Page 19 of A Skirl of Sorcery (The Cat Lady Chronicles #3)

‘Alright,’ I grumbled. ‘Alright. Here endeth my TED talk.’ Honestly; He Who Roams Wide was much better at listening to my philosophical rambling than Tiddles.

We slipped into the building, bypassing the concierge once again.

As soon as we reached the staircase, I felt a surge of irritation: there were splatters of blood in several different places.

I nudged Tiddles from my shoulder and she immediately went to the nearest bloody splodge, sniffed it and narrowed her eyes.

It didn’t happen often, but we were on the same page.

We exchanged glances then climbed to the top of the stairs.

I knocked hard on the door, crossing my fingers that Thane was conscious and alert enough to answer.

There was no answer. Tiddles growled faintly as I knocked again. If I’d been hoping that he would appear semi-naked, dripping with water and smiling at me lazily with come-to-bed-now-and-let-me-ravage-you eyes, I was disappointed. The door didn’t open and there was no sound from behind it.

‘This is a posh building – it’s bound to have excellent soundproofing,’ I told Tiddles.

‘He might be taking his time. Just because we can’t hear anything and he’s not come to the door doesn’t mean he’s not there.

He’ll still be recovering from the full moon.

Thane knew I was coming – he made me give him my word that I’d be here. ’

She arched her spine and her hackles rose. I sighed.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘That’s what I was thinking too.’ I reached into my pocket and took out my keyring, flipping through until I found my trusty old lockpick.

The lock on Thane’s door wasn’t bound by magic and would be easy enough to pick, but I was well aware that he was a fan of booby traps. I didn’t doubt that there would be some sort of cunning set-up inside that could render me unconscious if I weren’t careful.

‘Lucky you’re here,’ I murmured to Tiddles before I leaned in and got to work.

The lock was fiddly and it was a good two minutes before I heard the satisfying snick that told me I’d been successful. I rocked back on my heels and nudged the door open. It didn’t squeak; it didn’t even whisper. It wasn’t that kind of flat.

Tiddles sauntered inside with her tail held high and her paws sinking into the thick cream carpet. Suddenly she jumped about a foot in the air and twisted her head from left to right before glancing over her shoulder at me.

‘On my way,’ I told her.

She sniffed, wandered off to her right and disappeared from view.

I took my time as I stepped carefully over the threshold.

Carpets and cats weren’t a particularly great combination, and cream carpets and cats were worse.

Although this might only be a temporary address for Thane, I reckoned that carpet was there for a reason.

Tiddles had avoided the area directly inside the front door so there was probably a concealed pressure pad that would be triggered if I stepped on it.

I hopped to the side and stayed well away from the danger area, then took a few steps forward until I reached the spot where Tiddles had leapt into the air.

Interesting. I couldn’t see any evidence of a tripwire.

Perhaps Thane had decided to splash out and buy an expensive invisible version from one of the more well-appointed witchery stores.

I bunched my muscles and jumped, taking care to leave as much air between myself and the floor as possible. I landed a foot away and with a gallingly heavy thump.

There was a sudden loud purr from the far corner. Tiddles was beside a large leafy plant in the corner – and she looked as if she were laughing. Correction: she looked like she was gloating. ‘There’s nothing there, is there?’ I demanded. ‘You were gaslighting me.’

Her whiskers quivered in delight.

‘The front door?’ I asked. ‘Is there a pressure pad there?’

Tiddles didn’t answer but I knew Thane: there would be some sort of trap there even if there was no tripwire. ‘You know it pays to be prudent when the situation calls for it, Tiddles,’ I said. ‘I’m not ashamed of being cautious.’

The ginger cat blinked and sauntered off once more. ‘You could give me a modicum of respect!’ I called after her.

She didn’t react and I rolled my eyes. Cats. Honestly.

I half turned – and that was when my flash of humour dissipated. There were more spots of dried blood, a whole collection of them between the long black sofa and the glass-topped coffee table. Thane had always been careless with his own blood but this was ridiculous. And where the hell was he?

There was nothing interesting in the glossy, open-plan kitchen other than a very expensive brand of cat food that Thane had left on the counter. He was clearly spoiling Tiddles rotten. I swivelled away and followed her towards the bedroom.

From the moment I’d opened Thane’s front door I’d been certain he wasn’t home, but I was still disappointed when I confirmed that his bed was empty and he wasn’t hiding in the bathroom or taking a shower.

He’d made me give my word that I’d be here and I tried not to allow myself to feel hurt.

There was bound to be a rational explanation.

Tiddles miaowed plaintively; she wasn’t any happier about this situation than I was.

‘He would have been hungry after last night,’ I said. ‘He might have gone out for food.’ I marched to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge door. It was stocked full: steak, mushrooms, bacon, orange juice. Hell – there was enough food to feed an army.

‘He’s not gone out for food, then.’ I pursed my lips. ‘Maybe he went out to run an errand.’

Tiddles slunk out of the bedroom and miaowed again.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I did promise that I’d come round this morning and he should have been here waiting for us.

And, yes, I know that’s his blood on the stairs and on the carpet, though there’s not a lot of it.

His wounds last night weren’t life-threatening – a first-aid kit would have taken care of them. ’

Tiddles’ tail swished from side to side then she jumped onto the coffee table and started pawing through some papers. She raised her head and looked at me pointedly. When I didn’t move, she pawed at the papers again and hissed.

I threw up my hands. ‘Alright. Jeez. But when Thane is pissed off because I’ve been snooping through his private things, I’ll blame you.’ My threat didn’t appear to faze her in the slightest.

I picked up the loose sheets and my breath caught when I realised what was on them,. There were several charcoal drawings and their quality was extraordinary. But it wasn’t his skill that had given me pause, it was his subject matter.

Me.

There was one of me curled up in a chair with all five of my gorgeous cats around me, and one of me clutching a dagger and staring fiercely.

There was one of me laughing, and one of me with my hand raised to a loose purple curl in a gesture I knew far too well.

Each one was sketched not simply with exquisite realism but with a tenderness that made a lump rise in my throat.

These pictures had been created with feeling, and that realisation played havoc with my normally tamped-down emotions.

‘The different versions of Kit McCafferty,’ I whispered. ‘As seen through the eyes of Thane Barrow.’

Tiddles, still on the coffee table, huffed in impatience. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘You wanted me to see these.’ She huffed again.

I flicked through the last few drawings.

Me. Me. Me. And… I stared at the last one.

It was of a wolf, though it wasn’t a self-portrait; this particular drawing was of a werewolf I’d seen only last night.

Even rendered in charcoal, I recognised those narrowed eyes that reflected youthful malevolence. Thane had drawn a picture of Silver.

I noted the signature and the date in the lower corner: Thane had created this drawing two weeks ago. But why this wolf? I stared at it uncomprehendingly.

‘What’s going on, Tiddles?’

She only blinked at me in response – but I couldn’t deny the uneasiness that was uncurling in my belly.