The Catswold Portal

It was there. The spell was there.

“To cat do I cleave, to Catswold cleave, called forth leaping, careening joyous from spell-fettered caverns, to cat do I return…”

She changed to cat suddenly, without pain. The simple charm seemed part of her nature.

And she remembered. She was the little calico yet she knew she was Melissa. She was so pleased she wanted to race the garden madly. But suddenly she froze, rigid. The scent of Vrech clung in the tool room. Only now as cat could she smell it.

It was not a fresh scent, but it was not very old either. She left the tool shed quickly, pushing through the door into the rain, shaking her paws in the rain.

She sat under a tree near the portal, letting memories of the Netherworld come. Only when her fur was soaked and she was shivering with cold did she leave the shelter of the tree, heading straight for the terrace. She sped across the wet bricks and clawed at the door, crying pitifully.

He came at once, wiping paint off his hands. “How the hell did you get out this morning? You were on the bed last night when I went to sleep.” He picked her up. “And this isn’t the first time you’ve done that. Christ, you’re soaked.” He stood rubbing her wet ears, frowning. She snuggled deeper into his arms, getting him wet, purring so loudly her whole body shook. He carried her into the bathroom and began to towel her dry. Then in the kitchen he opened a can of cat food, and dumped the chopped liver in a dish. She watched him, wanting to laugh. This was perfect, to be cat but to have her own wits about her, her own awareness.

She finished the canned liver quickly. It was really quite good. Braden had returned to the easel. She strolled past him, leaped to the model’s couch and gave her damp fur another cleaning, leaving dark stains on the velvet and silks. He was still working on the tea shop painting. She flipped onto her back, looking at the painting and the studio upside down. She felt so loose, so utterly comfortable both in spirit and in body. Upside down she watched Braden, then leaped to her feet and bolted the length of the studio and back, playing. She chased her tail in circles, sliding on the bare floor until, distracted, he left the easel. As he made himself a sandwich she sat down before the painting and studied the image of herself. She was still there when he came out of the kitchen. He stopped, watching her.

“What are you? Some kind of art critic?” He picked her up and stroked her absently. “I don’t know why it’s so important, cat, but I’m going to find this girl. I’m going to paint her again.” His look was so intense, so deep, she shivered.

He said, “It’s going to be the best work I’ve done. I’ve got two months to come up with, say, twenty new paintings.” His excitement was infectious. She rubbed her face against him. He said, “Reflections. All reflections. Why the hell did she go off like that in such a damned hurry? And why did she stare at me like that? As if—as if she knew me.” He frowned, puzzled. “Christ, cat. Think good thoughts for me. Think that I can find her.”

He put her on the couch and turned away to clean his brushes, then went to wash. She could hear him splashing, then the creak of the closet door. When he crossed the hall to the kitchen she padded in behind him and jumped on the table to watch him. He was making a list of groceries. She wished she could add chicken and lobster, and cross off the cat food.

Well, why not make a list? What was to stop her?

Maybe not this time, but soon, she would make a list and see that he bought nothing but caviar. She wanted to shout with laughter, wanted to hug him. Now she could be anything she chose, for Braden. Cat or girl. Or both.

As he left the studio she bolted through the door ahead of him, switching her tail. From the terrace she watched him head across the lane toward the village. She would give him time to search for the girl before she introduced him to his phantom model.

She lingered in the garden, hunting. Her sharp cat’s senses delighted her—her keener smell, hearing, and wider vision made every detail sharper. She could hear sounds she had never suspected as Melissa, could see the secrets within shadows that had been featureless darkness to Melissa.

She caught a bird, played with it, then killed and ate it. She caught a lizard, and turned it loose. And when she thought Braden had looked long enough for his model, she slipped into the tool room, changed to girl, and headed for the village.