Trigger Warning

‘That’s . . .’ Shadow was going to say ‘nonsense’, but no, it was sense, of a kind. There had been a woman who was a goddess, a continent away and years in his past, who had cared about him, in her own way. He remembered the needle-sharpness of her nails and the catlike roughness of her tongue.

Cassie looked at Shadow dispassionately. ‘I don’t know who you are, Mr American,’ she told him. ‘Not really. I don’t know why you can look at me and see the real me, or why I can talk to you when I find it so hard to talk to other people. But I can. And you know, you seem all normal and quiet on the surface, but you are so much weirder than I am. And I’m extremely fucking weird.’

Shadow said, ‘Don’t go.’

‘Tell Ollie and Moira you saw me,’ she said. ‘Tell them I’ll be waiting where we last spoke, if they have anything they want to say to me.’ She picked up her sketchpad and pencils, and she walked off briskly, stepping carefully through the cats, who did not even glance at her, just kept their gazes fixed on Shadow, as she moved away through the swaying grasses and the blowing twigs.

Shadow wanted to call after her, but instead he crouched down and looked back at the cats. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Bast? Are you doing this? You’re a long way from home. And why would you still care who I kiss?’

The spell was broken when he spoke. The cats began to move, to look away, to stand, to wash themselves intently.

A tortoiseshell cat pushed her head against his hand, insistently, needing attention. Shadow stroked her absently, rubbing his knuckles against her forehead.

She swiped blinding-fast with claws like tiny scimitars, and drew blood from his forearm. Then she purred, and turned, and within moments the whole kit and caboodle of them had vanished into the hillside, slipping behind rocks and into the undergrowth, and were gone.

V The Living and the Dead

Oliver was out of his room when Shadow got back to the house, sitting in the warm kitchen, a mug of tea by his side, reading a book on Roman architecture. He was dressed, and he had shaved his chin and trimmed his beard. He was wearing pyjamas, with a plaid bathrobe over them.

‘I’m feeling a bit better,’ he said, when he saw Shadow. Then, ‘Have you ever had this? Been depressed?’

‘Looking back on it, I guess I did. When my wife died,’ said Shadow. ‘Everything went flat. Nothing meant anything for a long time.’

Oliver nodded. ‘It’s hard. Sometimes I think the black dog is a real thing. I lie in bed thinking about the painting of Fuseli’s nightmare on a sleeper’s chest. Like Anubis. Or do I mean Set? Big black thing. What was Set anyway? Some kind of donkey?’

‘I never ran into Set,’ said Shadow. ‘He was before my time.’

Oliver laughed. ‘Very dry. And they say you Americans don’t do irony.’ He paused. ‘Anyway. All done now. Back on my feet. Ready to face the world.’ He sipped his tea. ‘Feeling a bit embarrassed. All that Hound of the Baskervilles nonsense behind me now.’

‘You really have nothing to be embarrassed about,’ said Shadow, reflecting that the English found embarrassment wherever they looked for it.

‘Well. All a bit silly, one way or another. And I really am feeling much perkier.’

Shadow nodded. ‘If you’re feeling better, I guess I should start heading south.’

‘No hurry,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s always nice to have company. Moira and I don’t really get out as much as we’d like. It’s mostly just a walk up to the pub. Not much excitement here, I’m afraid.’

Moira came in from the garden. ‘Anyone seen the secateurs? I know I had them. Forget my own head next.’

Shadow shook his head, uncertain what secateurs were. He thought of telling the couple about the cats on the hill, and how they had behaved, but could not think of a way to describe it that would explain how odd it was. So, instead, without thinking, he said, ‘I ran into Cassie Burglass on Wod’s Hill. She pointed out the Gateway to Hell.’

They were staring at him. The kitchen had become awkwardly quiet. He said, ‘She was drawing it.’

Oliver looked at him and said, ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I’ve run into her a couple of times since I got here,’ said Shadow.

‘What?’ Moira’s face was flushed. ‘What are you saying?’ And then, ‘Who the, who the fuck are you to come in here and say things like that?’

‘I’m, I’m nobody,’ said Shadow. ‘She just started talking to me. She said that you and she used to be together.’

Moira looked as if she were going to hit him. Then she just said, ‘She moved away after we broke up. It wasn’t a good breakup. She was very hurt. She behaved appallingly. Then she just up and left the village in the night. Never came back.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that woman,’ said Oliver, quietly. ‘Not now. Not ever.’

‘Look. She was in the pub with us,’ pointed out Shadow. ‘That first night. You guys didn’t seem to have a problem with her then.’