Page 14 of Sparkle Witch
Princess Parma Periwinkle strolled in and deposited herself in front of the open fireplace before performing some extraordinary contortion so that she could reach her bottom with her tongue.
‘Sure. Just me, you and two grumpy cats,’ I said with a grin.
‘They like each other really.’ He paused. ‘Where is Brutus anyway?’
‘Last I saw, he almost brought down the Christmas tree on top of our heads. And there’s an entire salmon missing from the cafeteria, which is probably down to him. I wouldn’t put it past him.’
Winter snorted. ‘I thought he’d have ventured back home by now. I wouldn’t have imagined snow would be his thing.’
I snuggled further back against him. ‘It’s not. Last winter he positioned himself by the radiator and didn’t move for three months – and there wasn’t even any snow. Just some frost.’
‘He didn’t move from the radiator? Not even for fooooood?’ Winter teased.
I smiled. Then my insides froze with a nausea-inducing epiphany and I yanked myself away, throwing my hands up. ‘Goddammit!’
He blinked at me. ‘What is it?’
‘Brutus,’ I snarled. ‘Brutus took the Angel.’
‘Huh?’
‘I just said it – he hates the cold. Plus, he was hanging around the tree when Abigail and the others were putting up the decorations. He had ample opportunity. The locator spells used to search for the apparent thief wouldn’t have picked him up because he’s not human. And I definitely saw him scampering off with another decoration in his mouth.’ I stomped over and grabbed my coat, shrugging it onto my tense body.
Winter watched me. ‘That’s just circumstantial. I can’t see why Brutus would steal a silver angel.’
‘Why does Brutus do anything?’ I grimaced. ‘There was a clump of something icky in the bottom of the box the Angel was kept in.’
‘I thought no one could work out what it was.’
‘We couldn’t.’ I cursed. ‘But I bet it was a damned pile of dried cat sick.’ I stalked over to the door, narrowly avoiding treading on Princess Parma Periwinkle’s tail. Everything was falling into place, apart from the motive.
‘Do you know where he is?’ I demanded, glaring down at Winter’s familiar.
As if in answer she made a run for it, abandoning the fire’s heat in favour of skidding under the sofa. So be it. I flung open the door and stomped out.
‘You’re still wearing your slippers!’ Winter called out before catching me up.
‘I don’t care. I’m on a mission. I’m going to strangle that dratted cat.’
‘How are you even going to find him?’
‘I will find him if it takes me all night. He’s taken the Angel, I know he has. Clearly, he’s been playing the long game and has been planning to bring down the Order from the beginning. He’s hated me all along. He has a better vocabulary than I do but he’ll barely use five words when he speaks to me. The only reason he’s probably not shown his true colours until now is because he was waiting until he could bring downallwitches, not just me. How do I know my cat is plotting to kill me? His damn name is Brutus and he’ll stab me in the back the second I’m not looking.’
I heaved in a ragged breath and picked up speed, scanning the ground for paw prints or any sign of Brutus in the snow.
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation…’
Winter’s words barely registered. ‘How do you fancy roast cat for Christmas dinner this year instead of turkey?’
‘Ivy…’
Just then I caught something flashing past from the corner of my eye. ‘There!’ I spun round, my slippers sliding on a patch of ice as I did so. I almost went flying onto my arse with my legs and arms akimbo but Winter caught me just in time. I grunted out a thank you before heading after what I was sure was Brutus.
I ducked under a snow-laden bush and squeezed along a tiny path between two of the Order buildings. Not only was my own familiar responsible for all this crap but he was making me act like some kind of chubby Indiana Jones. Muttering and huffing, while I was sure Winter was trying not to chuckle behind me, I pressed on. There was a definitely a trail of paw prints to follow.
I squeezed out of the narrow gap at the end of the alley, my eyes scanning the trail. The feline prints led to a small lean-to shed, barely noticeable against the clump of trees which hugged the wall of what I belatedly realised was where the small Department of Familiars was housed. Brutus was clearly trying to be ironic.
Exhaling a cloud of angry breath, I had only taken three steps forward when the blasted cat himself appeared, snaking out from under a gap in the little shed’s wooden door. He turned his implacable yellow gaze in my direction and sat down, giving his ears a wash.
