And were Aleta and her family safe?Where were the witches?A knock came at my door right at dawn, and I grabbed my shotgun. I spotted Occam—human shaped, dressed in his thin gobag clothes—on the porch, leaning against the front wall, eyes closed. He looked exhausted, skin pasty instead of its usual golden tone, scruffy beard, hair too long and unkempt. But he looked as if he was in his right mind. I opened the door, aiming the same shotgun at him that I had leveled at Soul. “You thinking of doing me harm, Occam?”
“Nell, sugar, I’m so tired you could beat me with a wet noodle and I’d cry uncle.”
Paka was climbing up the stairs, also dressed in the too-thin clothing, her curly black hair in a mass. “You will shoot us?” she asked, pausing at the top. There was something odd in her eyes that I didn’t like but didn’t know how to describe or name.
“Only if you try to eat me for breakfast.”
“Breakfast sounds wonderful,” Occam said, pushing away from the wall and stumbling inside. “Eggs? Bacon?”
“Fresh out,” I said.
“Cereal? Coffee strong enough to stand up a fork and peel the bark offa tree?”
I gave the two werecats a half smile and allowed Pea past as well. The grindy walked, neon green tail down, to the master bedroom and jumped to the made bed with the mousers, Torquil trailing behind. Not seeing a human-shaped Rick, I shut the door behind them and placed the shotgun down. “I reckon I can fix you something to stick to your ribs. Where’s Rick?”
“He is caged,” Paka said, a hint of pitiless satisfaction in her voice. “He did not shift back.”
He had to be in the cage that had been delivered. I didn’t know what to say to that, but it bothered me almost as much as Paka’s expression. I picked up my service weapon and snapped it into its Kydex holster, beneath my left arm, making sure the sound was loud enough for my guests to know I was armed. There were tales about werecats on the full moon. They weren’t quite human, and establishing that I was queen in this ever-expanding clowder seemed like an important task. I moved to the kitchen and started a fresh, strong pot of coffee. Paka was still watching me like I was a mouse and she was hunting. “Hewill notshift back,” she said. “He is leopard.”
“That sounds bad,” I said as I measured out grounds.
“It is, Nell, sugar. Very bad. Any chance you’d let me shower?” Occam asked. “I can pay you on Tuesday.”
“Short shower,” I said. “I don’t have a very big hot water tank, but what I got’s free. Clean towels on the shelf. Homemade soap too.”
Occam grunted, made his way to the bathroom, and closed the door. A moment later, I heard the water come on, and I hoped he had remembered to take off his clothes before he climbed under the spray.
Paka, looking cold in her thin clothing and flip-flops, curled up on the couch and pulled the afghan over her. I hit theSTARTbutton on the coffeemaker and went to the pantry, returning with the homemade organic granola cereal I had traded dried beans for at the market two months ago. It might not be stale. Milk, cold from the fridge, brought by the team the night I got back. Bowls and spoons and mugs went on the table. Paka watched me as I worked, not offering to help.
“You got something to say?” I asked, without looking up. Avoiding eye contact, a leftover habit from my youth in a large polygamous family, was sometimes helpful.
“I do not like the cold.”
“I’m not too fond of it myself sometimes.” I leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, now meeting her predatory gaze. Maybe she had stayed too long in cat form and my movements looked too much like prey. I stretched slightly, adjusting the shoulder rig, drawing attention to it.
“Why do you stay here?” she asked.
“This is my land.” It seemed obvious to me.
“You could claim land anywhere,” Paka said, her body relaxing from whatever hunting instincts she had been experiencing. She pulled a comb from a pocket and started to untangle her tight curls.
I didn’t let the surprise show on my face. I could? And if I could... could I—
“You could come with me to Gabon, in Africa, and claim the land. We could share it.”
This was a bizarre conversation. “No. Thank you. I like it here. Besides, why would you want to go? Your mate is here.”
“My mate no longer. I was given to him by Raymond Micheika of the Party of African Weres, that my magic might enchant him and force a change upon him. I have done everything that I was tasked to do. Rick is cat. He is trapped in human form no longer. More, I have freed him from my enchantment. I will go home now. Today.”
“You will?” Occam sounded surprised and a little angry. He was standing in the doorway and had clearly been eavesdropping. He was barefooted from the shower, his thin pants hanging low on his hips, his chest glistening with water droplets, his blondish hair straggly and dripping. I politely turned my head away, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do. Occam was a mighty pretty man, in cat or human form. From the corner of my eye, I saw him smooth a towel over his head, but he didn’t take his gaze off Paka. The way a cat watches something it’s about to pounce on. “But who’s gonna help him change back?” he asked.
“That is not my concern,” she said, wrapping a long curl around a finger and sliding the finger free. “That was not part of my task.”
“Exactlywhatwasyourtask?” Occam asked. And I remembered the strange story of how Paka and Rick met and came together, the night Paka stole him from Jane Yellowrock.
“I was paid by Raymond Micheika to enspell the man and find a way to bring him to his cat. That is all. It is done.” Butthere was something in her expression that suggested there was more, and that she was looking for an excuse to tell us more. To gloat?
“And Soul knew this?” Occam demanded. “That you would leave?”
