Guardian Cats and the Lost Books of Alexandria

Chapter 43: Power in the wrong hands

The Dead Cats positioned themselves in the magnolia tree, waiting to ambush the raccoons. They were bored.

A large beetle crawled along a branch. Tweezer pounced and gobbled it up in one move.

“Eeew!” said Caffeina. “How can you eat those things?”

“I’m hungry,” said Tweezer.

“Well, so am I, but I draw the line at cockroaches.”

“They have lots of protein. You could probably use some protein.”

“What I need is a visit to a salon. White fur is such a pain.”

Tweezer peered at her through his one good eye. “Ahhh. You don’t look so bad,” he said.

Marco was deep in thought on a branch above the others. He was glad Cicero hadn’t found out about him trying to use the spell, but he still cringed when he thought about the strange creature he’d become. That whole night he’d hidden in a tree, terrified that he’d never be normal again.

Now he had other things to worry about. The cats, as usual, had no plan, and Tweezer said they had no luck rounding up recruits. They needed a miracle.

“Hey, Marco! You sure tonight’s the night? We’ve been up here forever.”

“Be patient, Skitzo.”

From far off came the soft deep rumble of thunder. Out of the corner of his eye, Marco caught some movement in the bushes. A small raccoon moved in and out of the shadows, then darted across an open space toward the library. Was this one of Sting’s gang?

The other cats were too absorbed in small talk to notice, so when the raccoon climbed into a basement window opening, Marco went to investigate.

He slipped through the upper story window and made his way to the balcony, where he scanned the lower floor through the rails. The raccoon soon appeared, his head poking through the same floor vent Sting had used.

But this was not Sting. He was way too small. The raccoon moved to a table with newspapers and magazines and promptly went to work ripping them into shreds, being careful to keep them in a pile. Strange, but hardly threatening. If this was the raccoons’ big move, then he didn’t have much to worry about.

The raccoon was fumbling with something in his paws. There was a soft scraping sound, a familiar odor and an orange spark. “Stupid thing,” the animal mumbled. “What’s the matter with it?”

Marco sat, spellbound, observing from his catwalk, as though the scene below were a theater stage. A clattering noise echoed in the darkened library. The raccoon had dropped the object.

He used both paws to pick it up again. A flicker of sparks sprayed out. “Dang!” The odor grew stronger and Marco realized what it was—Polo’s cigarette lighter! How in the world did this raccoon get it? He had to be a friend of Sting’s.

The raccoon’s next attempt was successful. The flame, framed by an orange halo, burned steadily. The raccoon moved the lighter close to the torn pile of newspaper, which took the flame, turning it yellow and blue. It flared up into the raccoons face, singeing his whiskers.

“Cripes!” he shouted. Then the fire steadied and the raccoon mumbled to himself. “I always say, if you want something done right, do it yourself.” He turned and gazed into the depths of the library and Marco got a better view of his face. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The raccoon’s face started to change shape. No, it was more like there were two faces. Marco blinked and tried to refocus his eyes. Now it was more visible, the raccoon and another animal forming within the raccoon. It was not possible, what he was seeing. But it was happening. There was another creature coming to life, another body inside the raccoon.

What kind of magic was at work? Nothing seemed to be as it appeared on the surface anymore. He felt dizzy for a moment and thought of The Book of Motion and how Akeel and Cicero had tried to explain about power in the wrong hands. He thought about his own error in judgment, trying to use power he wasn’t ready for.

“No!” The raccoon shouted. “Don’t leave me now!”

The fire grew larger, but the paper burned out quickly, and so the flames died down to almost nothing. The raccoon frantically tore up more paper, throwing it onto the hot ashes. He tried manipulating the lighter again, but it was getting harder for him to manage.

The raccoon was getting worked up, struggling with the creature that appeared to be taking over his body. The small fire smoldered and the morphing creature became more fluid as it grew angrier. It, or they, Marco couldn’t tell which one, threw the whole lighter onto the fire.

The double creature seemed to waiver back and forth, from what it was, to whatever it was becoming. The second creature had dull gray fur and no stripes. The lighter exploded and the fire leaped into action.

The transformation was complete. The creature within the creature had prevailed. Marco was looking at one of the Dead Cats.