Library Cat Magical Mysteries Box Set (Books 1-3), page 40
“Now that you’ve enjoyed your evil gloating, Francie,” Kong said, “I regret to inform you that the coffee table is on fire.”
This old lady was truly crazy. I had to end this now. I pointed my wand and materialized a jet of water at the fire. Mabel countered extremely fast with a gust of warm air that blew my water off course and fanned the flames. Half the coffee table was now ablaze. “I’m old,” Mabel said. “But we’re witches, and that means I’m that much more powerful than you. Our age means strength; it means power. A whelp like you could never take me. I never would have gotten the drop on this ancient old bag if I hadn’t gotten her the old-fashioned way, with an elbow to the back of the neck.” She nodded at Hortensia, who was still passed out. An elbow to the back of the neck? She could have easily killed Hortensia. The idea makes me—
A purple blast of voidenergy shot out my wand, straight at Mabel. She dodged, but not fast enough. My attack clipped her. She screamed and clutched at her side. “Nice trick,” she groaned. “I have a few tricks, too. Want to see?”
She pointed her wand—not at me, but at Kong.
I didn’t even think about it. She was right. It’s almost impossible to get one over on your elders when you’re a witch… unless you do it the old-fashioned way.
I lunged at her and we tumbled to the floor in a tangle of bony old arms and legs. I felt her wand poke into my back and I tensed, waiting for the worst, when suddenly she was gone.
Rend had lifted her up with one hand and was getting the handcuffs ready with the other.
I sat up and shook my head. It was cloudy with the fog of war, and I was having trouble thinking clearly. So much of the last half hour had been mindlessly reacting to danger.
Kong perched on the couch, using a water spell to douse the flames. “Thanks, Kong,” I said.
“I have no desire to be burned to a crisp either,” he said. “I’m already going to have to sleep with the humidifier tonight.”
“Glad to see you’re feeling fine,” I said.
I got to my feet and went to Hortensia. “Wake up,” I said. “You gotta—”
She lifted her metallic arm and poked me in the chest. “Hey,” I said. She lifted it higher, straining with the effort, her eyes pinched shut, and gave me a smack on the face.
Before I could say anything, though, with my head turned slightly from the blow, I watched Mabel gather a ball of magical energy in her hands, even as they were shackled behind her back. She was going to launch it right at Rend.
I fired off a counterspell and to my surprise it worked—her ball of magical energy fizzled out before my eyes.
“Thanks,” I told Hortensia, now realizing why she’d clocked me in the face. She’d been able to sense the danger, but still been too weak to stop it.
Rend had no idea what had just transpired—that I’d just saved him. That was okay.
I wasn’t one for gloating.
Chapter 32
It was after midnight when I finished giving my statement. Lizzie’d texted me to let me know Sophie was alive and well, but that I was required to tell her every juicy detail tomorrow morning. With bleary eyes and shaky hands, I made my way out of the Werewolf Law Enforcement Brigade Headquarters. I was going to eat everything inside the refrigerator and sleep until noon. I’d already arranged for Whitney to open the Archives for me tomorrow morning, and Sophie could get herself ready and walk to school alone, now that the town was safe.
All that magic had taken it out of me, but I could definitely feel my magical stamina had increased. Not by leaps and bounds, but a few months ago, doing that much magic would have left me comatose.
“I hope this is the last time I see you around here,” a voice called out. I turned around. It was Bertulf, one of the junior werewolf investigators.
“I hope so too,” I said. “That will mean the town’s nice and peaceful.” I knew what he was getting at, but I wasn’t taking the bait.
“That’s not what I mean,” he said. “We have a whole pack of trained werewolves here. We don’t need a busybody librarian influencing our pack leader.”
Despite being seriously drained of energy, my blood boiled. I had just solved a double-homicide, and he was giving me guff? I didn’t need a parade thrown in my honor, but a little respect would have been nice. What would Hortensia do in a situation like this? Clock him on the head with her metallic arm? Cast a spell on him that would permanently lodge a popcorn fleck in the back of his throat? Get into his face and insult his masculinity? A combination of all three, most likely.
The amulet vibrated. The dark magic was pulsing as it flowed through my veins. It was strong, like a rushing, icy river towards the edge of a cliff.
How easy it would be to teach him some manners by blasting him out of his scuffed jackboots.
But what was the point? No one ever learned an important lesson by being blasted out of their jackboots. Besides, I’m a forty-five-year-old librarian. I’m not getting into a fight—verbal or otherwise—with a werewolf right outside their headquarters.
The voidenergy tried to surge one last time, a final rally to break through my defenses. But I choked it back down. I could actually feel it flowing in reverse, back up my arms and into the amulet.
It felt weird—felt wrong. Like I was going to puke, but swallowed it back down. I wish there was a less disgusting analogy for that, but there’s not.
Once the moment passed, I felt something swell in my heart that was stronger than the sanctimonious desire for revenge. It was satisfaction. I’d been challenged twice just now—once by this small-minded werewolf and once by my eager-to-be-used voidmagic.
And I had beaten them both.
“What’s going on, Bertulf?” Rend asked. He looked as tired as I felt, and was in no mood for minor irritations.
“I was just reminding her of the penalty for interfering in an active investigation,” he said.
Yeah, that and telling me to stay away from Rend.
“Good,” Rend said. My heart sank. Had I thought Rend was going to stick up for my meddling?
“No problem, chief,” he said.
“Because she’s my confidential informant—it’s been on the books for months now. If you interfere with her business, that’s interfering with an investigation. And if you mess with Francie, then you have to answer to me. Understood?”
If this was a cartoon, I would have been able to hear Bertulf gulp loudly before he stammered a half-hearted apology and slunk away.
But it wasn’t a cartoon, so Bertulf sneered at the two of us and muttered an insult under his breath.
“Sorry about that,” Rend said.
“I’m your confidential informant?” I asked. “What’s that, exactly?”
“I thought you watched those true crime docs on WitchFlix,” Rend said. “A CI can be anyone. The legal definition is someone who, through contact with an officer, supplies information on criminal activity. That’s pretty much what you’ve been doing, right?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“What, you thought I let you and Lizzie go to the private investigator’s office and let you come and interview Crabtree’s assistant and daughter just in case I needed someone to look up a Pontius Position Number?”
“That makes sense,” I said. In truth, I was more disappointed than I’d have expected. I had assumed that he’d wanted to spend time with me. That sounded so stupid now. Rend’s a professional. He takes his job very seriously. He wouldn’t have abused his power and let me come along just for companionship.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said. “And don’t go thinking that just because you’re a CI that you’re one of us.” He took me outside onto the sidewalk.
“I gotta get home,” I said. “See you around.”
“Hey, wait,” he said. “Sorry about that. I had to say all that because everyone was listening. Truth is, I made you a CI hoping we could spend some time together. I realize now how desperate and pathetic that sounds.”
I smiled at his admission. “Only a little desperate,” I said.
“Maybe we can spend time together when I’m not bending department policy.”
“Like a date?” I asked.
“Isn’t that what normal people do?”
“Yes,” I said. “But we’re not normal.”
“You’re right,” he said.
“What about the werewolf pack and your legacy and bloodline?” I said. A few months ago, he’d given me a spiel about how he couldn’t date a non-werewolf, since he was the respected pack leader.
“I have been thinking about that,” he said. “And what good is a legacy if you don’t build it with someone that you care about?”
“Oh, Rend,” I said. I took one small step towards him. My knees wobbled, but I didn’t know if it was because of Rend’s admission or because I had used up almost all my vim battling Mabel.
He held out his hand and I took it.
“Francescza?” Kong said. He leaped on the mailbox so he could be closer to eye level. “You need to get home immediately.”
“What happened?” I asked. Did the madness ever end? After all we had gone through tonight?
“You need to sign for a delivery,” he said. “And the blasted SPS deliveryman won’t accept my signature.”
“At this hour?” I asked.
“It’s arrived straight from the freight train in Omaha,” Kong said.
Oh no. The last mysterious package I’d gotten in the mail was from my Uncle Arthur and had contained the amulet that turned me into a voidwitch.
“What is it?” I asked.
“An entire pallet of Modern Feline Unscented Scoopable Lightweight Cat Litter with Advanced Odor Control Technology.”
- - -
After I signed for the shipment (Lizzie had found an entire pallet online, and it had to be delivered into the backyard by forklift), I checked on Sophie and then made good on my promise to eat every scrap of food in the refrigerator. I heated a slice of shepherd's pie, a piece of pepperoni pizza, a leftover teriyaki chicken rice bowl, and sliced up an entire pineapple. While I ate all that, I fried up a package of bacon and then ate it dipped in maple syrup for dessert, in honor of Walter and Irenia.
“Not going to save any for me?”
I turned around from the stove and Hortensia was sitting at the table. Her bathrobe was open, and she used her good hand to fan herself with an advertising postcard.
“What’s with everyone sneaking up on me today?” I asked. “And why aren’t you in the hospital?”
“I was,” she said.
“They gave you a clean bill of health?” I asked. “And let you walk the streets at midnight?”
“In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, “I do what I want.”
“Good point,” I said. “But you’re really okay?”
“Don’t I look it?” she asked.
“I suppose you do,” I said.
“But what about you, Francie,” Hortensia said. “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Because you’ve had a rough few days—lots of voidmagic’s passed through your fingers. More than you’re used to and more than anyone should ever experience.”
“I’m tired,” I said. “So it’s hard to say. Am I…” I wanted to ask, but was afraid. Don’t ask questions if you don’t want the answers, isn’t that what they always say?
“Are you going to lose your soul to the void?” she said. She stopped fanning herself and set down the advertisement. She leaned forward and took a piece of bacon from my plate. “You didn’t cook the ends long enough. The fat’s still all rubbery.”
“You sound like Kong,” I said. “And don’t change the subject. Am I going to?” She crammed the bacon into her mouth and regarded me while she chewed.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Even in such a short time, you’ve learned to have mastery over it. Am I right?”
“Earlier tonight, the amulet flared, and I wanted to blow this werewolf bozo back to the stone age,” I admitted. “But I fought it back. It was weird. I felt it go in reverse.”
“That’s good,” Hortensia said, nodding her head. Her neck seemed to be fine. “Very good. Yes, I think you’ll be okay. Besides, you’ve got something I never had.”
“What?” I asked. “Willpower? Strength? Virtue?”
“No, none of that nonsense,” Hortensia said. “You’ve got a cat.”
Chapter 33
Epilogue: Kongressman Kittles
While I wish I could report to you that every seat in Saguaro Estates was occupied, alas, merely a fraction of the town’s citizens have shown up. However, considering it was a two-hour memoir reading session on a Wednesday at eleven in the morning, the turnout was fairly respectable.
After I did the rounds and got my fair share of pets and praise by the residents, I found a pleasant spot by the window where I could curl up and doze. I kept my ears up so I could listen, as many of the stories were quite entertaining. The memoirs ran the spectrum of emotions, some funny, some heartbreaking. One man’s story about how his house had caught fire and he’d gone back inside to (successfully) rescue his newborn baby was particularly heroic.
Francescza hosted the event, giving due praise to Romulo and each of the participating residents. She even read Irenia’s posthumous memoir to a standing ovation.
Even her step-mother, LaVelda, stood up to clap. LaVelda is Francescza’s father’s younger second wife, and she has all the intelligence of a larval-stage ladybug.
“I’m so proud of you,” LaVelda told her.
“Thanks for coming,” Francescza said.
“I can’t believe you’ve grown up into such an accomplished woman,” LaVelda said. “I remember when you were running around scabby-kneed with pigtails on the playground.”
“You remember because we were in the same grade,” Francescza said.
After the event, I jumped on the couch between two women and they took turns running their bony fingers through my fur. I was about to doze when I heard the Saguaro Estates manager talk with one of the audience members.
The audience member was on vacation and had stopped by Saguaro Estates on a lark after seeing a flyer for the memoir reading. She was getting some R and R in our small town, but her day job found her at a large publishing house—in manuscript acquisitions. She wanted to publish an anthology of memoirs by all the residents.
Not one to let an opportunity pass by, I stretched and hopped off the couch. I introduced myself to the woman and gave her my card. I told her I represented the literary interests of my clients and that any and all negotiations would have to go through my office. Last thing the residents need is to be taken advantage of by some fancy big-city publishing house.
I trotted off, winking at Suzie and Romulo as they sat holding hands. That was why the young nurse had been flustered when Francescza asked her about Romulo—she’d been smitten with the writer and was hoping he’d ask her out. The chaos at the retirement home brought them together, so at least something wholesome came from all the violence.
I, however, was ready to go home and have an afternoon nap before my nightly prowl.
Francescza was still at the Archives and Sophie was at school, so I had the house all to myself. I used the opportunity to have a leisurely session at the litterbox.
Elizabetta tracked down a Piggly Wiggly in Minnesota that happened to have Modern Feline Unscented Scoopable Lightweight Cat Litter with Advanced Odor Control Technology in stock. She bought up what very well might have been the last boxes in all of North America. Loath was I to part with a box, but when the Jibbleson Sisters assured me they could reverse-engineer the litter if they had a sample, I put my faith in the girls. My gamble paid off. They recreated an exact copy of the litter. No one was more astonished than I.
While I had counted on the brilliance of the two girls—I had forgotten about the third brilliant girl in our town. Sophie. Using her skills with potions, she added a magical feature to the cat litter. The litter itself will change color to diagnose the health of the cat. Why, just last week it turned red, signaling that my hemoglobin levels were getting low. That night I made roasted marrow bones, broiled broccoli and brussels sprouts, filet mignon and spinach salad, and the next morning my levels were back to normal.
The girls were working on a plan to distribute their litter nationwide. I drew up a business proposal and it took a lot of convincing to get the Jibblesons to go forward with the litter without the self-cleaning litterbox.
Francescza is doing well. Hortensia’s taught her more techniques for wielding the voidmagic—and more importantly, for controlling it.
Victor Frankenstein has left the Archives. Once he finished his creation, his spirit found peace.
Francescza finally solved the mystery of what he had been working on. It all seemed so blatantly obvious, once all the clues were out in the open.
His rantings about teeth and feeding. About articulation and movement speed. About needing fluid and not wanting it to crumble in the sunlight. And his requests for iron-rich materials.
He was working on a new creation—one that will change all of humanity.
He created a combination printer and photocopier that doesn’t get paper jams.
The iron and fluids were for making a special type of ink that would last for ages and not photodegrade. The teeth he spoke of were the gears that turned the rollers that fed sheets of paper into the machine. A clever man, that Victor. His prototype is in the Archives, currently a one-of-a-kind item until the Jibbleson Sisters can reverse-engineer it.
