The Curse of the Mystic Cats Read online

  The Curse of the Mystic Cats

  The Magic Curio’s Cats, Cards and Curses Series

  Book Two

  By

  R.E. Rose

  Copyright © 2017

  www.rheaerose.weebly.com

  Introduction

  I like to believe that there is still magic afoot, even if it is only the magic of the psyche revealed through pictures on a card...

  RainWood Press

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Table of Contents

  1.Saturday’s for Sleeping In

  2.Find him, Find her

  3.The Black Feather

  4.Massive Magic

  5.Then you’ll Be Something

  6.Panther Paw and Lovers’ Lockets

  7.Strange Things Happen

  8.Golden Chariot

  9.Tut,Tut

  10.Magical Mundanes, Oh My

  11.See the twinkle

  12.An Order of Sorts

  13.Charmed

  14.Horse Feathers

  15.Male Magic

  16.Magic Acts

  17.Twinkle Eye

  18.The Mago

  19.A Happy Place

  20.Magical Burlesque

  21.Boobs, Belly and Butts

  22.A Magical Leap

  23.Thesia

  24.Cheshire Initiation

  25.Transitional Magic

  26.Ceremony

  27.A Garden Gathering

  28.The Escape

  Print Edition. and Electronic edition published by RainWood 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 by Rhea Rose.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part in any form. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover illustration Pixabay.com.

  Cover Design by RainWood Press

  Interior Illustrations by Andriy Zholudyev ©

  1.

  Saturday’s for Sleeping In

  In my lucid dream, I had my toes dug deep into the hot white sand of a Mexican beach. The turquoise ocean water was clear, and I could see to the bottom of the sea, where more ivory sand lay in ripples and nothing moved. Beside me, a tanned brawny, hunk of a guy lay snoozing beneath his shades.

  “Meeeroooww--meerrrrrooooww!”

  I tried to block out the sound of the cat’s cries with the headphones I’d created in my visualization.

  No-o-o! No, I thought. Not now Sia. My Cheshire cat wanted food, or so I thought, and I wanted to sleep in!

  The guy looked a lot like William Tell, my current boyfriend from the Cheshire Society, a mysterious and somewhat disquieting organization of shadowy characters, like William, and catlike creatures, like Sia.

  We’d had a strange courtship, William and I, but that’s to be expected considering our mutually strange circumstances. Now we were officially a couple, which is saying a lot for me because after divorcing my abusive ex, Manuel, I never wanted to be stuck with one guy again. But William and his civilized manners won me over, and here he was, literally in my dreams.

  And only in my dreams, because he’d gone missing as of late, and so, I practiced my lucid dreaming and distance seeing in an attempt to locate my lover.

  Perhaps my imagination overpowered me because I got lost in his pecs and abs as they glistened in the hot sun, and I was about to pour more tanning lotion on him and take my time rubbing it in when I heard…

  “Meeerooooww…”

  I visualized putting the dream-headphones on in order to block out that sound, and all sounds. As I imagined hard ignoring the cat sounds and listening to relaxing spa music, which made me think of palm trees and coconuts, it all took on a quality of reality. I poured suntan lotion and rubbed it over the rippled muscles on William’s chest and tummy. He wore dark sunglasses, so his eyes didn’t reveal his pleasure, but I saw him smile. I got up on my elbows and was about to give him a long, lingering kiss, when…

  “…Meeeroooww--meerrrrrooooww!”

  Right through the dream-headphones!

  That last screech snapped me right out of my mood, and I began to wish that William hadn’t recovered my kitten, Sia, for me from the realm of the Cheshire. That cat, missing for weeks because she’d been snatched from me, caused me to spend a good deal of my life pursuing the kitten and getting into all kinds of “situations” as a result, including becoming a sort of factotum for someone I didn’t much care for.

  On this early Saturday morning, Sia’s hungry voice became my nagging morning alarm. The sound drew me away from my beautiful white sandy beach with its aqua-green waters, and away from my nearly naked, very sexy guy, right back into my condo bedroom.

  It really annoyed me, so much so, that I had some pretty bad thoughts about Sia. And I really loved her, but not this morning.

  I rolled over in my real bed and tried to force myself to fall back to sleep. On Saturday morning, I deserved to sleep in. I had done a great job with my lucid dreaming practice before the cat screeches stopped those. When I tried again to return to my delicious time on the beach, out of nowhere my hijacked dream turned from hot and breezy tropical titillations into a dark and nightmarish vision:

  I found myself in a dark place with a silent coven of unrecognizable men, about a dozen; somehow, I knew that they gathered for an important meeting in a large, empty circus tent, in a field, not far from the outskirts of downtown Meadowvale, my precious if somewhat mundane hometown, population, ten thousand, or so.

  I saw myself doing a mysterious thing inside the carnival tent, while at the same time I stood outside the tent watching myself doing something inside! That’s how dreams go sometimes, doing double duty from multiple points of view.

  The tent smelled like fresh hot cotton candy, and the odor made my stomach gurgle loudly amongst the gathering of men who were oblivious to everything, even me. My gurgling guts caused by the delicious smell of melting sugar never faded and became more than a little painful.

  These gathered men wore long, monk-like robes, brown in colour, with a cowl and tunic and rope belt. Their robes dragged across the ground. Outside the tent more men, dressed as monks, arrived. Eventually, they formed small groups and entered the circus tent, one by one, to join the silent inner group. Their robes didn’t glitter nicely, not like the magical, Cirque du Soleil robes of Malcolm Press, the magician from Maisie’s cursed tarot cards. These guys wore dark, heavy garments that pooled against the ground like shadows of intertwined exposed tree roots. Their deep, high-peaked hoods hid their faces. They shuffled along like someone had tied bricks to their feet, slow, in silence, dream-walking.

  This gloomy, secret society entered the blue and white striped, circus tent, one by one, then stopped and stood before the empty wooden bleachers as if they hadn’t expected this obstacle. The group had grown from twelve to about twenty-five, all milling slightly at the bottom of the rows of seats, and they appeared to be deciding where to sit.

  One cloaked figure, taller than the rest, moved forward. The others followed him in single file to form a long snaking line as they worked their way up into the seats. No one sat, but all stood by their spot until everyone had stepped up off the floor into the bleachers

  They all sat as one; their robes billowed and made a sound like a flock of flying birds. They filled a small portion of the bleacher benches. They didn’t speak, but from my dream point of view, I knew they awaited a signal. Before I heard or saw that signal, my dream faded and fuzzed a little around the edges; it left me.

  Realizing my experience was more than a dream–more of a vision–I force
d myself to hang on to it a little longer. Even as I clung desperately to the image and it cleared then focused, their faces were still hidden from me by deep hoods. Even though I sensed they weren’t the KKK, they gave me the same creepy feeling I’d get when I watched old news films depicting a gang of hooded Klan members walking down the streets carrying torches.

  These guys looked like warlocks.

  My gut told me some kind of nasty business brought these men to this place.

  Then the freakiest thing happened. One of the guys in the gathering turned from the group and looked straight into my dreaming eyes.

  I shrieked! Those staring eyes pained my heart and made me wince and writhe. I recognized him as Christian Whitman, my principal and boss at the private school where I worked -- The Little Blossoms Academy. Now he stared out at me from my own dream. His strands of stringy gray hair escaped from under his brown hood. Only his expressionless, hollow-eyed stare with his tight, lipless mouth, and a long glistening chin that had a little patch of hair growing from it, appeared from under the hood.

  I had to look away, but couldn’t. His stare held me steadfast, pinned me to the scene.

  All the men’s faces slowly turned in my direction, moving like mechanical puppets on the same string, with the same expressionless face. My gut snapped tight, fear tingled in my hands. I wanted to turn away, but something kept me staring back at them.

  There, amongst these robed men, stood Gordon! The suit from Koldwell Bank, but he looked alive and well, and certainly not dead! Yet, his dead ghostly body had been stalking me for months.

  Without warning, Whitman’s head shot from his neck, like a cannon ball, mouth wide, teeth gnashing, like a hungry basketball aimed right for my throat.

  I screamed and fell out of my real bed, knocking a picture off my night table; the glass cracked and tinkled as it hit the floor! I wrestled with my comforter and finally dug my way out from under it. I saw the damage, bits of glass everywhere. Instead of Mr. Whitman’s head, I held the round and woolly pillow I’d won at a fair and kept on my bed for decoration. This morning I threw it across the room where it hit the wall and slid to the floor.

  “Oh, eff, this!” I said. I tried to snap myself out of the web of the crazy vision-dream.

  I picked up the ruined picture frame. Poor William’s scratched and slightly tattered face stared out at me. I remembered my dream about us on the Mexican beach.

  “William,” I sighed. “Where are you?” I stroked his picture lovingly, careful not to cut myself on the shards of glass. He’d given me that picture the day before yesterday and said something mysterious about being away for the next little while. I hadn’t heard from him lately, and I wondered if he was avoiding me.

  In my gut, I knew that William had something to do with my dream about that creepy gathering of warlocks. I crawled back under the comforter and climbed back into bed. I’d deal with William’s avoidance of me later. This Saturday morning I wanted desperately to sleep in.

  Once I finally got wrapped snug and warm in the comforter, and got my pillow fluffed, and at the right angle, and about to fall into a nice morning snooze, Theodosia, my little cat, leaped onto the foot of the bed and kneaded the covers around my ticklish feet.

  No-o-o.

  With my eyes closed and my comforter pulled tight over my head, I kicked at Sia, trying to push her down, but she got playful.

  No-o-o. Not the feet!

  I pulled the cover even more tightly over my head and curled the ends of the blanket under my toes and played dead. If I lay still long enough, she’d get bored and go away. I hoped.

  Just when I thought my plan worked, the cat moved from the foot of the bed and walked up the side, very, very slowly, like she hunted me.

  I really hated that.

  If I twitched, she’d have me.

  Sleeping in seemed out of the picture; I became more and more awake by the moment, sleep slipping quickly down the air vent.

  Strangely, as Sia crept closer, the edge of the bed got heavier and heavier until I felt the bed heave sideways, about to flip! I got very creeped out, and I got very still.

  She’s all fluff and no weight!

  Through the thin, threadbare comforter I peeked at the outline of the horrible, dark thing slowly working its way toward me. The bright morning sun shone in through the window, silhouetting the dark, lumpy, skulking form.

  My heart thumped loudly in my throat and while this thing crawled toward me, I had a very inconvenient vision about the past six months of my life—I’d done tons of exhausting self-help work in new age workshops, and from the meditations practiced in those workshops, I’d learned to raise my awareness about the choices I’d made in my life.

  With the help of a gazillion relaxing spas that I’d enjoyed and the online dates I endured, I thought my misadventures with Maisie Price, the town sorceress, and owner of a place called Maise’s Magic Curio Shop, were over. She’d tried to enslave me and permanently entrap me in her magic deck of cursed tarot cards.

  With my new, steady boyfriend and a stronger personal mindset, I believed I freed myself of the whole Maisie ordeal. She and her gang of indentured tarot card cronies remained locked back in their box all because of me and my chaotic, obsessive compulsive magical abilities. And that’s where they were going to stay.

  No more unpredictable magic remained loose to wreck havoc on the town, or more importantly, on my life. I’d single-handedly brought Meadowvale back to its mundane state, which meant bringing the community back to normal, and the good people back to their good senses. So I believed. I thought the sorceress’s affair over. I even considered running for mayor but changed my mind when I realized the commitment required.

  But this darkly creeping creature that inched up my bed proved things weren’t over! Maisie’s Magic Curio Shop came sharply to my mind. The shop called to me. It vibrated in my very bones. I had a quick vision of the shop and knew that whatever crept toward me had something to do with its proprietor, Maisie Price.

  I hadn’t breathed for at least a minute.

  I wanted to suck it up and peek out from under the covers, but I was too crazily afraid. The monster drew closer and closer, and yet, never seemed to make any headway, like it existed in another dimension at the same time that it existed in this one, if that makes any sense. I tried telling myself a neighbor’s cat got in through an open window—but more likely a demon from Maisie’s well of tarot abominations.

  Sick with fear, I finally found my courage and pulled down the bed covers enough to see the creeper. It leaped at me--I only had time to scream, and kick, and wrestled with a heavy, black cloud of tooth and claw. Terrified and shrieking, I uttered a curse.

  “Skin and claw, tooth and bite, horrid horrors lose your fight!” I hissed in a tone of voice that scared even me. The creature disappeared in my hands.

  I looked at my hands. I glanced at myself in the mirrored closet door.

  I was fine.

  My short blond hair looked mussed. At only five-foot-two, I sprawled in my bed with the sheets rumpled and folded and looked longer!

  Had I dreamed that thing?

  I got up, quickly and dressed. My heart quaked and fluttered furiously, as if at any moment it might lose its synchronization. I checked on Sia. I found my lovely Theodosia asleep in her bed, her pink Cheshire collar with rhinestones sparkled as it decorated her neck. All seemed well with her.

  The fact that she still wore her collar told me that she hadn’t slipped the bonds of this dimension and crossed back over into the Cheshire realm. For a very long while she’d gone missing, but with William’s help, I got her back from the Cheshire dimension, where she’d been abandoned by the Sorceress and her cohorts. With that rhinestone collar on, she remained anchored to this dimension.

  This helped calm me quite a bit.

  After a quick breakfast, I knew what I had to do. I popped Sia, the sleepy head, into her carrier and drove over to Glendie’s, my BFF, to drop her off, and quickly exp
lain the weird dream, the creepy creature and my unexplained sense of urgency. It made me too nervous to leave Sia alone at home while I went to Maisie’s shop to investigate.

  “No worries,” Glendie said, taking the carrier from me. “She’s welcome here for as long as she likes. But I can’t believe you’re going to that shop, after all the weirdness you’ve gone through.” She opened the carrier, and Sia crawled right into Glendie’s arms.

  By now Glendie, also a petite sized female, but with darker, longer hair than my own, understood that my strangeness and its consequences followed me like an angry hornet.

  I watched Glendie and Sia together. They seemed super happy to have each other, which made me feel more secure with the idea of heading to Maisie’s shop and possibly having a confrontation with the town sorceress.

  Glendie’s place looked tidied for once; normally her boho-chic condo looked like the inside of a dryer set on tumble. Today the place actually looked nice and very colourful with her turquoise velvet sofa and cushions from India. Her icy-grey shag throw rug looked positively gorgeous, and her purple and lavender walls seemed to suit the decor. “We’ve got your back,” Glendie said, and she held up one of Sia’s paws to wave bye-bye as I headed for the car. “Say hello to William. And don’t forget we’re going bowling for my birthday!” I gave her the thumbs up on that.

  I had forgotten all about her birthday!

  *

  I parked about a block away from the shop. I didn’t want Maisie to see my vehicle. I hadn’t seen the inside of the shop for six months. I sat in my car, torn between driving away and actually going in. But I didn’t want to spend one more night, or day, waking up to that horrid creature crawling up my bed, and I knew the person to talk to about it—Maisie Price.

  While I sat in the car, the cloudy day turned into solid rain. Winter had worked its way into town. I reached for my umbrella and got out of the car, but once out in the weather, I soon became sorry I’d grabbed the brolly. The wind blew hard, and my purple, paisley Dior threatened to turn itself inside out.