Chapter 5

 

Not a Cat Fight

 

Olivia shuffles into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Olivia Stone.” Mum frowns darkly. “I hope you weren’t sitting up reading half the night, again.”

“No,” Olivia’s reply is as grumpy as her mum’s. “I think Rum-Tum was out fighting and I couldn’t get back to sleep.” She doesn’t mention the shadow crossing the sky or how the horrid yowling terrified her so much she was afraid to even close her eyes, let alone try and go back to sleep.

Olivia sits down to breakfast. She chews her toast and screws up her face at the first taste of the tart orange juice.

“It’s good for you,” Mum says, putting a hand to her back and stretching. “Vitamin C.”

Olivia gives Mum a sour look but finishes the drink. She gently pats Mum’s swollen tummy where her baby brother or sister is growing inside.

After breakfast, Olivia trudges upstairs to wash and dress for school. As she reaches into the wardrobe for her shoes, Rum-Tum darts out from behind the shoe rack.

“Blast it, Rum-Tum. You scared me half to death,” Olivia scolds, but the cat belly-slides under the low bed; fur-bristled and wide-eyed.

No matter how hard she coaxes, Rum-Tum refuses to come out.

“Hurry up, Olivia. You’re going to be late for school,” Mum shouts from the hall.

“Coming, Mum.” Olivia looks under the bed.

“They frightened you too, Rum-Tum.” She tries to give him a reassuring pat but snatches back her hand, staring at the three new stinging welts.

“Ouch.”

Rum-Tum has never scratched her before. Olivia isn’t sure if her tears are because of that or from the actual pain.

Her backpack is hooked on the polished wooden ball that stops her sliding down the balustrade, instead of walking down the steps, like a proper lady.

She did try it side-saddle one morning, meaning to push clear just before the bottom. Olivia ended up with a bruise on her hip and Mum’s favourite vase smashed to pieces when she landed on the side table. She has never tried to do it again.

Mum pokes her head out through the kitchen door. “Your lunch is packed and don’t forget to hand in your excursion note.”

“I won’t forget.” Olivia slings her bag across one shoulder.

“Are you OK?” Mum asks, coming forward and wiping wet hands on her apron.

“Yeah, Rum-Tum scratched me.” She holds up her hand for Mum to see.

“That’s it!” Dad bellows. He stalks out of the kitchen, rolling up the newspaper he had been reading into a weapon.

“No, Dad,” Olivia begs. “He didn’t mean it.”

Dad doesn’t break his stride. “He’s caused enough trouble.”

Olivia blocks the stairway. “It’s not his fault. Something frightened him.”

After a long standoff, Dad’s shoulders loosen and he lets the paper unravel in his hand. “I don’t know why you like that cantankerous old cat.”

Olivia gives Dad a hug. “He reminds me of you,” she whispers in his ear. She dances back as Dad aims a playful smack at her with the newspaper.

“You two.” Mum glowers.

Olivia and Dad burst out laughing.

“Go on, off with you,” Dad says.

Olivia hurries into the back courtyard. Cutting through the alley will save her walking all the way around the block on her way to school. The low wooden door opens with a squeal of rusty hinges. She steps into the blind alley by Fat Jorge’s Curio shop.

A prickling sensation runs up Olivia’s back. Garbage bins and rubbish are scattered across the cobblestones and there are strange gouges ripped into the brick walls. She steps out into a criss-cross of shadows and looks up.

Strange.

Thin cables are stretched like a metal spider’s web across the alley above her. Halfway along, close to the right-hand wall, four cables hang loose. Something strong has snapped them like string. Olivia thinks about the yowls in the night. She shivers. Cold fingers of fear tickle down her spine.

This was no cat fight.

Something clinks away from Olivia’s foot. The piece of stone is dark grey, about the length of her little finger, almost as thin and curly as a pig’s tail. She picks it up and looks closely at the broken end before slipping it into her pocket. With a nervous glance around, she hurries out of the alley.

“I think I might walk home the long way,” Olivia tells herself, as she reaches the street and turns toward the school. Something about the alley is giving her creepy tingles. The hair on the back of her neck stands up.

It feels like someone, or something is watching.