Rhoda rose from the wing chair, setting the old book on the seat in her place. She had not slept properly in days. She had just read a thing aloud that she had not meant to read aloud to anyone ever. And now somebody was knocking at her door at a perfectly civilized hour in the middle of the worst working night of her life. She crossed the parlor, past Honey and past Roam, past the hushed cats, and into the front hall, and she opened the door with one hand on the frame to steady herself.
A man stood on the porch. He was tall and he was old, warlock old, which is to say, he was elegant. His hair had gone white but the cut was still sharp, swept back from a high forehead. He wore a traveling coat of navy wool, the kind Rhoda's people wore in the mountains, and he carried a leather case in one hand. His eyes were silver and tired. His smile, when he saw her, was slow and warm and full of a very old friendship.
"Rhoda," he said.
She heard herself breathe out. "Lazlo." Relief rushed out of her in a smile.
She stepped out onto the porch and put her arms around him. He hugged her back with the quiet strength of a much younger man. Rhoda let her forehead rest against his shoulder for one beat. The wool of his coat smelled like pipe smoke and a library and a country she had not been to in a long time.Thank Goddess,she thought.Thank Goddess he's here.Then she straightened, kept an arm through his, and turned back into her own hall.
"Edgar," Rhoda called.
Edgar came quickly around the corner, his posture softening the moment he locked eyes with their old friend. He clasped Lazlo's hand in both of his own. "You didn't call."
"I didn't call," Lazlo agreed. "Three dozen cats vanished from the province in a single evening, Edgar. I don't call when the air tells me where to go. I come."
Edgar smiled and clapped Lazlo on the back. "Come in. Come in. Meet our girl."
Lazlo stepped further into FACTS & FIBS. And at his side, taking two neat, elegant steps onto the parlor rug, came a cat. She was long-haired and beautiful. Himalayan with a silver-cream coat, dark mask, blue-water eyes. She did not look at any of the other cats when she came in. She sat at Lazlo's heel and curled her tail around her paws and surveyed the parlor with polite disinterest.
"Oh Lazlo, we were so sorry to hear about Soot." Rhoda touched his arm. "What a fine familiar."
"Yes. I miss him. Thank you. But this is Duchess," Lazlo said.
"Duchess," Rhoda said warmly, and bent to touch the cat's head. "It's lovely to have you here, sweetheart. Make yourself at home."
"A pleasure," Duchess said. Her voice was silk, but she did not quite look at Rhoda.
Honey stood and crossed to the trio in the hall. Lazlo took her hand in both of his and smiled down at her.
"Honey Hadwin," he said. "I have heard so much. Welcome to the family, dear. Or rather. Welcome me to yours. I've known your parents longer than you have been alive."
"Hi, sir," Honey said.
"Oh, none of that. Lazlo, if you please."
"Lazlo," Honey agreed.
"And this must be the young man." Lazlo turned to Roam. "The Panther Shifter. I've read the reports."
"Roam O'Reilly, sir." Roam gave Lazlo the once over with his normal Panther Shifter curiosity.
"Very good." Lazlo turned back to Rhoda. "Now. What on Goddess's earth do we have on our hands."
"Come sit," Rhoda said. "I'll show you."
She led him back to her wing chair where the bayou book still waited. Honey moved to follow too, and that was when, down near the wood basket by the fireplace, Duchess spoke quietly enough that the grown-ups across the room did not hear.
Honey heard.
The calico had lifted her head when Duchess walked by. She was a soft brown-and-cream thing and her eyes were still wet from her fertilizer spill and her fur was rumpled from the basket. She looked up at Duchess with the open face of a cat in distress.
And Duchess, in a small, sweet mocking baby voice, leaned down over the basket and cooed, "Oh, look at this wittle scared kitty. Did oo lose oo's mommy? Did oo lose oo's daddy? Poor wittle teeny-tiny baby."
And then she laughed. A soft, silky, private laugh. And walked on.
The calico sat up. Her mouth opened. "My witch has been letting her boys grow that pumpkin patch with stolen fertilizer FROM THE DOWN-THE-ROAD WIDOW WHO LOST HER HUSBAND LAST YEAR."
From the rug, a tabby sat bolt upright and spoke. "My witch has three husbands, and they do not know about each other."
