As fast as Rick, Occam spun. Arm back like a batter’s. Brought the baton down on Rick’s front legs just above the paws. Reversed. Rapped Rick’s skull. Fast low thumps while the cat was in midair.
The black leopard went down with a thud. Rick didn’t move.
“Wow,” I said. Blinked.
A grindy jumped from outside onto Occam’s shoulder. Occam petted the grindy, a long swipe down its body. “Hey there, Pea. Or Bean. Whichever you are. We’re all good.”
Bending, Occam shoved Rick out of the doorway and closed the door. He closed the baton with a metallic click and placed the grindy on the step. Holstering his weapon, he bent and grabbed Rick’s front legs near the chest. He heaved Rick up and over his shoulder, a black weight with front legs that hung at odd angles. Broken. He carried Rick up the steps. The amulet created by the local witches swung from its chain around his neck. I couldn’t tell if it was working, but considering the shape Rick was in, I guessed not.
JoJo activated different security cams as they moved, allowing us to follow Occam as he carried Rick to the office. He bent and tossed Rick inside the cage in front of Rick’s desk, banged the cage door shut, and secured it. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Occam went back to the stairs and retrieved the sandwich bag and the gallon of tea, made sure the door to the stairs shut properly, and came to the conference room.
I opened the door. Behind me JoJo said, “My hero.”
“Anything for the ladies. Hey, Nell, sugar. What sandwich you want?”
“Looking at her, I’d say to give her the Dick’s Favorite,” Jo said.
There was something in her tone that made me think she was saying something else, but it was something I had to ignore, mostly because I didn’t know how to react to it. “I’d rather have the Three Little Pigs,” I said. “And extra mayo if you have it.”
Occam gave me a look that I couldn’t interpret, but it might have been tenderness. Or possessiveness. Or neither. He unwrapped the sandwich and passed it to me, then handed out the rest of the food as the others requested. He passed around napkins and paper cups for the tea, which was sweating on the conference room table.
We ate in silence until JoJo spoke around a bite of meat and bread. “So you broke Rick’s legs. That might piss him off.”
“It might,” Occam said, laconic, drawing out the last word as if he didn’t care.
“This part of that dominance thing you two are always fighting through?”
“Rick and I don’t fight.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” JoJo gave up and finished her sandwich. Overhead, on the screen from the camera situated outside of Rick’s office, we watched as Rick twitched, spasmed, and made a mewling sound. He was in pain. JoJo turned off the speakers.
“We oughta do something for him,” I said.
“No,” Occam said. “He needs to dominate his cat better. Maybe the pain will drive the point home.”
“Even if he was being spelled?” I asked.
“Especially then. If Rick can’t control his cat, he’ll lose his job.”
And the job was all Rick had left. I remembered his house and the way Rick was living. I held in a sigh and took a big bite of pork sandwich. No one else spoke.
We had finished eating when T. Laine climbed the stairs carrying a bag from Firehouse Subs. She tossed the bag on the table and said, “Great minds and all that. What happened to the door? It looks like a truck hit it.”
“Rick happened,” JoJo said. “He’s in cat form in a silvered cage. With two broken legs and probably a concussion.”
“Dang,” T. Laine said. “Was he wearing the amulet created by the local witches?”
“Yep,” Occam said.
“I’m guessing it didn’t work.”
“Maybe it helped a little,” Occam said. He sat back in his chair, his sandwich in front of him on its wrapper. “He was human enough to remember to come here. That isn’t a cat’s thought. Lemme eat and I’ll see what’s up with the boss.”
T. Laine flopped in a chair and said, “I’m not quite done with it and it hasn’t been tested, but I’ve devised a leather and black titanium collar for Rick, with GPS tracking, to track him when he shifts.” She plucked a chain from her pocket and placed the necklace on the table. We passed it around as she said, “It’s not too girly, not too disco or surfer boy. It can be worn with the witches’ amulet without the workings going boom. The black titanium chain won’t show in his cat coat, and it kinda looks like Rick.”
It was a small rough nugget of stone, something with a crystalized shape that caught the light but diffused it in the thin linear crystals. It was wrapped with black metal and hooked to the chain, which closed with a lobster claw clasp on one of three rings, making it adjustable. Magic tingled all through the small stone, but muted, as if it was a passive working. “You can track him with it?” I asked, handing it on to Occam.
“Pretty much. Don’t ask me how. It’ll hurt your church-girl feelings, all black magic and stuff.” Her tone was sarcastic but T. Laine’s eyes were dancing with laughter as she bit into her sub. Chewing, she added, “Because he isn’t in the null room, I can follow the magic in real time to test it out. Anyone thought to take the leopard a sandwich?”
