Over the weekend, I spent some time reading news articles and social media posts about the recent rash of burglaries in downtown Glendale. Sure enough, the reports matched up exactly with what Officer Bouchard had told me. I also cruised through downtown a few more times hoping to spot the lair or to run into Moss again. Of course, that plan failed spectacularly.
“Why are you so bothered about this?” Octo-Cat asked me when we snuggled into bed Sunday night. “The building vanished and the mean scruffer guy went with it. They’re not here anymore and thus…” He paused for emphasis and licked his chest. “Not our problem.”
Maybe my cat didn’t think all these strange goings-on were his problem, but I definitely considered them mine. Nothing bad would happen to him if people found out I could talk to him. I was the one in possible danger here, and it hurt that this failed to concern him.
Rather than sharing my hurt feelings, I decided to take a different approach to get him back on my side. “Aren’t you at least a little bit curious about how a whole building could just up and vanish like that? Don’t you want to know what happened?”
Octo-Cat lifted a leg over his head and began to lick parts that would be better tended to in private. “Curiosity killed the cat,” he mumbled by rote. “And seeing as I only have five lives left, I’d rather not take too many chances.”
It always weirded me out when he talked like this, and given Octo-Cat’s flair for dramatics, it was hard for me to tell whether he was being serious or not. “Have you really died four times before?” I asked him quizzically. “I have a hard time believing that.”
He lowered his leg, then stretched in a long arc with a satisfied mew. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. All that matters is what’s the truth. And whether you can do anything about it.”
I contemplated this for a few moments. It seemed intelligent, even though it didn’t satisfy my intense need to understand. “That makes sense,” I said at last. “I know you’re over it and everything, but do you have any idea what happened with the lair on Friday?”
“Sure I do.” He rolled onto his back and wiggled around a bit. For all his complaints, he’d been doing a lot of that happy rolling about lately.
“Well,” I demanded impatiently. “Are you going to keep it to yourself or will you just tell me already?”
He flopped back onto his side and twisted his mouth in a grimace. “I can tell you, but you’re probably going to fight me on it.”
“Why would I—”
“Magic,” he said, cutting me off mid-sentence.
Well, that was a bit surprising, but not altogether unexpected, given recent events. “Magic? Could you maybe be more specific, please?”
“Mmm, no. Probably not.” He yawned and offered me a little shrug. “I don’t really know more than that.”
Honestly, the fact he knew anything at all surprised me. Now that I knew he had at least some intel, I was dying to hear more. I had to play this carefully, though. If I got too excited, my cat would punish me by simply walking away from the conversation until I got a hold of myself.
“But you say magic was involved?” I asked without making eye contact as I dragged my fingers across the soft comforter on my lap. “Does that mean you believe in magic?”
“Please refer back to my previous statement about belief versus truth,” Octo-Cat answered drolly, then waited while counting under his breath. Was he actually giving me time to revisit our earlier conversation? His arrogance truly knew no bounds.
“Okay,” I said, trying to hide my annoyance. “Please continue.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Thank you. And, yes, magic is real. Although it’s also very rare. And before you can ask, I know because some cats can see the traces it leaves behind. Not me, mind you. Just some other, less cool cats.”
Unbelievable. I shook my head and suppressed a sigh. “So this whole time you’ve known magic is real and you’ve never said anything to me? You can spend hours telling me about your napping routine, but never once thought to mention magic?”
Octo-Cat stood up and arched his back defensively. “If you’ll recall, I mentioned magic on our very first meeting. Back when you were still trying to figure out how we can talk to each other. You told me there’s no such thing as magic, and so I dropped it.”
I thought back to that day so many months ago, and… he was right! He was absolutely, unmistakably right. But he’d never been one to drop anything, so why would he have let something so important slip away?
Octo-Cat’s golden eyes glinted as he studied me. “I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. I don’t think you should mess with this more than you already have. I’ve already gotten scruffed once. What further proof do you need that these guys don’t play fair?”
“Am I…?” I hesitated. This was a hard question to ask, a hard possibility to come to grips with. “Am I like them?” I asked at last, my voice shaking.
Octo-Cat rolled over on the bed and laughed heartily. “Like them? What do you mean by that? Do you think you’re some kind of wicked witch now just because you can talk to the great Octavius Maxwell Ricardo Edmund Frederick Fulton? Mind you, that’s no small thing, but…” He broke apart in full-on laughter, rolling from side to side in glee.
My patience had more than grown thin by now. Once again, my cat had important information, information that I needed to solve a case. Yes, once again, he was being a brat about sharing it with me.
Finally, he sobered enough to say, “There’s no such thing as witches or wizards, so drop those fictional stereotypes from your mind. Mmm’kay?”
“But—“
“But there is magic,” he stated again. “I don’t know much more, because I’m not someone who has any.”
I pointed to myself, jaw hanging open. My lips simply couldn’t form the words.
Octo-Cat shook his head. Magic or not, he clearly understood me. “And neither are you. Yeah, somebody’s magical residue probably rubbed off on you or something. Hey, try not to look a gift cat in the mouth.”
“So, what do I do?” I sputtered. My cat had just revealed a whole new hidden world, and my brain was racing a thousand miles an hour to keep up.
Magic was real. Who’d have ever guessed it? Certainly not me.
“You? You do nothing. Me? I do nothing. Just forget we had this talk, okay?” He jumped off the bed and left the room, thus ending the conversation. Why was he being so cagey? Did he know more than he was letting on? Would he be willing to talk if I tried bringing up the topic later?
Unfortunately, you just never knew when it came to Octo-Cat.
My only hope now was that Peter would be more forthcoming when I approached him tomorrow at work.
Peter beat me to the office the next morning and appeared deeply involved with something on his computer screen when I entered.
“Hey,” I said halfheartedly by way of good morning. Something told me I’d do best to approach him like I would Octo-Cat. Carefully.
“Hey,” he mumbled back without so much as a glance my way.
“What happened Friday night?” I asked casually as I made my way toward our desk.
Peter burst out of his chair and clapped a hand over my mouth, scaring the wits out of me in the process. “Don’t,” he warned before peeling back his fingers one by one. “Just don’t.”
“But I waited for you,” I argued with a steely gaze. He could act weird all he wanted, but I wasn’t going to be frightened off—at least not until I finally got the answers he’d been keeping just out of my reach.
He shrugged, returning to his normal disinterested affectations. “Yeah, well, something better came up.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, pausing to take a slow, shuddering breath. If I lost my cool, we’d get nowhere. Whatever game Peter was playing, I needed to play it, too. “Can we try again some other time?” I asked sweetly.
“Stop acting like a scorned lover,” he spat. “It isn’t flattering.”
“But—”
Peter raised his hand and made the same odd gesture that the bouncer at the lair had made just before the door disappeared. I watched, mesmerized.
It made me feel happy—no, not happy, content.
Good.
Satisfied.
Ahh.
Someone cleared her throat from across the room, and I turned toward Bethany with a goofy smile planted on my face.
“Angie, a word in my office, please?” Despite the kindness of her words, she did not sound happy. Didn’t look it, either.
“What’s going on with Peter?” she demanded after I’d eased the door shut behind me.
I shrugged. My body still felt light, my mind fuzzy. It took me a little bit to come up with an answer.
Then I remembered.
Peter. I hated that guy.
“He’s annoying, and I wish you hadn’t hired him,” I said with a scowl. All my earlier elation was now gone.
Bethany regarded me suspiciously from behind her desk. “Anything else?”
This was it. Someone was finally willing to listen to my misgivings when it came to Peter Peters. Only I couldn’t exactly remember what they were.
Bethany tapped her fingers on the desk and raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Well?”
“Nothing specific,” I said, wondering why it seemed all my recent memories had fallen clear out of my brain. “I just don’t like him.”
A smile washed across her face, replacing the anxiety that had been there only seconds earlier. “Good,” she said, and then, “Thank you, Angie. That will be all.”
I had no idea what was going on or why the conversation bothered me so much. Why did my head still feel like it was full of cotton?
Maybe I was coming down with some kind of cold.
Or maybe Peter…
No.
No way.
I felt like the answer lay just along the edges of my mind, but no matter how I strained, I couldn’t break through the barrier to retrieve it.
Maybe the inevitable had finally occurred.
After months of talking to my cat, I’d now completely lost my mind once and for all.