FAMILIAR MOTIVES

by

Delia James

Reader Sample

CHAPTER ONE

            I want to be really clear about a few things.  I do not habitually hide important information from my friends and family.  I do not eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, and I don’t run out on parties to which I have been invited as the guest of honor.

            Unless it’s really important.

            My name is Annabelle Amelia Blessingsound Britton.  That’s a lot by normal standards.  When belong to an old New England family, though, it’s part of the standard package, along with the native stubbornness and a reluctance to pronounce the letter R. 

            I’m also an artist, and a witch.  That’s a little less standard.  In fact, I only found out the whole witch thing when I moved to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and I was still trying to get used to it. 

            Actually, I’d had a whole lot to get used to a lot since I moved to Portsmouth, including the fact that I was now a cat owner.  This was the cause of today’s particular headache. 

            Today, I had to take my cat, Alistair, to the vet for his check up.

            Any cat person knows trips to the vet can be challenging.  Many otherwise loving felines resent will find creative ways to resist the simplest medical procedures.  But when you’re an apprentice witch and your cat is also your magical familiar, there’re some added levels of complication.  Especially if your familiar has the ability to (literally) vanish into thin air.  But while Alistair might be magic, he wasn’t immune to health problems.  He’d been living on his own for months before I arrived in town, and he was still a part-time outdoor cat.  He needed to be checked out properly.  This meant a trip to the vet, whether he wanted one or not.  Fortunately, I had an ace up my sleeve. 

            Despite the occasional outbreak of witch hunting, there are still fair a number of magic practitioners scattered around New England.  Portsmouth, for example, was home to a witch cop, a witch bookstore owner, a witch bed and breakfast proprietor, and even a witch housekeeper.  So, I wasn’t entirely surprised to hear we also had a witch veterinarian.

            “Ramona Forsythe has been taking care of Max and Leo for years,” Julia Parris told me.  Julia is the head of my coven.  She’s also my mentor and the human partner to a pair of miniature dachshunds.  “She knows Alistair very well.  She can handle him.”

            I hoped so.  Because here I was, walking out of New Hampshire’s truly impressive November cold into the cheerful green and blue tiled waiting room of the Piscataqua Small Animal Clinic with an (entirely empty) kitty carrier in one hand and my fingers crossed.

            The assistant at the reception counter wore scrubs covered in rainbow striped cats and a name tag reading JEANNIE.  I gave her my name, and my cat’s name, and made sure to set the carrier on the floor so she wouldn’t see someone was missing from this conversation.

            She was still typing me in when a woman leaned out of a door labeled Room 3.

            “Anna?” she asked.  “Ramona Forsythe.  Julia called to say you were coming in.” She held the door opened and motioned me inside the bright, antiseptic-scented examination room. 

            Dr. Forsythe was one of those short, round women whose cheerful competence tends to mask a steely core.  Her chestnut brown hair was just starting to go gray.  She wore a white coat and green scrubs, and certainly didn’t look much like a modern day witch, but then neither did I, so we were even there.  As she closed the door, though, I felt a slow prickling begin in my fingertips.  This, I was beginning to learn, was the sign of active magic happening somewhere close.

            “Nice to meet you, Dr. Forsythe,” I said as I set the empty kitty carrier on the stainless steel exam table. 

            “Please, call me Ramona,” she said.  “It’s great to finally meet you.  I was so glad when I heard Alistair found a new partner. We were all worried about him after Dorothy died.”  She squinted inside the carrier.  “I see he still doesn’t like vet visits though.

            “Um, no.”  In fact, I hadn’t even seen Alistair since breakfast.  He might be a spookily intelligent magical feline, but he had same basic instincts as every other cat I’d ever met.  I hadn’t even mentioned the word “vet” in his hearing, but he knew what was up just the same.

            “Well, don’t worry.  This is the room we keep for our special patients.”  She winked and gestured to the walls.  Now I could see that what I’d thought was a wall paper boarder was actually a carefully painted pattern of knots and stars.  I was new to the practice of the “true craft,” but I could recognize a ceremonial circle when I saw one.  Eventually anyway. 

            Ramona adjusted the door, so it was open just a crack.  “Go ahead and call him.”

            Alistair, being my familiar, cannot be kept away from me, except by strong, focused magic.  He can appear in an attic, a deep basement or the locked bathroom when I am taking a shower, and he has done all of these.  The flip side of this is he has to come when I call, something he considers an affront to his feline dignity.

            I would be hearing about this for days. 

            I let out a long, slow breath and reached down inside to gather my personal energy.

            “Alistair,” I called to thin air.  “Come on, Alistair.”

            Nothing happened. 

            “Try these.”  Ramona opened a drawer in the examining table’s pedestle and pulled a bag of K.T. Nibbles.  Clearly, Ramona was familiar with my cat, and his habits. 

            I took the bright green bag and shook two treats out into my palm.  Attitude Cat, the famous black and white spokesfeline, glowered up at me, as if she resented being used for our nefarious plans.

            Come on, A.B., focus.  “Alistair!” I called again.  “Nibbles!”

            And just like that, my big, gray feline familiar was sitting on the examination table.  I held out my palm full of nibbles and he stretched his neck forward to take one.  At the same time, Ramona slapped the door shut, closing the room, the circle and the spell contained in the painted border.  A prickle of fresh magic shot up from my fingertips to my elbows. 

            Alistair’s head snapped up.

            “Merow!” Alistair shook himself, but nothing happened.  He lashed his tail and put his ears back.  Still nothing.  “Meerr-ooowww!”

            “Sorry, big guy,” I told him.  “But it’s for your own good.  Finish your Nibble.”  I held out the remaining treat.  Alistair grumbled deep in his throat, but he did take it.

            I won’t say Alistair exactly cooperated after that, but he didn’t exactly fight either.   He just sort of melted onto the table as if he thought that if he flattened himself out far enough, Dr. Forsythe wouldn’t be able to pick him up.  This did not phase Ramona one bit.  Ignoring Alistair’s glowers, grumbles and general bonelessness, she efficiently weighed him (twenty pounds.  Wow), checked his ears (clean), palpated his tummy (big, soft) and other places (pass, citizen).  She took his temperature and asked me some questions about his appetite, temperament and his habits.  I held him down for the shots, and winced with him.

            “Well, Alistair here is in very good health.”  Ramona scratched him behind the ears.  He did not look mollified.  I put another couple of Nibbles on the examination table.  He ate them both, without taking his eyes off me.  Oh, yes.  I’d definitely be hearing about this for a very long time.  “He also seems to have made a full transition to bonding with his new partner.” She beamed at me.  “Do you have any questions, Anna?”

            “Actually, I did.  It’s about his diet.  He won’t eat cat food.”  Unless there was nothing else available.  In the whole county.

            “That’s not a surprise.  A lot of familiars prefer to eat what their partners do.  But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.  In fact…”  A knock on the door interrupted her. 

            “Dr. Forsythe?” Jeannie, the receptionist called from the other side of the door.  “Kristen and Ruby are here.”

            Ramona glanced at her watch.  “Oh…shoot, that’s right.  I’m sorry, Anna.  I’ll just be a second.”

            I gathered up Alistair, and Ramona slipped out into the waiting room.  I swear for a minute I felt him begin to dissolve in my arms, which was very weird, but as soon as the door latch snicked shut, he was back to being solid, heavy and highly annoyed.

            Alistair flowed out of my arms and under the visitor’s chair.

            “Fine,” I sighed.  “Be that way.” 

            “Merow,” he answered.  He also flattened down in a clear attempt to become one with the floor tiles.

            “Kristen,” I heard Ramona say out in the lobby.  “Hi.  I’m sorry.  I thought you weren’t coming until two.”

            “I wasn’t,” answered another woman.  “But, well…some stuff has come up, and I needed to bring Ruby over early.”

            The exam room door had a narrow glass window above the handle.  In an effort to show my indifference to Alistair’s sulks, I drifted over and looked out into the lobby.  Ramona stood with a petite, young woman in a black knitted hat and green parka.  She had no carrier with her.  Instead, one mittened hand held a bright red leash.  A black and white cat sat beside her on the reception counter, calmly washing its whiskers. 

            Must be nice.  I squinted at the unusually mellow cat.  It was a long hair, with one black ear and one white ear, which, along with the blotches on its face gave it a kind of checkerboard look. 

            In fact…I blinked.  I also looked at the bag of K.T. Nibbles on the counter by the sink.  The cat out there, Ruby, was a dead ringer, for the K.T. Nibbles famous spokesfeline, Attitude Cat.

            “Merow?” Alistair poked his head out from under the chair.

            “Nah,” I murmured back.  “Couldn’t be.”

            “I’ve got a meeting with some of the PR people,” the woman, Kristen, was telling Ramona.  “You would not believe the stuff they’ve got us deciding on.  I mean t-shirts were one thing, and the toys, and then it was greeting cards, and now they want to do an Attitude Cat coloring book…”

            I looked at Alistair.  I looked at the Nibbles bag.  Attitude Cat looked back.  “Maybe it could.”

            “I almost wish…” Kristen went on with a sigh.  “No, never mind.  Forget it.  It’s just that this is not what I planned to do with my life.”

            “I told you you should hire an assistant,” said Ramona.  “Or three.”

            This, I realized, was eavesdropping.  It was rude.  I should move away from the door and pay attention to something else.  I should check my email on my phone, or read the warning posters about heartworm and feline leukemia.  Really.  I should.  Right now.

            Out in the lobby, Kristen was shaking her head.   “You were right.  I should have.  But Pam kept insisting she and Milo had it covered and I believed her.”  She reached across and rubbed her cat under her black-and-white chin.

            “Merow.”  The cat, Ruby, rolled over on her back and swished her tail a few times. 

            Alistair and I blinked at each other.  This was Attitude Cat?  The famously aloof and never-to-be-pleased feline who roamed the aisles in the Best Petz commercials and stared with lofty indifference on every bag of K.T. Nibbles and Happy Pawz All Natural pet products?

            “You’re just tired, Kristen.” said Ramona.  “It’s been a rollercoaster ride for you, and now you’ve got to go take care of your mom.”

            Kristen said something I couldn’t hear, and Ramona touched her arm.  I thought I saw Kristen wince.

            “Can you hang on just a second?” Ramona asked Kristen.  The vet walked briskly back towards our room.  I jumped back from the door so it wouldn’t look quite so much like I’d been listening in. 

            “Anna, I need to ask a favor…” Ramona began as she opened the door.

            This time Alistair was ready for both of us.  He darted straight past Ramona like a bolt of fat, gray lightning, into the lobby, and vaulted up onto the counter beside the black and white cat.

            “Oh good grief!” I muttered.  “He’s gone fan boy.  Sorry,” I said to the woman, Kristen, as I scurried over to attempt to retrieve my familiar.  “He’s, uh, friendly.”

            Fortunately, Kristen just laughed.  “I can tell.”

            “Kristen Summers, this is Anna Britton.”  Ramona performed the introductions.  “And the gray-haired ladies man here is Alistair.”

            “Hi.”  Kristen and I shook hands.  Alistair pushed his nose toward Ruby.  Ruby lifted her chin and looked away in inimitable, cold disdain.  Oh, yeah.  This really and truly was Attitude Cat.  Even Alistair seemed taken aback.  His hesitation gave Ruby a chance to jump down onto the floor.

            “Your name sounds familiar,” Kristen said to me.  She was a few inches taller than me, and a few years younger, with tawny skin and rich brown eyes.  She wore her dark brown hair in a long braid down her back.  “Did we meet somewhere?  And if we did, I’m sorry I forgot…”

            “Don’t worry about it,” I told her.  “We haven’t.” 

            Down by our shins, Alistair nosed Ruby, who turned away from him.  He circled around her. 

            “Do not be that cat, big guy,” I muttered.  “Take no for an answer.”

            Alistair promptly plumped himself down and started washing his hind leg. 

            “I really am sorry,” I told Kristen.  “He just doesn’t know when to quit.”

            “Don’t worry about it.  Ruby can take care of herself.”  Then, Kristen snapped her fingers.  “I remember, now!  You’re a friend of Valerie’s, right?  Valerie McDermott?”

            “That’s right.”  My yard backed up onto the garden of McDermott’s Bed and Breakfast, which Valerie ran with her husband Roger. 

            “How’s the new baby?” Kristen asked.

            “Sweet and perfect, with a very healthy set of lungs.”

            “I keep meaning to call them, but everything’s just been so crazy…” As if to prove her point, a phone rang from deep inside her purse. 

            “Sorry,” Kristen muttered.  She also pulled out a brand new smartphone to check the screen.  She hit a button and scurried to the other end of the reception room.  “Hello?” she said into the phone.  “No, not a good time.”

            Dr. Forsythe dug both hands into the pockets of her white coat and watched as Kristen turned her back.  She was frowning hard, and she didn’t seem to realize it.  Something is going on.  The thought popped into my head before I could stop it.  I immediately told myself to quit speculating.  As a witch, you’re supposed to be attuned to the natural energies that came from the world around you, including the people.  The side effect of this was that sometimes you — okay I —  sometimes thought I could tell more about a person than I actually could.

            “Merow,” said Alistair.

            “Quiet, cat,” I muttered.

            “Sorry?” Dr. Forsythe shook herself.  “Did you say something?”

            “Nothing important,” I told her.

            “Yes, yes,” Kristen was saying into her phone.  “But I’ve got call you back, okay?  ‘Kay, thanks.”  She hung up and turned back to us.  She smiled as she came back to the counter, but that smile was tense.  Ruby purred and flicked her tail back and forth.  Ruby purred.  Alistair nosed her neck.  The purring stopped. 

            “Attitude Cat Enterprises never sleeps,” Kristen said, trying to sound casual but her voice was strained.  “Listen, Ramona, are you sure you’re good with this?”

            “Oh, absolutely,” said Ramona, but like Kristen, her voice was strained around the edges.  Alistair and I looked at each other.  These two definitely wanted to have a serious conversation, but not in front of us.  We should go away.  Now.

            “Great,” Kristen was saying.  “I’ve got her bed and stuff in the car.  I’ll just…” Kristen gestured toward the glass doors, and froze.  “Oh, no.” 

            We all looked, cats included.  Outside, woman in a black overcoat was striding across the parking lot.  She opened the clinic door like she was trying to yank it off its hinges.

            “You pathetic thief!” she shrieked.