BEING A CAT was harder than it looked. For the second time in one night, Lamont almost got himself stepped on. While he was looking the other way, a worker carrying a heavy toolbox nearly tromped on his left front paw. Lamont dodged the boot at the last instant and jumped to the top of a metal trash can. From there, he had a safe, unobstructed view of the Most Beautiful Day preparations.
This shape-shifting power took some getting used to. In some ways, he was finding that being a cat had its advantages over being invisible. He was more agile, for one thing, and he could fit through tighter spaces. But he was still getting the hang of it. And tonight was good practice.
A huge tent had been erected in the middle of Madison Square Park, covering the length and width of the entire block. Lamont had watched the whole operation. As squads of police stood guard, teams of workers hoisted poles, stretched huge sections of canvas, pounded stakes, and tightened ropes. Others unloaded long folding tables and metal chairs from trailer trucks. Meanwhile, two-man crews mounted extra screens on poles and trees around the park.
Lamont was still adjusting to his small, furry body. It felt light, almost insubstantial. Sometimes it was hard to sense his position or gauge distances. But his hearing was incredible. Lamont could pick up voices, movements—even a slight whistle of wind—with unbelievable clarity. And even though his color perception suffered, his vision was amazingly sharp, especially in the dark. As Lamont watched the work proceed at two a.m., everything was as clear to him as daylight.
From the dark corners of buildings surrounding the park, Lamont could see faces peering out, the temporary tenants of another ruined district. But when he flicked his ears just the right way, he picked up something unusual—murmurs of excitement and anticipation. The Most Beautiful Day Feast was really happening, and people could hardly wait.
Lamont wasn’t even sure what Gismonde was planning. And until he did, he wouldn’t know how to stop it. Or at least try. All he knew for certain was that tents like this were going up all over the city. And in just two and a half days, the tents would be filled with people—men, women, and children. And they were all in danger.
Lamont spotted a group of guards leaning against a truck lift at the far end of the park. As his squad-mates watched, one of the guards casually lifted his rifle and sighted in Lamont’s direction. Lamont’s feline muscles tensed. His fur stood straight up. He heard the pop from the firing chamber. Lamont leapt into the air, propelled by his powerful hind legs, just as the bullet punched a hole in the rim of the trash can lid.
As he spun through the air in what felt like slow motion, Lamont heard the guards laughing, like bullies in a schoolyard. He saw the pavement rushing up at him and twisted his body to land lightly on his feet—all four of them.