me. I mean, alone.” She made another attempt to sit up and only succeeded in sinking deeper. “I was hoping you could tell me more about that position?”

“The job with Graham? My old friend—mentor, really—he’s so much older than me, of course. But are you really ready to talk about this, my dear? It’s been such a trying week! I was thinking we should gather and do a cleansing circle for you. For dear Suzanne too, of course.”

“Of course.” The smile on Becca’s face was as strained as that tea. “And, well, that’s part of what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Oh?” Larissa’s hands fluttered like busy moths, rearranging the throw on the back of the sofa.

“I gather Suzanne was concerned about the coven’s finances.” Becca stopped at that, though by the way she was biting her lip, Clara could tell she wanted to say more.

“Dear Suzanne.” Larissa’s musical laugh sounded a bit forced. “She worried so, and about nothing. And you’re so sweet to ask. You know, I do believe there’s a reason you found dear Suzanne. You’ve always been the most gifted of our little coven. You and Trent, of course. But then, he’s special in so many ways.”

“Trent?” Even Becca’s all-too-human ears must have picked up the off note in the older woman’s voice. “How do you mean?”

“Well he’s our very own warlock, of course.” Larissa’s kohl-lined eyes cast down, as if following the pattern in the throw, before darting up again. “And, of course, he does like to do a little outreach, doesn’t he? You must know something of that, my dear.”

Becca was too unworldly not to flinch, although in the dim light the color rising to her cheeks was probably not immediately apparent. “He’s been concerned about me after…after Saturday. And, well, he cared for Suzanne too.”

“Of course.” Larissa sat back. “We all did. Now, would you like me to talk to Graham for you?”

“I was hoping you could give me an introduction.” Becca managed to sit up straight finally, propping herself up on the pillows. “Just to get me in the door. I’m guessing that’s what you did for Suzanne, because she’d recently started a job that you’d referred her to as well—a position at Reynolds and Associates. Didn’t she? And it turns out my friend Maddy works there too.”

Chapter 22

“Come on, Maddy, pick up.” Becca was back on the sidewalk less than an hour later. Her visit with Larissa had raised more questions than answers. The older woman had laughed off her earlier referral—“Graham does run through his worker bees!”—despite Becca’s attempt to shock her into any kind of revelation. And despite three more distinct attempts to raise the issue of the coven finances, she’d been unable to get any kind of proper response to those questions either. In truth, the older woman’s defense—that their accounts mattered little and had no impact on the coven’s weekly functioning—had begun to sound increasingly sensible, supporting Ande’s assertion and leading Becca to wonder if Suzanne had indeed wanted to speak to her about something else entirely.

Maybe, Becca mused, she simply had finances on the mind. Although the older woman had promised to call this mysterious Graham for her, Becca was no more convinced than she’d been earlier that she had a lead on a new job. In fact, once Becca had realized that Larissa’s “old friend” must be the same grumpy Mr. Reynolds she’d been hearing Maddy complain about, she was less likely to pursue a position—especially one that, as she already knew, called for qualifications she didn’t possess. Still, she was intrigued as to why neither Larissa nor Suzanne had ever mentioned this particular connection. Or, for that matter, why her old friend had never said anything about working with the dead woman.

“Maddy, it’s me.” Becca made an effort to hold her voice steady. “Call me, please? It’s important.”

While Larissa had brushed off her earlier referral of the other coven member as a mere triviality, referring vaguely to the intimacy of their world and the necessity of distributing what she called “patronage” among those she knew, the question had seemed to upset her. She’d spent the rest of the visit fussing with the upholstery and avoiding any direct questions about her supposed friend—or mentor, as she’d begun to term him—whom Maddy had always described as a bitter old man, his mind—and office demeanor—stuck in a century or maybe two prior. Somehow, Becca couldn’t reconcile that with what she knew of Larissa, and that left only her friend to explain.

As Clara watched from underneath a forsythia in full bloom, Becca stared at her phone. That she could no more will it to ring than she could summon that pillow only made the little cat’s heart ache for her person. It must be so hard to lack power over the world, she thought. If only…

“Becca?” The cat and the girl she loved turned at the sound of a male voice, warm and friendly. The blond painter, almost unrecognizable in a sport jacket, was striding up the walk, a wrapped bouquet in his hands. “What a surprise!”

“Nathan.” Becca smiled despite herself, and tucked her phone into her pocket. “Hi.” But as she took in his clothes and the flowers, her cat heard her gasp. Disappointment, waiting to happen. Before she could say anything, the painter was talking again.

“It’s good to see you again. I was hoping to hear from you—or run into you.” That smile seemed at odds with the nice clothes. The flowers. “I know this is a small town, but I’m sorry I ran out yesterday. The whole thing must have gotten to me more than I’d admitted to myself.”

Becca nodded. “Me too.”

“I’ve been thinking I was a fool for not getting your number yesterday.”

Becca held her breath once more, this time with anticipation, and Clara looked on with concern. Those flowers… “You don’t…you don’t live here, do you?”

“Me? No.” Nathan chuckled at the idea. “I was visiting someone—a relative. And you?”

“Same. I mean, visiting. Larissa Fox.”

“Ah.” He nodded, a sly smile tweaking the corners of his generous mouth.

“You know her?” Becca saw it too. “She’s…well, she’s part of a group I’m in. We meet once a week to discuss, well, paranormal events.” She looked down, and so didn’t see his smile spread into a grin.

“And let me guess.” Whatever humor was behind that smile now gave his voice a lilt. “She finances it—or some part of it—and thinks that her money gives her special rights over all of you?”

Becca recoiled slightly. “I…that’s not entirely fair.”

His brows went up.

“Well, maybe a little.” Their eyes met, and for a moment, Clara felt a tingle of magic in the air.

“Hey.” He broke the silence. “If I don’t get these flowers up soon, I’ll be in trouble. May I call you?”

“Yeah.” Becca was beaming. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She was still humming to herself as she hit the street, and it wasn’t until she had turned the corner that she stopped short. “He didn’t take my number.” But the dismay on her face quickly resolved into a chuckle. “Small town,” she repeated, and walked on, so lost in thought that she almost didn’t hear her phone.

“Maddy?” She stopped and swallowed. “Look, Maddy, we really have to talk.”

***

Both Laurel and Harriet were at the door when Becca and her feline shadow returned. And while their sister wasn’t sure if their restless circling had more to do with the approach of dinnertime or their person’s anxiety, Clara joined them in circumambulating her feet.

“What’s gotten into you three?” Becca caught herself. Laurel was, as always, graceful, but Harriet’s decision to stop short and wash her face had nearly sent their person flying.

Still, their mobile presence served its purpose. Two purposes, actually. Becca dropped her bag and immediately went to fetch their cans, prompting a smirk from Harriet. “See?” She mewed over her shoulder as she led the way into the kitchen. “I can make more than a pillow appear!”

“We didn’t get any answers out in the world, but something’s up,” Clara warned her siblings, even as she waited for her dish to be lowered to the floor. Laurel turned toward her, her blue eyes skeptical.

“Don’t mind her,” Harriet muttered as she ate. Out of habit, Becca fed her first, having learned that the big marmalade would take the first dish set down anyway. “She’s just trying to distract us.”

“No, I’m not!” Clara rarely got angry at her siblings, but Harriet was being particularly obtuse. “Don’t you see? Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, we still don’t have the good flavor,” Harriet mumbled as she lapped.

“That’s not…” Clara gave up and sat, looking anxiously up at her person.

“You don’t want that?” Harriet didn’t wait for an answer, and Clara ceded the space in front of her dish, following Becca, who was pacing around the apartment. Not that her person noticed. In fact, twice Clara had to jump out of her way as a foot came dangerously close to her tail.

***

None of the activity served to distract Becca, however, and the calico grew increasingly worried about her person, whose unsettled behavior led to another fitful night. By the next afternoon, Becca’s edginess had agitated all three cats. It was bad enough that she had tossed and turned in bed, but as Wednesday progressed, Becca wouldn’t even sit still with her computer. Instead, she seemed to be avoiding the warm machine, and that meant naps for her pets were limited as, by silent accord, they kept watch, circling her until Becca, in her preoccupation, actually stepped on Harriet’s tail.

“I’m going to make a tree house for myself!” The fluffy feline licked the appendage furiously, more because of the insult than any real injury. “I’ll climb way over all your heads!”

“Harriet, please,” Clara pleaded.

Laurel only rolled her blue eyes. “The day you climb is the day I eat a bug.”

Clara opened her mouth—and quickly shut it. Laurel prized her reputation for finickiness, and it would do none of them any good for Clara to point out that her seal-point sister had done just that last summer, when a particularly tempting moth had gotten inside.

When the doorbell rang late in the afternoon, Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Any interruption had to be better than this ongoing nervous activity. At this rate, Clara thought, they’d all be hissing at each other by nightfall.

“Maddy.” Becca sounded a little breathless, the result of all that pacing, Clara reasoned to herself. “Come in.”

“Becca.” Her friend seemed tired too, and dropped her bag on the floor before slouching onto the sofa. Done with her dinner, Laurel came over to investigate, sniffing delicately at the leather bag. Harriet, Clara noted with a touch of dismay, was still in the kitchen, cleaning up the crumbs of the other cats’ meals.

Becca settled beside her friend but didn’t relax. Clara didn’t know if Maddy could tell, but to a cat, it was easy to spot the tension in her person’s posture. “So, you knew Suzanne,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, but Maddy nodded slowly. Becca drew her feet up beneath her. If she could curl up into a ball, she would, Clara thought, and jumped up beside her. “Maddy?” Her voice was tight, as if she needed to swallow. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Her friend turned to her with a look of such horror that a slight moan escaped from Becca’s opened mouth. “No, Maddy. You couldn’t have…” She shook her head slowly, as if to ward off the awful truth. “The cake server…”

“I couldn’t? Oh, no!” Maddy reached out to grab her friend’s hands. “No, Becca. No matter what I felt, I, well, it was almost like I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Becca was breathing easier, but her brows were knit in confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Maddy didn’t look any more comfortable. If anything, she seemed to sink further down on the cushions while her friend waited. “I wanted to tell you.”

“What, that you worked with a member of my coven? Jeff’s new girlfriend? The woman who was killed?” Becca tried out the options, rejecting each in turn. “But you couldn’t have known what was going to happen—so, why didn’t you say anything?”

Maddy twisted in her seat as if she could avoid Becca’s gaze. “I told you I kind of knew who she was, when I ran into them in the Square. But it was before that—before I realized who she was—I mean, in your little crew…” Taking a deep breath, she began to talk again, and as if a dam had burst, this time, the words rushed out. “It was right after she started, in February. She was standing in the lobby when I went for my lunch break and I thought I’d ask her to join me. Just to be friendly. Only there was something about the way she was standing, kind of fussing with her hair before she put her hat on, and I realized she was probably waiting for a date. Well, I hung back for a minute—just to see—and, sure enough, her date showed up.”

Maddy fell silent, as if the flood had left her exhausted. “It was Jeff, Becca,” she said at last. “She was waiting for Jeff.”

“But…February? We were still…” Becca sputtered. “Maybe they were friends. I mean, they probably knew each other.”

Maddy’s face told the story. “Knew each other? Becca, honey. He was a creep. I always felt something was off about him, but I didn’t know what to say.”

“Maddy, you don’t know.” A note of desperation had crept into Becca’s voice.

“I know you don’t kiss your casual acquaintances.” Her friend delivered the coup de grace. “Not like they did, anyway.”

***

Maddy left soon after. She would have stayed—had wanted to comfort her friend, it was clear to see—but Becca shooed her off. “I can’t,” she said as she pushed Maddy’s bag back into her arms. “I need to process this, but I can’t—not now.”

Maddy had protested. “Come on, kiddo,” she’d said. “Let’s go to a movie. Or better, to that cupcake place in the Square.”

“No, I’ve got…an appointment.” The way she stumbled over the word had Maddy looking at her funny.

“You’re not doing that witch thing tonight. Are you?”

“We…we need to meet. To talk about Suzanne—and to figure out what’s going on,” Becca confessed. “I mean, for closure and everything.”

“Becca, honey.”

“Please, Maddy. I’ve got to get ready.”

Maddy looked like she’d swallowed a bug, and not a very tasty one at that. Still, she allowed herself to be hustled out the door with a final protest. “Call me, Becca?”

Only then did Becca allow herself to collapse, throwing herself on the sofa with a sob.

“Jeff.” One word said it all, and Clara brushed her head up against the hands that covered Becca’s head, hoping to offer the comfort of soft fur. A slight thud behind her alerted her to Laurel’s arrival. For once, she was pleased to note, her sister didn’t dish up any snark and instead stretched out alongside the crying girl. Before long, Harriet joined them, landing with an audible grunt. Despite—or perhaps because of—her hogging of their dinner, she accepted the remaining position, by Becca’s feet, lending her warm bulk to the sisterly effort.

This wasn’t their usual mode of magic. But Clara could feel the purr as it rose between them, and if the three felines couldn’t right all the wrongs of the world—or of a certain faithless boyfriend—they could at least set a certain cosmic vibration in order. In their presence, Becca went from tears to silence and then, Clara suspected, a short nap. When she sat up, about an hour later, her breathing had returned to normal. And although her eyes would be swollen for some time, as she wiped her face, she glanced around with clarity and maybe even, Clara thought, a new purpose.

She also, on seeing the clock, began to panic. “Seven thirty!” She jumped up, discomfiting the cats.

“Ungrateful,” grumbled Harriet. Becca had been careful not to kick the plump cat as she rose, but she had straightened out the cushions behind her, which Harriet had arranged for peak comfort.

“Typical,” noted Laurel as she stretched. The Siamese sister knew what all the fuss meant and was readying herself to be admired.

Only Clara remained silent. She saw how their person bustled about with renewed purpose and considered herself amply rewarded. What’s the use of power, she thought to herself, if it can’t be used to comfort those we love?

Chapter 23

The doorbell interrupted all their musings—as well as Becca’s last-minute attempts at soothing her reddened eyes. Drying her face with a washcloth, she called out a greeting. A moment later, she was opening the door to Larissa and Trent, both of whom reacted to her appearance.

“You poor dear.” Larissa pushed her way past Trent in a swath of multicolored silk and kissed the air beside both of Becca’s damp cheeks. “You must be absolutely bereft. I wanted to get here early to give you a hand.”

She followed this embrace with a pointed look at Trent that seemed to demand an answer. “I’m sorry.” His handsome face appeared drawn with concern. “I guess we both had the same idea. Merry meet, Becca.”

“Merry meet.” Becca managed a wobbly smile. “It’s good to see you both. Come in.”

Larissa took charge, as usual, ushering Becca into the kitchen with a sweeping gesture that released a cloud of patchouli.

“I’m sorry.” Becca did her best to summon a smile, even as she blinked. Clara, at her feet, sneezed quietly, while Laurel winced and stalked off. “I haven’t put the water on or anything.”

“Nonsense, dear.” Larissa craned around until she saw the kettle, then gestured Becca over toward it. “Would you? My sleeves.”

Clara watched as Becca complied. Having something to do certainly seemed to settle her person, but the calico couldn’t help but wonder at the older woman’s apparent helplessness as she ordered Becca around.

“No, dear, fill the pot with hot water, then pour it out. You don’t want to brew your tea in a cold pot.” With a flick of those sleeves, she herded Becca toward the sink, then followed to stand close behind her. “I wanted to speak with you before the others arrived.”

She turned theatrically as if she could see through the wall to the foyer and the door beyond. When she began to speak again, her deep voice was abnormally soft.

“I don’t think it would be healthy to mention our chat yesterday.” Even muted, her suggestion had an air of command about it. “About Graham and all. You are one of my favorites, but it wouldn’t do to sow dissent.”

“Of course.” Becca’s open face showed her confusion. “But…you’ve encouraged me before. Right here, last week, and if you did the same for Suzanne…”

Larissa’s sleeves fluttered as if she were patting down an animal. “There are too many factors, my dear. Things might be misunderstood.”

“But—” Becca paused, her brow wrinkling in a look of intense concentration. It was almost as if her whiskers were bristling, thought Clara. If Laurel had looked like that, it would have meant prey was about—and in danger. But whatever observation Becca was about to make was cut off as Ande rushed into the kitchen.

“Oh, dear! How are you?” She hugged Becca, who was still holding the kettle. “I mean, blessed be—and, please, let me.”

Unencumbered by flowing clothing, Ande took the kettle and set it to boil, freeing Becca, who turned to Larissa once more. But the older woman simply raised one manicured finger to her lips and then left the kitchen as dramatically as she had entered, a sweep of her long sleeves wafting patchouli behind her.

“Phew, what’s that smell?” Ande’s nose wrinkled up. “It’s not the cats, is it?”

***

As this was not their usual meeting, Larissa had not brought her special tea. Instead, Becca was pleased to find the scent of a spicy mint mix—akin to what they’d enjoyed the day before—soon filled her small apartment, almost drowning out the older woman’s perfume.

“To promote healing,” Larissa explained once they were all gathered around the table. “And to ease our dear sister’s spirit onto the next realm, of course.”

“Of course,” Kathy echoed as she reached out to pat Becca’s hand. “That should be our main goal.”

Becca managed a tight smile that even from over on the couch Clara could tell was forced. Her human colleagues appeared to notice this too, as Ande and Marcia exchanged a look that could only be described as weighted.

“I was thinking a sunset circle.” Larissa addressed a space somewhere above the gathering, and Clara tilted her own head back to see if perhaps a fly had gotten in. “By the river, perhaps.”

“A circle?” Becca broke into the other woman’s reverie.

“To concentrate our energies,” Marcia explained. “You know, because we won’t be at the funeral.”

“We won’t?” Becca was full of questions.

“Oh, dear, I guess you hadn’t heard?” Larissa turned toward their host. “Poor, dear Suzanne’s parents are having her interment back in Connecticut.” Her crimson lips formed a moue of disapproval. “Such negative energy.”

“Oh.” The small, sad sound made Clara long to leap into Becca’s lap. “No, I hadn’t heard.”

“We haven’t wanted to burden you. I spoke with her employer, of course.” Larissa blinked, as if holding back her own tears, which was probably why she didn’t notice Becca lean forward. Clara perked her ears up, waiting for Becca to speak. “More tea?” Larissa got there first, and Becca sat back again, holding her mug close.

“Well, since there’s no great urgency, shall we wait for the solstice?” Trent, Clara noticed, had been strangely quiet until now. “That might be auspicious.” He looked around at the coven, moving from Marcia to Ande to Kathy to Becca before pausing, it seemed, at Larissa, to his right.

“That’s a bit of a wait.” Ande sounded doubtful—and Clara saw her turn toward Marcia.

“It’s too long,” Kathy responded, before tiny Marcia could. “That’s more than three weeks from now. Better to do it sooner. We need to let her move on.” She might have been speaking of Suzanne, but she was looking at Becca, who slouched back in her seat.

“Darling, are you all right?” Larissa reached for her, but Becca pushed her chair back.

“I need a little air.” Leaving the table, she walked into the kitchen.

Laurel and Clara followed, and found Harriet waiting. “Treats?” The big marmalade rubbed her considerable bulk up against her leg, and then grunted as Becca hauled her up into her arms.

“What a pretty kitty.” Ande had followed her in. “May I?”

Harriet accepted the gentle pet as her due, while Laurel looked on. Becca, however, just stared out the window.

“I just can’t stop thinking about her,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course.” Ande bit her lip. “But you can’t think that you…”

Becca shook her head. “I was just wondering about what you told her.”

“What was that?” Trent had appeared, but Becca only shook her head. “Are you okay, Becca?”

“Yeah, thanks,” She released Harriet, who shot an evil glance at the warlock. “It’s nothing.”

Without offering up any treats, she rejoined the table, where Kathy, Marcia, and Larissa were deep in conversation.

“Luz thought it was probably random,” Marcia was saying as Ande and Trent took their seats. “A robbery gone bad.”

“I don’t want to suggest anything.” Kathy’s voice suggested anything but. “Only, do you think, maybe, it wasn’t an accident that Becca found her?”

“What?” Her person’s uncharacteristic squeal made Clara’s fur stand on end. Even Harriet looked up. “Me?”

“I mean, because of your conjuring.” Kathy scanned the table for support. “Maybe if you make something appear, then you also…well, you know.”

“Now, Kathy.” Trent was the voice of reason. “That’s not how the rule of three works. If one of us does something malicious, then that will come back three times. I don’t see how a mere pillow–”

“I’m sorry.” Becca pushed back from the table again. “I don’t think I can do this—not tonight.”

“Of course, it’s all my fault.” Kathy went to her and reached to draw her into an awkward hug. “Trent’s right. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Obviously, no further planning was going to be done. And although Harriet looked up expectantly—fewer of the cookies had been eaten than usual—Clara felt for her person. She was glad when Larissa signaled the end of the meeting, shooing Ande and Marcia off with the mugs and the teapot. Becca watched as they cleared the table and excused herself to follow. She found the two huddled over the sink, rinsing dishes, as Harriet, who had followed the food, stared in rapt attention.

“This isn’t the time.” Marcia seemed incapable of speaking softly, but her tone implied a confidence, even if her volume—quite audible over the running water—didn’t. Neither was paying much attention to the fluffy feline at their feet, or to the two other cats who sauntered in to join her.

“Excuse me?” Becca, however, wasn’t so relaxed, and her voice was sharp enough that even Harriet’s concentration was briefly broken.

Marcia and Ande glanced at each other before Marcia turned the faucet off. “I’m sorry,” said Ande, dishtowel in hand. “I spoke out of turn.”

“If either of you know anything, you really do need to come forward.” Becca studied the faces of the two women. When Ande dropped her eyes to the floor, she turned to Marcia. For once, the petite Sox fan was silent, her lips tight set as she reached for a towel to wipe her own hands dry.

“Ladies?” Larissa, calling from the front of the apartment. “If you’re done with clean up…”

“Coming!” Marcia hung the towel over the faucet and leaned over to give Becca a quick hug. “Thanks, Becca.” Neatly sidestepping the three cats, she left.

“Ande?” Becca leaned in, cutting off the taller woman before she, too, could escape. “What was that about?”

The remaining guest folded her towel in her hands and peered ruefully toward the living room. “I can’t,” she said.

“If this has to do with the money that went missing…”

“No, it doesn’t.” She shook off the idea, running one hand over her face as if to wash it. “And really, Larissa just wants to forget about the finances. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

From the living room, the sound of laughter, and Larissa called again: “Hulloo!”

“Ande?” Becca wasn’t giving up.

“Look, it’s not my secret to share.” Ande forced a smile. “It’s just—well, I guess it’s true that you never really know what’s going on in someone else’s relationship.”

“Is this about Trent?” Becca’s voice squeaked. The warlock’s deep voice could be heard by the front door, warm and jocular. Clearly, the general mood had recovered. “I mean, the cops spoke with him too.”

“I can’t believe you two.” Kathy stood in the doorway, her freckled face unexpectedly stern. “Trent doesn’t need money.”

“I didn’t…” Becca closed her eyes and sank back against the sink in exhaustion. “We weren’t….”

Clara rose to go to her. It was quite apparent that some feline comforting was needed. But Laurel had one brown bootie firmly on the base of her tail.

“Hang on,” her sister hissed. “I want to see how this plays out.”

Clara glared, but in that moment, Ande had gone to Becca in her place, draping one arm around Becca’s shoulders. “There, there, honey.” She pulled her close, murmuring like a mother cat.

“Did you know the red-haired one was listening?” Clara nudged Laurel as the two looked on. Harriet, sensing that no cookies would be forthcoming, had padded back into the living room.

“Just the last bit.” Laurel shrugged and lifted her paw. “I wanted to hear more too. That grooming behavior…”

“I know,” Clara agreed, grateful to have her tail released. “Do you think she feels guilty?”

“Becca’s been through a lot, Kath.” Before Laurel could answer, Ande had turned back to the redhead. “Let’s cut her some slack, okay?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, Becca.” Kathy reached out with both hands. “I can’t imagine. I guess we’re all on edge.”

“Thanks.” Becca choked out the word as the redhead drew her into a hug. “I just need to get some sleep.”

“Valerian,” Kathy pronounced sternly. “And, Ande? We should get going.”

“Will you be okay?” Now that she wasn’t being questioned, Ande seemed reluctant to leave.

“Yeah, thanks.” Becca pushed off the counter. “It’s just been a long week.”

“It’s Wednesday,” said Kathy, earning a poke from Ande. Becca didn’t respond, beyond holding on to that sad, tight smile as she walked her guests to the door.

Minutes later, she was stretched out on the couch. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

She moved her feet as Clara jumped up to join her. It had been a stressful visit, and the little calico was as tuckered out as her person. For once, she had Becca—and the end of the sofa—to herself. Harriet, still annoyed about the missed opportunities in the kitchen, was prowling about, muttering about cookies and treats and the stupid, ungrateful creatures with whom she was forced to cohabit. Laurel, meanwhile, was lingering by the door, though if it was because of the residual patchouli or some other trail, Clara couldn’t tell. As Becca’s breathing slowed and deepened, the tired calico felt her own lids start to close and she fought to stay awake. So much had happened that she needed to ponder, but it had indeed been a very busy couple of days.

The gentle tap on the door woke Clara first. Stretching, she peeked over the arm of the sofa to see Laurel staring expectantly at the knob. From the way she lashed her chocolate tail, Clara knew her sister was expecting that door to open.

“Who is it?” Clara landed as soundlessly as a cat can and kept her mew soft as she approached her sister. Laurel’s blue eyes remained riveted, as the knock was repeated, a little less softly.

“Maybe if you’d paid a little more attention…” The tail lashing quickened, as if the Siamese were readying to pounce.

“To what?” Clara sat beside her, wrapping her own tail neatly around her front paws. “I was focused on Becca.”

“You weren’t the only one.” Almost a purr, this time, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent.

“Hang on.” Clara’s whiskers sagged. The sound had woken Becca, who was now shuffling toward the door. “Trent!”

Clara turned as her person straightened up, one hand going to her hair. Beside her, Laurel gave her a knowing sidelong glance. “See?”

“I’m sorry.” The warlock’s voice was as warm as his dark eyes. “I woke you. I could tell how exhausted you were, but I thought maybe…” He dipped his head shyly.

“Please, come in.” Becca stood back to let him enter. “Yeah, I fell asleep.” She rubbed her face. Clara couldn’t understand why her person should sound so apologetic. Napping was not only healthy, it was the appropriate reaction to many things, stress being one of them.

Trent passed by her and entered the apartment.

“I’m sorry.” There she was, apologizing again. Clara was beginning to get as agitated as Harriet. “Did you forget something?”

“Only my manners.” The dark-haired warlock turned to her. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. This whole evening.” He looked around, as if their coven were still assembled. “I know that it’s important to talk about what happened and to plan a memorial. But it was too soon. I should have known.”

“It’s fine, really.” Becca perked up a bit in the warmth of his gaze. “Would you like something? More tea?”

A soft laugh. “Please,” he said, “I don’t think I could. I only wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Oh.” A soft mew of disappointment. Laurel, meanwhile, was leaning against the visitor’s shins so aggressively that he almost stumbled as he tried to step forward. “Please, won’t you sit for a minute?”

“Well, if I’m not interrupting.”

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “I think I was just kind of overwhelmed. Who knew not doing anything would be so exhausting?”

“Who said you’re not doing anything?” Sidling around the feline, he took a seat on the sofa. “Living the self-directed life—being freelance—takes more energy than simply punching a clock.”

“But I’m not freelance. I’m just unemployed.” Becca settled in beside him, and for once, Laurel did not insert herself. Instead, she sat back and, when Clara approached, swatted her sister. “Stop that!” The hiss as swift as the paw.

“That’s still stressful.” Trent sounded as if he knew. “And, of course, you’re still processing the grief and the shock, I would imagine.”

“I guess,” Becca acknowledged. At their feet, the two cats faced off.

“What are you playing at?” Clara’s murmured question only earned her a fierce stare.

“Just…watch.” The low yowl was unmissable.

“Your cat makes such a funny sound.” The two felines looked up to find the guest watching them. “They’re sisters?”

“Yeah.” Becca nodded. “I know it’s odd, but littermates can have different fathers, and Laurel’s definitely got some Siamese in her. They’re, well, more talkative than other cats.”

Trent nodded, as if he understood. Laurel blinked at him slowly. Even if he couldn’t make sense of her vocalizations, thought Clara, surely, he would get that the slinky feline was flirting with him.

“Kind of like some of our coven mates.” He turned toward Becca, a hint of humor softening his words.

“Oh, they’re not so bad.” Becca was looking at her hands, Clara noted. And while they were very clean, gentle hands, the calico could not see what made them so interesting at that moment.

“I don’t know.” Trent must have admired her hands too. He’d reached over to place his own over hers. “They were a bit much tonight. Admit it.”

His tone begged for a response. “Well, Larissa can be a little demanding,” she conceded, peeking up at him.

“Tell me about it.” He chuckled softly. “But I was thinking more of how you were attacked in the kitchen.”

“I wasn’t attacked.” Her demurral as soft as Clara’s mew. It didn’t matter. Whether it was the word or some latent gifts that Clara didn’t understand, Harriet had heard her and came trotting into the room. “Did someone say ‘kitchen’?”

Those wide yellow eyes turned from her two sisters to take in the humans seated so close as to be almost cuddling on the couch—and became almost saucer-like as Becca pulled back.

“Actually, I’m glad you came back, Trent. Because I realized I still have some questions…”

“I have some questions too,” Trent interrupted, his voice soft as velvet, as with one finger, he turned her chin to face him.

Becca gave a slight squeak, as if a mouse were hiding in the depths of her throat, and blinked as if transfixed. Clara looked on in dismay, wondering if she should interrupt. There was no way Harriet would put up with being so ignored.

“Becca?” Trent’s voice was soft and insistent as he leaned in, apparently unaware of the hefty marmalade who had bounded up onto the sofa.

Neither was Becca, it seemed, an oversight that Clara could not comprehend, as her plump sister had landed beside her with a noticeable thud. But even as she opened her own mouth to mew a warning, she heard a soft growl of warning.

“Don’t you dare.” A hiss as soft as a sigh. Laurel, her blue eyes glowing with anticipation.

And suddenly, Clara understood. Finger still beneath her chin, Trent had lifted Becca’s face and leaned over to gently kiss her lips. The sound she made in response—as faint as a kitten’s whimper—seemed to encourage him further. Shifting on the sofa, he leaned forward to pull her close. The gold amulet swung from his open shirt, almost as if it too wanted to make contact with the person Clara most loved.

For a moment, that gold pendant was the only thing moving, swinging back and forth in the space between the two humans as they kissed. It was mesmerizing, Clara had to admit. That steady motion. The glitter as the engraving caught the light. Beside her, on the floor, Laurel had begun to purr, the rhythmic sound matching the back and forth, back and forth.

And then everything changed. Trent shifted, moving one arm around behind Becca as if to draw her closer still. But Becca pulled back, ever so slightly, to address the dark-eyed man. “Wait, Trent, I need to know—”

Before she could finish her question, a sound like the grinding of gears caused them all to turn. Harriet had had enough. And whether she growled because of her annoyance over the lack of cookies or other treats, or whether the hypnotic swing of the amulet had been too much for her subjugated hunting instincts, Clara didn’t have the chance to inquire. As her complaint modulated into a high-pitched whine, the plump marmalade launched herself over Becca and onto Trent’s lap, landing with a thud that made the young couple flinch.

“Ow!” Trent jerked back. Of course, thought Clara, Harriet would use her claws. But whether it was her size or lack of agility that had made her dig in, it did Trent no good to pull away. Those yellow eyes were focused on one thing—the glittering toy that had swung so provocatively only seconds before. And with one fat paw—Harriet’s fluffiness extended even to her white mitts—she swiped at her prize, knocking the shiny piece off its chain and sending it flying across the room.

“Harriet!” Becca was off the couch, even as Trent squealed. “Bad girl. Bad! I’m so sorry.” Trent pressed his hand to his pillaged chest. “Trent, are you all right?”

“I think so.” He glanced down to check his fingertips.

“Are you bleeding?” Becca returned to the sofa and nearly climbed into her guest’s lap to check.

“No, I’m fine.” To Clara’s surprise, he retreated. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Here.” Becca bounced up again. “Let me get you something to put on that. Her claws must have gotten stuck in the chain or…something.” Her words trailed off as she ran to the bathroom. Clara could hear her rustling under the sink.

“She could just say fur.” Laurel leaned in, apparently amused by the whole adventure. “He has a thick pelt.”

“She’s distressed.” Clara contemplated going after their person, but she had emerged, cotton balls and a bottle of rubbing alcohol in hand. “He’s a guest.”

“Could’ve been more,” Laurel purred. But the romantic mood had definitely been dispelled.

“No, really!” Trent backed up as Becca approached, holding out one hand as if to ward her off. “I’m okay.”

In truth, Clara could almost understand. The rubbing alcohol smelled foul, its stench so sharp and biting that the three cats retreated to the window. That might have been why the man had stood and was stepping backward, but when he suddenly fell to all fours, the calico grew concerned. Straining to see, she stood as tall as she could. Luckily, at that moment, Becca closed the noxious bottle and, as the fumes began to disperse, got down on her knees beside her guest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said again as they prowled around. “Harriet’s got quite the swing.”

Clara waited for Trent’s objection, but heard none. Perhaps he hadn’t time, because within a minute, Becca called out, “I think I’ve found it!”

Harriet’s swipe, it seemed, had sent the amulet across the room, where it must have slid beneath the overstuffed armchair. Unless… Clara turned to her older sister, but the plump marmalade only glared, her yellow eyes as poisonous as the stink from that bottle.

“Where? Oh, I see it.” Trent crawled over toward the chair, nearly knocking Becca over in his rush. “I think I can reach it.” Beside her, Clara felt Harriet shift and wondered if her sister was going to jump down in order to reclaim her prize. But either the effort wasn’t worth it, or the man on the floor was too quick. Even as Becca was reaching out—one arm extended beneath the chair—he managed to snag it.

“Is your amulet okay?” Becca sat back on her heels. Clara thought she would want to inspect it, but Trent had already shoved it in his pocket after the most cursory of inspections.

“Yup. Dandy.” He spoke as if he’d reassure her with such jolly words. But if Becca thought that all had been set right—and that her visitor would pick up again from where he had left off—she was in for a rude surprise. Leaning on the chair, Trent pulled himself to his feet, and although he did offer Becca his hand, he made no effort to draw her close again. In fact, he seemed to recoil a little when she stepped forward.

“I think I need to call it a night.” He smiled as if offering an apology, and some of the warmth came back to her face.

“Of course.” Becca nodded a bit too enthusiastically, Clara thought. “I’ll—well, I’ll see you at the next coven meeting, I guess.”

“See you then.” He slipped out almost as quietly as Clara would, leaving his hostess dumbfounded. And the three cats muttering on the windowsill.

“Well, that was interesting.” Laurel began to wash.

“That was my toy. Mine.” Harriet stared after the departed visitor, her orange-tipped tail lashing in delayed fury. “I never liked that one,” she said.

Beside her, looking on as their person stared vacantly at the door, Clara could only agree.

Chapter 24

Despite another night of tossing and turning that discomfited all three of her cats, Becca faced the day with a new determination.

“It’s not my place to figure out what happened to Suzanne,” she told her pets as they gathered around her in the kitchen. Neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening, their gaze fixed instead on the can opener she was wielding. But Clara’s ears perked up as their person kept talking. “And I’m not going to waste any more energy on Jeff, either. I don’t care about his excuses anymore. He and I are through.”

That resolution, as much as the assurance in Becca’s tone, set the calico purring as the three bent to their breakfasts. Even Harriet seemed to have a good appetite, despite her dislike of the infamous tuna treat. Still, Clara couldn’t but be a bit distracted as Becca left the kitchen without preparing anything for herself. When she heard her open her laptop, she looked up in concern.

“You going to finish that?” Clara felt the nudge of a wet nose and looked over to see her biggest sister staring down at her can. “’Cause, if you’re not…”

“All yours.” Clara lowered her head, blinking slowly as a sign of affection and submission. She’d eaten enough, and she owed her oldest sister. Besides, right then, Becca was her priority.

Even before Harriet could finish what remained of her food, Clara was beside Becca, perched on the arm of the sofa as her person typed on the keyboard.

“Dear Mr. Reynolds,” Becca read aloud to herself as she pecked away, which made things easier for Clara. “I’m writing on the recommendation of Larissa Fox…”

“What’s going on?” Laurel landed beside her and immediately began to groom.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Clara. “I think she’s looking for another job.”

“Too bad.” The Siamese extended one dark chocolate paw. “She needs to focus more on us.”

Before Clara could respond, their person had stood. Reaching for her phone, she punched in numbers and began to pace.

“Mr. Reynolds? Thank you so much for getting back to me.” A pause. Despite her sister’s assumed nonchalance, Clara could tell that Laurel was listening too. “Why, yes, thank you. I would love to come in tomorrow for an interview.”

“Now you’ve done it,” Laurel snarled as she and Clara watched Becca head off to shower and start her day.

“What?” Clara didn’t understand her sister’s pique.

“Pushing her to be all proactive. To go outside, and all.” As she spoke, Laurel stepped down onto the sofa cushion their person had just vacated, carefully arranging herself in a perfect circle. “If she’d kept that handsome Trent here, she wouldn’t be running off.”

“That wasn’t me.” Clara bristled at the injustice. “It was Harriet who went for that pendant he was wearing.”

“But you’ve been following her, and I know she senses your presence. Pushing her to ask questions and uncover every little thing.” Laurel was beginning to doze off, which was never her most logical mode.

“Besides, if Becca were still in bed, then we wouldn’t have had breakfast.” Harriet had finally joined them, licking her chops.

“I don’t think it’s bad for her to go outside.” Clara knew she was in the minority, and the sidelong glances of her sisters confirmed this opinion. “Besides,” she added as a way of making peace, “I doubt she’s leaving right away.”

“You heard her.” Harriet was in a mood, and Clara kept silent. Most cats live in the present, which makes the idea of “tomorrow”—or of any appointment, really—hard to grasp. Luckily, it also keeps them from worrying too much about the future or even holding on to a grudge for too long. Indeed, by the time Becca returned, showered and dressed, and sat back down on the sofa, Laurel and Harriet had seemed to forget their earlier pique. As Becca typed, it was Clara who grew concerned. Surely, it wasn’t good for a healthy young woman to spend an entire sunny spring day indoors. Not even a sweet one who had been through the mill recently, both personally and professionally.

“What are you complaining about?” Laurel’s fangs showed as she yawned, and her claws unsheathed as she stretched. “This is perfect!”

“I don’t know.” Clara didn’t want to leave Becca’s side. Still, she found herself pacing as the morning passed. She was even grateful when Becca picked up the phone again, as poor a substitute for fresh air and real contact as it might be.

“Hey, Maddy.” Becca sounded happy, at least, and willing to forgive her old friend her well-intentioned lapse. “You wouldn’t believe what I just found in the genealogy archives. A woodcut of my great-great-whatever. Oh, and I’ve got an interview! Call me?”

Harriet was asleep on her pillow by then, and Laurel halfway there, her dark-tipped tail lashing languorously across the sofa. Clara, however, found herself intrigued by Becca’s message, and when she jumped to the back of the sofa, she realized why. There—on the screen—was a picture. All lines and in black and white, it took a moment for the cat to make sense of it. An image without a scent is only half what it should be to most cats. But as she stared, she had the most profound realization. There, on the computer screen, was a print of her great-great-great-great-great-grand dam. The witch cat of Salem! Standing next to a nice-enough looking lady. A woman who—Clara leaned in to get a better view—kind of looked like Becca, if Becca had grown her hair long and then tied it all back in a knot.

“Laurel, check this out.” Clara nudged her sleepy sister. “It’s Grandma.”

“It’s a box.” Laurel stretched and rolled over. “A box you can’t even sit in. Though it is warm…”

“No, look—” But before Clara could convince her sister to try to make sense of the flat, odorless image, the phone had rung again, and Becca, reaching for it, had closed the electronic device.

“Maddy? Oh.” From the way she straightened in her seat, Clara could tell that her person was surprised. Not unhappy, though. “Hi, Nathan. I was expecting…someone else.”

Clara angled her ear and was able to pick up the voice of the painter, if not his pleasant pine scent.

“I realized I should take the initiative.” A nervous edge—or maybe it was the connection—pitched his voice high and brittle. “I know you’ve been through so much, but I was hoping we could get together, if you’ve got time.”

Poor connection or not, Becca’s face lit up as he spoke, in a smile that warmed Clara like a purr—at least for the few moments before her brows drew together in consternation. “Wait, how’d you get my number?” There was a sharpness to her voice that made Clara take note.

“I have my ways.” Clara heard Becca’s quick intake of breath. “I’m sorry, not funny.” Apparently, Nathan had too. “I got it from Larissa.” The answer came quickly and easily, his tone calming down to what the little cat remembered. But something about the way Becca had tilted her head—her lips tightly closed—made her pet think it wasn’t sufficient. “I mentioned meeting you to her the other day, when we ran into each other.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca wanted more.

“She seems to think we should get to know each other.” He laughed. “I know, pushy, huh? But you can ask her. I gather you’re getting together for a memorial tonight?”

“Tonight?” Becca started and then caught herself, as if the man on the other end of the line could see her. Then she paused, and to her cat she appeared to be wrestling with a question other than the one she had just answered. “Look, Nathan, can I get back to you? This is an odd time.”

Clara couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed when she rang off and, instead, began fiddling with her phone, tapping away at the device with her thumbs. While it was true that none of them knew this young man, the plump feline had liked his scent. Even more, she had liked the way he had treated Becca, taking her out for treats after that disconcerting meeting with the police. But Becca wasn’t Harriet, and if she had doubts, they were probably sensible, the pet reminded herself.

Still, the little cat looked up hopefully when the phone rang again. Becca was no house pet to spend all her time on the sofa.

“Maddy?” She’d grabbed up the phone without glancing at it.

“Sorry.” Even before she saw Becca’s shoulders’ drop, Clara knew. It was her person’s ex.

“Jeff.” No greeting, nothing cordial, and a new note—defiant—had crept into Becca’s voice. “What do you want?”

“Look.” His voice had an edge of panic. Or maybe it was desperation. “I’m sorry, all right? I was a lousy boyfriend and I’m sorry. I really—I guess I was afraid of the commitment, or of how I felt about you.” Laurel couldn’t have rolled her eyes any harder. Jeff must have heard something because he suddenly broke off. “Look, Becca, don’t hang up. I’m sorry, okay? I mean it. And when I told you that I’d broken up with Suzanne, I meant I was going to. That going out with her was a mistake, and even before she found out I was your boyfriend, I was going to end it.”

“So she was the one who ended it.” The words leaked out as sharp as Laurel’s claws. “Of course.”

“I was going to stop seeing her. Really.” She didn’t respond, but before he could hang up, he tried one more time, his voice pitched high and desperate. “You’ve got to tell the cops that, Becca. I mean, I had no reason to want her dead.”

Chapter 25

“Excuse me?” Becca’s default mode was polite. “I, wait, what?”

“Just, don’t take our relationship stuff to the police, okay? This is serious.”

Polite, but still furious. “Jeff Blakey, if you think that I’ve been airing my personal laundry to the police…” She stopped with a sputter. Her outrage was convincing, but Clara could tell that, for the moment at least, the angry young woman standing before her was concerned that she’d done just that.

Luckily, her ex didn’t know her as well as her cat did. “I’m sorry, Becca, but I think someone’s been telling them things, and, well, you’re the only one who makes sense.”

“Oh?” She leaned back against the sofa, waiting.

The answering sigh would have been audible, even to non-feline ears. “I thought I was in the clear, but then I was called in to answer some more questions about Suzanne, and it was kind of obvious they came from someone in your, you know, your group.”

“The coven?” Becca straightened.

“Uh-huh. There was a lot about if I knew how often you guys got together, and what was my involvement. I told them I didn’t know anything. That you and I had broken up before you got really into all that Wicca stuff. But this one cop, he kept pushing. Asking me why I was, you know, seeing two of you, and what that meant.”

“What that meant?” Becca pronounced the last word as if it tasted bad, and Clara licked her whiskers in sympathy.

“You know.” The man on the phone was at a loss to explain. “What was it about your witchy stuff that attracted men. Whether you girls had some kind of competition going.”

“Uh-huh.” Becca bit her lip. “And you think that this means that they suspect you?”

“What else?” His voice was cracking. The fatigue had broken through into desperation. “They questioned me for more than an hour.”

“Uh-huh.” The way Becca was nodding, Clara knew she was digesting his words slowly, as if they were a bit of gristle. “Maybe you’re right, Jeff. Maybe they were trying to get you to confess to being something more than just a nasty cheat.” A sputter came through the line, but Becca kept talking. “But if you ask me, what they’re doing is something else entirely. I think they’re asking you about me and my friends for a different reason. I think they suspect one of us in the coven.”

Jeff had the grace not to sound too happy about that idea. Or maybe, Clara thought, the callow young man simply lacked the sense to follow Becca’s reasoning. All she could tell for sure was that despite some vague protests, Becca was able to get him off the phone fairly quickly. And if Clara had worried about her person’s lack of drive before, now she faced the opposite fear. Instead of settling back on the sofa, where Laurel was snoring gently, Becca became a whirlwind of activity. Picking up the few dishes she’d used, she muttered to herself like a discontented cat, until, finally, she disappeared into her bedroom and began throwing clothes around, emerging at last in an all-black outfit that seemed at odds with the beauty of the day.

“Okay, kitties.” Laurel had woken and joined Clara in staring at their human. Even Harriet roused herself to look up. “I’m going to be out for a while, but don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Really?” Laurel yawned and began to groom, her spirits if not her fur unruffled by the turn of events. “Do you think she expects us to respond?”

“I don’t know,” said Clara as she checked her own tail and whiskers. “But I fear she’s going hunting, and not for the kind of prey that would feed any of us.”

***

Her coat neatly groomed, Clara waited by the door until Becca left, slipping out only after the dark-haired girl, so as not to cause her concern. But as she followed her person’s rather hurried steps, the little calico began to have apprehensions of her own. Becca was upset, that much was evident. That she had felt spurred to action by the phone call—or maybe both phone calls—was also evident. What Clara wasn’t sure of was what her person intended to do about it.

Surely, the cat thought as she trotted to keep up, Becca wasn’t going to meet Jeff. Nor would she likely be heading back to the police, not after what she’d said on the phone. Cats may not understand the ins and outs of law enforcement, but they tend not to believe in closed doors of any sort, as anybody who has cohabited with a feline knows.

Still, the determined young woman marched on, her slight stature giving her an edge as she wove through the workday crowd. For her cat, it was a bit more difficult. Keeping herself semi-shadowed meant she had to be more careful of feet as she ducked and dodged down the crowded city sidewalk. When Becca turned off the busy main street, her pet breathed a sigh of relief. Even magical cats have a hard time out in the world. But as Clara looked around, the realization of where her person was headed made her catch her breath in a way no near miss by a pointy toe could.

Suzanne’s apartment. The triple-decker with its fresh coat of paint looked as cheery as could be on this sunny day. Still, Clara was grateful when her person stopped short of walking up to the clapboard building and mounting its three white steps. Not that she was easy with the way Becca stood on the sidewalk opposite, considering.

“I wonder who lives downstairs?” Becca voiced her thoughts. “And what they heard?”

This, her cat knew, could not end well. Surely, if the police were talking to Becca’s ex, then they must have interviewed the neighbors as well.

Of course, being a cat—and a shadowy one at that—Clara could check out the two lower apartments. In fact, she realized, it wouldn’t be difficult to slip inside the front door and at least take in the scents of the inhabitants.

The first floor, she could tell right away, was the home of an older woman. Even from here, she could sense that simply from the combination of aromas: peppermint tea and the sharp tang of a muscle rub, leavened with the not unpleasantly musty smell of old books. The couple on the second floor were likely academics, she figured, from the amount of paper rustling in the slight breeze that made its way inside. They’d been gone for several days, Clara gathered from the dearth of any other sound, as well as a certain stillness of the dust. Probably since Suzanne had been found there, she realized. Cats, like most humans, have an aversion to violence, but the parti-colored feline couldn’t quite understand why people would leave after an attack. Surely, that young couple—French, she decided, from some faint herbal quality to their kitchen—must have realized that the violence above them was over by the time they took off.

All she would have to do would be to cross the street. Clara took a deep breath. Cloaked as she was, no car would see her. Dare she risk it? For Becca she would, she decided, and glanced up at her person, only to see that she’d extracted her phone from her pocket.

“Hi, Nathan?” Startled, Clara sat back down on the sun-warmed sidewalk. “It’s me, Becca. I was thinking and, yes, I’d like to get together,” her person said. But all the time, the cat at her feet could easily see, the young woman was staring at the building before her.

Chapter 26

Nathan had been right. The coven had voted not to wait for the solstice. “None of us want to rush you, my dear, but it simply wouldn’t do to put off the inevitable,” Larissa had said when Becca reached her that afternoon, in response to the flurry of texts. “We need to focus on the goddess.”

“Too long to wait,” Maddy had interpreted, when Becca had explained to her friend why she’d be busy later. “She wants to get back to being the center of attention.”

“I gather everyone else agreed,” Becca protested mildly. Marcia, sequestered in her law office, had been particularly keen on acting sooner, Larissa had told her, and as soon as Marcia had spoken up, Ande and Kathy had chimed in too. Trent’s opinion wasn’t cited by the older wiccan, but Becca certainly wasn’t going to reach out to him after what had happened. If Larissa said they were all on board, she’d accept that.

“Like they had a choice?” Maddy snarked.

“You’ve not even met Larissa.” Becca didn’t really disagree with her friend’s assessment of the situation, but she did feel honor bound to speak up for the older woman. “That is, unless she works with you too.”

“Very funny!” Her friend had been wise enough not to take offense. “Just don’t stay out too late, okay? I want you to bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for your interview with old Reynolds.”

***

In truth, the sun had barely begun to set by the time the coven had gathered. However, the lengthening shadows did make it easier for Clara to follow as her person made her way to their meeting place by the river. The setting, the little cat had to admit, was perfect. Although cars roared by as commuters made their way home from work, the gently sloping bank was grassy and fragrant from the sprinkling of wild flowers along the verge. Already, the water reflected as much orange as blue, the surface broken only by the wake of a single sculler passing by, silent as a water bug.

“Becca.” Larissa had, as anticipated, taken charge, and was greeting each member of the coven as she arrived. Despite the usual handicap of draping sleeves and an impressive manicure, the dark-haired witch had already set up a small folding table with a jug of what looked to be cider and a plate of cookies that Harriet would have made quick work of. “Kathy.” The older woman nodded as the redhead came down the path. “Merry meet.”

“Merry meet,” Becca responded, spotting Ande over by the river’s edge. The tall accountant had her hands in her pockets and appeared to be staring at the reflections that wavered and took on new shape in the water before her. As Larissa began to fuss with the refreshments, Becca took a few careful steps down the sloped bank to join her, shuffling a bit on the slick grass to avoid losing her footing.

“Hey.” Ande turned from her reverie, and Becca had the oddly unnerving realization that she and the taller woman were eye to eye. “I mean, merry meet.”

“Hey, Ande. Merry meet to you too.” Becca took a deep breath, emboldened by this new equality. “I hear you voted for having the memorial tonight, Ande. I mean, as opposed to waiting for the solstice.”

“Well, yeah.” The glowing light warmed Ande’s skin, and she stared over the water as if she were remembering a good dream. “I mean, life goes on, right?”

“’Life goes on?’” Becca searched the other woman’s face. “No, Ande, something’s going on, but you can’t just dismiss it that easily.”

“What are you talking about?” Ande snapped to focus suddenly. “Becca, I know how horrible this has been—I mean, you found Suzanne.”

“You know it’s been horrible, but you’re not doing anything to help.” Becca spoke with quiet urgency. Up by the path, Larissa was getting louder. She wasn’t the most patient woman. “No, worse. You’re obfuscating things.”

“Obfuscating?” Her brow wrinkled.

“You know, making things muddy.”

“I know what obfuscating means.” Ande sounded sad rather than wounded. “I just don’t get what you mean.”

“You keep saying that Suzanne only wanted to talk to you about the coven finances, but that there wasn’t anything real there.” Becca fought to keep her voice low, even as her frustration mounted. “And you won’t come forward and tell the police about it. Meanwhile, I think they suspect me.”

“No, that’s ridiculous.” The tall accountant had the temerity to smile. “You’re…you’re so nice.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Becca wasn’t having it. “But Suzanne was seeing my ex, and they’ve heard that someone was stalking her, so…”

“Okay.” Ande raised her hands, signaling her to stop. “I’ll talk to the cops, I promise. I just really don’t think I have anything to contribute.”

“Thanks.” Becca turned to go when another thought stopped her in her tracks. “There’s not any reason you wouldn’t want to go to the cops, is there?”

“Me?” Ande smiled, her dark brows rising in mock surprise. “You mean, because I’m black?”

“I wasn’t…” Becca struggled, a bit flustered. “I just think there are too many secrets. Like, what’s going on with you and Marcia?”

“Me and Marcia?” Maybe it was the dimming light, but Ande appeared genuinely confused.

“You two are hiding something.” The conversation in the kitchen. The shared glances. Becca was sure of it.

Ande didn’t argue. “It’s—look, I can’t tell you. It’s not my secret to share. But yeah, Marcia has taken me into her confidence about something—and no, it’s not about Suzanne—”

“Ande, where were you last Saturday?” The question burst out of nowhere. Ande’s response—a startled laugh—surprised Becca even more.

“Saturday? I was with Marcia. She and Luz had me over for lunch. We were probably talking—even as…dear goddess, there was no way to know.”

“No, of course not,” said Becca. “So Luz was there too?” She hated herself for asking.

The taller woman tried a smile, but it didn’t reach the sadness in her eyes. “Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah, if you need confirmation. She was there.”

“Hey, you two.” Kathy stood on the top of the bank. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.” Ande turned for one more look at the river, where the orange was spreading over the blue. “Remembering.”

Becca nodded. “Isn’t that what we’re here to do?”

“Well, yeah.” Kathy turned back toward the main gathering.

With a sigh, Ande began to climb the bank, her voice sinking to a conspiratorial level. “Though I think Larissa has something a lot fancier in mind.”

Becca reached out to give the other woman a hand up. “I’m sure—and shouldn’t we get started soon?”

“You’re right.” Ande looked back once more at the calico reflections. “The sun is beginning to set.”

***

She was right. Already the light was changing, splashing the pale blue sky with orange and pink. For Clara, the increasing darkness was a blessing. Out here in the wild, she tended to be more cautious. A domestic cat could get in trouble, and besides, she didn’t want to give her person a scare. But although the tall weeds by the water’s edge stopped far short of the path, the play of shadows had given her an increased freedom, and even as her person returned to the cropped grass, the shaded feline lingered close to Becca’s feet. Close enough to pick up a tension that had not been alleviated by Ande’s capitulation—or her alibi.

“Finally!” Larissa’s growl would have done Harriet proud.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Trent?” Kathy looked around as the two joined the main party. “I mean, he is our leader.”

Larissa, raven brows lowered, shot her a look that by rights should have pushed her into the river. Only the sight of the bearded warlock, jogging down the path, stopped her rebuttal. “There he is, the little scamp,” she said.

“Sorry—ah, merry meet.” Breathing heavily, he forced a smile. Becca, Clara could see, was eying him carefully as the coven gathered and joined hands.

So was Larissa, who scowled as his hand went up reflexively to his open collar. “You’re not wearing your amulet,” she said, forgoing the usual greeting.

“No.” His long fingers played over the dark curls as if feeling for the missing piece. “I—the chain broke, and I have to get it fixed.”

“Ah.” Larissa sniffed, and for a moment Clara wondered if she could smell the blood that Harriet’s claws had drawn. “You should be careful with a piece like that.” The smile was back, only a slight rebuke in her voice. “It has power, you know.”

“I know.” His smile wasn’t quite as wide as usual, but before Clara could approach and attempt to sniff out anything about the man, Ande and Marcia had joined hands. For a moment, Becca seemed about to address them—the question in her eyes—but instead she turned toward Trent, and Clara had the distinct impression that she was going to apologize, yet again, for Harriet’s indiscretion. Only then Kathy reached for her hand and drew Becca in, linking her to Larissa and the others. Trent completed the circle, joining Becca and Ande, and Larissa began to speak.

“We are here today to celebrate our sister, Suzanne.” She looked around, her gaze taking in each of them in turn. “To remember her magic, and to return her to the stars.”

“Oh, brother.” Kathy’s whisper was audible to all.

“She was our sister in the mysteries we share.” Even as she kept talking, Larissa silenced the coven pet with a glare. “Mysteries that evoke the mysterious secrets we all share.” Becca, conscious of her status as the newest member of the group and suddenly very conscious of Larissa’s eagle eyes, held stock still as the older woman droned on. Beside her, Kathy struggled to contain her giggle.

“And as we watch the sun descend, so too we bid farewell to this stage of our sister’s being.” With the last of the light, Larissa seemed finally to be winding up. “Farewell, Suzanne,” she intoned in a voice that must have carried to the water’s edge and beyond. “Farewell!”

“Thank the goddess.” Ande’s exhalation was audible, even if its meaning was open to interpretation. And as Larissa turned toward her, she girded for the rebuke. “I mean, goddess be praised,” the other woman said.

“Goddess be praised.” Becca echoed the sentiment as the circle broke its bonds.

“What was that about?” Marcia sidled up to Becca as Trent wrestled with the bottle of cider Larissa had brought, her attention on the flamboyant pair. “I thought this was supposed to be focused on Suzanne.”

Becca couldn’t bring herself to disagree. “I’m beginning to realize I never really knew her.”

Marcia’s large, dark eyes peered up at her as she once more donned her cap.

“She wanted to talk to me about something,” Becca explained. “That last meeting. I never found out what it was.”

“Oh, I know.” A surprising smile. “She wanted to do a casting out.”

Becca’s jaw dropped in confusion.

“Because of your summoning spell. You know,” Marcia explained. “She was hoping you could help her.”

“In her personal life?” Becca couldn’t help thinking of Jeff. Casting out spells were to rid oneself of negative influences—or people.

“You mean, like she had mice in her apartment?” Marcia was in an exceedingly jolly mood despite the occasion.

It was contagious, and Becca found herself chuckling at the idea. “If that were the case, she wouldn’t need a witch. She could have borrowed my cats.” That was so close to an oxymoron that Clara’s tail twitched.

“No, I don’t think so.” Marcia leaned in again, her voice growing soft. “I think she was talking about the coven. Something—or someone—who wasn’t, well, right.”

“Trent!” Larissa’s shrill command cut through the growing dark, and Marcia rolled her eyes.

“I can think of a couple of candidates,” she whispered.

“A couple?” As soon as the words were out, Becca regretted them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s fine.” Marcia dismissed her slight cattiness. “I wasn’t just thinking of our queen bee. I mean, look at Trent. Doesn’t he seem to think he’s our end-all and be-all?” Becca didn’t get a chance to respond. “Really, what does he contribute?”

Clara watched as her person mulled over the possibilities. “He does have a certain charm,” she murmured, earning another dramatic roll of Marcia’s large, dark eyes. “I mean, who else?”

Even as she voiced the question, the answer hit her. Larissa might be overbearing and Trent a flirt. But it was Ande who had first told her about the coven’s financial irregularities and that Suzanne had been concerned. Becca wanted to trust her coven mate’s grudging promise that she would talk to the police. That didn’t mean she couldn’t check up on the alibi she’d given her.

“Marcia, Ande said she was with you last Saturday, when—” Becca broke off, unable to finish.

“Yeah.” The other woman sounded thoughtful, but a trace of a smile lit her face.

Becca paused, taken aback, and then forced herself to go on. “Was Luz with you too?” She winced as she asked the corroborative question, but in the fading light her pained expression was invisible to all but her cat.

“Well, yeah.” Marcia chortled. “You can ask her.”

“Ask Luz?” Becca turned, confused, only to see Ande approaching.

“I don’t think that was canon.” The taller witch joined them, in the guise of handing out the paper cups.

“It most certainly wasn’t,” agreed Marcia. “We were supposed to do a regular circle, invoking the elements, and then toast Suzanne after.”

“Hey, guys.” Kathy approached, jug of cider in hand.

As she filled their cups, Becca took the opportunity to ask, “Did you think that was odd?”

“What, that?” Kathy turned to look at Larissa, who seemed to be deep in discussion with Trent. “Someone likes to be center stage is all.”

“Maybe.” Ande and Marcia exchanged looks.

“That’s right.” Becca nodded. “Weren’t you saying there was something off—”

“Ande!” Larissa called. “Do you have those cups?”

“Don’t mind her.” Kathy took Becca’s arm, turning her away. “She’s a bit—I don’t know—she gets paranoid.”

“Larissa?” Becca gently detached herself from the younger woman’s grasp.

“No, Ande.” Even as Kathy lowered her voice, she gave the name her usual dramatic emphasis. “She can be a little obsessive.” Her voice sank to be quieter still. “I heard what she was saying, but I’m not sure I would believe it. I mean, accusing someone of embezzling? In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the police were looking at her, you know.”

Becca only paused a moment before responding. “No, she and Marcia were together that afternoon.”

The redhead’s eyebrows registered her surprise. “Really? Was Luz there too?”

“I…I think so, but I’m not sure.” Becca looked around as if searching for more confirmation, but Kathy was already reaching for her arm once more.

“Come on.” She led her away so quickly that Clara had to scurry to avoid being kicked. “Let’s get some of those cookies before they’re all gone.” She had a point. Marcia was already on her third. A gingerbread spice mix, Clara could tell, as she raised her black leather nose to the air. And even though Trent appeared more interested in the cider, Larissa was pushing a paper plate of the cookies toward him as the other women arrived.

“May I?” Kathy reached over to nab one. “Thanks.”

Becca, Clara observed, had hung back once Kathy had released her arm, and now sidled over to Trent.

“I’m sorry about your amulet.” She kept her voice low and dipped her head. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at the warlock’s chest. “And about Harriet.”

“Harriet?” His voice rose, puzzled.

“My cat.” Even in the growing dark, Clara could see that Becca was blushing, and that her own awareness of her rising color only made the flush worse. “The orange and white one.”

“Oh.” One hand went to his chest again, and Becca turned away. Clara wished she could tell the shy, sweet girl that her pink cheeks were barely visible to the other humans.

Trent must have sensed something, though, because as Becca moved away, he reached for her, and as if the warmth of his chest was carried through his fingers, she became redder still. “She doesn’t usually do things like that,” she said. And just for a moment, Clara had to wonder if her person was really talking about her sister cat.

“It was no big deal.” Trent’s voice was low too, almost as if he were sharing a secret. “It was just the chain for my—that thing.”

“Your amulet?” Becca chirped in what Clara thought of as her helpful voice, even as Trent’s mouth tightened in dismissal.

“And what are you two up to?” Larissa shoved the plate of cookies between them before he could respond.

“Nothing much.” Becca took a cookie. “Thanks.”

“Keeping yourself busy?” One dark brow arched in emphasis. The question appeared to be directed to Becca, but even as she spoke, the older woman turned to stare at Trent.

“I’m basically focusing on my research,” Becca offered when it became clear that the man at her side would remain silent. When Larissa’s brow rose further, she explained. “I’m kind of an amateur genealogist. I mean, I might as well use my research skills for something.” More silence, and Becca couldn’t avoid the awful suspicion that she was being judged. Something about those dark eyes and the raven-wing black of those brows. “And I’m looking for work still, of course.” Still nothing, and so she ventured on. “I called Graham today.”

The other woman blinked at that, so slowly that Clara almost thought she was a cat. “Your friend?” Becca offered.

“My mentor,” Larissa corrected her with a nod. “Of course. I’m so glad, dear. I’m sure he’ll look after you.”

“I hope so.” Becca sounded a little anxious. “He agreed to see me, but I’d hate to think that this was just because Suzanne—”

“Nonsense.” Now it was the older woman who was patting her arm, her lacquered nails nearly black in the fading light. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll make sure he knows how special you are.”

Becca swallowed so hard that Clara looked up in alarm. Humans didn’t have hair balls. She knew that, but the young woman before her was patently unnerved. Her older colleague didn’t seem to notice, however. In fact, she’d moved on to Trent and was leading him down toward the water.

“What was that?” Kathy again, her mouth full of cookie.

“Oh, I followed up with that job lead Larissa was telling me about.” Becca’s gaze followed the older woman as she walked away. “Only, well, I’m wondering if it’s a good idea. I’m not sure—” She stopped abruptly, and Clara’s ears perked up, the black sensor hairs inside tingling. “I’m not sure what kind of reference she’ll give me.”

“I get it.” Kathy finished the cookie and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, while Clara studied her human. Becca had changed her mind about what she’d been about to say, and her pet wanted to know why. But Kathy didn’t seem to notice. Leaning in, she dropped her usually brassy voice down into a conspiratorial hush. “Larissa uses her purse strings to control everyone, and you don’t want to just step into Suzanne’s shoes. I mean, talk about bad luck! Hey, why don’t you call my boss instead?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Becca turned, as if seeing the other woman for the first time. “I meant to tell you. I did reach out—Eric Marshfield, right? He said he’s not looking for anyone now.”

“Oh, gee, that’s my fault!” Kathy shook her girlish curls. “I’m so sorry. I meant to speak with him, first. He doesn’t know it yet, but one of the girls I work with is about to give notice—”

“I don’t know.” Becca cut her off.

“No, really.” Kathy’s smile wrinkled her freckled nose. “Eric needs someone. I’ll clear it up and get back to you.”

“Thanks.” Becca managed a smile. It was nearly full dark by then, and the party had begun to break up. “Do you think we should clean up?”

“Well, the cookies are gone.” Kathy seemed to lose interest, but she tagged after Becca as she collected paper plates and napkins into the bag that had transported the cider.

“Thanks, dear.” Larissa took the trash from her, folding the bag top over as she drew it close. “Would you like a ride home?” Marcia, Kathy, and Trent had already lined up behind her.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.” Becca turned around as if to seek a companion or, perhaps, Clara realized, to continue a discussion. But Ande was already gone.

Chapter 27

Clara woke the next morning with a start. “Something’s burning!” She mewed over to Harriet, who was still sacked out beside her, and went in search of Laurel and Becca.

“North, south, east…” She found Becca in the living room, waving around a bundle of smoldering twigs. “No, wait, that’s west.”

Laurel was observing from a safe distance, under the dining room table.

“What’s going on?” Clara asked her sister.

A flick of the tail. “Some spell she looked up to get rid of negativity.” The seal point turned and, leaving the room, whined in pure Siamese fashion. “More like she wants to get rid of us. That stinks.”

Any further complaint was cut off by a metallic shriek that sent Becca scrambling. After quickly dousing the sage bundle in the sink, she clambered onto a chair to silence the alarm and then opened the apartment’s front window.

The noise woke Harriet, who joined Clara and Laurel as their person wandered around the living room, fanning the air with a newspaper. “It’s not right, waking us like that and then not feeding us,” the sleepy marmalade grumbled with a yawn

“She will,” Clara reassured her. “She always does.”

“Wake me when she does.” Harriet settled in for a nap as Becca, a bit more tousled than usual, began her morning toilette. After watching her oldest sister curl up on the sofa, Clara found Laurel in the bedroom, where Becca was dressing.

It had taken Clara a few moments to understand what her sister was up to, those blue eyes focused so intently as their person rifled through her closet. Only after she’d taken out a halter-top sundress did Clara turn on Laurel with a hiss.

“What?” Laurel’s ears flicked back. Any interruption tended to dispel her ability to suggest thoughts. “You want her to succeed, don’t you?”

“Not like that.” Clara did her best not to growl. “It’s not that kind of meeting.”

“They’re all that kind of meeting.” Laurel turned her back on her sister, but despite her feigned nonchalance, that chocolate tail was already whipping back and forth.

Clara, who knew how much was at stake, wasn’t going to let this one go. “Laurel,” she hissed. No response beyond another flick of those dark ears. “Laurel!” The calico had raised her paw to smack her older sister on her café au lait behind when Harriet interrupted.

“Where’s our breakfast?” The big marmalade looked around as she lumbered over to the chair, where two discarded outfits had already been tossed—evidence of the battle being waged between her younger siblings. “Is she—are you two—going to keep this up all day?”

“No.” Turning away, Laurel began grooming, as if the appearance of her own dainty brown booties were all that mattered. “It’s hopeless.”

As Becca pulled a modish—but modest—skirt and matching jacket out of her closet, Clara sighed with relief. She hadn’t wanted to fight. Clara didn’t think her slinky seal-point sister was jealous of her own particular power—the ease with which she passed through walls and closed doors. But the calico did suspect that her sister would not stand to have her more mischievous wishes thwarted again. Luckily, not even Laurel would start an argument with Harriet about breakfast, and the bigger cat’s interruption had already broken her brief spell. No magic was required to remind Becca of her most important of duties, however, and while Harriet and Laurel were still face down in their dishes, Clara snuck out—catching Becca as she headed for her appointment.

***

Maddy was outside, leaning against a concrete pillar and smoking, when Becca got to the Central Square office where she worked.

“I thought you’d quit,” said Becca, stepping back after a quick embrace.

“I have, sort of.” Her friend stubbed out the butt and fanned the air. “But I wanted to catch you before you went in.”

Before Becca could comment on the logic of that particular excuse, her friend had reached out for her again, holding her at arm’s length while she surveyed Becca’s skirt and floral summer jacket.

“You look good.” Maddy nodded. “Too good for this place.”

Clara had to agree. As much as she disliked Laurel messing with their person’s thoughts, in this case, the lingering effects of her suggestion had been positive. Becca wasn’t what one would call stylish, but the skirt and jacket worked together nicely, giving the young woman a more mature, put-together look than what she might have otherwise chosen. If only the acrid smoke didn’t insinuate itself into the pretty fabric.

“Thanks.” Becca smoothed the already wrinkle-free front of the jacket and threw her shoulders back. “I want to make a good impression.”

“If anyone can…” Her friend glanced over at the building’s glass doors, shaking her head. “He’s in a mood. That’s why I wanted to catch you—to warn you.”

Becca’s brows shot up.

“Well, yeah, and to have a smoke. I mean, it’s, what, not even nine thirty and he’s already reamed out the entire team.”

Becca’s perfect posture slumped. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Still watching the door as if afraid of what might come out, Maddy shook her head. “Another fight with his ex, I think. I got in early—we really could use some extra help, you know—and I could hear them. I mean, he was on the phone, with his door closed, and I could still hear him. I think she lives in one of his properties and has an untrained dog or something. He was yelling about ‘a shorter leash.’ I know, it sounds stupid. Remind me to never get married.”

Becca opened her mouth to respond and wisely shut it again before her friend could see.

“Anyway, don’t mention pets.” Her friend turned back to face her, once more taking in Becca’s outfit, from shoes to hair. “Though maybe cats would be…no, just don’t. And you do look good. This weather, your hair has some curl to it. Once we get you a job, we’re going to go out and meet some decent guys.”

“But not to marry.” Becca raised her hand to cut off her friend’s objection, a grin perking her pink cheeks up further. “That’ll be great. Though I may have a prospect of my own.”

“Oh?” Maddy drew the syllable out till it dripped with inflection.

“I’ll tell you after.” Becca took a deep breath and once more brushed down her spotless jacket. In some ways, Clara thought with more than a touch of pride, her person was very like a cat. “Wish me luck!”

Becca certainly moved like a cat as she exited the elevator for the fourth-floor office. A wise cat, that is, who entered an unknown territory with some trepidation.

Head up and back a little stiff, she stepped carefully, craning around to get her bearings as she walked through the open archway marked Reynolds and Associates and looked around.

Maddy had told her about the office’s open plan. Beyond the receptionist’s desk, cubicles with low dividers filled the floor, while the boss’s office sat far in the back. His door was closed, although she could see the balding man pacing through the interior window. And though all around her heads bent over keyboards or focused intently on glowing screens, she—and presumably all the workers who appeared so focused on their terminals—could hear him yell, “Not one more penny!”

Becca swallowed. At least Maddy had warned her. But before she could even contemplate facing the monster beyond, she had to pass the gorgon at the gate.

“May I help you?” The tone got Becca’s attention, and she turned to find herself facing a pair of cat-eye glasses. Maddy had warned her about Ms. White. “Reynolds’s faithful attack dog,” had been her exact words. “If a dog wore sparkly glasses and too much lipstick.”

“Yes, please.” Becca summoned what she hoped was a placatory smile, her own lips feeling suddenly dry. “I have an appointment with Mr. Reynolds.”

“Risa, you’re not listening!” bellowed the voice from beyond the front desk.

“I’ll see if he’s in.” The gatekeeper turned, rhinestones sparkling, and made a show of fussing with her phone.

“That’s it! No more!”

In the silence that followed, Becca held her breath, her smile frozen in place. Finally, whether through habit or some change in lighting on the phone that only the gatekeeper could decipher, the bespectacled woman before her looked up again.

“Mr. Reynolds will see you now.” The corners of her crimson mouth wrinkled up slightly. Clara hoped it was in sympathy. “Good luck.”

Muttering what she remembered of the charm against ill fortune under her breath, Becca made her way across the office, skirting the low cubicles and avoiding the inquisitive gaze of the inhabitants who glanced up quickly as she passed, like so many timid mice.

Becca wasn’t feeling any braver by the time she’d crossed the floor and paused to take a deep breath before she knocked on the door. The bark that greeted her—“Who is it?” —didn’t help.

“Mr. Reynolds?” She stepped into what was actually a rather nice office. Although the balding, red-faced man behind the desk was as disheveled as she’d expected, matching the pile of papers scattered before him, the room itself was spacious and lit by the huge window opposite, which looked out on the river and the city beyond. “I’m Becca Colwin.”

Reynolds’ eyebrows bristled like caterpillars as he gestured toward a chair.

“Larissa Fox referred me?” She perched gingerly, back straight and ankles crossed.

“Oh, yeah, Larissa.” He looked down at his desk and began to shuffle through the papers there. “One of Larissa’s pets, huh?”

He didn’t say it like he was expecting an answer, and so Becca held back, waiting until he found what appeared to be a printout of her resumé before proceeding. “As you can see, I’m experienced in research—”

“No master’s, though.” Reynolds frowned and flipped the page over, though if he hoped to find the answer on the back, Becca knew he’d be disappointed. “I’m looking for someone with an advanced degree.”

“I understand.” Becca had rehearsed this bit with her cats. “But I’m sure you’ll agree that three years of experience conducting multi-platform research has taught me the requisite practical skills that a graduate degree might not.

“Besides…” She paused, and Clara’s ears perked up. Usually, she had stopped by this point. “Someone with a graduate degree might not want to get her hands dirty. But I’m not afraid of doing off-site research, digging through any kind of files. City archives, paper, microfiche, you name it. I’m very motivated.” She paused again. “I really need this job.”

The caterpillars separated as the man before her flashed a grin that was like sunshine through the storm clouds. Even his color began to improve. “And I can pay you less than someone with more letters after their name too, I bet.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve got more grit than my ex, I’ll give you that. She expects everything to be given to her, or to her pets.”

Clara could tell that Becca was holding her breath. Maybe Reynolds could too, but he appeared lost in thought.

“Ah, at least you’re—wait, you must know that other girl. The one who…” He waved one stubby hand around as if to summon the name from the air around him.

“Maddy Topsic?” Even as she said it, Becca caught herself. Suzanne had worked here too, of course. Clara could almost see the shadow cross his mind. What was it Kathy had said? “You don’t want to just step into Suzanne’s shoes.”

But Reynolds accepted her answer. “Maddy, yeah. She’s a good kid. Takes too many smoke breaks, but she gets her work done.”

Becca’s sigh of relief was audible, and the man before her smiled in earnest—and then sniffed audibly. “You smoke too? Never mind.” He waved off his own question. “Look, I’m not promising anything. But let me take a look at what’s going on, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

His eyebrows went up again at that, but he kept silent. Only as Becca rose to take her leave did he call after her. “Oh, Becca?” She turned and waited. “You might not want to use the name Larissa that much. Her credit around here is kind of used up.”

***

Although she must have seen Maddy’s eyes peeping over the carpeted cubicle on her way out, Becca kept on walking. Not until she was out on the sidewalk again did she stop, leaning back against the column where she’d found her friend, to take a deep, calming breath. She’d been trembling, Clara realized, and it required all the little cat’s discipline to keep from rubbing against her in soft comfort.

She wasn’t the only one. As soon as Becca had her breath, her phone rang.

“How was it?” Maddy was on the line, the sound muffled as if she had her hand over the receiver.

“I think he liked me.” Becca sounded surprised.

“Of course he did!” A little louder, before sinking back down again. “But what about the job?”

“He said he’d let me know. I think, maybe, I got it.” Becca paused as she reviewed the conversation. “I think he was starting to ask me about Suzanne. Only I kind of spaced when he asked if I knew anyone there. I mean, I only found out she worked with you after she, well, anyway, I just said you.”

“Great.” Maddy didn’t sound like she meant it. “I hope I didn’t sink you.”

“No, not at all. In fact, he said you were a good worker or something.” A snort on the other end of the line. “I don’t think Larissa’s reference was good for much, though. He made some comment about her.”

“It got you in the door, though.” Maddy’s voice was philosophical. “Maybe she put a spell on him?”

“That’s not what we’re supposed to use our magic for, Maddy.”

Another snort, and her friend asked. “So, what’s this about a possible romance? Please tell me you’re not giving Jeff another chance.”

“No, no way.” Becca began walking, her face up to the sun. “This is, well, it’s not exactly a date. But I am getting together Sunday with someone I met recently, just to talk.”

“You didn’t tell me about anyone.”

Becca bit her lip. Clara knew she didn’t like lying, but what she was doing was close. “He’s, well, it’s the guy I met the day that Suzanne—the painter. The one I went out for coffee with.”

“I don’t know, Becca. Going out with someone you met at a crime scene—”

“He’s a witness, Maddy, same as I am. He’s been trying to help the police too. And I’ll be careful.” She rushed that last bit in before her friend could interrupt.

“At least it’s not Jeff.” Maddy’s approval was, at best, begrudging. But Becca looked relieved at the change in topic.

“Speaking of, I didn’t tell you the latest, Maddy. Jeff’s been acting really weird. I think he’s trying to throw suspicion on someone in my coven.” The line fell silent. “Maddy?”

She paused, waiting for her friend to respond.

“Look, Becca.” The humor was gone from Maddy’s voice. “You know what I think about Jeff, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier about what a cheating sack of whatever he is. But I’d almost prefer him to some stranger you just met. You’re a little too close to this investigation. I know you think you have some insight, but remember, Becca, a girl was murdered, and I wouldn’t trust anybody who might have been in the position to hurt her.”

Chapter 28

Maddy’s warning notwithstanding, over the weekend, Becca settled down to what had become her daily routine of online research. By Sunday, even Clara’s sisters were beginning to wonder if their person would ever leave the couch again.

“What’s she doing?” Laurel stretched, extending her slim café au lait body along the back of the sofa as she craned over toward Becca’s shoulder. “Doesn’t she have a date coming up?”

“That’s hours away. She’s doing research.” Clara sounded a bit smug as she snuggled against her person’s thigh. In truth, the little calico had only the slightest idea what Becca did as she tapped the machine on her lap, but as her person clicked away, she had recognized the family portrait—and her own feline forebear—as it surfaced once more. From that one startling image and from Becca’s various comments as she summoned other, similar sights, she’d gleaned that the young woman was once more looking into her own past and, unintentionally, that of the feline sisters. How this slim machine helped her do that might well be Becca’s own form of magic, the plump calico mused. Besides, Clara acknowledged as she shifted to make herself even more comfortable, the computer was warm.

“I wonder if I should tell the coven about my family…” Becca stared at the screen. “I mean, it might explain the spell.”

Neither Laurel nor Clara knew exactly what she was talking about. And Harriet, snoozing as usual, didn’t care. But as Becca scrolled through the pages, she found herself torn. Her latest find—a newspaper clipping from 1926—had been tantalizing in the extreme. A Rebecca Horne Colwin—her own great-grandmother—had “miraculously” survived a fire that had destroyed her house. She’d emerged from the wreckage, the clipping read, clutching her “favorite mouser” to her breast.

“Of course she went back,” Becca commented as she scrolled over the scanned clip. “She had to rescue her cat.”

Clara and Laurel exchanged a glance. “Never mind,” Clara purred softly. “We know who did the rescuing.”

Becca was too absorbed to notice as the seal point nearly barked in reply. The use of the word “miraculous” was unusual, she thought, as she made a note to check if such speculation would have been common in the newspapers of the day. Maddy had been the documents specialist, back when they were in school. But even as she typed out her query, she found herself wondering if the author—or the authorities—had meant to imply something else. A woman, living alone with her cat, might be suspected of many things, even in the supposedly enlightened twentieth century. Might “miraculous” be interpreted as “suspicious”? If the fire had taken place a hundred and fifty years earlier, would Becca’s ancestor have been thrown back in, to be burned as a witch?

“They probably didn’t know about arson then.” Becca’s fingers floated about the keyboard. “But it can’t hurt…” With a few strokes, she sent off the query. Maddy might scoff at Becca’s interest in Wicca, but surely, she’d help her friend dig into what looked like a particularly interesting bit of family history.

“I wonder if I can make this into a screensaver?” With a tap-tap-tap, she’d enlarged it. “Wow, look at that, Clara.” The little cat raised her head to see. “Doesn’t that kitty look just like you?”

Laurel stared down as Clara debated her answer. No, she couldn’t actually tell their person that, yes, the “famous mouser” in the photo was a foremother of Clara and her two sisters. Nor could she explain Becca’s mistake to her—that it wasn’t the woman in the photo whose magic had saved her life and her cat’s. It was the woman’s calico familiar who had managed to extract them both when that earlier Rebecca Colwin’s attempts at a warming spell had gone so badly astray during one chilly New England night. That didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted to try.

“Don’t you dare.” Laurel reached down, claws extended. Even as the sisters squabbled over how they could use their powers—and both Laurel and Harriet did tend to favor relaxation over rigor—they all were well aware of the cardinal rule: no cat could reveal the basic truth about magic to a human. “If you think you’ll get a pass just because she has the same stupid markings…”

“I won’t.” Clara ducked her head and resumed her position, curled against Becca’s leg. As much as she wished she could communicate with her person, it was neither possible nor advisable. Still, if she could only get Becca to stop trying out spells, it would be something. As the three cats knew, magic was for felines. And once again, Clara regretted that her oldest sister had not taken more care with her particular skill.

“I wonder…” Becca was looking at the pillow Harriet had summoned. For once, the fat marmalade wasn’t sleeping on it. She’d dropped off while sunning on the sill, instead. But it didn’t take magic to understand the import of that glance. Between the clipping and that soft apparition, Becca was thinking of trying a spell again.

When the phone rang, Clara looked up at Laurel. Her sister’s blue eyes blinked back, blameless. “Not me,” she purred beneath her breath, not that Clara was sure she believed her.

“Becca, it’s me.” Maddy sounded frazzled. “We’ve got to talk.”

“You know, I was just thinking of you.” Becca, on the other hand, seemed inordinately pleased. “In fact, I was wishing you would call. I wonder if perhaps the key to a summoning is—”

“Becca!” Her friend cut her off. “You didn’t ‘summon’ me. I’ve been meaning to call you, all right? Even before you emailed. I keep thinking of you going out with that painter guy tonight. You’re not still thinking of doing that, are you?”

“Yeah, I am. But not—wait, Maddy.” Her friend had started to sputter. “Maddy, I should explain: it’s not really a date date. I have questions for him. Questions that the police might not know to ask.”

***

Only after Becca promised that she would meet the cute painter in a public place, and would check in immediately after, did her friend calm down. But whether it was because the cats’ determined person was planning some high-level sleuthing or some other reason that Clara couldn’t discern, Becca seemed unable to concentrate after her conversation with her friend. Instead, she spent the rest of the afternoon fussing as she hadn’t in months, redoing her hair and picking over her clothes, before settling on a perfectly fine outfit that Clara hadn’t seen before.

“Don’t look at me.” Laurel sat beside her younger sister in the bedroom doorway, watching their person get dressed. She flicked her tail in the feline equivalent of a shrug and began to bathe.

“Don’t tell me she’s going out again.” Harriet had joined them on the bedroom rug, having woken from her nap hungry.

“I’m sure she’ll remember to feed us,” said Clara, who had her own mixed feelings about the evening. “Besides, she won’t be out late.” She’d gathered that much from the phone conversation.

“No matter.” Harriet turned. “I’ve got things to keep me busy too, you know.”

As Clara watched her stump off, fluffy tail sweeping the air as she walked, she couldn’t avoid a niggling tickle of fear. Harriet never had anything more important on her mind than food. Nothing that didn’t immediately gratify, at any rate.

But when her sister’s exit was followed by the soft thud that indicated she’d landed on the sofa, Clara did her best to turn her focus elsewhere. Harriet wasn’t likely to get them into any trouble in one of her favorite napping spots, no more than she already had anyway. It was Becca who was going off to meet a strange man. Never mind that he smelled pleasant—Clara thought of the trees by the river—the painter had been there, at Suzanne’s apartment, the day she had met her violent end. And nothing about that scene had ended well for anyone.

Still, Becca had a bounce in her step as she bid the kitties farewell and headed down to the street. Harriet was still nestled into the sofa as she left, but even Laurel didn’t try to stop Clara from following her.

“If it were a little darker, I’d join you,” said the older cat, licking her cream-colored belly. “You know I would.”

“Of course,” lied Clara, touched by her sister’s concern, and then leaped into the growing dusk.

Becca was, as she’d promised, careful. She circled the block twice before entering the little café. Still, Nathan had gotten there before her. Clara heard her sharp intake of breath as he stood and waved with a smile.

“I got here a few minutes early.” He reached to pull out Becca’s chair, only bumping it into her. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Becca arranged herself and looked around. “Did you order?”

“I thought I’d wait. Shall I get?” He stood again, but she held out her hand to stop him.

“No, I will.” Good girl! Clara thought, silently thanking Maddy for her warning. As nice as this man smelled and as harmless as he’d proved to be at that first coffee date, it never paid to take chances. Besides, in five minutes, the pair were seated again, heads together over mugs of mocha.

“I know it’s supposed to be a winter drink, but…” Nathan sipped, then licked the foam moustache.

“I know, right?” Becca agreed, appearing to relax. But when he reached forward, as if to place his hand over hers, Becca drew back. “Hey, Nathan, may I ask you about that day?”

“The day your friend was killed?” His voice had gotten serious.

Becca nodded. “I was talking to my ex.” Her words sounded rehearsed, and Clara realized that in fact the young woman had been practicing her approach that afternoon. “And he told me that the police seem to suspect my—well, the group of friends that I know Suzanne from.”

It wasn’t the best explanation, but Nathan appeared to accept it. Clearly, there was more coming.

“I was wondering if you could tell me again in detail what you heard that day. What you saw.”

There was no chance of hand holding now. The young man seated opposite her didn’t leave or protest. But after taking a deep breath, he stared down into his mug, as if the answer was written there. Then he began to talk.

“You know that I didn’t see what happened. Or who,” he added quickly. “I mean, yeah, I saw you go in, because I’d noticed you. But otherwise…” Even in the noisy coffeehouse, a silence hung between them.

“But you heard something?” Becca didn’t have magical powers. She was, however, a perceptive young woman.

Nathan nodded. “There was that phone call that I told you about. An argument—but that was hours before. And there might have been something else. Right before you came by, I had my music on, but there was a moment between songs. I heard—I thought I heard—that poor woman arguing with someone.”

“With who?”

He shook his head, as if disappointed with himself. “I put it wrong. In truth, I only heard her—your friend. I’m pretty sure I recognized her voice. She used to say hi to me.” He paused for a shy smile. “So I thought it was her, and that she was yelling at someone—but it was so brief. Just a few words.”

Becca stared at him, willing him to go on.

“I told the cops all this. I can’t be sure. Something about ‘him’ and ‘tech,’ maybe. Or ‘protect.’ It could have been either. All I know is that she was angry and she was yelling at someone. It was so brief, I wasn’t even really sure I heard anything, but in retrospect, maybe I did. Maybe I heard her yelling at someone who was in the room with her.”

“Tech?” Becca barely breathed the word. “My ex is in tech.” She bit her lip. “If he didn’t break up with her, then maybe there was another man. Maybe he knew…” She looked up at the painter, a horrible suspicion dawning on her face.

“But he called you, right?” Nathan interrupted the runaway train of thought. “You said he called and you answered, as you went in?”

“Uh-huh.” Becca drew out both syllables. Clara could almost see the thoughts going through her mind: Maybe it was the other man. Someone else who knew Suzanne. Who knew them all…

“Well, then he wouldn’t—it would’ve been too obvious.” Nathan’s answer was overly hearty, as if he were trying to convince himself. “I mean, to call you right after…” The words died out, but his meaning was obvious.

“Unless he saw me and wanted to stop me from going up. From finding her. He said he was at his place, but he didn’t want me to come over.” A high, nervous note had entered Becca’s voice, a sound that made Clara want to draw her away to safety and peace. “Maybe he was really hiding nearby—”

“No, wait.” Nathan must have heard it too. He reached across the table and took her wrist. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Becca. You’re angry at your ex, so it makes sense you’d suspect him. But be sensible. He’s worried about you. He’s the one who told the police it might be someone from your coven, right?”

“Yeah.” Becca exhaled, the tension easing audibly. And then just as quickly, she jumped up, pulling her hand back as fast as if he had bitten it.

“Coven?” She barked out the word. “How did you know I was in a coven? Unless you knew it from Suzanne.”

“No, wait.” Nathan shook his head, as if he could dismiss his error, but it was too late. Becca’s chair had already toppled backward as she fled out the door.

Chapter 29

“Becca, what’s wrong?” Maddy’s anxiety only riled the cats up more. All three had been orbiting Becca since she’d run in, slamming the door behind her, and nothing Clara could do would calm her sisters—or the young woman who panted into the phone. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” Becca leaned back on the door. Speaking made her breathe, at least, and that helped to calm her slightly. “Just—Maddy, I think you were right. I think Nathan, the painter, might have murdered Suzanne.”

“Wait, what?” The response was so loud, Harriet stopped in her tracks, and Clara almost bumped into her as she stared up at their person. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone out with him. Him or that other witch guy. They’re both trouble.”

“No, Trent is—I don’t know what Trent is.” The distraction seemed to help Becca too. Stepping over the heap of Harriet, she proceeded into the living room, and Clara jumped to the sofa, hoping to claim the cushion next to their person before Laurel could. To her surprise, it was Harriet who barreled up next to her, shoving her out of the way.

“Mine!” Even before Becca sat down, the big cat had settled, spreading herself over one sofa cushion, while one white paw hooked over its padded edge.

“Never mind.” Clara could visualize the other woman waving off the digression. “Tell me what happened with the painter.”

“It was so weird.” Becca was still talking as she reached over to stroke Harriet’s orange and white fur. “I didn’t have any sense—I mean, I trusted him.”

Clara eyed her sister. Harriet didn’t seem to be enjoying the absentminded stroking that Clara would have reveled in. More than that, however, she seemed intent on holding her place even as Becca shifted.

“Yes, I know he was at Suzanne’s building. But the police had questioned him and everything.” She turned further as she spoke, but Harriet didn’t budge, hanging onto the edge of the sofa cushion with one snowy paw. “It was strange, Maddy. It started off with him telling me something else he heard that day. Something he hadn’t told me before. He said he told the cops, but I only have his word for it. And there’s something else…”

More high-pitched chatter from the other line.

“He—and, please don’t say it—but he knew something he shouldn’t.” Becca closed her eyes, as if the memory was painful. “When we met, he’d said he didn’t know her—that they’d only said hi once or twice. I didn’t want him to think I was too flakey, so I’d only told him that Suzanne and I were in a group together. I’m sure of it. But he mentioned the coven, Maddy. He knew Suzanne better than he let on, and, no, I don’t think that’s the kind of the thing the police would know to ask him about.”

Clara didn’t have to listen to get the gist of Maddy’s response. She agreed that Becca was probably too trusting. What she didn’t agree with was that the young woman should probably avoid men for a while. After all, Clara had liked Nathan’s sweet-sharp pine scent and gentle voice as well. But Becca was responding.

“Also, he knows Larissa, which is suspicious. Unless…” She paused, and there was silence on the other end. “Larissa gave him my number. She could have told him about Suzanne, about the coven too. Oh, Maddy, do you think I made a mistake? Do you think I just ran out on a nice guy for no reason?”

“Becca, a woman was killed, and you’re worried that you weren’t polite?” The answer came back loud and clear, and for once, Clara had to agree.

“I guess you’re right.” Becca’s hand was resting on Harriet’s broad back, and Clara waited for her sister to jump down. “At any rate, I should write Larissa a thank you—for the job recommendation, I mean.”

“Maybe hold off.” Clara barely heard Maddy’s response as she focused on her sister. Harriet didn’t like steady pressure on any part of her broad anatomy. If she didn’t move soon, she was liable to bite. “I asked Reynolds about new hires and he said something about a new guy coming in: a new guy.”

“Maybe he meant generically?” Becca switched hands on the phone, and Clara breathed a sigh of relief. “A new person?”

“I don’t think so. He said something about a fox in the henhouse. I gather the other candidate is coming in next week. I’m sorry, Becca. It’s all marketing research anyway. Not the kind of thing you should be doing. I mean, do you really care who is spending more than they can afford?”

Clara longed to lean in and comfort her person. If only Harriet would give way.

“Well, I would have, but it’s okay.” Becca shrugged. “That job was a long shot for me anyway.”

“Look, I’ll see what I can find out.” There was an edge in Maddy’s voice that made Clara think of Laurel and her dirty tricks. “We’re not giving up just yet, kiddo.”

Chapter 30

Her friend’s words didn’t have an immediate effect. Either that, or Laurel was using her powers of suggestion to keep their person nearby, because Becca spent most of the day on the sofa, skimming job sites and the occasional kitten video. But the young woman was too resilient to be thrown for long, and when Tuesday broke with sunny promise, she was up and dressed before any of her cats had finished their morning toilette.

“Another date?” Laurel paused in her routine, paw extended behind her ear.

“I don’t think so.” Clara tried to hide the worry in her voice. Laurel’s plans for their person did not align with what her younger sister saw as Becca’s best interest. To cover, she began to lick her paw.

“You just did that one.” Laurel’s blue eyes didn’t miss much. “What are you hiding?”

“Bye, kitties!” Becca called. It was a habit, nothing more, but Clara still looked up—and felt a paw weighing down on her tail.

“Talk,” said her sister.

“Yeah.” Harriet had ambled over. “Talk.” From the way the plump orange and white cat was licking her chops, Becca suspected she’d been cleaning the breakfast dishes rather than her luxurious fur. Still, if she was going to trail Becca, Clara had to rally her sisters to her side and fast.

“I think this has to do with that man she was out with the other night.” This was for Laurel, whose tail lashed once, back and forth, in interest. “He’s been texting her. Though it could be a shopping trip.” That was for Harriet. But the plan almost backfired.

“Wait a minute.” Harriet wasn’t usually that quick on the uptake, but when food was involved she didn’t let much get past her. “You’re just saying that…”

“Look, if you want to join me, you can.” Already, Becca’s footsteps were growing fainter. “I’m simply worried about her. And she is our responsibility.”

Harriet looked at Laurel, and Laurel stared back. Clara held her breath, whiskers trembling. Becca was almost out of earshot already. But the little calico had hit on the one truth that all real cats know. Laurel lifted her paw, and in a flash, Clara was out the door, ignoring both its wooden solidity and the latch that had locked it shut.

“Make sure she brings back treats!” Harriet called after her youngest sibling, but she was already gone.

***

Quickly fading her orange patches to grey, Clara did her best to blend in with the morning’s shadows. Still, in her haste, she nearly tripped a young mother, busy with her toddler, and had to act fast to dodge a bike messenger cutting across the sidewalk to avoid construction. Her haste paid off, however, as she caught a whiff of Becca’s clean, warm scent and—soon after—the sight of her dark curls bobbing through the crowd.

“Maddy’s right,” she was saying to herself in a voice too soft for any human ear to catch. “I need to get back to work—at least on my own work. It’s too easy to rely on web searches, and how can I expect anyone to hire me if I don’t keep up with primary sources?”

Her musing and her stride were cut short by the buzz of her phone. For although the young woman kept up her jaunty pace as she fished the device out of her pocket, a quick glance at the screen stopped her cold.

“No!” she exclaimed before even answering. “I’m just—no.” She shoved the phone back into her pocket and shut her eyes. By the time she opened them, a few seconds later, her phone had ceased its buzzing. “I’ll call them back later,” she promised out loud. “Even the police can’t expect everyone to take every call.”

But it was with a more tentative step that she set out. And when a car drove slowly by, she stopped once more. Black and white at its ends, with a slash of gold in the middle, it resembled nothing so much as a calico like herself, Clara thought. Only the sight of the vehicle—or maybe it was the words written on its side—had Becca gasping.

“They can’t…” She paused, her thought unfinished, and turned slowly to check out the road behind her. “Are the police following me?”

Clara had never really envied either of her sisters their particular powers before. Right now, though, she wished she were better at suggestion. Watching her person, frozen with indecision—or could it be fear? —was heartrending. Surely, the appearance of the cruiser, coming right after that rejected call, was coincidental. Besides, she thought, no one could suspect the sweet young woman of murdering her friend, no matter what her unfaithful ex may have suggested to the police.

“Jeff.” One word, spit out like a pill, and Becca turned to walk quite purposefully in the opposite direction. As Clara realized where she was heading, she had to wonder if perhaps she possessed some of Laurel’s skill after all.

***

“Jeff Blakey, please.” Becca stood at the steel and glass front desk of the Kendall Square startup. Before the purple-haired receptionist could do more than open her mouth, she continued. “Tell him Becca Colwin is here.”

“Right away.” The receptionist, who couldn’t have been much more than Becca’s age, bent her over the phone and turned away as much as she dared. “Jeff?” Clara, if not Becca, heard her quite clearly. “There’s a girl here to see you. I think she’s upset.”

“I’m not…” Becca bit back the end of her sentence and began drumming her fingers on the hard surface. “Thank you,” she said when the receptionist looked up again, the jewel in her pierced nose glittering.

“He’ll be right out.” The receptionist blinked and then turned quickly away.

“Maybe he does think I’m dangerous.” Becca’s faint murmur was nearly drowned out by the tattoo of her drumming, but she kept it up until her ex pushed open a glass door to step into the reception area.

“Becca.” He flipped his hair back. “I wasn’t—did we have a date?”

“I need to speak with you.” Becca pointed to the office exit. “Now.”

***

“Why did you think it was someone in the coven?”

Jeff had appeared surprised when Becca stopped immediately outside the tech central building. When she turned to confront him in her sternest voice, he could only blink in astonishment.

“Jeff Blakey, you answer me.” Becca had her arms crossed as she questioned her ex and her stance wide, almost as if she would block him from walking on. “What made you think it was one of us?”

“I don’t know.” The lanky young man looked down, his hair falling once more in his eyes. “I was just talking, I guess.”

“Just talking?” Becca’s eyes narrowed, rather like Laurel’s, her usual smile long gone as her mouth settled in a firm line. “To the police?”

“Well, I told you what Suzanne said.” As he spoke, Jeff glanced back at his office, though whether he was afraid of being overheard or hoping for an opportunity to bolt back in was beyond Clara. “You know, about someone following her. And I didn’t want the police to think it was me.”

“You didn’t mind them thinking it was me though.” A bitter note had crept into Becca’s voice. “And they evidently believed you. Did they just take you at your word?”

“Oh, honey.” Instead of answering, he made the mistake of reaching for her. Laurel couldn’t have slapped him down that fast. “I’m…I’m sorry, Becca. I wasn’t thinking. I thought I was in the clear, and so when they called me in again, I guess I panicked.”

At that, Becca stared at him so hard that Clara began to wonder if her person really did possess magical powers.

“Be honest now,” she said, folding her arms again. This time, Clara saw her make a discrete sign with her hands that she knew her person had first seen in one of her books. “Did you hurt Suzanne?”

“No, I did not.” He actually faced her as he spoke and that, more than any supposedly magical gesture, convinced Clara, if not Becca, that he was most likely telling the truth.

Or at least part of it. “So, why, Jeff? And don’t hold back.”

The young man before her sighed, as if he could deflate and disappear, and then craned around once in a fruitless search for an escape. “Okay, I hurt her. But not like that!” He rushed to counter Becca’s panicked response. “Look, I wasn’t the best—I should never have been with her. I was thinking about you, really. And I thought she had picked up on that.”

Becca waited, her skepticism showing on her face.

“She said something about how she’d found out something—something unexpected.”

“Did it have to do with money?” Becca interrupted. “With funds going missing?”

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” Her ex looked thoroughly miserable. He didn’t even bother brushing away the hair that fell, limp, over his eyes as he slumped forward. “All I know was that she said she’d stumbled on to something that was supposed to be a secret.

“She never told me what it was.” He spoke softly now, as if talking to himself. “I thought it was about me. About something I’d done, and then, adding it together with her saying that someone was following her, I thought that maybe you–”

“A secret. And you thought—” Realization was dawning on Becca as she recounted what her ex had said. “You didn’t want me coming over to your place that Saturday. You thought that I might have been stalking Suzanne, and that the cops might have thought you were. And for all your protestations, it seems you must have an alibi that you don’t want to tell me about. Jeff Blakey, you were cheating on Suzanne too. Weren’t you? That’s why she took down all her photos from Facebook. Photos of the two of you. She dumped you—and you, you had another girl at your place on the Saturday that Suzanne was killed. Maybe even when you called me.”

“It was all wrong with Suzanne from the start.” He didn’t even bother to deny it. “I never should have—I missed you, Becca. It just took me all that to realize how much you meant to me. I’m so sorry. I never should have broken up with you. I never should have said anything about you to the cops.”

“No, Jeff, you shouldn’t have. But you did.”

When he reached once more for her hand, she pulled away without any sign of regret.

“Goodbye, Jeff. Take care of yourself.” She didn’t, thought Clara, even sound that sad.

Chapter 31

Jeff had stood, watching, as Becca walked away without looking back. Her cat had been particularly proud of the way she had strode off, as confident as a tabby in the clear fine day.

But as soon as she’d turned the corner, Becca’s shoulders slumped. And while Clara didn’t see any tears on her dear person’s cheeks, she could tell from the way her lips trembled and how she jammed her hands into her pockets that she was fighting to hold them off.

Once again, Clara wished for Laurel’s powers—or at least the freedom to show herself and cheer her person with a head butt and a purr. Maybe some of that translated, however, because before long, Becca was standing straighter. Soon, she even caught herself—looking around as if realizing where she was—and spoke aloud. “Research,” she said. “Time to get back to work.” And when she turned and began walking with a sense of purpose, Clara trotted along, out of sight but cheered beyond measure.

The word spoken by the young woman meant little to the cat. The idea of research, as well as work, for that matter, is foreign to felines. Clara, like her sisters, had gained her in-depth knowledge of the world through instinct, as much as observation. However, what she did understand as well as she knew her own whiskers were her sacred obligations to the young woman ahead of her, not only as royalty but as a pet. The fact that she also loved Becca, with her earnest intentions and gentle voice, only made these duties more pressing.

Clara knew she had her sisters to turn to if anything were to happen to Becca. But neither the fluffy Harriet nor the sly Laurel could ever replace the petite brunette with the curly hair and the gentle voice, for all her all-too-human bumbling. Clara had spoken the truth when questioned by her sisters. She didn’t know what Becca had planned, or where she was going—she certainly could not have anticipated that detour with Jeff. But thinking of that uncomfortable confrontation, Clara felt her apprehension growing, as Becca picked up her pace, pushing along crowded sidewalks and then—with barely a pause—dashing across a busy street. Becca meant well, but her less-than-feline senses didn’t pick up the dangers that Clara’s did. Her kind heart was too trusting, her manner too open. For a small creature—and the young woman was relatively small in the greater scheme of things—she was positively careless. Or so Clara thought as the young woman turned from the street toward a looming red stone building and trotted up the wide steps as if unafraid of whatever she might find inside.

***

Clara made it in before the heavy door slammed shut, in time to see Becca approach a carved wooden barrier that stood waist-high, barely containing the aged dragon inside.

“Records, please?” Becca approached and the creature looked up, her scowl hinting at unimagined terrors. Amazed at the valor of the young woman she loved, Clara drew back. Only her devotion to the girl kept her from running.

“Third floor,” said the dragon, and went back to her newspaper.

Clara watched as Becca began ascending the wide steps. These were a challenge for the cat, as they offered little shadows and no place to hide. And while they weren’t as crowded as the city sidewalk, there were plenty of people walking both up and down. A feline, even a magical one, might be noticed here.

Still, when Becca turned onto the landing, Clara knew she had to act. With a mad dash she leaped up the stairs two at a time. “What!” A woman gasped, causing her companion to turn in alarm.

“I thought…” The woman gaped around her, pushing her glasses higher up on her nose. “Never mind,” she said. But by then, Clara was gone.

She found Becca one flight up, inside a large room lined with files. Although the flickering blue light of the overhead fluorescents didn’t offer much in terms of shadows, this room was at least quieter. Indeed, the blue-haired woman behind the counter appeared to be asleep.

“Excuse me?” Becca’s voice was soft. Living with cats, she had practice at gently interrupting a nap. Not until the woman blinked up at her did she continue. “I’d like to make a records search.”

Records. Suddenly, it all became clear. Reassured now of her person’s purpose, Clara found a corner by the window as Becca filled out paperwork. So this is what her person did at work, Clara thought to herself, watching as Becca took what looked like a large bound journal over to a table and began making notes onto a pad. From the way she tilted her head and bit her lip, it was easy to see the young woman was deeply engaged, and the scratching of her pencil certainly sounded industrious. Watching her, Clara realized that her person had a rich interior life of her own, something her cat had never fully realized. This made her respect Becca and love her even more. It also, if she was being honest, made her a little sleepy.

“Thank you, yes. The family name is Horne—Horne or Horne Colwin.” Clara jumped. She must have fallen asleep. Becca was standing before the clerk again, only this time she was handing back the large journal. In its place, the blue-haired woman offered her a box. Even from where she sat, Clara could smell dust and age—and something else as well. A certain familiar spice that drew her over to the table where, once again, Becca sat as she began to go through the papers within.

“Here it is,” she muttered to herself as she made another notation in her book. “Marriage and household…1749.” Clara’s ears pricked up. Cats may not be the best with dates, but some years were not to be forgotten. “Rebecca Horne and…Mistress Greybar?”

Becca pushed her chair back with a squeak that made Clara flinch. “That doesn’t make sense.” As if she were arguing with herself, she sat up, turning the card over in her hand, and then placed it on the table, drawing another and then a third from the file. “The cat is listed as the principal—” Another card and another soft sigh of exasperation. “Impossible,” she said at last. “These records…the transcription…there must be something wrong here.”

With another squeak, she stood and carried the file box back to the front desk, but the clerk there was at the far end of her enclosure, in close conference with a conservatively dressed older woman whose hair was done up in a khaki turban. Heads together, they appeared to be speaking softly, and neither noticed the agitated young woman who waited with growing impatience.

Cats don’t count time, not as humans do, but the confidential chat did seem to go on for a bit. Even as the clerk tried to draw away, the older woman reached out, holding onto her arm as if loathe to let her go.

Maybe it was that move or the clerk’s apparent desire to end the conversation or a certain familiarity to the dark purple nails on the older woman’s manicured hand, but something emboldened Becca. “Excuse me,” she said, and then repeated herself. “Excuse me,” her voice somewhat too loud for politeness’s sake.

“I’m sorry.” The clerk pulled away, though whether her apology was to the turbaned woman or the client she’d kept waiting was unclear.

“Larissa!” Becca started, for the turbaned woman had looked up as her confidante withdrew. “It’s me, Becca.”

“Becca, darling.” The older witch came forward, a smile spreading across her face, which was much less heavily made up than usual. “My.” Those lacquered nails came up to her mouth, as if she had suddenly remembered her appearance. “My dear! Do tell, what brings you here?”

“Research,” said Becca. If her colleague’s unusually mundane attire surprised her, she didn’t let on. “I’m sorry if I—”

“No, no, no.” Larissa waved off her objection. “Please, go on.”

“It’s busywork, really,” Becca admitted. “I figure, until I get something else, I might as well keep my skills up, and I’ve always been interested in genealogy. But I might have just found something that may explain what’s been going on.”

“What’s been going on?” Larissa’s brows arched like a cat’s back, and Clara felt her own fur rising in response. “Dearest, you have to tell me.”

“Please don’t.” Clara did her best to focus. If only she had her sister’s power. If only her person could see how her words appeared to have set the older woman on edge. But no matter how the little calico concentrated, Becca kept on talking.

“I wish I could. I feel like I’ve gotten so close.” Becca sighed, as if the effort cost her. “Only I think that something must have gotten messed up over the years.”

“Is it something I can help you with?” The clerk interrupted, and Clara thought she seemed grateful to focus on her other client. “Perhaps if you tell me what happened, we can clear it up.”

“It’s silly.” Realizing she had an audience, Becca gave an embarrassed laugh. “But are you sure that these are careful transcriptions of the original records?”

“Of course. This office houses family records—births, deaths, and marriages—back to 1635, as well as documentation of financial transactions in the public record.” She sounded quite proud. “In fact, I was just telling your friend here—”

“It’s not important.” Larissa slipped around the counter and took Becca’s arm. “Just a fancy.”

“Well, good.” The clerk sounded relieved. “Because these are public records, ma’am. That’s the point of our office.”

“Of course they are.” With a grin like a Cheshire cat’s, Larissa dismissed the clerk and led Becca away from the desk. “So please, dear girl, tell me more about what you’ve discovered.”

Clara watched in horror as the older woman led her person away with a grip on her upper arm as firm as a new mother’s on a kitten.

“It’s just…odd.” Once Becca was into her work, Clara remembered with dismay, she lost sight of anything else. “I’ve been tracing my family history. Did I tell you, one of my ancestors was reported to be a witch?”

“Woman of power, please.” Larissa winced but kept walking, propelling Becca toward the exit. “So, you’re researching your family?”

“Yes.” Becca pulled back. “That’s why I joined the coven in the first place. I mean, I was interested, of course, but—”

“Of course,” Larissa burst out. “I remember now. How fascinating. My own family history is shrouded in shadow. I believe we may have Native American ancestry—the name Fox, of course.”

“I see.” Becca didn’t look like she did. “Is that what you were asking the clerk about?”

“What? No, nothing like that.” Without the flowing sleeves, Larissa’s dramatic dismissal resembled a flailing fledgling.

Maybe that’s what brought Becca back. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you at first.” Becca took in her colleague as if seeing her for the first time. “I’ve been kind of caught up—and I should get back.”

“But I’ve wanted to speak with you.” Larissa leaned in close enough for Becca to note the fine lines around her eyes. “Alone.” A dramatic pause as she batted those eyes. “Have you noticed anything odd about Ande? She seems to have become fixated.”

“Ande?” Becca examined the woman in front of her, as if the answer to her query would be written on those black brows or the hawk-like nose between them. “Fixated—on what?”

“On Trent, of course.” Larissa’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “You know she has a crush on him.”

“No, she said—” Rather than finish her sentence, Becca extricated her arm. “I’m sorry. I need to get back.”

Larissa reached for her once again, and Clara saw her opening. As Becca stepped back toward the records, the cat ducked her head and jumped. Landing a beat behind her person, the agile feline arched her back and hissed. It wasn’t enough—the toe of Larissa’s shoe still caught her in the belly as she stepped forward—but at least it was the rounded toe of a running shoe rather than her usual pointy number. Plus, the impact did cause the other woman to stumble and pause as she righted herself. And with that, Clara dashed off after Becca, slipping into the records room just as the door swung closed.

“Hang on!” Becca called out. The clerk was in the process of lifting the journal off her desk. “I’m sorry. My friend wanted to talk with me.”

“I’m sorry as well.” The blue-haired woman put the journal back down with care. “I hope I didn’t lose your place. Too many patrons don’t bother to bring the materials back, you see.”

“No, it’s fine.” Becca glanced down at the open book. “I’m almost done, anyway. There’s just one thing in here I don’t understand.”

Cat-shaped glasses tipped, waiting. “Maybe I’m reading this wrong,” said Becca. “But this lists the residents of this house as Mistress Rebecca Horne, widow, and Mistress Greybar. I’d come to believe that Mistress Greybar was Rebecca Horne’s cat.”

The eyes behind those glasses stared back. “And?”

“Well, doesn’t it seem odd to you that her cat is given the same standing as her owner?”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” The blue-haired woman sniffed. “I’d read that as this Mistress Greybar being a member of the family. I can tell you that our records have not been altered in any way. Though perhaps there was an error. Your friend…” She shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” Becca’s voice softened. “She can be a bit imperious. Did she think you—or your office—had done something wrong?”

“Not really.” Another shake. “I shouldn’t be discussing other clients’ issues anyway.”

“I understand.” Becca lowered her voice, but there was a note in it that let Clara know she was hatching a plan. “I’m actually wondering if you can help me with something else—something that might be related. I’m not sure what she told you, but my friend and I both belong to a group, and I believe its financial records might be on file here.”

“If you’re incorporated here in the city, or have applied for a license, they are.” If Becca had hoped the bespectacled clerk would reveal Larissa’s request, she was to be disappointed. However, before she could come up with another query, the clerk retreated to the desk and so Becca followed. “What name is your organization incorporated under?”

“Oh.” Becca stared down, as if the answer would appear on the counter before her. “I don’t know if we’re incorporated.”

“Do you hold a license? Pay municipal taxes?”

“No.” Becca drew the word out while she thought. “I know, why don’t you look up licenses under the name of our founder, Larissa Fox.”

“Would you write that down?”

Becca filled out the proffered form and returned it to the clerk, who took it back to her files, tut-tutting as she walked. While she waited, Becca stared at the door. Questions about Larissa were palpably weighing on her. But before she could do anything about them, the cat-eye glasses were staring back at her.

“Are you confident about these names?”

“Yes, though not the spelling—”

The clerk cut her off. “I tried alternative spellings, including double X and a PH for Fox. It didn’t change anything. I don’t have any records of ownership or licenses in this city for anyone named Larissa Fox.”

Chapter 32

“Maddy, it’s the strangest thing.” Becca reached her friend as she made her way home. “I wouldn’t have even thought of asking, only Larissa was going on about Ande, like she’d done something wrong, and then I remembered that Ande was the reason that Suzanne was asking about the coven’s money. She said we were down a few thousand dollars, and—”

“Becca, do you hear yourself?” Maddy’s patience was running thin. “Bad enough you’re in this crazy group, now you’re getting involved in its finances?”

“But that’s just it.” Becca had been mulling this over. “This might be why Suzanne was killed. After all, if Suzanne thought that somebody was embezzling—”

“Becca! Stop it! This is a police matter, okay?” When Maddy yelled, her voice was audible even to the people on the street. “Leave it to them, please.”

“But the police don’t really understand about the coven.” Becca had to make Maddy understand. “They’re not going to know how we all relate to each other, and they wouldn’t have heard about the funds going missing.”

“Didn’t you say this Ande was going to tell them?”

Becca bit back her retort. “She promised to, but she didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

“Okay, then you’ve got to tell them—” Maddy stopped herself.

“You just said that I should stay out of it.” Becca was nothing if not reasonable.

“No, you’re right.” Maddy was obviously making plans. “I’m sorry I even said anything. You’ve got to stay as far away from this as you can. I’m sorry you’re even still talking to anyone in that coven of yours. Besides, like you said, if this Ande was the whistleblower and even she didn’t think it was a big deal, then it wasn’t, I’m sure.”

“But Larissa was definitely hiding something,” Becca said, as much to herself as her friend. “She didn’t want me to hear what she was looking for in the records. She tried to hustle me out of there.”

“She’s a weird old lady, from what you’ve told me.” Maddy wasn’t giving up. “She was probably just hoping to find out she had a witch in her background too.”

“Maybe.” Becca had to agree. “She did go on a bit about her heritage. Though between you and me, I think Fox might be a made-up name.”

The burst of laughter made her draw back from the phone. “You think?” Clara could picture Becca’s friend wiping away the tears. “Hey, kiddo, I think I may have found out something about the other candidate for the Reynolds job.”

“Yeah?” Becca’s cheer suddenly dissipated. “Let me guess, he’s got a master’s.”

“No, but he seems to be very chummy with Reynolds. The old buzzard walked him out, and I heard him say something about ‘your mother.’ Friend of the family, I’m guessing.”

“Great.” Clara didn’t really understand sarcasm. Cats don’t need it. But even she could tell that Becca’s response didn’t reflect her true feelings. “Well, without an advanced degree, I was a long shot for that position anyway.”

“I’m sorry. I’d have loved to have you here. Even though this Nathan is kinda dishy.”

“Wait—Nathan?” Becca stopped cold, earning a nasty look from a passing shopper

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? He breezed right past Ms. White, so I asked. His name’s Nathan Raposa.”

* * *

Maddy hadn’t managed to calm her friend down by the time Becca got home. But Clara was grateful for the other girl’s attempts.

“I’ll come by as soon as I’m sprung,” Maddy had said, signing off. “I’ll bring wine—and chocolate.”

Clara didn’t have a chance to warn her sisters, as Becca clomped into the house in a mixture of anger and despair.

“I can’t even…” was all she said as the three cats circled in wordless sympathy. Clara had, by then, unmasked herself to join the throng. “And now, you!” This, alas, was to Harriet, who hadn’t moved quite quickly enough and nearly tripped their person.

“Harriet!” Clara head butted her older sister out of the way. “Watch it! Becca’s had a bad shock.”

“Becca? What about me?” Harriet sat and began to groom, but at least this time Becca saw her and managed to step around her. “Clearly nobody cares about me or what I want.”

“Quit grumbling.” Laurel rubbed against Becca’s shins and, as their person stopped to reach down and stroke her silky fur, took in her scent with a black leather nose. “Interesting,” said the Siamese. “Jeff, and—what’s this?—I’m getting a whiff of patchouli, or is that pine?”

Clara looked on in dismay, unsure what to do. She’d already lost her chance at the best place next to Becca on the sofa. A soft grunt announced that Harriet had once again taken over that middle cushion, and she now surveyed her sisters as if challenging them to try to unseat her.

“Don’t you dare…” A low growl underlined that stare. “Mine.”

“Fine.” Clara settled on the rug as Becca made her way to the sofa.

“Oh, kitties.” Becca sat with an exasperated sigh. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“If the clown here would tell us, we would.” Laurel sidled up to her sister.

“I will, I promise.” Clara kept her voice low. It would do her person good to sleep. A nap, as all cats know, is always a sensible option.

But before Becca could drift off into a healing slumber, the doorbell rang and she sat up with a jerk. “Maddy!” At least she was smiling as she approached the door, although when she opened it, that smile disappeared. “Kathy?”

“Hi, am I disturbing you?” The perky redhead beamed up at her. “I’d been meaning to give you a call about Eric. I know you said he blew you off, but, believe me, he’s going to be looking for someone soon—if he isn’t already—and so I thought I’d drop by.”

“Oh, thanks.” Becca sounded more confused than grateful, but she stood aside to invite the other woman in. “Did you just get off work?”

“I was in the area.” That eager smile. “Anyway, about the job. We’re short now, even if Eric’s too cheap to admit it. I know Larissa’s friend is looking for someone too. But you didn’t sound too keen about that, and since I know one of the other girls I work with is going to give notice at the end of the week…well, my boss will definitely need someone, and we’re almost like family.”

Walking into the living room as she rambled on, Kathy eyed Harriet and then took Becca’s place on the sofa. Wisely, she didn’t reach for Harriet’s pillow.

“So, have you talked to Trent much?” Settling in, she leaned back to address her hostess. “I mean, since the whole thing with Suzanne?”

“What? No.” Becca passed behind her into the kitchen. “I still have trouble believing it—and I, well, I was there.”

Kathy fell uncharacteristically silent, her round face drawn with concern.

“I’m sorry.” Becca leaned back into the room “Would you like something to drink? I still have some of that wine.”

“Oh, no, thanks.” Kathy managed a smile again. “I’d take a Diet Coke, if you have it?”

“Coming up.” As Becca fussed in the kitchen, Kathy looked around. Harriet threw a protective paw over her pillow. The other, Clara noticed, stayed on the edge of the cushion. A nasty premonition began to make the fur rise along her back.

“Harriet...”

“I’m sorry, you were asking—were you close to Suzanne?” Becca returned with their drinks. “I gather she and Ande were into something together.”

“I didn’t really keep up with Suzanne, but Ande, I just don’t know.” Kathy took a sip, but her wide brown eyes stayed focused on Becca. “She’s been bad mouthing Trent, you know. No sense of loyalty.”

“Really?” Becca paused. “I thought they were on good terms.”

Kathy shook her head. “Not since she made that play for him. I don’t know what she was thinking, but she’s not his type, if you know what I mean. Same thing happened with Marcia, a little while before you joined.”

“Ah.”

Maybe it was that wordless exhalation or maybe Kathy saw something on Becca’s face, because hers grew suddenly concerned.

“Oh, dear! What is it?” She leaned in, her eyes wide with sympathy.

“Nothing major.” Becca shook her head, eager to stem the younger woman’s gossip. “It’s me,” she said at last. “I had a weird date with someone over the weekend. Another Mr. Wrong.”

Kathy giggled and sat back, as if waiting for the story. “Tell me about it,” she said. “But really, slandering someone is not the way to go.”

“I didn’t—” Becca sat up.

“Not you, silly.” To Becca’s surprise, Kathy stood to go. “I meant Ande. But hey, I’m glad I caught you. You really should send a resume over to Eric. Or—do you want me to?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. He kind of gave me the cold shoulder. Hang on.” Becca went to get her laptop, nudging the pillow as she rose. In response, Harriet slammed a paw down—but not so fast that Clara didn’t see something glitter.

Clara’s fur rose further.

“What’s that, kitty?” Kathy had seen it too, and as Clara looked on in horror, the guest reached over. Harriet, torn between guarding her pillow and the shiny toy, started to growl.

“No!” Despite the growing danger, Kathy wasn’t addressing the cats. Instead, she was looking at the small, gold object in her hand. A perfect replica of Trent’s amulet.

“What did you do?” Clara was standing, back arched as she stared at her sister.

“That’s mine!” Harriet had struggled to her feet. Ignoring her sister, she turned to the invader, her growl growing to a high-pitched whine.

“Kitties! What’s the—” Becca had returned, laptop in hand. “Kathy, watch—”

Too late, Harriet had already coiled—an orange and white fury with one goal in sight. Launching herself, she wrapped her paws around Kathy’s hand and sunk her teeth into the soft flesh of her thumb.

“Ow!” Pulling her hand back, the redhead freed herself with a jerk that sent the amulet flying to the floor. That’s when Clara saw her moment. With one leap, she landed on the gold replica and—hearing the thud as her sister hit the floor beside her—sent it flying.

“Kathy, are you okay?” Becca was kneeling on the sofa beside her visitor, examining the bite marks on her hand. “It doesn’t look like she drew blood.”

“I’m fine.” The redhead snapped, pulling her hand back to cradle it against her body.

“I’m sorry, really.” Becca looked mortified. “Sometimes they fight, but they’ve never…” She broke off. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Kathy was already rising. “Good luck with that guy you’re seeing.” And with that she was gone.

“Harriet, Clara, really!” The slamming of the door had frozen both cats in their tracks. Clara looked up at her person in dismay. Harriet was still glaring at her sister. That lucky shot had set the little gold piece skidding under Becca’s big armchair—where the original had ended up after Harriet first grabbed it and where the marmalade was too stout to follow. “What got into you?”

Clara rose and approached her person carefully. Tail down, in dismay, it was all she could do to gently rub her head against Becca’s outstretched hand. To try to explain about Harriet’s ability—and her selfish decision to recreate the amulet that she had so envied—was beyond her. Even if she could manage the language skills, to let a human in on the powers they all shared was forbidden. Not to mention how hurt Becca would be if she ever found out that it was her plump feline who had managed that original summoning, rather than herself. Becca was just beginning to have faith in herself once more. Even if she could, Clara would do nothing to discourage her now.

Chapter 33

By the time Maddy came by, Becca had rallied. Harriet was still upset, of course, and had already boxed Clara’s ears twice. Laurel, perhaps wisely, was staying out of this particular squabble. She sat on top of the bookshelf, observing the proceedings with her cool blue eyes.

“I think everyone in that coven of yours is crazy.” Instead of cookies, Maddy had brought a bottle of wine, and after pouring them both healthy glasses, she had plopped down on the sofa and listened to Becca’s story once again. “And I’m glad you walked out on this Nathan—that’s definitely the same guy.” She paused to pour herself more. “Do you think he could be Suzanne’s stalker?”

“I don’t know.” Becca looked into her own nearly full glass as if it held the answer. “He keeps texting me now too.”

“What does he say?” Maddy sidled up to her friend, as if she expected her to pull the phone out right then.

“Well, he started off worried about me, asking why I ran off.” Becca raised her glass and twirled it before taking a tentative sip. “Then he asked if he’d done anything wrong.”

“Anything wrong—like stalking you.” Maddy sat back, set on her conclusion. “I mean, first he calls out of nowhere and asks questions about you, and then he takes what should have been your job.”

“It wasn’t actually out of nowhere,” Becca began to protest, but her friend cut her off.

“But you said you didn’t tell him about the coven, and he knew about that, right?”

“Yeah, but he does know Larissa, so she probably told him.” Becca had had time to think. “Maybe Larissa recommended him for the job too. If he also has a family connection, it makes sense.”

“Stalker.” Maddy seemed to be relishing this. “And a creep. But I blame that Larissa too. I mean, she said she’d refer you for that job.”

“Yeah, but…” Becca looked at her friend, as if she weren’t sure if she should continue.

“Becca?” Sensing something good, Maddy put her drink down.

“Something someone said—I think Larissa might, you know, keep her boyfriends.”

“Keep, as in retain?”

“Not exactly.” Becca lowered her voice, although neither Harriet nor Laurel were listening. “Keep as in pay for. And that first time I ran into Nathan he said he was visiting a relative but …”

“Ah.” Maddy sat back, resting her wine glass on Harriet’s pillow. Clara, who had been paying attention, thought the plump woman did not appear overly surprised. “And suddenly the handsome painter gets a referral to a cush office job. Though he’s not going to keep that lovely sun-kissed look if he comes to work for us.”

“But why would Reynolds hire him?” Becca hugged her knees to her chest, like she did when she was thinking, and turned to face her friend. “I mean, to be honest, he didn’t seem particularly pleased when I said Larissa had sent me—he even told me that she’d used up her credit, or words to that effect.”

“Well, maybe you’re in luck, then, kiddo.” Maddy shifted to face her, moving her glass back to the table, much to Clara’s relief. “Maybe you’re still in the running. Maybe this wasn’t even a real interview. He wasn’t in there for long.”

“Maybe.” Becca looked doubtful, and Harriet used that moment to swat once more at Clara.

“What’s up with your cats?” Maddy looked at them as if seeing them for the first time.

“They’ve been fighting.” Another shake of the head. “I don’t know why. I think Clara stole a toy. I saw something go flying.”

“Don’t you dare!” Clara hissed, and immediately regretted it. Only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize that her sister hadn’t been paying attention.

“Meow!” Too late now. With her most plaintive mew, Harriet drew all eyes to her as she lay down and stretched her paw under the armchair. “Please!”

“Oh, poor kitty.” Becca was up in a moment. “Hang on.”

While Maddy watched, Becca tilted the chair back, revealing a well-chewed catnip mouse, a wad of aluminum foil that Laurel had become obsessed with over a month before. And, yes, the replica of Trent’s golden amulet.

“What is that?” Maddy was on the shiny piece before Harriet could right herself, carrying it to the kitchen to examine it in better light. Short though she was, once she stood up, she was out of the cat’s reach.

“That’s—no, that’s impossible.” Becca seemed as stunned as Kathy had been.

“Becca?” Maddy looked from the trinket to her friend.

“That’s Trent’s. From my coven, the, uh, warlock.” Maddy’s brows went up, but she kept silent. “He came back after the coven meeting, and we were sitting on the sofa.” The color in Becca’s cheeks only made Maddy’s brows rise higher. “He had that on a chain and it must have been swinging and, well, you know how cats are with moving objects. Anyway, Harriet took a swipe at it and broke the chain. But I thought he’d picked it up.”

“You’ve been busy.” She fixed her friend with a quizzical stare. “So it wasn’t all painter boy?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Becca looked down, her cheeks positively scarlet. “Well, it might have been. Only, I didn’t expect it. I mean, he’s been flirty, but, Maddy, I think he’s flirty with all the women. Anyway, he had just kissed me when that—when Harriet intervened. She scratched him too. Not intentionally, I don’t think. Just that her claw got caught. Anyway, that, ah, broke the mood, and he left soon after.”

“You’d almost think your cat was looking out for you.” Maddy was still smiling, but her face grew serious as she looked at the amulet again. “This feels like real gold. And he just left it?”

“I was sure he’d taken it. I thought I saw him put it in his pocket.” She shook her head. “I mean, he didn’t ask me to look for it or anything.”

“Is he rich?” Maddy was rolling the amulet between her thumb and forefinger. Harriet, Clara suspected, had made the piece heavier than the original. Maybe slightly larger too—those plush paws weren’t as dexterous as human fingers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk about a job,” Becca admitted.

With a sigh, Maddy handed over the piece. “I don’t know, Becca. Between a rich playboy and a stalker-y creep, I think you’ve got to meet some new guys. But, hey, if you’re really okay, I think I’m going to crash.”

Becca didn’t argue as she escorted her friend to the door, examining the piece as she walked. “What is it?” her friend asked.

“I’m not sure.” Becca was examining the back of the amulet. “Only, I thought there was something engraved on the back. I remember reaching for it, and Trent kind of pulled it away. That’s what caught Harriet’s eye, I think. And this piece? It’s blank.”

“I’d say your mind was on something else that night,” said her friend. “I mean, there it is, solid in your hand.”

***

“How could you?” Clara turned on her oldest sister in fury. Never mind protocol, Harriet was endangering them all.

The big marmalade knew it. “It’s just a small thing,” she pouted. “And so shiny. And now I have to make another.”

“Don’t you dare!” Clara was positively spitting, she was so mad. “Don’t you see what you’ve done? Now there are two of them. And Becca is going to return it to that Trent—and then they’ll know!”

“Return it?” Harriet’s fluffy face screwed up in confusion, her nose pulling in like a pedigreed Persian. “But it’s mine.”

“Don’t be dense.” Laurel landed with a thud between them. “Both of you. This is going to make things interesting. Becca’s going to bring that Trent around again now. She’ll have to.”

Clara sat, her tail curled around her fore paws, and brooded. Although she was unable to explain why to her sisters, she knew from her whiskers to her tail tip that none of this boded well.

Chapter 34

The text messages continued, as did the calls. Clara could tell from the beeps and buzzes Becca’s phone made, even as she left it on the table. In part, Clara thought, her person was ignoring the tiny machine, despite the tantalizing way it vibrated. In part, she feared, Becca was trying to make sense of the amulet—doing her best to reconcile her memory with the palpable reality she now held in her palm.

Deprived of her toy, Harriet turned her attention to the device. Perched on a chair, she reached one paw up, intending to hook it and send it flying. Laurel looked on, mildly amused, until another vibration sent her back to the apartment door. Clara, catching the same emanation a moment later, froze—torn between her person and that infernal device, and the interruption about to occur.

“What?” Becca looked up seconds later, as a loud rapping sounded on her door. The faint scent of pine, as well as Laurel’s satisfied smirk, alerted Clara to the visitor’s identity, but Becca, oblivious to such subtle clues, opened it, only to jump back with a start.

“Nathan!” She moved to shut the door. His work boot, splashed with paint, blocked it.

“Becca, please. I can explain.”

She looked up at him, mouth agape, and relaxed her hold on the door—just as he pulled his foot out.

“I’m sorry,” he said. She was leaning on the door—ready to slam it shut. Only, she didn’t, which Clara thought curious. “I’ll stay here,” he said, seemingly chastened.

Becca looked at him, and for a moment Clara wondered if she did indeed have magical skills. The way she studied his face seemed to be seeking something in his eyes. Something deep. Finally, tilting her head, she spoke again. “Tell me,” she said, “how did you find out where I live?”

“Larissa,” he responded, spitting the name out as if it tasted bad. “I mean, she’d already given me your number.”

“And about the coven?” She was relaxing—Clara could hear it—but she waited while he nodded.

“Larissa again.” He gave up the name with a sigh. “And I’m sorry, I should’ve told you—I’m sorry I scared you. For what it’s worth, I’ve had enough. I’m not going to cover for her anymore.”

“Cover?” Becca, intrigued, didn’t shut the door. She didn’t move to open it up any further either. Instead, she stood, one arm on the frame.

He nodded. “She thinks she can control everything. But I’m through with that.”

Becca waited, but it didn’t take any particular skill to see that she was factoring in what she’d heard about the older woman—and about younger men. Her “pets.”

“The job.” Her voice was flat. “My friend Maddy saw you today. I know Larissa is setting you up. Getting you that job.”

“What? No, I have a job. I paint houses.”

“Right.” Clara had never heard Becca sound so angry. She glanced over at her sister. Laurel’s eyes were wide. “Look, I get it. This is an expensive city, and Larissa is generous. Larissa likes to help people. Larissa likes her ‘pets,’ especially young, good-looking men.”

“Larissa,” Nathan cut her off before she could go any further, “is my mother.”

***

Ten minutes later, the two were sitting on the sofa, Laurel curled and purring between them. Clara, for her part, was trying to make sense of all she’d heard. So, for that matter, was Becca.

“I’m sorry I let it go on so long,” the handsome painter was saying. “She gave me your number and then she told me where you live. She seemed to really like the idea of us getting to know each other, and, no, she didn’t tell me you were in the coven together. She didn’t have to—as soon as I heard you say ‘Larissa,’ I knew. She only uses that name for her so-called ‘mystical’ endeavors. To everyone else, she’s plain old Risa.”

“Risa?” Becca tried to reconcile the old-fashioned name with the woman she knew. The jet-black hair. The scarves and the perfume. “Larissa is Risa. Your mother. That’s why you were bringing flowers over. But why Fox?”

“Just a translation.” He smiled, as if at a private joke. “Raposa means fox in Portuguese. So, yeah, Risa Raposa. I guess it’s better than what my father did.”

Becca’s confusion showed in her face.

“He anglicized it. Well, sort of. Reynolds was his version. I think someone told him that fox in French was renard, and he either misheard or thought that still sounded too foreign.”

“Reynolds—like Reynolds and Associates?”

“Yeah, you know them?”

“That’s the job—the one I thought Larissa—your mother—was setting you up for.” She couldn’t hide the humor in her voice. “Suzanne worked there, and my friend Maddy does too. She saw you at the office and thought you were there for an interview.”

“No.” He dismissed the idea, shaking his head. “I pity anybody who has to work for my father. I mean, no—you can’t think…”

“I don’t.” Becca finished his thought. “In fact, I’m trying to leave all that to the police, but I haven’t heard anything that would imply he’s involved.”

“Good.” A sigh of relief. “He’s not a bad guy, but, wait, you want to work for him?”

“Yeah.” Becca nodded. “Well, I’ve applied for a position there. Thought I had it too. Reynolds—your father—seemed to like me. But then Maddy heard that someone else was being interviewed—one of Larissa—Risa’s—pets. So…”

Before she could spell it out, Nathan interrupted with a laugh. A nice laugh, thought Clara. Not too loud, but it came from his belly like a purr. “No wonder you thought I was her boy toy!”

Becca didn’t comment. She didn’t have to.

“Believe me, I know about my mother. So does my father. It’s part of her whole thing—wanting to be young forever. It’s probably why she got into the whole magic thing.”

“Huh.” Becca fell silent, lost in thought.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to downplay your group, if it works for you.” Nathan leaned back, unburdened. “I mean, I understand about Wicca having spiritual aspects and everything…”

Becca wasn’t listening. “Maybe that’s why Trent didn’t look harder,” she said to herself. Nathan looked at her inquisitively, but she shook him off. “It’s nothing. A small thing that was puzzling me. That’s all. So, if it wasn’t about the job, why were you at the office today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Hey, I feel like you have the right to ask anything.” He grinned a bit sheepishly. “He wanted me to drop by. I thought it was about finishing up that triple-decker. Yeah, he’s a landlord—and the source of most of my referrals, I’ve got to admit. Turns out, he wanted to talk to me about doing an intervention. They fight like cats and dogs, but at some level he still loves my mom. She probably still loves him too, but he’s worried. She’s spending way too much money, and he thinks she’s being ripped off.”

“That fits with something Ande—another member of our group—said.” Becca was thinking out loud. “Only, I had the impression that it was our group finances that were going missing.”

Nathan’s face said it all.

“The group finances are really Larissa’s—Risa’s.” The reality kicked in as Becca pieced together everything she’d heard. “Despite what we chip in, we’re just a pet project for her, aren’t we?”

“Hey, she can afford it.” Nathan was making nice. “I mean, Dad’s done well and she has a good income. Only, it’s not unlimited, and he’s getting sick of bailing her out.”

“Did you tell the cops all this?” Another, darker thought was clouding Becca’s brow. “I mean, about your mother and the money and all?”

“Of course.” He sounded concerned. “But she’s not—I mean, she can be pretty nutty and everything but she’s not a killer.”

Becca held back from saying the obvious—that somebody was. Nathan must have missed the look on her face, because he kept talking.

“Which, all things considered, is a good thing,” he was saying. “Because I know she had a real grudge against that girl, though I guess that’s over now.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he stopped. “You can’t think—” He gasped. “She’s—no, Becca, we’re talking about my mother.”

“I’m sure the police will get to the bottom of it,” said Becca, doing her best to sound encouraging. But Clara knew what was going through her mind—that the police had already suspected someone in their coven, and that her person believed herself to be a prime suspect because of her connection with Jeff. “They have to. I wonder if they know…”

“No.” Nathan sounded horrified. “Becca…”

“Suzanne was seeing my ex, Jeff. But before then, she’d gone out with Trent, at least a few times.” Becca laid out the points, as if talking to herself. “At least, I think so. I don’t know if Larissa—Risa—your mom knew, but I think maybe she and Trent might have something going. And I think Suzanne found out that Jeff cheated on her, so I’m wondering if she might have run back to Trent. Or maybe she had been stepping out on Jeff. Or even—”

“Becca, please.” The man beside her was pleading. “This is all crazy.”

“You’re right. I should leave it all to the police.” Becca stopped and managed a smile. “This is all…this is a lot to think about.” She rose and walked back to the door, turning to Nathan as he followed. “I believe you about what happened with us, and I’m sorry for running out on you,” she said.

“Of course.” He made his own brave attempt at a smile. “And I’m sorry I scared you, coming over like this and everything. Only, you wouldn’t take my calls.”

“No, it’s okay.” Becca took his hand, and for a moment it seemed like he would say something more. But then he turned and left

Laurel seemed pleased as punch with the visit, purring as Becca stood there, leaning her head against the door. Clara, however, kept her eyes on her person, willing her to ask the questions that were rising in her own mind.

“Don’t you think it was a little odd?” she asked her sister. “Him dropping by like that?”

“He likes her,” purred Laurel. “He’s insistent.”

“I hope she checks on his story.” Clara couldn’t keep her tail still. Something was wrong, only she couldn’t quite put her paw on it.

“It’s that mother of his, if anything.” Laurel jumped onto the tabletop and began to bathe. “Becca should steer clear of that one. I bet she’s jealous, our girl being so young and pretty. And that she lives with us too.”

“Maybe,” said Clara, half to herself. It was difficult to carry on a conversation with Laurel when her sister was up on the table, and she weighed making the leap herself. Becca preferred the cats not to sit there, but she had basically given up on disciplining them. Besides, their person had wandered off into the bedroom, apparently lost in thought as she rummaged through the papers on her desk and then her bureau top as if seeking an elusive prey. Nothing seemed to be stirring though, and so with a wiggle of her behind, Clara prepared to leap up. That was one advantage of being the smallest. Why Harriet couldn’t even—

Then it hit her. Where was Harriet? She craned around, scanning the table as she did so. The amulet—the replica that her oldest sister had summoned for her own amusement, the piece that Becca was clearly searching for—that was missing too. Clara scooted over to where Becca had left it when she’d heard the knocking on the door. Closing her green eyes in despair, Clara felt her ears and whiskers sag. Harriet had been so upset, but because her bulk made jumping up to the tabletop unlikely, Clara hadn’t thought she’d be able to do anything about it. Now she remembered her sister, sitting on the chair, one paw hooked up over the surface.

What had happened was obvious. The big white and orange cat had managed to fish it off the table while none of them was looking, and now she and the crucial gold piece were gone.

Chapter 35

Becca was too honest not to call Trent to tell him what she—or Harriet—had found. She wasn’t sure what else, exactly, she would say to him, she told Clara the next morning as she continued to search the apartment. After all, it wasn’t that he’d lied to her—not exactly. He may simply have chosen not to reveal some aspects of his relationship with Larissa.

“And we’re not even sure of that,” she said as she peered under the sofa for the umpteenth time. Clara looked over at Laurel, but her sister had grown bored and tuned out, her café au lait side gently rising and falling as she napped.

“I mean, okay, it’s likely.” Becca, kneeling, looked around. “But it’s their business, not mine. Unless…” She bit her lip, and Clara knew she was thinking of Suzanne—and of possible motive. “At any rate, I need to tell him that pendant of his is here, somewhere. If only I could find it.”

Just then, Harriet came strolling into the living room. It was certainly close to lunchtime, but considering that her oldest sister had been in the bedroom, Clara wasn’t sure why she was licking her chops. And then it hit her.

“You ate it? That little gold toy you summoned?” She jumped off the sofa and approached her sister, reaching up to sniff at her whiskers.

“Yes, I did!” Harriet sounded quite pleased with herself as her sister proceeded with her examination. “So now you can get off my case about it,” she said smugly.

Clara sat back, waiting.

“I used a treat as a base.” Harriet couldn’t resist explaining. “Because it was something I wanted. So when I realized what Becca was looking for, I just turned it back and—yum. It had gotten a little stale, though.”

Clara could have hissed, she was so upset. “But now Becca will never find it!”

Harriet’s own ears flicked in annoyance. “Make up your mind, why don’t you?” her words a near snarl as she walked past her sister toward the kitchen. “First you tell me to get rid of it. Now you’re all hissy.”

“He must be frantic.” Becca’s words could have described her own state of mind, except for the gender. In fact, over the next hour, she did her best impersonation of an animal on a rampage, her search ramping up as she swiped papers off surfaces and tipped furniture over in a growing frenzy. By the time she had all the sofa cushions up, all three cats were seeking shelter on the windowsill. Quite unfairly, both Laurel and Harriet blamed their youngest sibling.

“I’m not the one who summoned a version of that thing!” Clara defended herself as best she could. She knew what those cold stares could mean, and she had no desire to have her ears boxed or her whiskers pulled. And if Harriet sat on her again… “I asked you not to do that anymore!”

It was hopeless. Harriet looked briefly at Laurel, who puffed herself up ever so slightly. Then, both turned to face Clara.

“It has come to our attention that you seem to think you’re the only magical cat in this household.” When Harriet spoke in that tone of voice, Clara knew better than to argue, even though her sister was being horribly unfair. “Time and again, recently, you’ve countered our quite natural desires to use our skills to entertain ourselves. And—” Clara couldn’t help herself and opened her mouth to object. One raised paw, claws just showing through the white fluff, stopped her, as Harriet continued. “And thwarted our natural desire to improve the life of our person, as is our duty.”

Biting down hard, Clara kept herself silent. Harriet was reciting the cats’ canon law.

“Instead, you seem to believe that you are the only one who can aid our human in her pursuits, or that you have some kind of special bond with her.”

With that, Harriet turned to Laurel, who stared at her little sister so hard that she began to go cross-eyed. That was the Siamese in her. “You don’t,” she added, her voice a growly undercurrent to Harriet’s pompous mew. The double vision was distracting, Clara knew, and silently thanked their mixed genetics for cutting the lecture short.

“She must be punished.” Harriet, still peeved about Clara’s interference and the loss of her toy, was not going to let the lesson go that easily. “I’m out a toy—and a treat!”

“You ate the treat.” Clara couldn’t help herself. Harriet turned on her with a snarl.

“Kitties, what is it?” Becca looked up from the floor, where she had surrounded herself with the sofa’s cushions, including—Clara noticed—Harriet’s tasseled creation. “You’re picking up on my mood, I guess. I’m sorry.”

She sat back with a sigh that made Clara yearn to go to her. Laurel must have noticed her posture, or maybe it was the way her rump rose as she readied to leap, because suddenly she felt a paw come down on her tail. “We’re not done yet, missy!”

This was too much. Clara turned and hissed, raising her paw—claws out—to her sister. Nothing was going to keep her from Becca! Only just then, the muted ring of the phone interrupted them.

“Oh no!” Becca jumped up and turned, tossing pillows as she searched frantically. “Where did I leave it?”

Seeing her moment, Clara pulled free and jumped down to the floor. Her superior hearing had already identified the location of the humming device, and with a nudge at Harriet’s pillow, she was able to uncover it.

Becca grabbed it up with a smile that was worth all the treats in the bag to the calico. “Bother.” She sounded a bit breathless from the search, but still she reached out to stroke Clara’s mottled back. “Well, at least there’s a message.”

Clara leaned in and closed her eyes. Her sisters would make her pay for her interference, but right then she didn’t care. Becca’s hand was warm and she pressed just hard enough to make Clara stretch as she worked her way from shoulders to tail and then—froze.

“Oh no.” Becca barely choked out the words. “I can’t believe I forgot to call the detective back,” she whispered in horror. “And now they’re asking me to come down to the station.”

Chapter 36

“Don’t say it!” Clara glared at her sisters as she waited by the door. There would be a reckoning, but no way was she letting Becca talk to the police by herself. Not that she was sure what, exactly, she could do.

“Maybe I can convince her to run for it.” Laurel had picked up on their person’s distress and was stalking back and forth while Becca hurriedly changed her shirt. In all the tumult, it had gotten quite dusty.

“I could bring the amulet back.” Harriet hiccupped, her shoulders bouncing in an alarming fashion.

“No, please.” Clara did her best to keep her tone polite. “You don’t have to.” She ducked her head in the feline equivalent of a curtsy to both Harriet and Laurel. “I think it’s best if she just tells them the truth—what happened without any magic. I’ll report back.” Becca had emerged from her bedroom, smoothing her hair back as if she were indeed feline, and now she was reaching for the door. “I promise!”

***

Clara stayed close to her person as she hurried through the busy streets. In a way, Becca’s distraction helped—there was no way she was looking around for one small, shaded cat, even one with an orange patch over one eye. It helped that the day had progressed as well, giving Clara her choice of afternoon shadows to choose from as she leaped and darted to keep up with her person’s progress.

It was only when Becca neared the stairs to the Cambridge precinct that Clara held back. That tall, stone building, with its heavy doors, was too much like a cage for her liking. And truth be told, what could she do if the people inside were to hold Becca against her will?

Maybe she did have some of Laurel’s power, because Becca paused, as if constrained by the same fears. As Clara watched, Becca stepped off the sidewalk, almost as if she too could disappear in the shade of the sickly maple that grew out of the pavement nearby.

“Blessed goddess, hear my plea…” Clara caught the words, barely audible, of a protective spell, one that the coven had recited only weeks before. Becca didn’t seem to remember that Suzanne had been the one who found it—and had been rather expert at reciting it. Maybe, thought the cat, as she watched her person make a complicated gesture behind her back, it was just as well humans didn’t have any real power. If only she had a way of telling Becca that at least one of her pets was watching out for her. Standing there, murmuring—these people seemed to believe that everything had to be repeated three times—she looked so anxious that Clara longed to jump up into her arms.

She couldn’t, of course. To do so would not only break the rules, it would unnerve the young woman, and the plump feline suspected that Becca would need all of her wits in the interrogation to come. Thus, the loyal feline was forced to hang back, in the shadow of that maple, and watch as Becca, looking as uncomfortable as a cat in the rain, finished the spell. At least, Clara thought she did—as she watched, her person wrung her hands in what could only be understood as an attempt to stroke herself back into good humor. Clearly, she was trying to muster the courage to enter the building that loomed before her.

Perhaps it was unfair of Clara to blame Harriet, but the calico couldn’t help it. Her big sister’s carelessness had set in motion a chain of events that at least had disconcerted their beloved person, and then her selfishness had exacerbated the situation. Of course, none of that would have mattered if Becca hadn’t gotten involved in the coven or ever flirted with the dashing warlock.

“Trent!” Clara blinked up as Becca called out. Sure enough, there was the warlock—coming down the steps of the precinct. Could it be, she wondered, that her person had in fact summoned him? “Over here!”

“Becca?” The bearded man who turned toward her was nearly unrecognizable. His usually sleek dark hair hung lank, his darkly shining eyes looked tired, set deep into shadowed sockets. Even his usual open-necked blouse had been replaced by ratty sweats, the droopy pants pulled up to reveal bunched white socks above worn sneakers. “Is that you?”

She stepped forward, into the light, and Trent rushed over to her. He would have taken her hands, Clara thought, only, at the last moment, her person stepped back. In response, he raised one hand to his oily hair, pushing it back from a forehead that Clara could now see was quite lined.

It wasn’t the hair though, or even his overall appearance that held her back.

“Are you okay?” said Becca, her voice low, her gaze shifting over to the building he had just left.

“Of course. What brings you here?” As he spoke, he stood up straighter and attempted a smile. To the observant cat, his teeth looked like fangs. “Are you—” His eyes darted nervously as he spoke, as if checking to make sure nobody had come from the police station behind him. But even as his scanned the street, he seemed to gather himself, his voice lowering into the confident baritone Becca knew well. “Are you going in to chat with the detectives again?”

“They called me,” Becca admitted, her face pinching up. “Twice. But why are you back here? Did something happen?”

“Not at all.” The smile stiffened as two uniformed officers descended the stairs, and he paused until they had walked by. “I gather there have been some developments, and I came in to offer my assistance, of course.”

“You volunteered?” Becca glanced down at his sweatshirt, the sweat pants, and sneakers. “Trent, if you don’t mind me asking, do you have a job?”

“Not you too.” For a moment, his face contorted in anguish, the sharp planes of his cheeks becoming drawn and desperate. Then, just as quickly, he recovered. “I do have a promising prospect—or I did.” He licked dry lips. “It’s nothing I’m at liberty to talk about right now. Of course, I do have other projects ongoing. A few investments.”

Becca didn’t appear convinced, to her cat’s clear-eyed gaze. Instead, it seemed like she was formulating a follow-up question, when he chuckled.

“Oh, is it my outfit?” He struck a pose, even as his grin wobbled. “I was working out, and after a run by the river, I found myself nearby the precinct.”

“You found yourself…? That’s right!” Becca’s eyes went wide as whatever query she’d been about to pose was eclipsed. “Your amulet! I found it. I mean, I thought you had already found it, but then it turned up, and I was going to call you. Only, I lost it again.”

“What are you talking about?” The fake smile was gone.

“The one you dropped when my cat broke the chain.” A rushed whisper of explanation.

“That’s crazy.” Trent shook his head, and the greasy locks fell back over his forehead.

“Ms. Colwin?” a voice called out. The rumpled detective was standing on the stairs. “Is that you?”

She ignored him in her rush to explain. “I thought maybe you didn’t care that much. I mean, it looks like an expensive piece, but maybe—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Trent’s hand went to the neckline of his dirty sweatshirt and pulled out a chain. “I have it. I took it with me—you saw that. I only had to put it on a different chain.”

“Rebecca Colwin?” The detective again.

Clara could only look on in sympathy as Becca stared in mute horror at the amulet in Trent’s hand. “See?”

Chapter 37

“This makes no sense.” Three minutes later, Becca was still rooted to the spot by the impossibility of what she had seen. Trent, whose confidence began to crumble as more uniforms strolled by, had taken off with a brittle giggle and a promise to be in touch. By then, the rumpled detective had finished his smoke and returned inside.

Only after one of those passing officers had paused on the walk beside Becca, turning as if to question her, did she move on. Even then, she could have been sleepwalking, her mind reeling with confusion. It was all too much, and when she rounded the corner, she leaned back against a brick wall, closing her eyes as she slid to the ground, desperate to gather her thoughts.

“Miss, are you all right?” a bearded stranger, his panting Labrador looking on placidly, asked with concern.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Becca bounced back to her feet but could only produce a feeble attempt at a smile. “I’ve just had a shock.”

“Do you have a friend you can call?” The good Samaritan looked ready to move along. “Someone you can talk to?”

She had held the amulet in her hand. Maddy had seen it. It didn’t make sense. Unfortunately, what did make sense was Trent’s appearance, here at the police station. The warlock had been called back—she didn’t buy his story about volunteering for a second—and he’d just as clearly been questioned about his finances. That meant somebody had made a call. Maybe Ande had said something. Only, Kathy had said that Ande was out to get Trent. Which seemed odd in that Ande had been so reluctant to come forward, despite Becca’s urging—and despite her knowing that the group’s bank account had been plundered. Was this all connected somehow? Was Ande behind it all—or Larissa, with her money? Suzanne had wanted to talk to Becca about the group’s finances. She, not Ande, had been alarmed about the money going missing. But before she could explain, she’d been killed.

“I’m not sure,” said Becca to the concerned stranger, and then she got up and walked away.

***

“Ande? Please call me back.” Becca had been calling as she walked, pacing the city streets like an anxious cat. With each new voice message, she’d become more annoyed—and more certain that everything was indeed interconnected. Yes, Ande had been the one to note the financial disparities. She’d also been the one to downplay them—only a few thousand, she had said—to Becca and, possibly, to Suzanne as well. But if she couldn’t reach the wiccan accountant, she was going to have to tell the police detective all she knew. Only, she was hoping to have a little more information before she bearded that particular rumpled lion in his den.

“Ande, if I don’t hear from you soon, I’m going to tell the cops everything. I have to.” Even as she spoke, she had another thought. “And, I’m sorry. I know you told me stuff in confidence, but I’m going to tell them about Larissa too.” She paused. “Please, call me.”

It wasn’t merely that she didn’t want to betray Ande’s trust. The idea of crossing the older woman by herself was scary. Larissa liked to be in control, and she certainly wouldn’t want to hear that her finances had been discussed—by the coven’s resident accountant no less. Still, whatever was going on with the older woman’s investment into their little group, it was looking more and more like it was connected to Suzanne’s murder. And the fact that Becca had been asked to talk to the police once more gave her reason—and license, Becca figured—to seek some answers. After all, she couldn’t avoid going into the precinct for much longer.

Phone in hand, she continued walking—not back home, as Clara had hoped, but toward the riverfront tower where Larissa had her condo. The shadows had grown longer by then, as the afternoon progressed with more calls and more messages left. While this made Clara’s path easier, it didn’t mean she worried less. Becca should be withdrawing from conflict. Heading home to where her sisters waited, Clara thought. Instead, she was marching toward a confrontation.

Half a block away, she was stopped by the sound of her phone.