Page 99 of Blacktail

Anki and Enki watched the pack approach and shared a nervous glance. “Mother—” Anki began.

“Each spell I cast is another log on my hellfire,” she said. “That’s what they say, anyway. It was one thing to do such when there was need, but my work is finished. I won’t further my damnation in the service of an errand.”

“Very well, Mother,” Enki said. He looked to the horizon, his eyes narrow. The fur on his back was up.

The Old Kitty Mother followed his eyes. The pack was drawing near. She thought for a moment, then said to them, “You have been faithful servants. Go now. They will not find your trail. I owe you that much, at least.”

“Mother, no.” Enki said.

“We will not—” Anki began.

But with a cock of her head and a wave of her tail, they were silent. It is difficult to say whether this was some little magic, or simply the long habit of obedience. Either way, the result was the same.

“Mother, are you sure?” Enki asked quietly.

“Quite sure,” she said. Then, a bit more gently, she added, “Please. My soul is black enough already, without staining it further with your blood.” A moment later they were gone, and the pack was upon her.

ii

They did not kill her at once. That was the first surprise. The second was their king.

At the sight of him, the Old Kitty Mother raised her eyebrows. He is very old, this one. She assumed that he would be younger, to lead such a large pack, but he moved with the slow, limping care of a long life lived hard. A dozen hunters fanned out behind him. She saw that they were mostly wolf-dogs, with only a single pure-blood bitch among them. But half-breeds have something to prove, and they are often the fiercest fighters. These were young, with a hungry look. Any one of them might have taken their king in a combat, but they treated him with the most rigorous courtesy—walking at his pace, never meeting his eyes, staying always a step or two behind.

“Well, you’ve caught me,” she said, rising to stretch herself. “Now what are you going to do with me?”

“What do the packs of your land normally do with old cats that they catch out alone of evenings?” he asked. That seemed to spark an idea in his head, and he furrowed his brow. “But wait…weren’t you with…”

“With who?” she asked in a small, sly voice.

“No one,” he said, shaking his head from side to side. “Never mind.” He blinked at her, then seemed to come back into himself. “Tell me, would you care to join us for supper?”

One of the young ones chuckled. “Good one, Father,” he said from the side of his mouth.

The Old Kitty Mother sighed, deep and long. “Yes,” she said. “Supper. I suppose it is time for supper, isn’t it? Long past time, if the truth be told.” She stepped forward once, then again. Now she stood directly under the pack lord. “Who shall have the first bite?” she asked. “By tradition, it belongs to you, no?”

“Aye,” said the young wolf, the one that had called the king “Father.”

She looked the old, scarred dog up and down. “You’re too old to make quick work of me. Perhaps one of these pups should make the snap, hmm?” This was not true, but she thought the insult might serve to fuel his rage.

“This one?” the young dog growled. “This one is Lord Raze.” He lunged forward and nipped her on the shoulder. “Prey or no, you’ll do well to remember it. Keep your manners about you.”

The Old Kitty Mother looked at her wound with flat curiosity. She had ruled very long. She could not recall the last time someone touched her in anger. But now there were two punctures on her shoulder. A little blood leaked onto her fur. She had killed—and worse than killed—for less than that.

Her eyes flashed in the twilight.

After a moment, her fur went back down. Instead of killing the impertinent young dog, she padded around to his king’s flank. His fur was patchy. There was no fat on him, but a surprising amount of muscle for an old fellow. He was covered nose to tail in old wounds. Some of them were small, most were not. Two or three, like the knotted, furless mass at his side, were so bad that she wondered how he had ever survived them. His hind left leg seemed to be dead on his body. But the eyes that burned out of the twisted knot of tissue on his face were ruthless and crafty, and utterly without fear.

Quite against her will, the sight of those eyes woke the memory of her old curse, the one that had been with her since she was a kitten. You drove me to the ends of the earth and cost me what was left of my soul, she thought. Now you seek to rob me of a perfectly good end? Haven’t you done enough? But of course, it would never be enough. That is the nature of curses. “Hold a moment,” she said with a sigh. “I am curious.”

“Who are you to order me?” asked the king…but of course he held. Even in her final extremity, the Old Kitty Mother was numbered among the greatest of witches.

“Your name is not familiar to me,” she said. “But your eyes…I think I know you.”

“No,” said the dog. “We have never met.”

“Probably not. But I have seen a great many who have not seen me. Tell me—was Raze your birth name?”

“It was.” He even met her eyes when he said it.