Witch Catcher (12 page)

I rubbed the cat's furry head. "I hope you're right."

We lay on the bed, side by side, watching the dance of leaf shadows on the wad. After a while, Kieryn stretched and took her own form. Her hair, clean and silky from her bath last night, curled around her face in dark tendrils. She was more beautiful than I'd realized. An exotic creature with pale green skin, slanted eyes, and a pointed chin, not like any race on earth.

She sat up suddenly and peered down at me. "I'm all of a fret about my brother, Brynn, fen. Him and the aunties been in them traps a fierce long time. Years and years, I reckon."

"Do you think Moura has the traps in her shop?"

Kieryn shook her head. "They be with
him,
the collector, I'm most certain of it."

"Mr. Ashbourne's coming here this very afternoon," I said, "to buy Uncle Thaddeus's paintings."

"The ones the old skitch done of me when I were trapped and helpless?"

"Mr. Ashbourne told Dad he's interested in the fairy world."

Kieryn looked fierce. "
Him
interested in the fairy world," she muttered. "All
him
wants is to bring it to ruin,
him
and for both, so their kinkind can rule it. Dark and evil
them
be." She spit on her thumb and drew a circle in the air. "Wicked to wicked, bad to bad, dark to dark."

"Is that a curse?" My heart bumped for a second like a car on a rutted road.

"Aye." Kieryn gave me a sly look. "But it's no more than a boshy mosquito bite to ones like
than.
If Mam were here, she'd do up a big whopping curse that would set
them
back a bit, I can tell ye that. She has the power, Mam does."

"Do you know where Mr. Ashbourne lives?" I asked.

Kieryn grinned. "Nay, but when he comes here for the paintings, we can hide ourselves in his car and let the old snark drive us right to his house—like as if he was our own private chauffeur."

She threw back her head and laughed, but I didn't join her—Mr. Ashbourne scared me even more than Moura.

"But what if he catches us?" I asked.

"Ah, don't fash yerself, Jen. Haven't ye noticed I be a tricksy girl?"

"Yes, but they're tricksy, too. Don't forget, they caught you once. How do you know they won't—"

"Choky sumac and hemlock juice, ye're such a timmytim." Kieryn threw herself back on the bed so hard the mattress bounced. "Go with me or stay here like a baby tittot bird—see if I cares."

Dad saved me from answering Kieryn by hollering that lunch was ready. I left her curled up in a cross gray ball on my bed and trudged slowly downstairs to sit through another stiff, unpleasant meal with Moura and Dad. As usual, the two of them chattered away about books and poetry and music while I sat silently nibbling a tuna fish sandwich that tasted like sawdust.

Just as I got up to clear the table, the doorbell rang. "Will you get that, Jen?" Dad asked.

Cadoc beat me to the door, nose on alert, tail wagging. Mr. Ashbourne stood on the threshold, dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy slacks, a paisley ascot tucked into his shirt collar. The perfect gentleman—unless you knew what I knew.

I stepped aside to let him in. Giving me a brief glance of dislike, he strode into the hall and shook hands with Dad. While he and Dad talked, I noticed Kieryn-the-cat on the stairs. She'd fixed her attention on Cadoc, who seemed to be equally interested in her. When the dog rose to his feet and began moving stealthily toward the kitten, I darted across the room and scooped her up. Cadoc stared at me, his pale eyes scary. With a low growl, he retreated to Moura's side.

"He doesn't care for cats." Moura rested her elegant hand on Cadoc's head. "And neither do I. Sneaky creatures that can't be trusted—rather like children."

Dad was too involved with Mr. Ashbourne and the paintings to hear what Moura had said. I looked at her but kept silent. I was sure she disliked children as much as she disliked cats.

In a louder voice, she said, "Hugh, we forgot to take that cat to the vet. Perhaps this afternoon? I'd hate to see it contaminate Tink with some dreadful feline disease."

Mr. Ashbourne glanced at Kieryn and me and frowned. "Cats," he muttered. "Don't see why anyone tolerates having me beasts in their homes."

"Get me out of here," Kieryn whispered in my ear. "
Her
and
him's
thinking evil thoughts about both me and ye. And so's her hound."

Anxious to escape Mr. Ashbourne, Moura, and Cadoc, I told Dad I was going outside to play.

"Stay close to the house, Jen," he said, his attention focused on Mr. Ashbourne.

Mr. Ashbourne's shiny black van sat in the shade of a maple tree. The side door was open, waiting to be loaded with paintings.

Kieryn leapt from my arms and darted into the van. "Quick, Jen—get in afore
him
sees us."

I ran to the door and poked my head inside. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"'Tis the one way I know to go to
his
house," she said.

"But—"

"Get in," Kieryn insisted. "Ye promised ye'd help me rescue Brynn."

"I know but—"

"Fie fie fiddlesticks on you," Kieryn said with a hiss. "I reckon I'll go it alone, then. Mam always said ye can't trust a human to keep a promise."

I reached into the van to pull her out, but she scurried to the very back and regarded me with angry eyes, her tail puffed to double its size.

"Please, Kieryn," I begged. "He's a bad man."

"Don't ye think I know that already, ye dimbob, timtim promise breaker?"

I didn't want to get in that van, but it was clear nothing would change Kieryn's mind. With me or without me, she meant to go to Mr. Ashbourne's house and rescue her kin. How could I let her go all by herself?

While I stood there hesitating, I heard Dad say, "You take one end, Ciril, and I'll take the other."

They were coming with the paintings. In a few seconds, it would be too late to go with Kieryn. Trying not to think of what might happen, I climbed quickly into the back of the van. A pile of packing quilts lay on the floor. I chose one for a cover and curled into the smallest bad possible. Kieryn crouched beside me, her green cat eyes aglow with watchfulness as Dad and Mr. Ashbourne approached the van.

"
L
OAD THEM IN BACK,
"
Mr. Ashbourne said in his suave English voice.

I heard Dad put the paintings in the back seat carefully, one at a time, breathing hard as he wrestled with them.

"Where did jen run off to?" Moura asked.

"She can't have gone far," Dad said. "I told her to stay close to the house."

"Thanks, Hugh," Mr. Ashbourne said, obviously unconcerned with my whereabouts. "Your uncle's paintings will have a good home. And don't forget the books you mentioned. I'd like to go up to the tower and take a look at them one day soon."

The van door slid shut. We felt the tilt of Mr. Ashbourne's weight as he settled himself behind the wheel.

"Good afternoon," he called to Dad and Moura. "I'll be in touch."

When the van moved forward, my stomach lurched. If only I were dreaming this. I couldn't remember ever being more scared or feeling so helpless.

Mr. Ashbourne turned on the radio and hummed along with a piece by Mozart that I'd once played when I was taking flute lessons. Beside me Kieryn lay still, as tense as Tink when he was about to pounce on something.

We rode up hill and down, along a winding road, stopping perhaps forty-five minutes later. Mr. Ashbourne got out of the van and opened the sliding door. One by one, he began removing the paintings.

"May I help, sir?" a man asked.

"Yes, take these to the drawing room, Simkins."

"Yes, sir."

The men's footsteps crunched on gravel as they walked away. Cautiously, Kieryn crept out from under the packing quilt and peered through the van's rear window.

"It be a big tall mansion of a house," she whispered, "with towers and all and more chimneys than I ever did see, made of pinky orange brick all covered with ivy. Grand.
Him's
rich as a king in this world,
him
is. on the fairy gold he stole."

"Have they both gone inside the house?" My legs ached from being curled up so long, and I yearned to have a good stretch.

"Aye, and taken Mostyn's paintings with them, the boshy pair. What do
him
want with my portrait?"

"Who's the other man?"

Kieryn hissed in contempt. "I reckon they found him in yer world and won him over with pisky lies and promises."

Cautiously, I poked my head out from under the blanket, but I didn't dare join Kieryn at the window. "What should we do now?"

"Wait till dark and sneak inside. We'll search the place till we finds them snarky traps."

"What if Mr. Ashbourne has a dog like Cadoc?"

Kieryn twitched her tail. "I gave the van a right good sniff. Not a stinky whiff of hound anywhere."

She crawled under the packing quilt and curled up. "We might as wed sleep a while to pass the time till night."

Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy for me to nap as it was for Kieryn. In cat form she was a natural sleeper. Not me. I imagined dogs or even wolves creeping around the van, sniffing me out. I worried about Dad, standing at the door, calling my name over and over again. I pictured Moura close beside him, telling him not to worry, engulfing him in her perfume, fogging his thoughts until he forgot all about me.

The sun sank lower, the shadows stretched longer. Birds stopped singing. Crickets and cicadas took their place, shrill and insistent. A breeze sprang up. The blue sky faded to pale violet and then gray. At last, darkness blurred the treetops and lights appeared in the mansion's windows.

Cautiously, I slid the van's door open and got out. Kieryn slunk across the lawn and I followed. The moon had begun to rise, so we stuck to the shadows.

"How will we get inside?" I whispered.

Kieryn paused in the bushes by the back door and looked at me. "Supposing I magic ye into a cat?"

If I hadn't been so scared, I would have laughed. "Me, a cat? That's impossible. You can't do it."

Kieryn narrowed her eyes and twitched her tail. "Even with Mostyn's blood in yer veins, I doubt ye can shape-change on yer own, but if ye do what I say, I reckon ye'll be a cat afore ye know it."

She rubbed against my legs. "Put yer hand on my head. Stroke me all over the way I done Tink. Think hard about cats. How they look and act and sound. What they eat. The shape of them and the feel of them. The sound of them, the smell of them. Their paws and claws and whiskers. Their long tails and rough tongues. Think of cats, cats,
cats
with all yer heart and head, and feel ye're one with them. With me."

"I'm scared," I whispered. "What if something goes wrong? What if you can't change me back?"

"There's much worser things than being a cat for the rest of yer life." Kieryn twitched her tail impatiently. "Brynn's in yon house, trapped in a skitzy ball, and so are my aunties. Do what I ted ye, and ye'll be a lovelier than lovely yellow cat, just like Tink."

Reluctantly, I put my hand on Kieryn's head and closed my eyes. I thought with all my might. Suddenly, I felt every bone transform itself. My muscles knotted and cramped. In a burst of pain, sharp claws shot out of my fingers and toes. Whiskers pricked through my cheeks. Fur grew out of my skin, covering every bit of bare flesh.

When the pain ended, I was a cat as soft and yellow as Tink. I opened my mouth and meowed. I breathed in smells I'd never smelled before. I saw shapes in the dark that usually vanished with daylight. I turned to Kieryn, frightened and excited at the same moment.

"I'm a cat," I whispered. "Look, I even have a tail! But I still feel like a girl."

"Don't worry," Kieryn said. "Before ye know it, ye'll be acting as cattish as cattish can be."

With me staggering behind her, drunk on the night's smells, Kieryn scampered up the steps to the house's back door. It was open to let in the cool night air. Without hesitating, Kieryn pranced into the kitchen and rubbed against a pair of fat sturdy legs. She purred loudly.

A huge woman stared down at Kieryn and me. I'd never realized what humans looked like to cats. To Tink, I must be gigantic. But, I hoped, not as fearsome as this woman.

"What do you think you're doing in here?" With a sudden lunge, the woman grabbed for Kieryn. Missing her, she went for me.

In my newborn cat state, I was an easy target. Seizing me by the nape of my furry little neck, she dangled me in front of her big red face. This close, I could see a scattering of coarse black hairs on her upper lip and more sprouting from her nostrils; big yellow teeth, one capped with gold; a mole on her cheek. Her shaggy eyebrows lowered in a frown above her small eyes. "Mr. Ashbourne hates cats!" she yelled.

While the woman ranted, Kieryn crept up behind her and sunk her teeth and claws into the woman's leg. With a scream of surprise, my capturer flung me across the kitchen with such force I hit the wall and slid to the door.

"Run!" Kieryn yowled. "Run!"

My head ached, but I tore after her. With the woman in noisy pursuit, we raced up a narrow flight of stairs, down a hall, into a room, and under a bed. We saw the woman charge past the open door without looking into the room. "Cats!" she shrieked. "Cats in the house!"

Suddenly, Kieryn shrank, smaller and smaller, until she was a tiny furry creature with whiskers, a skinny tail, and dainty pink paws. A mouse—a live toy, a delicate morsel, a cat's delight. I reached out with my claws and caught her.

"Ninny bob!" Kieryn squeaked. "Don't eat me. Change yerself!"

Horrified. I let her go. "Sony," I whispered. "Sorry. I forgot who I am."

"Think mice," Kieryn whispered. "Think hard, as hard as you can!"

I shut my eyes and put my mind into mouse gear. How they looked, what they ate, how they acted. I remembered the pair of white mice in my kindergarten classroom standing on their hind legs to drink from their water bottle, tiny sharp teeth, twitchy noses, pink feet. Then, with a familiar flash of pain, I shrank into a small, furry body.