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“Freya?” I whispered again, swinging the beam of the flashlight right and left across the scaffolding. There was an answering “meow” from behind me, and I wasn’t quick enough to stifle the shriek that exploded out of me.
“Wren?! Oh my God, did you fall?” Poe’s voice had gone up an octave in her hysteria.
“Of course I haven’t fallen! Don’t you think you’d notice my body hit the stage?” I called back. My terror had made me snippy. I spun on the spot, searching for any sign of Freya. There was a skittering sound, and a soft thump of landing paws. I spotted the glowing eyes again, this time nearly at the other end of the catwalk, a veritable forest of lamps and cords and railings between us. I shined the light toward her and illuminated what was, unmistakably, my cat.
“Freya, what are you—”
She hissed menacingly and I stepped back because I’d never heard her hiss before. It was then I realized her eyes were not fixed on me, but on something over my left shoulder. What happened next happened so fast that I couldn’t even take it in.
I started to turn my head and was overwhelmed with a sudden whiff of salt air and petrichor. A strange whispering began in my ear, and my feet seemed to sink into the floor, like the metal grates had softened to sand. In the corner of my eye, a shape emerged from the shadows and yet,wasthe shadows…
“Wait, I think I’ve got it, let me just… yeah, I think this should do it!” I heard Jayden’s triumphant cry from the booth as the lights hummed back to life, bathing the theater in a warm glow. The shape—if it had even been there in the first place—was gone. The familiar smells of sawdust and paint filled my nose as I sucked in a startled breath. I spun on the spot, but Freya was nowhere to be seen. I walked the full length and breadth of the catwalk whispering for her, but she was gone. I climbed down the ladder to the stage, my heart still pounding.
“Wren, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Wait,didyou see a ghost? Is the theater haunted? Oh, God, it is, isn’t it, I can tell from your face.” Poe said all of this in one breathless jumble the moment my feet hit the stage floor.
“Calm down, Poe, I didn’t see a ghost,” I said with more conviction than I felt, because I wasn’t at all sure what I’d seen. If it had really been Freya, how had she gotten there and where had she gone? And if it hadn’t been Freya… well, “ghost” wasn’t exactly the word I would use, but I’d definitely seensomething.And then there was the figure in the shadows… but surelythathadn’t been real. I pushed it firmly out of my mind as nothing more than the specter of a childhood nightmare.
“Everything all right up there?” Mr. Pisani asked, and I wondered what my own face must look like to cause so much concern in his. I took a deep breath and composed myself, even managing a smile.
“All fine. I think there might have been an animal up there… a bird maybe.”
“Patti LUPONE, that’s all we need, a pigeon trying to do a star turn in the middle of our performance. I’ll speak with the custodian and ask him to check the vents up there before tonight,” he said, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose, a classic sign that he was about to end rehearsal in a dramatic huff.
Five minutes later, huff over and done with, I was biking home as fast as my legs could pedal. Poe had begged to take me out for birthday coffee, but I made a hurried excuse as I climbed on my bike.
“But you need birthday treats!” she insisted.
“I’ll see you tonight!” I called over my shoulder. “Bring me a cupcake or something!”
Our apartment was on the third floor of a renovated Victorian in downtown Portland, only about a ten-minute ride from my high school, but the ride home had never seemed longer. All along the way, while looking out for cars and pedestrians, I was also peering into every shadowy corner for a glimpse of a bottlebrush tail or a pair of green eyes. My heart was threatening to pound straight out of my chest, between the breakneck speed and my mounting fear. If Freya was gone… if she’d gotten out somehow…
Freya and I had been inseparable since the moment six years ago when Asteria had placed her into my hands, a mewling little ball of fluff. Even my mother, as angry as she’d been at Asteria for gifting me a live animal without her permission, had taken one look at the two of us cuddled up in my bed, and knew it was a lost cause. She trudged out to the pet store first thing in the morning and bought a litter box with only minimal grumbling. After some internet searching, I’d identified my kitten as a Norwegian forest cat, and because I was a huge nerd, I went down a Norse mythology rabbit hole to find her a name, settling on Freya, a goddess who traveled around in a chariot pulled by two gigantic cats.
I’d looked over at the snoozing fluffball on my bed and whispered, “Freya?”
She had lifted her head at once, looked straight at me with those glowing green eyes, and mewed her approval, officially claiming the name for herself.
The thought that she might not come slinking around the corner when I called for her made me feel like a great crushing fist had closed over my heart. I could hardly breathe as I skidded around the corner to our driveway. I abandoned my bicycle against the house and took the steps two at a time all the way to our door. I cursed my shaking hands as I fumbled awkwardly with my keys, but finally, the door swung inward and I practically fell inside.
“Freya! Where are you, sweet girl?” I called, tears thick in my throat.
She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s…
A little mewling sound preceded the appearance of Freya from my bedroom, looking at me with an almost impatient expression as though to say, “Where have youbeen?”
I let out a sob of relief and dropped to my knees in the hallway, reaching for her. She trotted toward me and climbed at once into my lap. I scooped her into my arms and buried my face in her gloriously fluffy coat. She tolerated my emotional display for a minute or two, and then gave an impatient little huff as she tried to extricate herself.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, releasing my too-tight grip and placing her back in my lap, where she was content to sit, staring solemnly up at me.
I stared back at her, wishing, as I always did, that she could speak.
“What were you doing at the theater?” I whispered.
She tilted her head and blinked, and then startled as I burst into laughter.
“I really must be losing it. First, I convince myself you’re in the rafters of the theater when you’ve obviously never left the house, and now I’m interrogating you like you’re going to open your mouth and answer me.” I scratched Freya behind the ears. “Let’s chalk it up to pre-show stress, okay? I promise I’m not crazy.”
Freya yawned pointedly.
