It’s not a good idea to lock a cat in a hotel room – especially if the cat doesn’t want to be there. The moment the animal had woken, she’d knocked over all the candles. Then she’d run around in a panic and torn holes in Professor Utterby’s best pyjamas, and now she was in the process of destroying the armchair. And the noise – Professor Utterby had heard the cries of demons rising from the Otherworld, and even that didn’t compare to the wails and shrieks that filled the air now. It was a good job he’d cast a soundproof charm on the room or they’d have the hotel manager banging on the door asking what they were doing.
‘It’s no use carrying on like that,’ he said, frowning as the cat tore a lump of pink cloth off the chair. ‘No one can hear you.’
Normally, he liked cats. They knew they were a superior species and they weren’t afraid to show it, but this was becoming tiresome. Time was pressing on – they had a matter of hours to find the stormhound and they were close, he could sense it.
‘I’m not sure the cat knows anything,’ Professor Nuffield said. He had a large claw mark across his nose.
Ryston was in even worse shape, with holes in his jumper and several deep scratches on his hands. ‘I’m supposed to be teaching art today,’ he complained. ‘If I’d known the cat would be this much trouble I wouldn’t have bothered taking it. Can’t we just let it go?’
‘In a minute.’ Utterby picked up one of the fallen candles and relit it. The smoke smelled vaguely fishy with a hint of wet earth. The cat stopped yowling and hissed, its green eyes narrowing to horizontal slits. Professor Utterby held a finger in the candle flame. It was pleasantly cool and tickled a little. ‘Mistress cat,’ he said politely, ‘we meant you no harm.’ His voice translated into a series of mews and hisses. ‘We simply wish to converse and then you’ll be free to go.’
Converse with your own species, the cat hissed. I am the cat who walks alone . . .
‘Why does every cat say that?’ Nuffield sighed.
Utterby glared at them both. ‘I am trying to do serious magic here. Go and wait outside if you can’t be quiet.’ He turned back to the cat. ‘There is magic afoot,’ he said. ‘A creature of the Otherworld is here in Abergavenny, a stormhound of the Wild Hunt. We believe you may know something about it.’
Candle smoke coiled through the room. The cat stared at him with wide, dilated pupils. Everything was quiet except for the sound of Ryston’s coughing and the scrape of the window as he opened it a crack.
Utterby sat down on the wrecked armchair. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘have you seen the stormhound?’
The cat appeared to be trying to bite its own tongue in the effort of not speaking. Utterby lit a second candle and more smoke drifted across the room.
I have seen it, the cat hissed, its tail switching back and forth. The words were dragged out one at a time. Black . . . small . . .
Professor Utterby leaned closer. ‘Where? Where is the stormhound?’
He was interrupted by a sudden knocking on the door.
‘Professor Utterby? Are you there? I’ve had a report about a cat.’
Professor Utterby stood back with a sigh of irritation. ‘Did someone happen to let the manager see what we were doing?’
‘It’s not my fault,’ Ryston said at once.
The manager knocked on the door again, louder this time. ‘Professor Utterby?’ The handle jiggled.
Professor Utterby opened the door a crack. ‘I was sleeping. What’s this about a cat?’
At the same moment, the window on the far side of the room shot up. Professor Utterby swung round, but the cat was faster. She darted across the room, clawed her way up Ryston’s legs and was gone.
Utterby ran to the window. ‘Ryston, you buffoon!’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Ryston protested.
Was that a flash of a white tail, disappearing into the bushes?
Utterby slammed the window shut in frustration.
‘There’s no cat?’ asked the manager. ‘Because if there is it’ll cost extra.’
‘No,’ Utterby said tightly. ‘There is no cat. Good day.’
He shut the door and turned back to his colleagues. Black, small. Where had he seen a small, black dog?
Of course! The obedience class with that irritating woman who also ran the Dog Rescue Centre. Now he thought about it, he remembered a black puppy growling at him, and a girl. He couldn’t for the life of him remember her name or exactly what she looked like, which was odd because he was sure he’d seen her at school.
‘You two pack up here, then go back to the house where Ryston found the cat, and keep watch,’ he said. ‘Take the car, and for goodness’ sake don’t let anyone see you. I will meet you shortly.’ He looked out of the window at the gathering clouds, and smiled. The girl clearly had some magical protection of her own, and they wanted to recruit new students, didn’t they? This could work out very well indeed.