Page 81 of The Witching Hours

Did I mention that Wolf has multiple personality disorder? Well. He does. I call his personalities good cat, bad cat, and bored cat. That sums it up. Except that he’s also magickally sensitive. I wouldn’t go so far as call him a familiar, but he is a capable magickal assistant.

I first learned of his proclivity when he was an adolescent. I’d set a circle in the middle of my living room for the purpose of casting. When I saw him heading my direction, curiosity written all over his face, I was sure he was going to barge in and render the circle useless. I’d been telling myself it was dumb to have left him running free.

Wolf didn’t barge in or ruin the circle. He pranced all around the edge like the floor was hot to his paws. He purred. He kneaded the rug. And he’d bring a toe very close but never touched the invisible boundary. Since then, a battery of tests devised by me have rendered conclusive evidence that Wolf is indeed a special cat.

I drove away just as it was getting light, knowing there would be detours because people who’d normally take the bridge would be looking for alternate routes. Wolf was being passive-aggressive, punishing me for leaving without him. He sat staring out the window and refused to look at me.

“Okay, then. Be that way. I still love you and will bring you a treat.”

One ear twitched, but that was all. He didn’t turn to say goodbye.

The beauty of the day was a stark contrast to the mission I was undertaking. The sky was cornflower blue. Once I reached Charleston and turned onto the seaside drive, the ocean trumped that beauty by a mile. The water was an expanse of sparkles where the sunlight reflected perpetual movement.

I was singing along to “Firework” when my phone rang.

It was David.

“Good morning,” I said. “I’m on the way.”

“That’s good.” He sounded tired.

“What’s happened?”

“Last night our little girl, Alex, was sealed in her room. It sounded like there was a tornado going on in there. She was… screaming for us. Molly and I couldn’t get the door open. Finally, I fetched a chainsaw from the garage. I’d bought it last year to cut down a dead tree in back. It still had some gas.”

That seemed like a random bit of detail to add, but it sounded like David was spread to his limit of stress and lack of sleep.

“So. Were you able to get in?”

“I yelled for Alex to stay away from the door, but I was afraid she couldn’t hear. So, I started cutting high. Eye-level for me. Just in case. The whole time Molly was screaming at me to stop and trying to take the chainsaw away because she was terrified the house would put Alex in front of the saw. I understood why she felt that way, but…” His voice broke and I sensed that he was embarrassed about it. “I knew why Molly wasscared. I also knew I couldn’t just leave Alex in there screaming for us.”

My stomach clenched with sympathy for this husband and father who was fighting so hard to do the right thing for his family. I waited patiently for him to tell the rest in his own time.

“As soon as the saw made the first cut all the way through, everything got quiet and the door swung open on its own.

“Alex came running out, grabbed onto Molly, and wouldn’t let go. She was crying so hard she was hiccupping, like a toddler. Her room was a tumble. Everything had been thrown around, even heavy furniture. It was a miracle she wasn’t hurt. The kids were so scared, well, we all were. If we had a hundred dollars, we would’ve gone to a motel.” My stomach clenched again knowing they could’ve spent the money he’d promised to pay me. I should’ve made a one-time exception to the ancient rule about being paid for magical expertise. “So, all five of us piled into our bed for the rest of the night.

“This morning when we got up? The dining room furniture was moved again, and every wall had a big blackNOpainted on it.”

“No?”

“That’s right. Sending you a picture.”

I quickly found a wide gravel shoulder where I could pull off the road. I looked at the text image. There was no mistaking the word “no”, but it was messy. In caps, with streaks, and extra paint running down. The worst graffiti ever and maybe that was the point because the lack of control gave it a feel of horror mixed with intimidation. My guess was that intimidation was the goal. Whoever or whatever was causing the disturbance definitely wanted the little Campbell family out.

“Is this the first time there’s been communication in writing?”

“Yeah. If you could call it that. The word ‘no’ doesn’t give us much to go on.”

“It’s not unusual for supernatural beings to be cryptic.”

“I could be so wrong, but…”

“What?” There was a pause. “Go ahead.”

“I think it could have something to do with you.”

“Me?’

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