Chapter 12
Sylvie
Constant rain patters against the bay window, the grey, thick clouds outside both heralding autumn’s arrival and reflecting my own dismal mood.
Out of sorts doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m feeling.
That, and hungry.
Gingerly, I touch the back of my head, still half expecting to find a bloody lump, or at least pain—but there’s no evidence whatsoever that I hit my head last night.
Groaning, I roll over, burying my face in the familiar scent of the fresh-laundered pillowcase.
“You have somewhere to be,” a voice trills. “Or do you make a habit of having your lesser wait on you?”
For crying out loud, I’m either still hallucinating or the damn cat is—and was—actually talking to me.
“My lessers?” I ask in spite of myself.
“Yes, the witch you’re meeting for breakfast. Do you intend on forcing her to wait on you? As some kind of power move? If so, I approve, though you’ll have to sell it more, and I’m not sure you have the proper sort of condescension to truly pull it off.”
Not only do I have a talking cat, but I am also a witch. With powers.
Oh, and little Prudence also tends toward being a little bit of a bitch.
“I’ll make a note of increasing my patronizing aura on my to-do list.” The to-do list that now is likely a mile and a half long. Very cool.
“Oh, you don’t want to increase it in your aura.” Prudence sounds genuinely horrified, and a soft lump lands next to me on the pillow.
God, I hope she’s not licking her butt on my clean pillow.
“You really do know nothing of your true nature. If you were any more pitiful, you’d really be below my sort of help.”
“You truly have a way with words, Prudence.” I chance twisting to look at her, and her green eyes loom large next to my face.
A velvety paw pats my face. “There, there, witch. We will get you all sorted out. If the evil spirit in the bookstore doesn’t kill you first, that is.”
With that vote of confidence, I throw the sheets off me and decide going back to sleep isn’t going to happen.
The events of last night hit me like a freight train as I get dressed, the half-asleep conversation with the cat gaining even more strangeness as I wake more fully.
As far as I can see it, I have two choices. One, I head to the hospital for a full psychiatric work-up, or two, I take all of this at face value, head over to the kolache place and hope like hell Tara is the witch I’m supposed to be meeting.
I mean, I did see magic last night. I saw it. When the doors both exploded with golden energy. The strange shadow thing at the top of the stairs.
“This is so far beyond my realm of expertise.” I don’t even have the words to express what I’m trying to say.
Caffeine will help.
With any luck.
“That’s why you have me.”
I glance at where Prudence is watching the rain splatter on the windows, one paw raised like she can’t resist batting at where it’s streaking down.
Strangely, the cat’s offer of help, no matter how snarky, makes me feel a little bit better.
“Thank you, Prudence.”
“Of course,” she says, swatting at the glass, tail twitching. “You’d probably get yourself killed without me.”
My feelings of good will towards her shrivel up.
It takes me a moment to locate my raincoat in the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet, but once I’m dressed, I feel better. Like I have armor on.
Raincoat armor.
“You’ll have to carry me in that,” Prudence tells me, standing up on her hind legs like she’s asking for uppies.
“Oh, because people won’t like a random cat following me around?”
“No, because I hate to be wet.” She delivers this news with the sort of patient, scalding tone one might reserve for the stupidest of coworkers.
“I don’t think I have room for you in my coat.” I do, probably, but I’m not likely to be bullied by a cat whose poop I still have to scoop.
“I can either climb my way up there, or you can pick me up. Your choice.”
I wonder if Ivy’s familiar treats her like trash and I scoop the cat up, then put her in between my thin vintage t-shirt and the light raincoat.
Prudence settles in easily, purring like a motor, and I decide having the cat nestled there isn’t all bad.
I’m so tired from last night’s activities and the rigamarole of moving that I nearly forget to grab my phone off the charger.
A smile lights up my face when I glance at the screen and some of the grumpy cloud hanging over me dissipates.
Slightly.
“What did he say?” Prudence asks.
Nosy cat. I’m pleased enough at the message though, so I hold it up and show it to her. Assuming she can read. Will wonders never cease?
Aiden: Here’s hoping you had a bedbug and ghost-free night. Let me know if you need help with anything—that storm was something, huh
“Oh, he likes you.” Prudence gives a little kitty purr, and there’s a sort of wistfulness to her voice that is surely a figment of my imagination.
“No, he doesn’t. Not at all. I did not get that vibe.” I snort. “He thought I was weird. He’s just being nice.”
“You’re an idiot,” Prudence says, still somehow purring simultaneously.
“Thank you, you’ve made your feelings abundantly clear on that issue.”
Me: I’m just waking up and getting going, but I’ll be sure to take advantage of your neighborliness again soon
Aiden: It’s not taking advantage if I want to do it
Me: That does make me feel slightly better
Aiden: and for some reason now I feel worse
Me: Just as you should
“Ah, young love,” Prudence says from where she’s nestled between my boobs.
She’s wrong, obviously, but really, there’s no point in arguing with a cat. Even one that talks. Maybe especially one that talks.
“Alright, shall we?” I ask her instead. “Can’t wait to find out for sure if I’ve lost my mind.” It comes out blithely enough, but there’s no denying that’s a very sincere possibility.
At least I’ll know for sure the minute I word-vomit at poor Tara.
There’s nothing for it.
I stiffen my shoulders, raise my chin in the air, and trudge down the stairs, one arm wrapped around the cat in my coat and my ratty old purse hanging from the other.
The salt line by the front door is intact, and I step over it uneasily, remembering the blast of pure energy that ricocheted off it only a few hours ago.
Nothing happens though, which leaves me relieved and worried that I’m a few crayons short of a full box or whatever the saying is.
Huh.
Maybe I could do with some relaxing coloring. Maybe I could set up a whole coloring station in the bookstore for kids.
My brain keeps tumbling over too many ideas, the humid air and pings of cold drizzle giving my new town a slight air of unreality.
The streets I drove down just last night have already been fully transformed into an autumnal wonderland.
Pennant banners in harvest oranges and golds and reds drape across the streets, and pumpkins in every imaginable color and size spill out of every shop doorway.
There aren’t many people out and about this early, but the few I do see smile and nod at me, and if they notice the talking cat I have smuggled in my boobs, they don’t act like it.
All in all, New Hopewell seems like the kind of small town where I might be happy for a long time. Maybe forever.
I suppose forever depends on this whole… talking cat situation.
Grimacing, I cross the road to the cute café Tara said she owned. The exterior looks recently renovated, and the sign that proclaims “TAROT, KOLACHE, AND TEA” is done in shiny brass on a pretty wood background. Carved florals swirl in and out of the words, along with moons and stars.
Hip-high window boxes overflow with garnet- and purple-hued flowers, along with a trailing green vine that pops even in the gloomy weather. Warm light glows inside the windows, and Tara’s dark hair shines as she bustles behind the counter.
“Stop standing around and get inside,” Prudence complains. “I’m getting wet.”
Snorting, I shake my head and open the door, a bell overhead jingling as I wipe my shoes on the doormat just inside.
The interior is just as pretty and well-thought-out as the rest, polished wood floors and marble-topped tables spaced perfectly throughout the room. The floral celestial theme continues, although it’s decidedly more Halloween-focused in here.
And it’s adorable—vintage witch and black cat and pumpkin décor all artfully arranged. There’s a bookcase full of foil-stamped books and dozens of different types of tarot cards.
All thoughts of décor and merchandise flee my head almost instantly, though, when I take a deep breath.
“Oh my god,” I moan. “It smells so good.”
“Ah, Sylvie! I’m so glad you decided to stop by.” Tara waves from behind the counter, her gaze sliding over my damp coat and the lump Prudence makes underneath. Then she tilts her head, and I realize she can see the cat.
I didn’t know how worried I was until Tara’s brow furrows, staring at where Prudence is now pushing up through my collar.
“Listen, witch, I know we haven’t met, but we’ve got problems. I’m Prudence. The sooner this one—” She pauses to swat at my chin. “—stops pussyfooting around her powers, the better.”
“Oh, shit.” Tara blanches, and I’ve never been so relieved in my life to see the disbelief I feel reflected on someone’s face. “That cat… Holy shit. You’re a witch, huh?”
“Oh, sure, talk to her, when I’m here too. By the way, I want whatever sausage that is I smell. A saucer of milk wouldn’t go wrong, either.”
“Uh.” That’s about all the response I can muster up. “You can hear her too, right? And does this mean you’re a witch? Please tell me I’m not going crazy.”
“I mean, this is crazy, yes, but you’re not losing it.” Tara gives me a smile, but there’s a tightness around her eyes that belies the same worry I still feel.
Prudence claws her way out of my coat, using my collarbone as a springboard, an experience I’d not like to repeat any time soon. She lands on the floor noiselessly, winding around Tara’s ankles and purring loudly.
“You’ve seen some things, haven’t you, sausage witch?”
“I really would prefer if you called me Tara, Prudence.”