GREELEY URZEY'S sour, boozy smell filled Wilma's car thicker than steam in a sauna. Despite the fact that she drove with all the windows down, the stink of secondhand rum and stale sweat made her want to boot the old man out and let him walk to her house-except, of course, he wouldn't. He'd head back for that hovel among his cases of 90 proof.
She could have stopped by Mavity's cottage and insisted that he take a bath and change his reeking clothes, but she hadn't wanted to take the time. Mavity was so anxious to see him; Wilma hadn't even waited, as she'd promised herself, for the old man to sober up.
But even as rum-sodden as Greeley was, he seemed genuinely worried about Mavity. He sat leaning forward, staring hard through the windshield as if to hurry the car faster-and clutching the black cat in his lap.
She had to smile at the way he'd slipped the cat in. After the police officer let her into the Davidson Building and saw her safely downstairs again with Greeley in tow, she'd waited alone in the dirty hall for Greeley to go back upstairs and fetch his jacket. She didn't think he'd run out on her-there was no other entry, just the second floor windows. She'd watched, amused, when he returned clutching not only the jacket but the black cat nestled down in the wadded-up leather as if the animal might not be noticed.
Drunk and argumentative, he'd insisted on bringing the beast despite the fact, as she'd pointed out, that Mavity disliked Azrael, and that it was Mavity's comfort they were concerned about here.
Now as she drove across the village, the cat sat possessively on Greeley's lap, a huge black presence which, unlike most cats, made no move to leap out the four open windows. "He'll do as I tell him," Greeley had promised drunkenly, "or he'll know what for."
Well, maybe the cat wasn't as bad as Mavity claimed. Certainly it was a handsome animal; admiring him, Wilma reached gently to stroke his broad black head-and drew her hand back at the blaze of rage that flamed in his slitted orange eyes.
So much for making friends. The animal was as unsocialized as its master.
The cat watched her narrowly as she parked in her drive and killed the engine, its gaze strangely calculating-as eerie as Poe's "The Black Cat" with its chilling stare. The figure of a gigantic cat… I could not rid myself of the phantasm of the cat… a large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree…
As she herded Greeley toward her kitchen door, escorting the drunken, smelly old man into her clean house, she felt like she was bringing home a parolee just released from the drunk tank- except that Greeley smelled worse. The instant she opened the door, the cat leaped inside, brushing boldly past their legs with none of the wariness most cats exhibited upon entering unfamiliar rooms.
Immediately he scented Dulcie's cat door and flew at it, sniffing and growling, and before she could stop him he turned his backside and drenched the little door with his testosterone-heavy stink, applying liberally the mark of male dominance and possession.
Shouting, she slapped at him with her purse-and jerked her hand away as he sprang at her, his swift claws raking her arm, leaving long red welts oozing drops of blood.
"You make that cat behave, Greeley. Or you'll put it outside."
Greeley shrugged and offered a helpless grin. Wilma found some peroxide in the emergency cupboard, poured some on a paper towel, and scrubbed the wounds, thinking of rare tropical infections and blood parasites. Snatching a spray bottle from the sink, she poured ammonia into it, to mix with the water. "He claws me again or sprays again, Greeley, he gets a shot of this in the face. He won't like it."
The cat glared. Greeley looked back grinning, amused that she would threaten his tomcat. Giggling, he headed for the dining room, stumbling unsteadily past her.
Before the cat could leap after him, Wilma slid through the door and slammed it in the beast's face.
Making sure the latch clicked, that the door was securely shut, she guided Greeley down the hall toward her bedroom. Ushering him in, she wondered if his boozy, sweaty smell would cling in the room forever. Down the hall behind her, she heard the kitchen door click open.
The cat came swaggering out of the kitchen, giving her a stare as sharp as a stabbing knife and pushed past her into the bedroom.
Mavity was asleep. Greeley leaned over his sister and delivered a peckish kiss, surely scratching stubble across her soft skin. Mavity woke, stared up at him vaguely, and drew away, grimacing at his smell.
Unperturbed, Greeley sat down on the bed beside her, taking her hands in his with a gentleness that surprised Wilma.
"Dora's gone," Greeley slurred. "My little girl's gone. And Ralph gone, and that man you set such store by." Glancing to where the cat was sniffing around the dresser, Greeley whispered, "Death sucked them in. Sucked them all in. Death-death before the moon is full." Strange words for the drunken little man. Leaning down, he put his arms around Mavity, holding her close.
The cat watched, seeming almost amused. And as brother and sister comforted each other, the beast began to prowl, nosing into every inch of the bedroom, turning occasionally to observe Wilma, his huge topaz eyes as evil, she thought, as twin glimpses into hell.
Annoyed at her own fear, she went to make some coffee.
But, hurrying down the hall, she could feel the tomcat watching her. And when she glanced back, its eyes on her glowed so intently she turned away, shaken.
What was this beast?
Dulcie hadn't told her the nature of this animal.
Fixing a tray with coffee and sugar and cream and some pound cake, she returned quickly. The cat was not in sight. She set the tray on the night table and checked under the dresser and bed, then went to search the house. She didn't like to think of that creature alone with Dulcie.
She didn't find the animal. When she returned to the bedroom, Greeley was crying drunkenly, the tears rolling down his stubbled cheeks.
"… feeding those chickens when she was only a little girl, and helping her mama to plant the garden-my little girl… And that old goose used to chase her! Oh, how she would run," Greeley blubbered. "I killed that goose, killed it… But now-I couldn't kill whoever hurt her, couldn't save my little girl. So cold-so cold there in all them lilies…"
As Greeley doubled over, weeping, the black cat reappeared and leaped onto the bed. Mavity paled and shrank away from it, looked as if she'd like to hit it. Wilma watched, shocked, as it began to stalk Mavity-and thought of the times Mavity had complained about the beast's dirty habits. Surely, there was no love between them. But now the animal looked dangerous. As he crouched to leap, Wilma grabbed him, tossed him to the floor. The black cat landed heavily and jumped at once to the foot of the bed where it began pawing Greeley's jacket that lay crumpled on the blanket.
Clawing at the wrinkled leather, he slid his paw into a pocket, and with a quick twist, dragged out a black-feathered carcass. Taking this in his mouth, his ears back, his head low, he began to stalk Mavity. She jerked away, gasping, as Wilma snatched the blood-streaked bird.
But it wasn't a bird. The thing was hard under her fingers, not soft and limp like a dead bird. She turned it over, looking.
It was a small wooden man, the black feathers wrapped around him like a cloak and tied with red cord. His face was painted with blood red lines like a primitive warrior. His hair felt like real human hair, the side locks stiff with dried red mud, as if he were made up for some primitive ritual.
"Voodoo doll," Mavity whispered, staring at the six-inch man then at Greeley. "You showed me those, in that shop. Where did you get that? Why would you bring that horrible thing here?"
"Only a plaything," Greeley said, patting Mavity's hand. "I didn't bring it. The cat-the cat likes a plaything. The cat found it…" He reached up to take the carving from Wilma.
She held it away. "Why did you bring this?"
"I didn't bring it! The cat brought it. Damn cat-always dragging in something."
"The cat put it in your pocket?"
Greeley shrugged. "He digs in my pockets." He grinned sheepishly. "He likes that Latin American shop. I expect it smells like home."
"I'll take it in the kitchen."
The black cat hadn't taken his eyes from the doll. But now he turned from it, fixed his gaze on Mavity, and crept up the bed again, toward her.
"Get him away!"
Grabbing the cat, Wilma drew back a bloodied hand. "Greeley, get the beast out of here."
"Get down!" Greeley scolded. "Get off the bed!" The cat hissed at him but leaped to the floor.
"And stay off," Greeley added ineffectually.
Wilma turned away, carrying the doll, but the tomcat leaped, grabbing for its grisly toy. She swung it at the cat's head until the beast ran. Mavity hadn't exaggerated-the creature gave her more than chills. When she turned to look back, the cat was not behind her and the hall was empty.
She laid the carving on the kitchen table. More than its ugliness bothered her. It seemed to hold around itself a deep oppression. As she stood studying the doll she glimpsed a shadow behind her, slipping along the floor.
She spun as the cat crouched to leap-whether at her or to snatch the doll she'd never know: At the same instant, an explosion of tabby fur hit him, knocking him sideways.
Dulcie was all over him, slashing and clawing. The black cat fought violently in a tangle of raking claws-but he fought only briefly before breaking away, and careened out through Dulcie's cat door, the empty door slapping behind him.
As quick as that, he was gone. Dulcie leaped to the table, looking twice her normal size, and began to lick blood from her claws. Gently Wilma stroked her.
"What a nasty beast. Are you hurt? Where did he hurt you?"
Dulcie spit out a mouthful of fur. "I'm fine. A few scratches. They'll clean right up." Her gaze fixed on the black-feathered doll. "Voodoo," she hissed. "Did Greeley bring this? That old, disgusting drunk… Or did Azrael carry it here?" She glared at Wilma, laying back her ears. "Why did you let Greeley bring that cat here-and with this?"
"I didn't know. I was trying to keep Greeley happy. I didn't want him making a scene, so I let him bring the cat. I didn't see this thing. And the cat seemed tame enough, seemed just an ordinary cat."
She looked hard at Dulcie. "But he isn't, is he?"
Dulcie studied Wilma a long time. "No," she said softly, "he's no ordinary cat. But he's not like us, either. He's not like Joe Grey-he's horrid." With an angry swipe, she knocked the feathered man to the floor.
"Azrael believes in these voodoo things," she said, hissing. "He believes in dark magic-he said it was a fine way to get back at those who mistreat you.
"I expect he wanted," Dulcie said softly, "to make Mavity sicker-just because Mavity doesn't like him, because she complained about his manners."
She fixed her green gaze on Wilma. "Why else would he bring this terrible idol, if not to torment Mavity and frighten her-or try some wild spell on her? Can that stuff work?" she said, shivering, staring down at the black doll lying like a hunk of tar on the blue linoleum. Wilma snatched up the feathered figure and hurried down the hall. Following, Dulcie watched Wilma shove the ugly little idol in Greeley's face.
"What is this about, Greeley? What did you mean to do?"
"It's only a native doll," Greeley said, laughing. "Indian kid's playtoy. The cat brought it."
"Voodoo doll," Wilma replied.
"Voodoo?" He looked at her as if she wasn't bright and choked out a rum-laden laugh. "Child's toy. That Ms. Sue Marble, she's got all kinds of stuff-them Guatamala blankets, all that Panama clutter. Nothing of any use, all that artsy stuff. Even them little gold people aren't worth nothing-not the real thing, not the real gold. Gold birds. Gold lizards. Sue showed me." But suddenly his face colored and he looked embarrassed, his eyes shifting away.
"You must have gotten very friendly," Wilma said, amused, forgetting her anger.
"That nice little woman," Greeley said defensively, "wouldn't have nothing costly." He was blushing; he wouldn't look at her. She had to smile at his discomfiture, at his strange embarrassment.
Was he romancing Sue Marble? But why embarrassment? His distress puzzled her, made her uneasy.
Romancing Sue for her money?
Oh, that would be too bad.
Dropping the doll in the wastebasket, she carried the basket out to the kitchen to empty it with the trash, all the time pondering over Greeley-and keeping her ear cocked for the thump of Dulcie's cat door, for the stealthy return of Greeley's nasty little friend.