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7
When the colorful mist receded, I found myself still clutching Monique’s shoe and blinking at the bright sunshine. It confused me, but then I remembered that Paris and West Virginia had a bit of a time difference.
Still afternoon here. Bright-ass afternoon. And I realized why one rarely saw bats gallivanting around in the daytime. Mainly because there weren’t any bat-sized sunglasses created for nocturnal creatures. And, according to the size of the witch’s shoe, I was currently a nocturnal creature approximately eight inches tall.
Oh, my God.
“Et voilà!” Monique held her arms out and smiled down at me. “Ah, this is so beautiful. The trees, the flowers. The…well, the true essence of les États-Unis. C’est merveilleux! Tell me, little one, are you so very grateful for my help?”
“So very,” I agreed, nodding my tiny, furry head.
“It is good.” She put her hands on her hips and turned in a circle. “I have no idea where this is, other than the town I swore I would never return to. And yet, here we are. And now that I am here, I feel I go against my own advice and make a visit to my friend Fabio, come what may.”
“Fabio,” I muttered. “The half-naked dude from the old romance novel covers?”
“No, of course not. My former lover, Fabio, is a powerful warlock, although he also has a charming appreciation for nudity.” Before I could reply to this, the witch picked me up as easily as lifting a fallen wallet and raised me up toward a tree branch. “A little help, little one. And now, I bid you adieu.”
I found myself hanging upside down, clutching onto the branch with my weird little clawed feet. I watched with growing panic as the witch began to walk away. “Wait, Monique…no, please, don’t leave me here. I need you to help me find Thierry!”
But all she did was raise her hand in farewell as she strolled away.
Damn it.
I scanned my current location from my precarious upside-down position. Monique had poofed us into a garden. Or—actually, it looked like somebody’s backyard. It contained many thick, tall trees, one of which I was currently occupying. There was a flower garden to my left, the flowers looking a bit wilted now that early October’s nights grew chilly. A pumpkin patch—no big surprise—sat to the right. In the middle, there was a line of clothes hanging to dry.
Beneath the clothesline, I spotted a potential problem that froze me in place.
It was a gray and white cat, sitting on its haunches, licking its front paw.
While it stared right at me.
I looked away, focusing on a fascinating acorn a foot away from my face. When my gaze returned to the cat, it had moved few steps closer to me.
Shit.
The cat blinked, then turned its head, and…whistled.
Last I checked, cats couldn’t whistle.
“Youse guys, over here,” it said. “We got a sitchiation.”
First off, I didn’t expect the cat to talk. Secondly, I definitely didn’t expect it to sound like a gangster in an old movie.
Two other cats approached the first one. A calico and a white cat with gray spots. The trio glanced toward me as I innocently hung in the tree ten feet away.
“It’s a bat,” the calico said. “Just a dumb little bat.”
“Y’think?” the first cat replied. “Dunno. Sumthin’s off about it.”
“Weese gonna eat it?” the white cat asked with enthusiasm.
“Mebbe.”
“Bat barbecue.” The calico nodded. “Dats always good.”
Meanwhile, I’ve been watching my life pass before my eyes. It had happened before, so this felt a bit like a rerun with some bonus footage added onto the end.
The three of them stalked closer to me until they were right under my branch, staring up at me as I stared down at them.
