Page 8 of Slouch Witch
‘This is Brutus,’ I told him.
My cat rolled onto his back and gazed upwards. ‘Pet,’ he demanded.
Winter leapt about three feet backwards. ‘Your familiar just spoke.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Pet,’ Brutus hissed again.
‘He wants you to stroke him,’ I said. Winter stared at me. He really did have the most intense blue eyes. I shrugged. ‘I’ve had him for a long time. Back when I was younger and more enthusiastic, I had the brilliant idea that I could develop and market a way for people to talk to their pets and have them talk back. After a lot of trial and error, I came up with the right series of runes and, hey presto. Bruno can talk.’
‘It worked?’ Winter gazed from me to the cat. He seemed to still think I was throwing my voiceà lastreet magician.
‘In a manner of speaking. Yes, he can talk but he only has a vocabulary of about twenty words and most of them aren’t very nice. I abandoned the plan to make millions from the spell when I realised that people would finally realise their cats are selfish little bastards who only care about themselves. There would have been mass feline abandonment if they heard what their pets really have to say. It seemed prudent to keep the magic to myself.’
Winter blinked. ‘I see.’
‘Pet,’ Brutus repeated. ‘Bitch.’
‘Don’t be offended,’ I said. ‘He calls everyone that.’ I winked at Brutus and turned on my heel. Clothes would probably be a good option right about now.
***
I took my time getting ready. Winter could wait. Plus, my hair was pointing in all directions, sticking up like I’d been electrocuted; smoothing it down into something more manageable wasn’t easy.
I debated whether to wear my one and only suit, then figured that the Order probably wouldn’t give a flying shit what I was wearing. I’d still be me underneath the clothes. Instead I sniffed the crotch of yesterday’s jeans, decided they smelled okay and pulled them on, along with a faded white T-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘Monkey Magic’ from that old television show. Ha! Let them make of that what they would. I completed the ensemble with my neon-green bomber jacket. At least my nemesis wouldn’t lose me in a crowd.
When I strolled out, Winter was perched on one end of the sofa while Brutus was on the other with his hackles raised. They appeared to be having some kind of standoff. ‘I don’t think your familiar likes me,’ Winter commented.
I bit back a retort about my cat’s good taste in favour of keeping the peace. I could be restrained if the situation called for it. ‘Brutus,’ I said, ‘go and check out Mrs Burridge for me.’
Brutus gave me a look that suggested his plans for the day involved curling up in a corner and snoozing; spying on the old lady upstairs, who insisted on dabbling in runes and herbs even though she didn’t have a whisper of power inside her, was a waste of his time. Fortunately, on this occasion he elected not to show me up. He got up, stretched and wandered off.
I put my hands on my hips and eyed Winter. ‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Are we going? I’ve got things to do, so the faster we get this sorted out the better.’ I neglected to tell him that those things included lying on the sofa, eating a family-size bag of salt-and-vinegar crisps followed by copious amounts of chocolate, and occasionally reaching for the remote control.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’
I gave him a twirl. ‘Why yes, it is.’ Just because he was wearing an immaculate suit that was probably tailored to fit him and him alone, didn’t mean the rest of us had to dress like we were meeting the Queen.
He sighed heavily. ‘Fine. Let’s get a move on.’
I led the way, taking him down the corridor to the lift. I pressed the button to call it and he stared at me in astonishment. ‘The stairs will be faster.’
‘I’ve hurt my ankle. I need to avoid strenuous exercise.’
‘You’re fine.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Exasperation filled his eyes. ‘I’m an Adeptus Exemptus. You’re in perfect physical condition.’
I brightened. ‘Do you think so?’
Winter’s mouth tightened fractionally. ‘What I mean is that you are not in pain and you are suffering from no health defects beyond an incredible lack of fitness. You could also lose some weight.’
Oh, tell me that he didnotjust go there. ‘Lose weight?’
Winter belatedly realised the danger he was in. ‘If you wish to achieve the sort of peak physical condition required of a Second Level witch, it might be prudent. Our work can involve a lot of running and considerable effort.’
