“I don’t think we need to go into the woods,” said Laurence, still eager to avoid the outdoors. “From what you told me before, the power is inside you. You just need to get at it.”
Patricia looked at Laurence, who was not in any way screwing with her, and she couldn’t imagine ever having a better friend in the world.
She went back up to the attic, where it was always way hotter than the rest of the spice house, and listened to her own breathing. She looked like a bird to herself, her body so tiny and hollow-boned. Laurence and Berkley were both watching to see what she was going to do. Berkley even crept a little closer along a ceiling beam.
Okay. Now or never.
She imagined that this hot attic was a jungle, and the dry beams were fruitful trees and the boxes of old clothes were lush undergrowth. She couldn’t go to the forest, she couldn’t count on astral-projecting a second time—fine. She would bring the forest to her. She breathed the scents of long-ago chests of saffron and turmeric, and she imagined a million branches splaying over their heads, endless limbs as far as they could see in any direction. She tried to remember the sound of Tommington’s speech, long ago, and tried to speak to Berkley the same way, as close as she could manage.
She had no clue what she was doing, and if she stopped a second to think about what a nut she looked like, she would die.
She was talking under her breath, but she got a little louder. Berkley crept closer, his tongue between two pointy teeth. Patricia swayed a little and reached deep in her throat for a grumbling, raucous sound. Berkley’s ears pricked up.
Berkley was definitely coming over, and Patricia grew louder. He was almost within grabbing distance if she wanted to grab him, which she didn’t.
“You … speak cat?” Berkley said, his eyes ginormous.
“Sometimes.” Patricia couldn’t help laughing with relief. “Sometimes I speak cat.”
“You’re that mean girl,” Berkley said. “You tricked Uncle Tommington.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Patricia said. “I was trying to help a bird.”
“Birds taste good,” Berkley observed, bouncing on his front paws a little. “They flap around and try to fly out of your paws. They are like toys with meat inside.”
“This bird was a friend of mine,” Patricia said.
“A friend?” Berkley struggled with the concept that you could be friends with a bird. What was next, holding conversations with your cat dish?
“Yes. I protect my friends. No matter what. I would like to be your friend.”
Berkley bristled a little bit. “I don’t need any protection. I am a strong fierce cat.”
“Sure, of course. Maybe you can protect me, then.”
“Maybe I can.” Berkley came over and curled up in Patricia’s lap.
“I did it!” She turned to look at Laurence, grinning with her whole face, and realized he was looking kind of … shell-shocked.
Laurence just stared, then shuddered a little.
“Sorry,” Patricia said, “was that weird?” Berkley was purring in her lap. Like a band saw.
“Kind of. Yeah,” Laurence said. His shoulders were a scaffolding around his ears.
“Uh. Good weird, or bad weird?”
“Just … weird. Weirdness is value neutral.… I should go. See you at school.”
Laurence fled, almost as fast as Berkley might have, before Patricia could say anything else. She couldn’t go after him, she finally had a purring cat in her lap. Her familiar. Damn. She’d hoped this wasn’t going to be freaky. What kind of dumbass was she, doing magic like that in front of an outsider? It had been his idea, true, but still.
She started petting Berkley. “We’re just going to protect each other, okay?” He showed no sign that he could still understand her, but whatever. She had finally done a proper spell, on purpose, this time.
8
LAURENCE’S CHEAPJACK LUNCH tray wobbled, sagging under the weight of so much undercooked starch, as he tried to figure out where to sit, as far away from Patricia Delfine as possible. She sat there, in their usual spot, near the compost and trash bins, trying to catch his eye, one brow raised under her messy bangs. The longer he stood, the less stable his tray felt and the more she seemed to squirm in the corner of his eye.
Finally, Laurence took a sharp left and went to sit on the back steps, near where the skaters skateboarded after school, perching the plastic tray on his knees. It was technically against the rules to eat out here, but who cared.