The Second Summoning

“That’s a kid who’s going to need serious therapy down the road.” Diana shifted her grip. “What kind of an angel says something like that?”

“The kind that just got his tail pulled. Besides,” Samuel continued after a few quick licks at his shoulder, “it’s the truth and one day he’ll thank me for it.”

“One day he’ll spend thousands of dollars being convinced you were a metaphor for toilet training.”

“He grabbed my tail!”

“I know. I was there.”

“You said people wouldn’t be able to see me properly.”

“He was a proto-person.” She set him down in one of the lobby’s over stuffed chairs and stepped back. “I’m going to check out. Stay there.”

“Or what?”

“I haven’t got time to go into it right now, but why don’t you apply that Higher Knowledge thing to the joint concepts of can openers and opposable thumbs.” As she walked over to the counter, she considered all the things he could have become and asked the world at large, more in search of sympathy than enlightenment,

“Why a cat?”

The world at large offered no answers.

Left to amuse himself, Samuel did a little kneading, claws moving rhythmically in and out of the corduroy cushion covers. Shoulders up, head down, his eyes began to close as he moved in a slow circle. He didn’t know what it was, but something about that yielding surface under his front paws created the most incredible feeling. Kneading harder, really putting his back into it, he heard a sudden loud noise and froze.

Two-stroke engine, single spark, gas and oil mix . . . oh, wait, it’s me.

Which was when he spotted the other cat.

A marmalade tabby, it had a cream-colored bib and the same color markings around both muzzle and eyes. The darker stripes down tail and legs made it look as if it was wearing footie pajamas, the effect emphasized by the way the legs were still a bit too long for the body.

Samuel stared at it.

It stared back.

Head cocked to one side, Samuel took a cautious step forward.

It took a cautious step forward.

Hoping he wasn’t rushing the introduction, Samuel leaned forward for a good long sniff.

The cinnamon triangle of his nose mashed flat against the mirror.

Leaping back, his back feet scrambled for purchase as he nearly went off the chair, only the barricade of Diana’s legs saving him from an embarrassing fall.

Blinking rapidly, he leaned against her knees, looked up at her, and said in what he hoped was a convincing tone, “I meant to do that.”

“Okay.”

“I knew it was a mirror.”

“I believe you.”

“Right.” He took a few quick licks at the edge of a stripe. “So, where do we go from here?”

Diana sighed. “Home.”

“But what about the demon?” Samuel demanded. “I’m not blocking it now.

We should go after it.”

“Yes, we should. But we can’t.” She dropped down onto the arm of the chair and scowled at her reflection, one hand absently rubbing the cat behind the ears. “I can feel that there’s a demon out there, but I still don’t know where she is. Which means some other Keeper has it sealed up. And, gee, I wonder which other Keeper?”

“Claire?”

“Good guess.”

Samuel could tell Diana was upset, although he wasn’t entirely certain why.

“You don’t know that for sure,” he offered.

Diana snorted. “We, me and Claire, were responsible for you, which makes us responsible for the demon, which means we should have got the Summons, but since I didn’t, she must have.”

He frowned, ears saddling. “Then she must be able to handle the demon on her own.”

“Well, duh. What?” she demanded of an eavesdropping Bystander, shooting him the look that had made her the terror of intramural field hockey back before the school board decided it might not be the best idea to give hormonally hopped up adolescents weapons and carte blanche to break shins. “You’ve never seen anyone talk to a stuffed animal before?”

“Actually, no.”

Holding his gaze, she reached into the possibilities. “You still haven’t.” Scooping up Samuel, she stood and headed for the revolving door. Outside, on Carlton Street, she put the cat down on a cleared bit of sidewalk.

“Hey! I’m in bare feet here!”

“You’re a cat. That’s the only way your feet come.”

“Right. I knew that, but . . .”

As the pigeon back-flapped into a landing, Samuel whirled around and leaped.

Had he been in the body longer, he would have had to have dealt with the small ethical dilemma of whether or not an angel could actually eat a pigeon he’d killed, not to mention the slightly larger health dilemma of whether or not anyone should eat a pigeon born and raised on the streets of Toronto. As it was, he hooked a tail feather, but the rest of the bird got away, dropping a large, white, hysterical opinion of the change on Diana’s shoulder as it passed.

“Go on, chicken, fly! There’s more where that came from!” He boxed the feather to the ground, flicked it up, and boxed it down again.

“Are you done?”

“One more time.” Both front paws finally holding the feather captive, he smiled up at her. “Okay, I’m done. Now what?”

“First, you can stop being so cute.”

“Actually, I don’t think I can,” Samuel admitted after a moment’s consideration.