Abbernathy and the Cat Kingdom

(7) -Vaalsen-

Margoliesse's words froze Lucy to the spot. He sat on his rump, watching as Abby and the maids trudged down the stairs, his mind unable to make heads or tails of the situation.

As Margo's tiny black kitten heels clipped the hardwood landing, she turned back toward Lucy and placed a sausage-like finger in front of her lips. 

Keep quiet.

Lucy gave the woman a low, exasperated hiss. I can't speak, Miss Lumps. No one on two legs could understand me until you showed up so don't worry, I'll keep quiet.

Margo snorted and flashed the cat a quick, sarcastic grin before disappearing down the stairwell.

Lucy sighed. Someone had come into his life who could understand him, who he barely knew and who looked like a tree stump had been squeezed into a potato sack. His entire life, he'd  believed that he and Sebbi were lone anomalies in the world—cats who could understand and, in their own way, speak the human language—but now that Lucy knew he wasn't quite so alone, he felt the world constrict.

Was this all a coincidence? Or did Miss Treestump's sudden appearance have anything to do with the shadows in the forest? 

A bout of dizziness bowled Lucy over  as question after question buzzed inside his head. He teetered on the edge of the steps, the plush velvet feeling good as he kneaded it underneath his paws.

Why was the maid so worried he'd blow her cover? Was she hiding from someone? Or, was someone watching her? Watching them?

Lucy gulped and slowly descended the stairs, each step releasing a soft creak as Lucy bounded over them, his eyes alert, searching for any sign something was amiss.

Paintings of sea ports, fishing vessels, and nighttime cityscapes adorned the faded wall of the stairwell. A thin layer of dust coated their dark wooden frames, the skewed corner of a painting of Laos, revealing the wall's original color—a midnight blue—a shade that reminded him of an angry ocean.

Lucy paused at the paintings and stared up at them; the rich blues and greens of the ocean, the swirling blacks of the night sky, the pewter grays of the fishing boats, he'd looked at them many times before.

Now he wondered if there was something more to them than he saw. If there was a danger lurking in the brushstrokes, a danger that had brought Margoliesse under the house's employ. 

Don't go getting paranoid.

Lucy shook his head to rid himself of his worry as he stepped onto the landing that looked out onto Abby's father's corner office.

Everything was as Culpepper had left it; crumpled papers spilled from the waste paper basket, slinking out onto the hardwood floor; stacks of ledgers and manifestos teetered on the edge of a large oaken desk; a mounted Jacquer fish—twice Lucy's length and three times his weight—stared at him with frozen surprise. A fire blazed in the hearth, hot coals warming that morning's tea.

Even surrounded by such a normal scene, a sense of dread settled in Lucy's stomach like a boulder thrown into a lake. He jumped as the teapot whistled, the scent of floral Baneberry filling the room.

Gods, settle down. That woman's got your fur all on edge over nothing. Maybe she's crazy. Maybe she talks to cats and only thinks they can talk back. 

He meowed and enjoyed the way it echoed through the empty hallway. Yeah, that's got to me it. That maid's crazy is all.

Her words floated back to his mind. You'll break my cover.