Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finally, some progress.
Kieran leaned back and admired his laptop screen. The ClosetAura prototype was still rough round the edges but beginning to shine. The code worked, the interface almost looked professional, and for once he could see a potential glimmer of success.
‘Cooking with gas, Prom,’ he declared. ‘This app’s going to be a game-changer. All I need now are backers, beta testers, a sprinkle of magic and’ – he grinned at his own joke – ‘a few unicorn tears.’
He waited for a sarcastic miaow. Silence.
‘Prom?’ He looked around. No sign of the cat. Not on the sofa, not under the table, not even pretending to be dead in his food bowl.
‘You’re kidding me.’ The front door, of course, was ajar. ‘For God’s sake.’
Kieran shoved his feet into his trainers, wincing at the blister still healing from his last ill-fated run. ‘Why does that bloody cat think he’s got diplomatic immunity?’
He sprinted – jogged – the short distance to The Jekyll and Hyde. He’d find Prom, threaten him with castration, and bring him home.
When Kieran stepped into the beer garden, it was empty. Not a soul in sight, and eerily still for a sunny afternoon. But music thudded from inside. Not pub music. Party music.
He pushed open the door and blinked.
No. Way.
Jinnie’s gran, Wilma, was spinning across the floor, her floral skirt fanning out like a maypole in motion.
A bearded folk band sawed away at a fiddle, plucked a mandolin, played something with strings that defied classification.
The place was heaving – a whirl of colour, movement, and absolute lunacy.
‘Come on, join us!’ Jinnie shouted, baby Dahlia balanced on her hip, both beaming.
‘We are family!’ Jo bellowed into a microphone that had definitely not existed five seconds ago.
Before Kieran could retreat, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
‘Your cat’s got all the rhythm!’ Ed yelled over the din. ‘Busting the moves and acing the grooves!’
Kieran stared. There, in the middle of the pub, was Prom. Dancing.
Not the random skittering of a startled animal. Oh no. This was full-blown, paws-in-the-air, spin-on-his-back, tail-in-time choreography.
The crowd whooped and clapped.
‘Aww, he’s adorable!’ Angela appeared beside Kieran, shimmying in sequins he could have sworn she hadn’t been wearing earlier. ‘Fancy a foxtrot?’
Before he could protest, she’d seized his hand. Suddenly, Kieran was twirling across the floor like a contestant on Strictly Come Dancing: The Full-On Madness Edition.
‘I don’t dance!’ he gasped, his legs apparently possessed.
‘You do now!’ Angela grinned, dipping him with surprising strength. ‘And look. People are eating!’
She was right. Every table was full – diners tucking into plates piled high, glasses clinking, laughter ringing off the walls. Rose led a conga line past the bar, trailed by Jo, Harvey, and Gus, all grinning like children at a school disco.
And just beyond the madness stood Beth.
She was in the doorway, hands covering her mouth, shoulders shaking. Was she laughing? Crying? Both?
‘This can’t be real,’ Kieran muttered. ‘This is a hallucination. Some kind of mushroom-induced fever dream.’
He disentangled himself from Angela and forced his way through towards Beth, but she’d vanished like smoke. Prom, meanwhile, had finished his breakdancing routine and sat licking his paw, tail flicking smugly.
‘Prom, come here,’ Kieran said, half-command, half-plea.
The cat ignored him, obviously.
Then the music shifted. The folk band, joined by other musicians, launched into something completely different – a brass-heavy number with trumpets, trombones, and unmistakable familiarity.
‘Is that “Friend Like Me”?’ Kieran said aloud, his voice barely audible over the tune. ‘What – how—?’
A booming voice echoed through the room, though Kieran couldn’t tell where it came from, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to wind things down.’
The music faltered. The crowd stilled.
‘You have had fun, yes?’ the voice continued, smooth and lilting. ‘Tell your friends. Spread the word. The Jekyll and Hyde is the hip, hop, happening place to be!’
And just like that, the spell broke.
The energy drained out of the room. People blinked, muttered to each other, gathered coats and handbags. Within moments the pub was half-empty, the chatter replaced by the faint hum of the fridges.
Kieran stood, gripping a chair for balance. The air still crackled faintly, like static after a storm. He wanted Beth to appear again, to tell him it was some elaborate themed event, a fundraiser, a local tradition – anything logical.
Instead, Jinnie came over, flushed and grinning. ‘That was wild, wasn’t it? Oh, here.’ She handed him something small and papery.
A crown. Pink, crinkled, with King of the Cat Disco scrawled in glitter pen.
‘Er … thanks?’
‘For your cat,’ she said, and left before he could reply.
The door swung shut behind her. Silence. Just Kieran and Prom.
‘Miaow,’ said the cat, perfectly serene.
‘What’s going on?’ Kieran whispered.
Prom blinked, let out a louder miaow, and began grooming his tail.
Kieran laughed, a dry, incredulous sound. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’
No response. Just another smug tail flick.
The room felt wrong now. Too empty, too still. He needed air. He scooped up Prom, jammed the paper crown onto his furry head, and stepped outside into the fading light.
They’d barely made it ten paces when someone called his name. Jo was jogging up the lane, eyes wide with concern. ‘Wait! Are you all right?’
He blinked at her. ‘Define “all right.” I’ve just watched my cat out-dance half the village to Sister Sledge.’
‘Ah,’ Jo said softly. ‘It’s happening again.’
‘What is?’
‘You’re new,’ she said carefully. ‘You don’t know Cranley’s history.’
‘What, witch-burnings? Goat sacrifices?’ He tried to laugh but it came out shaky.
‘Not quite,’ Jo said, managing a thin smile. ‘But… Strange things happen here. They always have. We thought it had stopped.’
‘What had stopped?’
She shook her head. ‘Not now: you need rest. I’ll speak to the others.’
‘The others? Who are—’ But Kieran’s words slurred, and his head was suddenly heavy.
Jo caught his arm, guiding him forward. ‘Come on,’ she murmured. ‘Nearly home.’
The walk back was a blur. Streetlights smeared into gold streaks. His limbs felt like lead and his mind fizzed with fragments of music, light and laughter.
When he collapsed on his bed, Prom was already curled beside him, paper crown still perched at a jaunty angle.
‘Sleep,’ Kieran muttered. ‘Need to sleep.’
As his eyes fluttered shut, words drifted through his half-dreaming brain, spoken by the same silky voice that had haunted the pub.
Sweet dreams, darling boy. You’re part of the story now.
And then he fell asleep.