The Brinded Cat Chantal Halpin Published by Chantal Halpin at Smashwords Copyright 2013 Chantal Halpin License Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com. Thank you for your support. Disclaimer All spellings in this short story are British. Consideration was given and it was decided that as the characters are British and it is set in London, it should stay true to form and keep the writing in their native tongue. This short story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locale or organisations is entirely coincidental. Table of Contents Acknowledgements Quote Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Epilogue About Chantal Halpin Other books by Chantal Halpin Connect with Chantal Halpin Online Other books by similar authors Acknowledgements Thank you to my beta readers, critique partners, proof readers, cheer-leaders and friends; Gayle Ramage and Pippa Jay they have the patience of ten saints. I must thank my daughter for making the cover, otherwise she’ll kill me. A final thank you to New York Times best selling writers, Ilona Andrews, for blogging about my last short story, Foul is Fair. You brought me to the attention of many more readers than I could have reached on my own. Some people who read my last story emailed me to say how much they enjoyed it and wanted to know when and where they could read more. So Sheila, Ann and Mar – this one is for you. Chantal Halpin We Are Going On A Witch Hunt Quote First Witch: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed. Macbeth, Act 4 Scene 1 William Shakespeare Chapter 1 Fin stood in the doorway to his office. I could see him hesitating from the corner of my eye. ‘No,’ I said without looking up. I was form filling. This was the most hateful part. I had just finished an evaluation and the insurance world loved forms. ‘I haven’t told you what it is yet,’ he huffed, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘I don’t care, the answer is still no.’ I was tired, had just been soaked in the rain and was in no mood for one of Fin’s jobs. ‘What’s biting your arse?’ ‘The bus was late,’ I explained. ‘Then the bloody thing broke down three times before I walked off.’ I pushed my wet hair over my shoulder before it dripped and spoiled the form. ‘Then it started up again when I was half way down the road and it went through a huge puddle. The bastard.’ I looked down at my mud splattered jeans. I’d had to walk miles to Cockfosters, which was the nearest tube station. I hated leaving central London. I should have gone and changed into something dry in my flat upstairs, but these forms needed to make the last post. ‘Well I’m not surprised the bus broke down, I can feel your vibes from here. Tone it down a bit, Sam.’ He had a point. My bad mood would affect everything around me. So I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths. I was meant to meditate as part of my release agreement with the witch hunters, but I’m not really a meditating sort of person. Fin, as my employer, is responsible for me in the absence of my aunt, the matriarch of the coven I was born into. He is supposed to make sure I’m not up to any nefarious deeds and to report me if I am. Not that I would. And not that he would either. I heard the rattle of a teaspoon on mugs and smiled. We usually fought over who had to make the tea. As we were the only people who worked here, the competition was fierce. Fin was the owner and he called me his secretary, for which he usually received a smacked head or a dead arm. He sat down opposite me, handing over the steaming mug. He looked a bit like an uncle, thinning on top with a pot belly. His self administered uniform of brown cords and tweed jacket was in place. He turned fifty last week and was more than a smidge touchy about it. So naturally I took the piss. A lot. ‘The problem is--’ he began. ‘I’m not doing anymore Community jobs. I already told you, it’s too dangerous.’ The last time had involved a politically powerful vampire and a dangerously attractive hunter. ‘Mrs McGinty’s cat is stuck in a tree! I doubt that will attract any witch hunters.’ He folded his arms and glared. I dropped my pen and rocked back on my chair legs. ‘It’s Aggie, isn’t it?’ Agnes McGinty had called a couple of times and Fin had closed his office door so I couldn’t eavesdrop. ‘That’s Mrs McGinty to you.’ ‘Uh-huh and where’s Mr McGinty?’ He sat up and with a completely straight face said, ‘She’s a poor widow and I’ve been comforting her.’ I didn’t even try to hold it in. I laughed so hard I had to lean over my desk. He gave me his unamused stare until I got myself back under control and could speak again. ‘The problem is,’ I said while knuckling the tears from my eyes, ‘you’re not a widower. What would Anne say about you comforting Widow Twankey?’ Fin’s marriage was an unhappy one, but then he was a mage. I would never get involved with a mage. Put them near a witch and they’d be as faithful as a tom-cat. My relationship with Fin though was practically paternal. I was fifteen the first time I saw him. I saved his life five minutes after recognising him as our escalators passed each other at Piccadilly underground station. I saved him twice more the same week. Two weeks later he had paid off his gambling debts, the contract on his life had been lifted and he stood witness for me at my witch trial. ‘Anyway, we have a familiar to rescue so when you’re ready?’ ‘You have a familiar to rescue. Go and impress your widow and leave me out of it.’ He looked away before admitting, ‘I can’t. You know I have a thing about heights.’ ‘Geez Fin, it can’t be that high. Get a ladder.’ I snorted as I returned to my paperwork. ‘What if I fall?’ ‘You’ll be fine, I didn’t have any dreams last night so you’re in the clear.’ As witches go, I got a bum deal. Apparently I pack a massive punch on the electromagnetic scale which makes everyone think I’m all powerful, but magically I’m weak as piss. Physically though I can punch like a sheet-metal machine. The only other thing I can do is dream about death. If you’re in my vicinity and your number is up in a nasty, twisted way then I’ll get front row seats for several nights before the big event. Which pretty much sucks. Fin would argue otherwise though. ‘And did you take your meds last night?’ He was referring to my habit. The only thing that blocks my nightmares is getting completely shit-faced. ‘Not a drop.’ ‘Please Sam? I’ll give you half the fee.’ ‘You’re trying to get into her knickers and you’re still going to charge her?’ I shook my head. ‘And my twenty-five year old bottle.’ Mmm, the scotch. ‘You’re that desperate, huh?’ He gave me the puppy-dog eyes. He was starting to look like a basset hound. I looked at my ruined outfit. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll need to get changed then.’ *** I scowled at Fin where he stood deep in conversation with Mrs McGinty. The pine tree was frigging huge. It belonged on the side of a mountain. He gestured at the ladder pressed against the trunk and then went back to flirting. Mrs McGinty was pretending I wasn’t there. That was normal. She was a witch and I was a Community leper. She tipped her head back and laughed at one of Fin’s jokes. The sun glinted off the chestnut curls she had tightly packed on top of her head as she touched a hand to her delicate throat. It was all I could do not to stick my tongue out at her. I could admit to myself that she scrubbed up well. It was all false though. Most witches were. To me they were as phony as a Play-Bunny’s breasts. You would guess her age to be late thirties so she was probably double that, there was a lot of magic going into her glamour. There was a lot of magic going on, period. She had serious security at her perimeter; a magical ward guarded the entire property like an invisible electric fence. The witch had to breach her own ward for it to allow me to cross. She hadn’t wanted to let me in and I’d had to wait patiently and pretend I couldn’t hear the whispered argument taking place between her and Fin right in front of me. She mock slapped Fin on the arm and I had to stifle a groan. It was gross to watch. I turned my attention back to the tree and spied the cat’s eyes hidden among the pine needles. It regarded me steadily. The ladder was about twenty foot high and the cat was about another ten foot further up on a sturdy branch. I wasn’t worried about the cat falling, it looked quietly confident. Almost smug. It didn’t look stuck at all. Something about this scenario was bugging me. I heard Mrs McGinty’s back door close as I stepped onto the first rung. ‘Nice of them to stay and hold the ladder,’ I grumbled to myself while steadily climbing, watched all the time by a pair of intelligent green eyes. A witch and her familiar had a certain connection. I grew up on a farm in the Welsh Valleys and one of the farmers’ had a litter of Border Collie pups. I was given the runt because, thanks to my nightmares, I knew what the farmer intended to do to him and I would not shut up about it. I named the puppy Cadfael, Cad for short. His ears were the softest thing I had ever touched and I adored him with the devotion of a child who’d never had anyone to love before. I wouldn’t have left him stuck anywhere and he would have cried like a baby if I had. When I was six I threw myself under a bus to save him, believing the driver would at least try to stop for a child, but not for a dog. I wasn’t completely reckless, I put up one hell of a protection circle. My Aunt gave me a good beating for that, but I didn’t care. It was the first time I had changed the outcome of my dreams and I still had my best friend to show for it. The bus driver didn’t fare so well. He suffered a heart attack and died at the wheel, no doubt believing he had just run over a child. The bus ploughed into an oncoming car and several passengers were injured. I did care about that. It was the first time I had caused death and injury by my own actions. I reached the top of the ladder and stepped onto the nearest branch. I bounced a little to make sure, but it seemed fine. I was quite well built for tree climbing. Being small and freakishly strong had to be good for something, other than getting the jump on someone. I climbed up onto the next branch and sat in a kneeling position with my arms wrapped around another of the tree’s limbs. The tree was dense at this height with pine needles littering the branches. The cat was only a few feet above my head. It yawned, flashing impressive fangs. I didn’t even know its name so I held out my hand and rubbed my fingers together. ‘Here kitty, kitty, kitty.’ I really am more of a dog person. It made a rumbling, ‘urrr’. It was definitely not a purring sound. It was more like a warning growl. I stood up to make a snatch and grab and got my first good look at it. It was big. Bigger than Arvel my Aunts cat, although Arvel was just fat. This kitty was long and lean. He stood as if to show off for me. Its fawn body was banded with black tiger stripes and its coat was thick and plush. His body was maybe three foot long and its tail looked the same, thickening to a plush club at the end. But it was the eyes that gave it away, they regarded me with intelligence. As my hand neared him, I felt that tell-tale buzz creep up my arm. I snatched my hand back and we looked at each other. This wasn’t a cat. It was a shifter. Chapter 2 With a flourish of his chunky tail, the cat darted onto a higher branch. I followed its movements again and again, until the branches thinned and the tree top rocked. I balanced, like a gymnast on the beam. The shifter was careful to stay just out of reach then he bounded along the branch and sprung from the end, like a squirrel, onto the neighbouring tree. Damn it! He stared at me, as if daring me to follow that. It was a long fall to the ground. My fingers held onto clusters of pine needles and the cat sat waiting. I’m not scared of heights at all. I used to freak my aunts out when I was little by climbing out of the attic window to sit on the roof of the house. But jumping from tree to tree like a monkey was not one of my party tricks. The trees intermingled, but it wouldn’t support my weight further out from the trunk. I could jump it or climb back down and up the next tree. The cat could be gone by then though. It would be really helpful if Fin came to lend a hand right about now. ‘So you want me to jump, huh?’ It blinked. I took a deep breath and stepped backwards so the trunk was against my spine. I ran my fingers over the rough bark. It felt solid and reassuring. Then I took two quick steps forward and leapt. The bough sprung me higher than I’d intended to go and needles whipped past my face and grabbed at my hair. I fell through a flurry of twigs and pine cones and hit my intended branch stomach first. I clung on with legs pin-wheeling, while I wheezed and tried to force air back into my chest. The cat made a coughing sound, which sound suspiciously like laughter. I glared at its disappearing butt while he tip-toed along the tree’s limb and around the other side of the trunk. Fine. I can do follow-the-leader. No wonder I prefer dogs. I crawled to the trunk and cuddled it against my chest. It was sticky with sap and smelled like Christmas. After I caught my breath I threw a leg around its girth to feel for a footing and inched around the other side of the tree. The striped shifter hopped downwards with me shadowing his bushy tail. We were now on the edge of the witch’s garden and I could see traffic passing on the road below. There was that buzz from her wards again. It felt like it was nipping at me and having a taste. I could still pass through, but it was active. The cat sat on dainty paws, his stripy tail flicked from side to side. I checked the witch’s garden for any sign of Fin or Mrs McGinty, but I had a sneaking suspicion they were busy. I knew what the cat wanted and although I didn’t know the whole story, I didn’t care. It was wrong to have a person as a familiar and this shifter was being confined. I scooped up the oversized moggy and jumped from the branch. The current in the air snapped at us and the cat hissed with flattened ears. Then we were through and flying over the neat privet hedge. I startled a granny towing a tartan shopping trolley as I landed in a crouch on the pavement behind her. ‘Sorry, I...err... fell?’ I said. She looked at the large pine tree on the other side of the hedge and glared at me over the top of horn-rimmed glasses before shuffling off. I lugged the ungainly cat onto my hip and jogged to the end of the block. When I thought how pissed Fin would be, a maniacal giggle escaped me and the cat raised a whiskery brow. Fin would understand once I explained, though he might be a bit sore about not getting back in the widow’s bed. ‘Well it serves them both right,’ I said to the cat. ‘Here looks a good enough place.’ It was a small car park behind a newsagent. I plopped him onto the cracked concrete ground and waited. He looked up at me. I was expecting him to fizz or pop or do something spectacular, and probably gross, while he transformed back into his human shape. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ I nearly slapped myself when I realised what was wrong. Shifters were normally quite comfortable to be naked, at least my cousin’s wolf-shifter husband was. A bit too comfortable for my liking, but perhaps my new cat-friend didn’t want to be wandering the streets of London in his bare-skin-coat. All I could offer him was a biker jacket. ‘Okay, fine, we’ll pop back to my flat and grab you some clothes. I must have something that will fit you.’ *** I grabbed onto the pole at the back of a red bus as it pulled away from the kerb. Huge cat in one arm, we sailed onboard and no one complained about my travelling companion, like they would about a dog. I’d already worked out a plan though. If anyone said anything I was going to explain in a very loud voice that he was my hearing cat. Sadly I didn’t get to use that excellent story as all he got was some admiring glances from an old lady and a little girl that kept asking her mother if she could stroke the ‘pretty kitty.’ I was tempted to let her have at him. But I took sympathy on the cat and said, ‘Best not, he’s got a dose of mange.’ Space cleared as people rushed to get off at the next stop and we actually got a seat. ‘I should bring you on the bus more often,’ I whispered as I plonked him on the seat next to me. It was late when I got back to my place. I live jogging-distance from The Embankment in a skinny Victorian red-brick building. I can smell the Thames from my front door. That’s not always a good thing. The ground floor was currently occupied by a photocopy shop called Copy Copy. The offices for Kelly’s Eye, where Fin and I work, are on the next floor and the top floor is my flat. Fin owns the building and lets me live there rent free. It means he gets to pay me a pittance, but I’d never be able to afford London prices otherwise. There’s a pub next door and a warehouse over the road, where a weathered looking homeless man was setting up in a doorway with some cardboard. Having lived on the streets, I could sympathise. I’d have to remember to pop over with a blanket later. He saw me looking and leaned over his cardboard bed glaring at me. Maybe I’d skip the blanket. The shop was closed so I let myself in and up the stairs. Unlike the widow I’m lax on security. I don’t own anything worth stealing. Also, being the Community’s most pathetic witch, I doubt I could set a ward. I didn’t want to try only to discover it was more magic I couldn’t do. The cat followed me in, sniffed the corner of the kitchen counter, walked over to my threadbare armchair and looked back at me. ‘Well if you don’t like it you can always sit on the floor, it’s where I usually sit anyway,’ I said. I continued to grumble to myself as I checked inside my barren fridge. I turned to my guest. Usually I would feel uncomfortable about having anyone around my flat. The only other people who had been in it were Fin and the barmaid from the pub next door. She’s helped me up the stairs when I’ve had a few too many. The strange girl seemed to think we’re friends. I didn’t worry about the cat being in my flat because, well, it was a cat. And it was currently sitting on my chair licking its bottom. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have any milk to offer you, but if you would like to change I could make you some black tea.’ He paused with a thoughtful expression, before returning to his bum-licking. ‘You want clothes first? Sheesh, I’ve never met such a bashful shifter,’ I muttered as I walked through into my bedroom. I liked my bedroom. I painted it all white when I first moved in. Even the floorboards are white, well sort of. It could probably do with a freshen-up now. My bed is a mattress on the floor, which makes sense when you think about how many dreams have actually thrown me out of bed and the wall opposite the foot of my bed houses a cast-iron Victorian fireplace. In the winter I cuddle up in my duvet and watch the flames dance. I rummaged through my wardrobe and drawers until I found some jogging bottoms and a sweatshirt. If those didn’t fit then he’d have to try the bathrobe. When I went back he was still in cat form. ‘Here,’ I said as I tossed the clothes onto the arm of the chair. I was more than a little eager to see who my guest was. Nothing. ‘You want me to turn around?’ I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. ‘Fine, here I am turning around. Happy now? Can we get on with the show?’ After a minute I felt kind of stupid, so I had a peek over my shoulder. The cat was giving me a long hard look that spoke of endurance. For a horrible moment I thought maybe I had just stolen a witch’s cat. Just to check I took a couple of steps nearer and held out my arms. The vibrations were still there, tingling my arms and making the little hairs stand to attention. It said ‘shifter’ to me in the same way a different sensation would say ‘witch’ or any other member of the Community. ‘Why aren’t you shifting?’ I whispered as I held my hand to his face and lightly brushed behind his ear. It was a horrendously familiar gesture to do to someone you’re not well acquainted with, but he didn’t seem to mind. He rubbed his head into my hand the way cats are fond of. That’s when I felt the spell. It was like a thorn imbedded in his skin. He hissed when my fingers caught it. I snatched my hand back instinctively and squeezed a fist. It was strong enough to make my fingertips numb. He made a distressed sounding ‘meeeoo’. He wanted me to take the spell off, but I knew enough about magic not to jump right in. I stood and paced. ‘So it’s stopping you from shifting, right?’ The cat huffed. ‘Ok, and McGinty had her perimeter set to keep you in and that was a big ward so I guess she was using you to power that up, huh?’ What a complete bitch. More huffing. I chewed a nail. I couldn’t risk pulling it. It could main or kill one of us, or his shape may become permanent, and I didn’t trust my own abilities to defuse it. Curse breaking is entirely out of my range and my range is pathetically low. Damn it! Why couldn’t I just fix this by beating someone up? Chapter 3 The only witch I knew who could break this, and would actually speak to me, was my Aunt Bronwyn the matriarch of my coven. Bronwyn and her sister, Aunt Gwen, raised me. I frustrated and, at times, scared them. I turned to her for help once before. At fifteen I was a runaway, alone and homeless in London. When a couple of mages tried to nab me with a fuck-off knife and a, ‘Don’t try anything and we won’t rape and murder you.’ I fought back with everything I had. I didn’t realise until then that ‘everything I had’ was strong enough to kill. The next thing I could remember, besides freaking out, was making a reverse-charge call to Aunt Bron who promised to send help. I was expecting some nice, friendly witches to rescue me from the red telephone box on Oxford Street. Instead a different type of cavalry arrived. The witch hunters arrested me and I might have been executed if Fin hadn’t spoken for me at my trial. That happened over ten years ago, since then I only go back to the farm when I have to. Bron had her reasons for what she did, but she couldn’t expect me to like her for it. My stomach twisted with indecision and the lights flickered in time with my agitation. The cat’s eyes morphed into huge, kitty-cat pleading orbs. I didn’t stand a chance. ‘Fine. But you owe me big time. Well, come on then.’ I walked to my door and held it open while he hopped off the armchair and followed me down the stairs. I didn’t have a phone in my flat so I was going to have to use the one in the office. The half glazed door squealed our presence to the otherwise empty building. A yellow glow from the streetlight spilled across the walls. The headlights from passing traffic made my rubber plant’s shadow look like a huge triffid creeping along the ceiling. I sat on the edge of my desk while the cat made the room’s acquaintance. No witch, not even one who feels low powered, can use a mobile phone. Even though I’m magically retarded, my vibes feel off the charts to other Community members. This high output affects most electrical gadgets around me. The smaller they are or the more technology they have, the worse they are hit. So witches always have the old type of telephone, the kind made of Bakelite with a big round dial on the front. The amount of electricity they require must be teeny as they nearly always work, even for me. But I was half hoping there wouldn’t be a dial tone. There was. I was going to have to talk to Bronwyn. Deciding to get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid, I entered the numbers for the farm as quickly as the slow sliding dial would allow. It was getting late, but I knew my aunts would be up until the witching hour was over. Aunt Bron picked up. ‘Ferch Farm?’ Her voice was strong and steady and always made me hesitate. ‘It’s me,’ I said eventually. ‘Samhain. What kind of trouble are you in this time?’Her Welsh accent rose and fell, but the beauty of it didn’t hide the barb in her words. ‘Why do you always make feel like a naughty child?’ ‘Because that’s how you behave. I’m going to assume you didn’t ring to enquire after my health and I’m in the middle of something important, so let’s cut to what you want.’ She had a point, but why did she have to be such a bitch about it? I slowed my breathing and, once I was calm, told her about the witch, the cat and our escape. When I got to the bit about the spell my fingers twisted into the coils of the telephone cord. ‘I don’t want to just pull it out.’ She hissed as she sucked air in past her teeth. ‘Well thank the goddess you know that much.’ ‘Yes, I did listen to you.’ She had me whining like a petulant teen. ‘And I don’t know how to break it or...’ ‘Or if you even could,’ she finished. I was glad she couldn’t see my face burn. ‘No,’ I agreed. An idea hit me. ‘You could do it though. I could bring him to you on the train.’ I stood with a stupid grin, mentally making plans to get to Paddington Station. ‘Don’t even think of bringing that shifter to my farm.’ ‘Why not? You’re always preaching about helping the Community, well here’s an opportunity.’ ‘You don’t know him, I don’t know him and you haven’t even wondered what he was doing in London in the first place, have you?’ I hadn’t. Shifters tend to stick to the countryside the way vampires prefer cities. ‘Maybe he was visiting someone.’ ‘Or looking for a stupid witch,’ she muttered. ‘The answer is no. I don’t even know a witch in London who would help you.’ ‘Isn’t it great to be a part of the Community?’ The sarcasm wasn’t wasted on my aunt, she just chose to ignore it. ‘The best thing you could do,’ she paused and I waited for her to give me a list of ingredients for a curse-breaker, ‘is call the witch hunters.’ I gritted my teeth to prevent me from letting lose the string of foul language I could feel clogging up my throat. The urge to punch something made me grip the edge of my desk until I felt it splinter. ‘That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?’ I said when I could form words. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’ ‘Why? Why is it the right thing to turn an innocent person over to them?’ ‘Because they could get the curse broken. A lot of witches actually work with them nowadays. I heard from the Circle that the hunters are chasing a nasty warlock across London as we speak. You would know all this if you weren’t so stubborn.’ Me? Stubborn? ‘They’re meant to chase nasty warlocks, not harass innocent people.’ ‘And they could also find and return him to his pack. He’d be much better off with them than with you.’ He was sat by the window, watching over the front door and listening to the exchange. I didn’t think he wanted me to call in the hunters anymore than I did. ‘That’s not even an option. Ring me back if you think of anything useful. I’ll perform the breaking myself if necessary.’ I hung up while she was still talking. The cat wandered over and rubbed his head against my knee. ‘You’re welcome.’ I stretched my arms above my head and un-jinked my back. ‘Come on. I have a couple of useful books, we can see if there’s anything about curse breaking in them.’ Chapter 4 I was sprawled in my armchair, reaching for the next book when the front door snicked shut. The cat stared at the door to my flat. Quiet footsteps were climbing my stairs. They didn’t know about the creak on the first flight. I would have thought it was Fin wanting to know why I abducted Mrs McGinty’s familiar, except for the blast of energy I could feel emanating toward me. I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and removed a carefully placed rucksack from a kitchen cupboard. The cat began hissing, his fur perked up like hedge-hog spikes. I slid a well oiled sash window up as far as it would go, ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ I asked. He bounded onto my lap as I straddled the ledge. The door to my flat swung in revealing Fin with two witch hunters. ‘No don’t,’ he shouted. I didn’t know if it was to me or them. ‘You bastard,’ I yelled back and dropped about ten feet onto the pitch of the joining roof of the pub below with a freaked out cat stabbing my shoulder with bladed claws. I trotted along the apex of the roof to the gable end and then on hands and knees I reached one leg down to a window sill where an external fire-exit ladder was attached. I had trialled this escape route a few times over the years. Before I ducked my head below the roofline I saw two open-mouthed witch hunters leaning from my window. One of them looked to be in his fifties with slicked back greying hair and a dark overcoat on top of a suit. The other one could have been my age, it’s hard to tell with Community members as we age so well, but he had the customary dark hair, bronze complexion and fiery gaze. I gulped and stooped down on the window sill. The shocked face of the pub barmaid was staring at me from the other side of the glass. I waved at her before sliding down the handrail of the metal ladder with the yowling cat attached to my shoulders like a fur stole. We ran down the back alley knowing the hunters would have to follow on foot and we had a head start. Once out onto the dark street I made straight for the nearest tube station and got on the first train that appeared. I sat in an empty carriage on the red velour seats that lined the sides. The cat sat next to me and put his front paws on the arm rest between us and mewed into my face. ‘I know.’ I held my head in my hands. ‘We’re so screwed.’ There was no way to out-run a witch hunter. They were as good as their name. Hunters have an unerring sense of all Community members. They’re like police helicopters with infrared cameras. The trains and tunnels would give me some cover, but in the end there’s no escape. If you were lucky you’d get a trial and a possible burning. If you were unlucky, there was just the burning. Witch-fire is their personal in-built weapon of mass destruction. That lucky magical evolution put them at the top of the food-chain. I pressed my palms into my eyeballs and fought the rising nausea. My only friend and ally in the world had betrayed me, or had he? He looked horrified when I yelled at him and jumped. Maybe this was the work of a repeat offender? Someone who had shopped me to the hunters before? I lurched to my feet and swayed with the movement of the train. I grabbed hold of the metal bar bracketing the row of seats and checked the map above my head. We were on the Bakerloo Line heading north. The brakes squealed as we neared the next stop and I signalled to the cat that we were leaving. We trotted along the platform of Piccadilly Circus and followed the tiled tunnels until we reached the escalators, then the stairs and emerged onto the bustling street. I walked over to the fountain with the statue of Eros prancing above me and sat on the cold stone steps to think. The glowing neon lights from the famous advertising boards reflected off red buses and black cabs as they whistled down Haymarket. Crowds of dressed-up theatre goers laughed and chatted as they rushed by. You could be in a crowd and still completely alone in the capital. It was one of the reasons I loved it here. I rubbed the back of my neck and said to the cat, ‘It must have been my aunt. She’s grassed me up...again. And this time for stealing a cat.’ He mewed at me. ‘Sorry. I know you’re not just a cat.’ I looked at the red telephone box on the corner outside the Aberdeen Steak House. ‘Come on. Let’s tell the old witch I’m still at large.’ She answered on the first ring and I managed to get in a good few insults before she interrupted me. ‘Of course it wasn’t me,’ and she sounded all indignant too. ‘Well who was it then?’ ‘Probably the witch you stole it from.’ ‘Unlikely considering her crime was worse than mine.’ We were bickering again. ‘Anyway I do have something.’ I waited, hating the way she always made me do that. ‘I called Mr Huxtable.’ He was also known as The Beast of Bodmin Moor, a big cat shifter and an old family friend. ‘And he told me there has been a spate of wildcat murders in Scotland.’ She said this like it was great gossip. ‘How nice. What does that have to do with my furry friend?’ ‘They’re looking for a cat for it. A whole pack was murdered, but there was one body missing. They think he’s gone feral.’ As she spoke I stared at the cat. He sat on his haunches, ears twitching as he listened to my conversation. He didn’t look like a feral murderer. ‘It wasn’t him,’ I said with conviction. ‘And to think you wanted to bring him here.’ ‘If he’s feral why has he stayed so tame with me?’ ‘I suppose he needs this curse breaking, so he found a nice naïve witch.’ ‘Thanks.’ I could hear my other aunt talking in the background. Then Aunt Bron said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous Gwen, she’d never be able to do it.’ It sounded like they were wrestling over the phone. Aunt Gwen’s voice came breathlessly, ‘You could break it like Bron can--’ ‘It’s too dangerous,’ Bron interrupted. ‘What do I have to do?’ I hoped Gwen still had hold of the phone. ‘You have to know you can do it and put as much as you can into it... Hey!’ Bron returned to the conversation, ‘It’s like pulling a wire on a live bomb. It takes patience, confidence and a delicate hand.’ ‘Riiiight.’ All things I didn’t have. ‘Hand yourself into the hunters. There’s a warlock running lose and you’re--’ There was a scuffle on the line and then Gwen came back on again, ‘You have enough power to do it. You just have to believe you can.’ The line went dead. *** I thought about my aunt’s words while I travelled the underground. Staying still for too long wasn’t a good idea when there were hunters zeroing in on us. They were probably triangulating our position. Whatever that means. ‘It comes down to this,’ I said to my travelling companion as we stepped onto the platform. ‘It’s too risky.’ The cat kept pace with me as we passed another barrier. We’d ended up at Baker Street Station. Even after everything my aunts had said I was still going to disobey them and bring him to the farm. ‘We can change here for Paddington and get a train from there.’ I clutched my back pack, it had enough cash to get us there. Once Aunt Bron broke the curse the cat could tell us who was really responsible for killing his pack. Then I’d go to the hunters. We just had to get to the farm. I was sure I could talk Bronwyn into breaking the curse when we were face to face. I sat on a wooden bench and surveyed the quiet platform. It had been refurbished with special light luminares which are like big arches cut into the curved yellow-brick ceiling. In the daytime they would flood the tunnel with natural light, but now the dark station floor was lit by globe lights suspended between the arches casting pools of light on the flagstone floor. Unlike most tube stops this one had a platform opposite as well. It was deserted with only snack machines, benches and posters advertising the latest Bond film to look at. My foot tapped and jiggled as we waited for the next train. The cat pushed his way onto my lap and I stroked his thick fur. My fingers buzzed as they circled the spell imbedded in him. I could feel its wrongness, like a cold, creeping dread in my stomach. He mewed at me and his bright green gaze bored into mine. Unflinching. It was tempting. I remembered Aunt Bron’s words, ‘patience, confidence and a delicate hand.’ But my hand trembled at the thought of pulling it out. The rumble of a train sounded down the tunnel. I hopped up, looking both ways hoping to see the oncoming lights on my side of the tracks. Brakes squealed while it docked on the other side of the station. I sat back down and scuffed my boots impatiently, even though it would only be another couple of minutes. The train beeped urgently and I could hear the pre-recorded wisdom of, ‘Stand clear of the doors please,’ and ‘Mind the gap.’ The doors whooshed shut and the large rectangular windows flashed passed in a blur of yellow as the underground train sped away. A lone passenger stood on the deserted platform in the train’s wake. I hadn’t felt the hunter’s magical buzz due to the metal buffer of the train. But it flowed across, unhindered calling to me with a dangerous attraction, lulling with magic filled desire. Like a siren’s song. It was the young hunter who I last saw staring at me from my window as I ran along the roofline making my getaway. He strolled to the edge with his hands in the pockets of his black combats. He dropped onto the tracks. My mouth dried and my heart hammered. My voice came out in a whisper, ‘I thought they’d send Desi.’ I was referring to the last hunter I’d bumped into. He braced himself on one hand and swung up and over onto my platform. He moved like liquid. ‘Desi is busy chasing a warlock, so I volunteered.’ He looked like he was about to say more, but my body finally caught up. I grabbed the cat and scrabbled to my feet and ran for the exit. I rounded the corner and skidded to a stop in front of two more hunters. They walked like soldiers, shoulder to shoulder with impassive faces. They all wore the same black fatigues and had dark Mediterranean looks. The cat’s heart pounded against my sweaty palm. I started to sing the chorus from Sugar We’re Goin Down to the terrified cat in my arms as I walked us backwards. It was my favourite song by Fall Out Boy. The cat glanced at me with a flicker of comprehension. Just as the song went, we were cornered, but I wasn’t giving up yet. I needed to draw them into close range. My body tingled with nerves and the magical energy I drew in subconsciously. The static from the first hunter brushed against me as I continued to back up. It felt like I had pins and needles all over. I continued crooning to the cat, who had, at some point, become my cat. I sang the last line. He took my signal and, with a great yowl, leapt from my arms onto the face of the nearest hunter with claws slashing. I crouched as the other two made a lunge for me. While they grappled with each other above my head, I did a quick leg sweep and the hunter behind me fell to the ground. I sprung with an uppercut at the hunter in front. I pushed magic into the punch and the force of it lifted him off the ground. He landed in a heap. He didn’t get up. The remaining hunter held my cat at arm’s length by the scruff. The tabby was hissing and growling with all four legs cart-wheeling out of reach of the hunters bleeding face. It meant the hunter was nice and distracted. I punched him in the stomach and caught the cat as the hunter ‘oofed’ and dropped him to hold his winded belly. With the cat in my arms I made a leap over the prone hunter on the floor. We were going to make it. Whilst in mid-air, a hand grasped my ankle. I lifted the cat at the last minute so I didn’t squash him. I landed face first and my nose burst. Teeth rattled and sliced my tongue. Pain erupted inside my head and the back of my throat clogged with blood. My ankle was in the vice-like grip of the hunter I had caught with the leg-sweep. He pulled me towards him. The cold floor scraped my bare front as my jacket bunched under my arms. I coughed and struggled to breathe, but kept hold of my cat. The other hunter was recovering and swearing in Spanish. We were done for. Any second now they would remember that they have witch-fire and I was going to burn. The cat’s round green eyes seemed to plead with me. I could do one last thing for him. What more did I have to lose? I plucked the thorn clean out. It slid easily and broke the spell and I let my head drop onto my arm. There was a second of no-noise, not silence – more like the vacuum before you hear the nuclear explosion. Someone shouted, ‘Hijo de puta!’and a satisfying back draft of air burst outwards and flattened everybody with a deafening roar. ‘Posicion de recuperacion!’ was barked and I was pulled and pushed around. The paw that I tried to keep in my vision was now a fist punching the ground. Everyone was shouting but I floated inside my oxygen starved brain where I drifted on a fluffy, painless cloud. A Scottish accent yelled, ‘Get her help. Call an ambulance!’ My last thought was, ‘Damn-it, Cat. At least tell them you didn’t do it.’ Chapter 5 I woke in a cell. Sunlight streamed through a window and burned my eyes. I fingered them gently. They were puffy and sore, probably black. I cupped my nose, too scared to actually poke it, and winced. It was swollen, the pain stung my eyes, but it had been re-set. That seemed like a strange thing to do for a prisoner. I was in the same clothes as yesterday, now dirty and splattered with blood. My bag was missing though. I ached all over and my head pounded but I stumbled to my feet to check out my new digs. There weren’t any bars on the window, which was too high to see out of, but it was definitely a cell. The plain walls were painted pale grey and the bed was the only piece of furniture. It was bolted to the floor. I searched outwards to access some raw magic, but I hit a wall. They probably had a spell on the room to stop me reaching any. The solid door was locked and had a ward that would make Mrs McGinty proud. It buzzed with a static sting when I tried the handle. Despite the ward jabbing needles in my head I pressed my ear against the door. I heard footsteps and then a key was turning the lock. I scrabbled backwards into the corner, my heart beat against my ribs so hard it hurt. I lifted shaking fists. There was no magic to lend me extra oomph, but that wouldn’t stop me kicking some ass. Until the pyromaniac hunter brought out the witch-fire. Then it was game over. A head of dark curls popped around the door. When he spotted me the hunter smiled and said, ‘Good afternoon Samhain, I am Pepe,’ in a strong Spanish accent. Pepe was the witch hunter that got off the train last night. The one who had grabbed my leg and stopped my escape. He carried a tray into the room and the smell of bacon filled the air. My stomach’s growl reverberated around the tiny room, but I made no move toward the delicious smelling food. He smirked as he straightened from putting the tray on the bed and tendrils of hunter vibes tried to gentle me. It wasn’t the aggressive buzz of last night, more of the heightened awareness between witches and hunters. That heady mix of attraction and magic. I stifled a shiver as goose-flesh raced across my skin, but I so wasn’t in the mood. I took a deep breath and felt the tug of the magically induced attraction lessen as I exhaled. Maybe there was something to be said for meditation after all. He frowned. ‘This one,’ he pointed at a glass bottle on the tray, ‘is an herbal remedy, si Senorita?’ Pepe moved slowly away from the bed with his hands up, palms out. I glanced at the door, which he’d left ajar. I could make it past him and out of here, but then what? This place could be crawling with hunters. He followed my look to the cell door and cleared his throat. ‘You must be hungry. Why don’t you eat and take the remedy while they finish up the paperwork. Mr Kelly has already arrived with your solicitor.’ I dropped my fists. I was going to kill him. Wait, I had a solicitor? ‘Fin’s here?’ He nodded. ‘And I’m free to go?’ He crossed his arms. ‘As soon as they finish signing your release papers. Have some food while you wait--’ I rushed to the door and swung it into his face when he jumped to stop me. Then stomped down a corridor lined with closed doors. It ended in a half-glazed door criss-crossed with safety wire. It was locked. I frantically pushed the handle up and down while barging at it with my shoulder. ‘Allow me,’ said the hunter from behind. I stood back and waited for him to produce a bunch of keys. He simply turned the handle and pulled. It opened inwards. Damn. You could warm your hands with the heat from my blushing face. I looked straight at the floor as I mumbled my thanks. I walked into the reception area of a police station. There was a long curved desk with a policeman behind it arguing with a colleague who had someone in handcuffs. Opposite that was a large glazed porch with double doors. Ringing phones were ignored and a baby was crying whilst being rocked in a buggy by a teenage mum. There were posters on notice boards about joining the Special Community Service or protecting your property with alarms. I spotted Fin on the other side of the reception area at the mouth of a long dark corridor. He was in close conversation with a man who had a regal air. The stranger wore a navy pinstripe suit with a red carnation in the button-hole. He glared at me as I approached and snarled at Fin, ‘Well I can’t do much for someone who declares their guilt!’ He stropped down the shadowed passage swinging his briefcase. ‘What was that about?’ I asked. Fin shrugged with his hands in his pockets and said, ‘Just a vamp about a cat.’ I clapped my hands over my mouth. ‘Oh my goddess, where’s the cat?’ ‘Being questioned--’ ‘I want to see him.’ ‘Yeah, I thought you might. Listen I need to talk to you about--’ ‘And I need to talk to you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you grassing me up.’ I gave him my best death-stare. ‘I didn’t, Agnes called it in. I only brought them because they weren’t after you. I should have known you’d run before I could explain. I should have left them in the car.’ I worked my mouth a few times before I found my voice. ‘You... you should have what? Left them in the – no Fin, you shouldn’t have brought them within a hundred miles of me.’ I clenched my jaw and fisted my hands, trying not to scream and punch him through the wall. I didn’t think I was going to manage it. Instead I pushed him out of the way and stormed toward the exit. He shouted after me, ‘Sam wait, I need to tell you something.’ I couldn’t wait. Chapter 6 I marched all the way home as afternoon turned to evening. I walked past tube stations and bus stops preferring to vent my frustration on my boots. Gradually the streets changed. Houses and shops became the office blocks of the business district and the busy streets of inner London, which signalled home. By the time I neared my place my temper was cooling and my feet ached. The homeless man from yesterday had moved his cardboard home. He was now huddled in a doorway a couple up from mine. I dropped a fiver on his dirt encrusted blankets as I passed. I fished in my jeans pocket for my keys, but they weren’t there. I checked all my pockets, patting myself down. They must have been in my bag which I’d stormed off without. I slumped against the door and slid onto the doorstep and banged my head against the solid wood. The cold from the old stone leeched through my jeans and numbed my bottom. I couldn’t stay here all night. I could go to the pub next door though. Maybe that barmaid would take pity on me. She probably already thought I was crazy after I waved at her last night when I was making my getaway. I’d have to think up a story. Maybe I could say I was rescuing a cat that was stuck on her roof. I hauled myself up to go to the pub which looked cheery and welcoming. Plotting and scheming distracted me enough that I didn’t notice the fizzle of power behind me until the last second. I spun, ready to block, expecting another hunter but I was met with someone much worse. The vagrant stood before me crackling with the power of a warlock. His blankets were discarded in a trail behind him. He would have been a mage like Fin once. But mages who murder and steal power from their victims get boosted to a whole new identity. That’s how you get warlocks. Forget dirty covens, warlocks are the ultimate in black magic. ‘What do you want?’ I said with my fists raised. I drew magic into me thick and fast. There was no spell to keep it from me here and it flowed through the ground and from the air. I could kill a man with one punch, if I wasn’t careful, but there was no telling what he could do. ‘You stole my cat,’ his voice thick and gruff. ‘Not from you, I didn’t.’ I slid my foot backwards, closer to the pub and relative safety. Or would I just be dooming everyone in there as well? ‘I need another source n’ I reckon you’ll do.’ He was dropping power like acid leaking from a battery. He must have used the cat as a magic booster. I had no intention of taking his place. ‘You hexed the cat, not Mrs McGinty.’ ‘Aye. I felt it when the curse was broken, that was you.’ He narrowed his eyes and shaggy grey brows followed the movement. Another sliding step. I stood in the darkness beside the light spilling from the pub door. So close. ‘You killed the cat’s pack.’ His smile revealed blackened stumps. ‘Oh no, he did that with his own teeth and claws.’ I couldn’t believe him. My instinct said he was wrong. ‘You made him do it.’ He tilted his head. ‘I may have given him the impetus.’ I knew it. He clapped large heavy hands and said, ‘Enough stalling.’ I kicked straight up between his legs. Instead of writhing in agony on the floor like a normal man, he raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t have any balls?’ For once I wasn’t trying to be insulting. ‘A necessary sacrifice.’ ‘I guess they just shrivelled up and died from lack of use, huh?’ His features twisted into a wrathful expression. I gulped. A jet of pure energy hit me in the chest from four foot away. I slammed into the double doors of the pub. They burst inwards and I thumped onto the floor of the now silent pub. I stood on shaky legs and looked at the blonde barmaid, who was staring with her mouth wide open. ‘Sorry,’ I said and staggered back outside. I didn’t want him following me in there and hurting innocent people. I ran at him hoping to actually surprise him this time. We hit the ground with me straddling his chest. I punched him in the face and his blood sprayed. I wanted to knock him out before he could blast me with magic again. Hopefully he’d used it all up with that last shot. He grabbed my throat. I tugged at the tight grip and made squelchy, choking noises. His fingertips felt like they were punching holes in my flesh as they crushed my wind-pipe. The barmaid appeared in my peripheral vision. She shoved the handle of a baseball bat at me. I grasped it and pushed magic through my swinging arm. It connected with a thwack. The back of his skull rocked off the pavement. Then he slumped, unmoving. Car brakes squealed and Fin jumped out, closely followed by hunters in black fatigues. ‘Sam, Sam - I’m so sorry,’ Fin was shouting, ‘we should have been here sooner but there was a smash and...’ He looked at the prone warlock. ‘It doesn’t really matter as you seem to have taken care of it.’ The barmaid helped me up. ‘Thanks for this,’ I gasped holding the bat out to her. ‘Any time.’ She smiled so wide I could see her back teeth. ‘I’m Caroline and you’re hilarious. Let’s get a drink.’ She put her arm around my shoulders and we walked back into the pub. The hunters could clean up that mess. Epilogue I pressed the biro against the pad of paper in endless circles trying to make the ink flow. I had a stack of forms to fill and no working pens. ‘Oh for goddess’ sake, work damn you.’ There was a knock on the office door. ‘Yep,’ I said without looking up. I needed to get this insurance file wrapped up. I was supposed to meet my new BFF, Caroline, in the pub for a night of drunken dancing. ‘Erm, Samhain?’ asked a Scottish sounding voice. I dropped the pen and looked up at a bashful looking lad. ‘Cat?’ He nodded and golden brown hair flopped around his ears. My chair legs screeched across the floor as I jumped up and ran around my desk to him. It was the first time I’d seen him as a person. ‘When did you get out?’ He allowed me to steer him into the office by an arm. ‘Come in, come in. Would you like a cup of tea? I seem to remember I owe you one.’ ‘Nah, I’m alright. My uncle is waiting in the car, I just wanted to stop by and say thank you before I go.’ ‘You’re leaving?’ His green eyes lit up. ‘I was trying to get to my uncle’s all along. I’d made it pretty far too, until that witch caught me.’ ‘Yeah, how did that happen?’ He looked at the ground. ‘I was hungry so I was hunting and I accidentally strayed onto her territory.’ He shrugged. ‘She was within her rights to keep me there.’ The hunters hadn’t pressed charges against her either. ‘The bitch.’ ‘I heard what you did to the warlock.’ He studied me intently. ‘And I know what he told you,’ he whispered. ‘It wasn’t your fault, or the hunters wouldn’t have let you go.’ He looked at his hands. ‘Well I haven’t exactly got a free pass, but I won’t be facing execution.’ ‘Join the club mate.’ A car horn sounded from the street. ‘I’d better get going.’ We stood and he held his hand out. I ignored it and grabbed him for a hug. When I pulled back he was blushing. The horn beeped for longer this time. ‘Thanks for everything, Samhain.’ He walked to the door. ‘Call me Sam. Hey, wait I don’t know your name.’ He grinned. ‘Cameron Thompson, but everyone calls me Cam. Except for you.’ With that he disappeared. Yeah, I would still think of him as ‘Cat’. I turned back to my stack of forms, humming my favourite Fall Out Boy song. About Chantal Halpin Chantal Halpin lives in the South West of England with her husband, two kids and their smelly rescue dog. She mostly writes urban fantasy and loves anything fanged, fae, witchy or shifty. She is currently working on The Witch Hunter series which includes both urban fantasy and young adult stories. Other books by Chantal Halpin Foul is Fair Sam would prefer to stay concealed amongst the nobodies. She’s a witch with a dodgy past hiding in the insurance claim industry. When a high profile politician is threatened with having his Community position as a vampire exposed, she couldn’t care less. Sadly her boss forces her on baby-sitting duty and she unwittingly attracts the attention of a witch-hunter. While trying to protect her confidential client’s secret identity she also has to fight her attraction to the pyromaniac hunter, like a suicidal moth. An urban fantasy short story of approx 2,500 words set in London with British spellings. It is available to download for free from Smashwords and many other online retailers. Connect with Chantal Halpin online Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ChantalHalpin Blog: http://wearegoingonawitchhunt.wordpress.com Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/chantalhalpin Other books by similar authors The Trouble With Pixies By Gayle Ramage Michael thinks he's moved to Edinburgh for a fresh start - but he has no idea how fresh it is going to get! While his kids are out exploring the city, a wild-eyed, crazy Scots lass besets him in his own house with revelations of his unwelcome house guests. A short, urban fantasy tale set in Edinburgh, Scotland. An introduction to the Edinburgh Elemental series. (Short Story, British Spelling) Available from Smashwords and many other online retailers.