All the Birds in the Sky(19)

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.

He kept thinking he should try to talk to Patricia, but then he would remember the weirdness. The image of her shimmying around and doing that thing with her hands, and then having a dialogue with her pet in cat noises for an uncomfortable length of time, was enough to make Laurence dry-heave. He pictured the two of them hanging out and Patricia offering to talk to the local wildlife on his behalf, maybe doing her heebie-jeebie dance again.

The whispers Laurence had been hearing about Patricia around the school felt much more relevant, now that he’d seen her in action. Lately he’d been finding any excuse to sit near the graceful, long-limbed Dorothy Glass, and he heard Dorothy and her friends sharing a whole mythos about that girl who kept frogs in her locker. People still thought Laurence was dating Patricia, no matter how he denied it. He couldn’t help remembering Patricia’s warning about “witch cooties.”

“Hey.” Patricia came out the back door and stood right behind him, casting a shadow in his face as he tried to eat his buttery potato wedges. Laurence kept chewing. “Hey,” Patricia said again, angrier this time.

“Hey.” Laurence didn’t turn around.

“What’s going on? Why are you ignoring me? Seriously, please talk to me. This is driving me nuts.” The shadow over Laurence flickered and changed shape, because Patricia was gesturing. “It was your idea. You suggested it. And then I did it, and you freaked out and bailed. Who treats their friends that way?”

“We shouldn’t talk about this at school,” Laurence said very quietly, using his fork as the opposite of a microphone.

“Okay,” Patricia said. “So when do you want to talk about this?”

“I just want to keep my head down,” Laurence said. “Until I can get out of this place. That’s all I want.” An ant stumbled hoisting Laurence’s bread crumb. Maybe Patricia could give it a pep talk in ant language.

“I thought you hated your parents because they just want to keep their heads down.”