Catopolis

Señor Pantalones raised his head. “Sweet Lady Bast, I swear I’ll-”

“Save your breath. I call your own minions to witness that you are banished to the sole company of your human servants from now on. If you ever dare to show so much as a whisker in the streets of Catopolis-” The goddess raised one paw. A gigantic water pistol appeared in midair. An unseen hand pulled the trigger.

Lulu was still laughing long after Señor Pantalones’ drenched and caterwauling flight from the park was a faint memory. His minions too had fled, sharing their erstwhile master’s soggy fate. When she caught her breath again, she asked the goddess, “Once he dries off, do you think he’ll stay in exile?”

“He’d better. His former minions will see to that. Remember what I said about how he was going to dump their butts once he came to rule Catopolis? They’ll remember that, too. He may be a power-mad fool, but he’s not stupid enough to venture onto the streets as long as seven strong ferals are holding a grudge with his name on it.” The divine feline smiled. “But enough of him. My kitten, this night you have shown steadfast reverence, faith, honor and compassion. Tell me, how may I reward you for all this?”

“Wellllll…” Lulu took a deep breath. “Could you please rewrite the rule that says I have to eat the Reading, after? Because like I told you when you were still a hamster, I really, really don’t like to eat-”

“-rodents? Then let me see what you do like to eat, sweet Seer.” Bast placed one forepaw on Lulu’s head and closed her eyes in concentration. “Aha!” she exclaimed at last, looking well pleased. “Hear me, O Lulu, my Oracular One! From this night forth, you are empowered to read the omens of the future in a splash of milk, a scattering of kibble, yea, in anything my beloved children lay before you. And whatever form the Reading may take, through my sacred power it shall become your favorite food once it touches your lips.”

“You mean-?” Lulu scarcely dared believe the blessed fate awaiting her.

“Yes,” said the cat goddess gravely. “ Turkey. And the good kind, from the deli; not the cheap supermarket store brand. So let it be written! So let it be done!”

Lulu bowed low. “Hail, Lady Bast! A fowl future never looked so fair!”

That was when Bast got out the Broom.

BLACK by Richard Lee Byers

Black cats were disappearing.

Silent was black as midnight from nose to tail, so it might have been prudent to lie low. But he was also one of the Queen’s knights and an initiate in the Mysteries of Bast, so duty and pride alike demanded he investigate.

First he went to ask the dogs. Rude, barbaric creatures, dogs didn’t have one supreme ruler, but Ragged Ear was as important a chieftain as any.

Silent found the pack in a park the humans forsook after sunset. Twenty dogs were foraging, sniffing about the ground and overturning garbage cans to rummage inside.

Silent padded across the street and onto the grass. He made no effort to go unseen, and a long-legged mongrel with spotted fur came stalking out of the gloom.

“Hello, Howler,” Silent said. “I just want to talk to your boss. Can we do it the easy way?”

Howler bared his fangs.

Silent called on the Aspect of Brother Lion and roared like thunder. Howler recoiled, his pungent urine spattering the ground.

“You see?” Silent said. “The easy way is better.”

“I’m not so sure,” rumbled Ragged Ear. Silent turned to see the big Doberman standing in front of a confusion of curved, colored pipes built for human children to climb on and crawl through. Brother Lion’s voice had scared every other dog into keeping its distance, but not the alpha. “I might be willing to go to some trouble to pay you back for your tricks.”

“Do you really want to start up that old fight again?” Silent replied. “What’s the point, when Her Majesty has already taken the prize?”

Ragged Ear snorted. “What do you want, shaman?”

“Black cats are going missing.”

“And you think I deserve the credit?”

“No. Even if you had some reason to hunt blacks and blacks only, you’re not cu

“Maybe I have, but why would I tell you?”

“I’ll owe you a favor.”

“I don’t need anything from the likes of you.”

“No? You have white hairs on your muzzle that weren’t there the last time we talked. You’re favoring your right foreleg, and that has tooth marks on it. You’re getting old, and others are starting to challenge you for mastery of the pack. A day may come when you need a charm to help you win one of those duels.”

Ragged Ear cocked his head. “You’d do that?”

“Why not? What do I care which hound is the boss?”

“Well… you know downtown? The part with the narrow brick streets and old, sooty buildings?”

“Of course.”

“It stinks of power. Your kind of power.”

Silent waited a moment. “Is that all you have?”

“Yes. We’re not stupid. We cleared out as soon as we caught the scent.”

“So really, you barely know anything at all.”

The Doberman gri

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my end of the deal.” Not with any great enthusiasm, but honor demanded it.

It took two days’ travel to reach the center of the city, and Silent’s paws were sore by the time he arrived. He couldn’t smell anything except the vile, hot spew of the countless cars, trucks, and buses, but then, he wasn’t a dog.

Stained by the shadow of a high-rise, the cathedral looked like a clump of dirty icicles growing upside down. A sort of antimagic, feeble but cold and forbidding, seethed in the pale stone walls.

Silent glowered at the church. Even before Ragged Ear steered him to the district, he’d suspected he was going to end up here, but he’d hoped otherwise.

He bounded up the steps and waited. When a human opened a door, he slipped inside.

The interior of the cathedral was quiet, cool, and dim, the stained glass dull for want of sunlight. The votive candles smelled like rotting flowers. Silent prowled onward, searching for priests. The third one he found wore a silver ring. It had a sort of raised cross on it, but, scrutinized closely, the emblem was also a hammer.

Silent stalked the human, waiting for him to move from the cavernous nave to some secluded area. Then something hissed from overhead.

Silent looked up. Yellow eyes in a black feline face glared down from the choir loft. The priest reached inside his jacket, then staggered and collapsed before he could pull anything out.

Astonished, Silent faltered for an instant, then screeched at his fellow cat. Calling on Sister Cheetah’s Aspect, he raced for the stairs leading upward.

The assassin was gone by the time he reached the loft. But at least the priest was shaking off the effects of the curse. Assisted by people who’d come ru

Silent jumped on top of the railing enclosing the loft and crouched there waiting for the priest to look up and see him. He was poised to spring for cover if the man reached for his weapon again, but he didn’t. He just gave a tiny nod.

Eventually the priest convinced the other humans that it was safe to let him alone. Then he led Silent down a hallway and stepped inside a room.

Despite everything, this could still be a trap, and Silent followed warily. But the priest, a round, bald man with muddy brown eyes, was alone. He sank down behind a desk in a cluttered little office.

Silent jumped onto a chair. “Do you have the Gift of Siegfried?” he asked. If not, he’d have to expend some of his own power to establish communication.

“We call it the Blessing of Saint Francis,” the man replied, “but yes, I understand you. Strange as it seems, I saw you scare the other cat away. So I suppose I ought to thank you.”