Bonfire Dreams: An Otherworld Novella

But the truth was, I was scared. Somehow, I’d managed to get myself so high that I was terrified to even make an attempt to scale my way back down the trunk. I glanced down at the forest floor, trying to estimate the distance. But when I was in cat form, everything got a little fuzzy when it came to mathing.

I wished I had listened to Camille’s warning and not run out so far on my own. Even though we’d lived on this land for six months, we still hadn’t fully explored the property, and I wasn’t even sure which way I’d come. Besides that, the first snow of the season had arrived, and it had been snowing most of the day. My tracks were covered by now.

Camille’s going to scold me, I thought. I might be the second-born, but both of my sisters treated me as if I was the youngest. It pissed me off, but at times like this, I could see their point. I didn’t exactly make the wisest of life-choices.

My coat was all poofy from both the chill and my worry. I glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, and it would be dark soon. I clutched the branch with my claws again and let out a loud wail. It hung in the air a moment, and I hoped I was loud enough for my voice to echo back to the house.

As the sun faded into dusk, I tried to shift back. If I were in human form, I could get out of the tree more easily. I was athletic enough that I knew I could manage to scramble down the giant fir. But no matter how hard I focused, I couldn’t shift forms. I was still too nervous.

What are you doing? The voice startled me, coming from several branches down. It was grumpy and reminded me of some old codger.

I peeked over the edge of the branch, only to see a gray tabby further down the tree, perched on a branch. I slow-blinked at him, hoping he wouldn’t see me as an enemy. Maybe he could even help me.

I’m stuck, I said. I can’t get down.

That’s a ginger for you, he said. You’re not that far from the ground. Just jump down onto this branch, and then I’ll guide you out.

I tried to muster up the courage, but girding my loins just wasn’t working. I shifted position on the branch, slipped, and hung on by my front paws until I managed to shimmy back up. But no dice. I wasn’t getting off this branch on my own. Maybe I’d just make my home, build a nice bed, and hope that fate drove a couple of birds my way for me to eat.

The tabby gave me a disgusted look. You’re serious? You’re too afraid to jump?

So sue me. I’m a chicken. Laugh if you want. I paused. What’s your name?

Cromwell, he said. And you?

Delilah. I’m a werecat.

A skin-shifter? That explains it, then. Well, I’m off to hunt for dinner. You’ll get down when you’re ready. I’ll see you around. And with that, he lightly began to bounce down the tree, pushing off branches and boughs.

Wait! I didn’t want him to leave. But he was gone, and I was alone again. As I resigned myself to a night in the tree, I suddenly heard someone calling.

“Delilah? Where are you?”

That was Camille’s voice.

“Kitten! Get your ass over here!”

And that was Menolly.

I began to yowl as loud as I could.

“You hear that?” Menolly asked.

“That’s her,” Camille said.

As I tried to peer into the growing gloom, I saw them walking toward my tree. I wailed as loudly as I could. They crossed to the trunk of the tree and stared up.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…how are we going to get her down?” Camille said.

“I can get her,” Menolly said. She began to levitate, slowly rising up toward me as she avoided hitting into the branches. A moment later, she was staring at my fuzzy ass. She rolled her eyes, snorting. “Come on, Kitten. Come to your Menolly,” she said, holding out her arms.

I crawled into her chilly embrace, digging lightly into her sweater and shoulder as I snuggled close to her, licking her face. She tasted funny—not at all like she used to, but I had gotten used to the difference since she came home one night, over twelve years ago, fangs out and looking for blood. That had been a nightmare, but we’d made it through, even though we’d had to protect her from Father’s animosity.

“Silly girl,” she murmured, slowly floating back to the ground. “What were you thinking?”

“Let’s just get her home. It’s cold and I want a mocha,” Camille said.

They carried me home, though the woods, and I began to relax. Halfway back to the house, I felt myself shifting. I pawed at Menolly and meowed, and she set me on the ground. Within seconds, I was back in my human form.

“Thanks,” I said sheepishly. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“What were you thinking?” Camille asked, hiding a grin behind her scolding. She reached out and put her arm around my waist, hugging me to her side. “You have to be careful. We still don’t know this world all that well. We don’t know all the dangers.”

“I know,” I said. “I just wanted to go for a run.”

But inside, I was grateful that they cared enough to come find me. No matter what, we were bound together by more than just blood.

***

“Cromwell!”

A week or so later, I was standing at the bottom of the back porch steps. I’d seen Cromwell a couple of times since my debacle in the tree, and each time, he looked too thin to me. So I’d started feeding him. Now, he was used to me in my human form.

As cats, we were grumpy towards one another. I was territorial, and it irritated me, but it was just biology. If we’d been born together, or brought up from kittenhood, I wouldn’t mind his presence, but I also felt sorry for him. To ease my conscience, I fashioned a house, rigging it up with a secret entrance so it would be hard for other animals to enter. I had shown it to him while in my cat form, and told him it was his to use if he wanted.

Cromwell had stared at me like I was crazy, but after pretending that he didn’t care, he left a dead mouse at the backdoor three days in a row and had finally given in, snuggling up in the hideaway, out of the weather.

Now, I gazed at the sky. We were due for snow again, so I filled his food and water dishes. Then, folding my arms against the chill, I scanned the backyard. It was still hard for me to believe that we were living Earthside.

As I inhaled deeply, then slowly let it out, I noticed something on the edge of my senses. It felt dangerous—both wary and watchful—and I realized I was shivering.

Danger…my senses screamed loud and clear. Something was out there, watching the house, and whatever it was, it was dangerous. I lifted my nose.

Coyote…I smelled a coyote.

We’d encountered coyote-shifters for the first time a few months back, and they had a peculiar scent to them. Most humans wouldn’t notice, but all shifters had an underlying fragrance that mirrored their inner animal. I tried to hone in on its position, but just got a general direction. It was near, but not near enough for me to find it. Nervous—coyotes were unpredictable—I turned back to Cromwell and shifted into my Tabby.

He blinked, but didn’t run. He knew that I wasn’t fully cat.

Do you smell that? I asked. I didn’t specify what. I wanted to see if he smelled the same thing as I did, without directing him.

Seeming to sense my urgency, he blinked and looked around. After a moment, he said, Wild dog. But magic.

‘Wild dog’ was what most of the natural cats called coyotes. If they were talking about shifters, they added ‘but magic.’

I was right. A coyote shifter. Do you know where it is? I asked.

Cromwell focused again. No. But near enough. Keep alert. He winced.

I wanted to ask if he was all right, but didn’t. That would break the code. Among the feral cats, it was unacceptable to ask if another cat was feeling okay. They tried to hide all signs of vulnerability, because being vulnerable meant being open to attack. But I walked over to him and sniffed his head, then licked his face. He froze, then leaned into the grooming. Cromwell had experienced a rough life, and he wasn’t used to kindness.

After a moment, he settled on the ground by the food dish, and I shifted back into my regular form, reaching out to gently stroke his back. He let me pet him for a few minutes before getting up and meandering off. I hoped to hell that the coyotes wouldn’t find him.

I stood, moving the food dish into the protected shelter. I had done what I could to keep the raccoons and squirrels out, and only Cromwell and my sisters knew where the opening was. Camille had done her best to help me disguise the opening with her magic, and luckily it hadn’t backfired.

With one last look over my shoulder, I turned around and went back inside.

“It’s about time,” Iris said. “I’ve been waiting dinner for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was talking to Cromwell.”

Camille had set the table with two place settings, and then a bottle of blood at the third. The bottles were dark so we couldn’t see inside. It made it easier to be around Menolly when she fed.

“What’s he up to?” Camille asked.

“It’s not him I’m worried about,” I said. “I smelled a coyote shifter out there. Near enough to catch my notice. I just have an uneasy feeling.”

“Coyote shifter?” Iris said. Her ankle-length hair was braided up and around her head in a large bun. It was golden, like mine, only more so. She was gorgeous, buxom and yet muscled, and she was like a milkmaid out of a pastoral painting of some Swiss village. “The Great Coyote is chaotic and unpredictable, and so are his followers. But they aren’t nearly as dangerous as the Koyanni.”

“Who are the Koyanni?” I asked.

“They broke from the Great Coyote centuries ago and follow a false prophet.” She set a tureen on the table. The smell from inside was delicious.

I licked my lips. “What’s for dinner?”

“Whatever it is, I wish I could eat,” Menolly said, stepping out from behind the bookcase that led to the basement. We’d changed out the door to the basement for a secret entrance. The bookshelves looked built in. But in secret, they hid the entrance to her lair, in case anybody broke in during the day. Because during the daytime, Menolly was at the mercy of anybody who found her. And there were too many wannabe vampire hunters in the world.

“I wish you could, too,” I said.

The subject of food was always delicate around Menolly. As a vampire, she was stuck with blood—and apparently animal blood was okay, but never as good as fresh, warm blood from a person. I got queasy thinking about it, but tried to keep my distaste under wraps.

“Maybe someday we can figure out a way to make blood taste like food,” Camille said. “It’s worth a try. So, Delilah was just saying that we have coyote shifters near.” She sat down at the head of the table.

I took my place as Iris placed the tray of roast beef and a boat of gravy on the table. Menolly joined us, staring with resignation at the bottle that sat in front of her. I reached for the rolls, then stopped, flickering a look at her.

“Oh, take it. Butter it. Eat it. I don’t begrudge you the food, Kitten. I just wish I could eat like a normal person,” she said, picking up the bottle. “At least I can feed without hurting anybody,” she added, a flash in her eyes.

I nodded, tossing a roll to Camille, who caught it midair. As we helped ourselves to the mashed potatoes, beef, and gravy, I said, “Cromwell smelled the coyote shifter, too. It wasn’t far from here. I think maybe down the road a piece.”

“We haven’t met any of our neighbors yet,” Camille said. “Maybe it was one of them.”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should take a midnight walk down the road and check it out,” Menolly said. “I’m not working tonight, so anybody want to join me?”

Camille and I both nodded. It wasn’t often that Menolly suggested a group activity.

“So, how’s the bar?” I asked.

Menolly shrugged. “I like it. It keeps me out of my head. And I can engage without getting too deep with anybody. Being a bartender seems a lot like manning a confessional. I hear all sorts of crap.” She snorted. “People over here are weird.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Camille said. “Try hanging out at the Faerie Watchers Club. I mean, Erin’s great, but a few of the club members aren’t playing with a full deck.” She scooped another spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her plate and added a buttload of gravy.

We were almost done with dinner when the doorbell rang. I placed my napkin by my plate and went to answer.

We had installed a peephole, and I peeked out, but didn’t see anybody. I opened the door to find what looked like an oddly shaped charm on the porch. I stared at it for a moment before reaching down, but the moment my fingertips neared the bauble, I froze.

“Camille? Can you come here?” I knew enough about magic to know that I shouldn’t be playing with it. Camille and Menolly joined me, and I backed up, pointing to it. “What’s that?”

She knelt down, moving her skirts behind her so they wouldn’t brush it. As she studied it, Menolly hurried back into the kitchen and returned with a rubber glove and a plastic zip bag.

“I thought you might need this,” she said.

Camille nodded. “Thanks. I don’t want to touch this with my bare hands. I don’t like the feel of it.” She glanced up at me. “You were smart not to pick it up. This thing feels cursed.”

“Should you pick it up even though you’re wearing gloves?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but we can’t just leave it. Go get Iris, would you?” Camille asked.

Menolly slipped out into the night. “I’m going to have a look around to see if I can figure out who left this.”

“Don’t go far,” Camille said.

I headed back into the kitchen to ask Iris to join us. “We don’t know what it is, but thought you might have an opinion. Camille says it feels cursed.”

“So, you want me to check it out, huh?” Iris said, but she was grinning. However, that grin stopped when we reached the door. Iris leaned over, then backed up. “Yeah, don’t touch it. That’s necromancy. I’m not sure who put it there, but I can tell you, I think it’s somebody who works with the dead.”

“Do you know what it does?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, but Camille’s right—it’s cursed. It also holds Fae magic. And I’m not talking my kind of sprite magic. Bring me some tongs. That won’t transfer the magic, as far as I can tell.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Camille asked. “Let me. I don’t want you to take a chance.”

“If you like. Just touch it with the tongs only and hold the bag. I think that’s the safest way to attempt this.” She thought for a moment. “Where are you thinking of putting this?”

“I don’t know,” Camille said. “I have to find somebody who can figure out what it does.”

“I have an idea…” Iris said, hesitating.

“Spill it,” I said. “If they can help, we need their name.”

“Her name is Grandmother Coyote,” Iris said. “She’s one of the Hags of Fate, and she lives down the road.”

I caught my breath and looked at Camille, who was staring at Iris. We had heard about the Hags of Fate. “I’ll get Menolly,” I said. “Grab your coats and let’s go.”

As we headed down the steps, I looked up at the sky. The clouds had parted and the moon was on the rise, a darkened crescent that seemed to predict both destiny and danger.