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I waved, then reached over to help Iris hop in, but she clambered into the Jeep without my help and fastened her seat belt. "Okay, let's roll. I want to hit the sales before it gets too late in the day," she said.
Thinking that I was very glad Iris was on our side, I pulled out of the driveway, and we took off for Belles-Faire Town Square, one of the bigger shopping districts in the area.
Two hours later, I coasted the car to a stop in front of the house. I glanced over at Iris, who was still glaring.
"Still not speaking to me?" I asked with a grin. "I told you I'm sorry."
Iris jumped down to the ground and yanked a handful of bags out of the Jeep. I scurried out behind her, trying to placate the furious sprite.
"I didn't mean to! It wasn't my fault," I said, trying to help her with the parcels. She tore one particularly shiny bag out of my hand.
"I can't believe you actually did that," she said as she stomped up the porch steps. I followed more slowly, carrying the bags she'd left behind.
"Listen, maybe someday I'll manage to gain better control over my nature, but until then, you're just going to have to accept that I'm not always in the driver's seat." I tried to keep pace with her. For such a short woman, she was surprisingly fast.
She dropped her bags on the porch and whirled. "And just how would we have explained it to those poor children if you'd killed that turkey? As it was, you practically scalped the poor thing. I may like a good roast bird for Thanksgiving or Yuletide, but at least I make sure mine's dead before I try to eat it! And look at you—you've got feathers all over your shirt. You look a mess." She slammed her way through the door.
Miserable, I glanced down at my shirt, where a few stray and bedraggled feathers clung to the fabric. Oops. I picked them off, sighing. It wasn't my fault that there had been a petting zoo in the middle of Gosford's Plaza. And it really wasn't my fault that the rather large turkey in the pen had been so appealing.
"Look, I'll make it right with the store," I said, hurrying in behind her. "I'll call them and tell them it wasn't your fault and that you shouldn't be banned from there because of me. Okay?"
"That's another thing! Gosford's is my favorite place to shop. Being forcibly evicted from there is just not an option." Iris let out a little huff and set her purchases down on the kitchen counter. "Whatever. Just… oh just nothing…"
I saw a tiny crack of a smile trying to break through her frown. "You have to admit," I said, "it was pretty funny."
"Not for that damned bird," she said and then let out a stifled laugh. "Oh, all right. It was funny, but there aren't enough laughs in the world that will make up for getting me expelled from shopping Nirvana."
"Hey, you yourself said we managed to get everything you wanted. And I paid for it all, so you shouldn't be so pissed at me," I mumbled as I poked through the refrigerator. I wanted poultry, and I wanted it now. A container on the top shelf held some leftover KFC, and I grinned as I pulled it out and dug in. "Want a piece?" I asked, offering her a drumstick.
"I do not, thank you very much!" Iris snorted and went to work unpacking our loot. At least she was smiling again. She spread out the decorations and candles, then folded the bags and carried them out to the back porch to put them away. The next thing I knew, she let out a piercing shriek. I dropped the chicken leg and raced to the door.
Iris was standing frozen, gazing at a large web strung across the porch. It was thick and ropy, unlike any spiderweb I'd ever seen. In the center, held by strands as strong as steel, was a grumpy old tomcat who prowled the backwoods. My friend, Cromwell. And he'd been drained dry, a folded paper tucked between a rubber band and his neck.
I shuddered and stepped forward, a slow burn building in my heart. I quietly disengaged the cat, carrying him over to the counter where Iris kept her gardening supplies, and removed the paper from beneath the band, wanting to kill whoever put it on him.
Cromwell was a stray who'd been through a lot of fights in his life. We'd chatted several times when I'd been out prowling under the full moon. He'd been on his own since he was a kitten and didn't much like people, but he made his way from house to house. Most of the neighbors left out a handful of food for him every night. Sometimes the raccoons got it before he could, but then he'd just move on to the next house and eat there.
He was old, and he was sick and probably dying, but he'd stubbornly clung to life, fueled by the will to survive, to fight against the odds.
"He didn't deserve this," I said, fighting back tears. I clenched my fists as I stood over his body, wanting to teach whoever had murdered him just how it felt to be sucked dry of both life and dignity.
Iris came up behind me and gently rubbed my lower back. "I'm so sorry. I've seen him around the neighborhood. He was a buddy of yours, wasn't he?"
I glanced down at her, wondering how much she knew about my life as a cat. Nodding, I reached for a burlap sack to cover him up, but she stayed my hand and said, "I'll be back in a minute. You stand guard over him."
While I waited, I unfolded the paper. In looping Spenserian script—thin and spidery and written with precision—it said: "Curiosity killed the cat. Keep away from the Rainier Puma Pride, or you and your sisters might end up joining your friend."
Iris reappeared with a silk pillowcase embroidered with tulips and daisies. I recognized it as one of her own and gave her a grateful look.
Quietly, I slipped the note into my pocket, then picked up Cromwell and slid him gently into the waiting folds of his silken shroud. Iris tied the end of the pillowcase shut with a purple velvet ribbon and looked at me, waiting for my lead.
I turned back to the web and let out a loud hiss. Iris pushed me out of the way. With a flicker of her hands the web froze and crashed to the floor, breaking into shards as it fell. I picked up the shovel and motioned for her to follow with Cromwell. We carried him out to the backyard and there, beneath a young oak, I dug a hole.
Iris laid him in. "Do you want to say a few words?"
I thought about it but then shook my head. Cromwell wasn't one for ceremonies. He wasn't a lap cat. He'd been a fighter, a true tom. If he had been human, he would have been a soldier or warrior. Cromwell wouldn't have wanted pretty words or flowery good-byes. I just pressed my fingers to my lips and blew him a kiss. "May Lady Bast take you into her arms, my sweet friend," I whispered before filling in the grave.>Iris frowned. "I have a spell that might work," she said. "But I need a feather from a scavenger bird and a bit of spiderweb."
"I have the spiderweb," Camille said. "What kind of feather are you talking about?"
