The air hung still and cold in the crisp, winter night. Fat flakes of snow slowly floated to the ground, and by a half hour until midnight, a light dusting had covered the walkway to a tall, gray house on Baker street. The house itself was unremarkable: slate colored siding with a modest, white trim. It had large windows, two stories, and looked very much like every other house on the street, with the addition of a Black Lives Matter flag hung in the biggest window on the bottom floor.
In fact, there were only two truly remarkable features of this house: firstly, and most impressively for many, that Sarah Styles was able to afford a two-story house in a decent neighborhood on a single income. But secondly, and most impressively for the select few who’ve been initiated, for the first time on Baker Street in over ten years, the ancient Covenant was about to be invoked in Sarah’s living room.
Half an hour ago, Sarah went to bed. Salem, her black cat and best friend in the whole world, cuddled next to her until he confirmed she was soundly slumbering, after which he slowly slinked downstairs to signal his squad. That night, Sarah had noticed Salem was being extra affectionate, but she wrote it off as unremarkable, grateful for the extra time with her precious boy. And while Salem was also grateful for the extra quality time, this extra attention was indeed a cleverly crafted ruse, designed to ensure that his master was deep asleep before inviting half of the neighborhood’s pets into her home.
He sighed as he slinked down the stairs, anxious to get the night started but already concerned about the potential results. He hoped that tonight’s Hunt would prove fruitless but feared that it would confirm his anxieties instead.
Normally, Salem was a very good boy and would never think of betraying Sarah’s trust; however, tonight was an exceptional circumstance. Over the past several days, Salem’s hair had been standing on end as he uncovered what he believed to be The Signs spoken of in The Covenant. As a cat, it was his sworn duty to protect his chosen human from Greebles, but to do so, he needed to first confirm his suspicions and then track down the source. His only hope was to call a Council of Cats, something he had spent all of today arranging.
Mittens was the first to arrive, an older orange tabby with white socks on her feet. She belonged to the old woman across the street, and while she might be getting on in her years, Salem knew that her knowledge and wisdom would be a great asset in The Hunt. That was assuming she could get along with Cricket, who showed up just a minute later. She was a wiley old stray who was rumored to be immortal, and although that did seem pretty unlikely to Salem, he was fairly convinced she had more than a cat’s standard nine lives.
As Cricket prowled through the door, Mittens hissed and shot Salem a dirty look as she dramatically jumped onto the table. “You didn’t tell me that you invited her,” she spat. Quickly, she shifted her glare to the newcomer and continued, “I don’t work with strays.”
Cricket flopped onto the carpet and stretched her claws out, seemingly unphased by Mittens’ presence. She ignored her and started cleaning her calico coat.
Salem was disappointed but not altogether surprised. Many of the more privileged cats in the neighborhood had a low opinion of strays, and Mittens was perfectly spoiled. He’d known there was a small chance she might not participate if she knew the company, but figured it was worth a shot trying to convince her.
He puffed up his chest and, feigning a sense of authority, responded, “Well, you do today, because the Covenant binds us all.” He flicked his tail to punctuate his point. “Besides, if the rumors are true, Cricket’s the best Hunter we have in the whole city. We’re lucky she’s here.”
“Thank you, kitten,” Cricket purred back in a sound that was admittedly closer to a growl. “I never turn down a Hunt, even with less than desirable company.” She continued pretending to ignore Mittens but turned her saucer-like eyes to Salem. “Besides, Sarah is always kind to me. I would hate to see anything happen to her.”
Mittens growled, but she didn’t argue and didn’t leave. She did continue glaring at the disreputable feline on the floor as she kept on top of the table, but for a moment, everyone was silent. They took this brief moment to clean themselves. A soft symphony of rough tongues combing through fur coats filled the dark room.
A few minutes passed until a light padding of paws pitter-pattered onto the sidewalk leading to the front door.
Immediately upon hearing the noise, Mittens hissed, “Is that a dog!? Salem, come now. A stray I understand, but a dog!? I will not stand for this.” Contradicting herself, she did actually stand up at this point, arching her back and eying the door.
“That is Boris, and I’m sure he can hear you,” Salem sighed. “Because yes, he’s a dog.”
Mittens shuttered and tail fluffed out involuntarily. “Why would you invite a dog?”
“I’m not allowed to leave the house, so I could only invite the neighbors. He wanted to help. I’m not going to turn down anyone at this point. And besides, the Reginalds vouched for him.”
Mittens started eyeing a path out of the madhouse – it would be difficult. She would need to spring past Cricket at top speed to avoid a swipe, and even that seemed unlikely, to be honest, as Cricket’s reflexes were perfectly tuned from years of Hunts. If she could make it past the stray, she’d likely need to dart off the path and into the deep grass and snow to avoid the mongrel, leaving her quite cold for the night. Plus, she did so adore Sir Reginald Senior, despite the company he kept. She couldn’t decide whether it would be worthwhile.
Seeing that Mittens was still on the fence, Salem pulled out the big guns: human sympathy. No housecat can resist those dumb giants, not after witnessing their blundering affection first hand. “Come on, Mittens. Something is after Sarah – I know it. I’ve seen the Signs, and I… I can’t let anything happen to her.” Salem’s tail involuntarily curled down under his body. “How would you feel if this was Marian? What would you do?”
“Yes, Mittens, what would you do?” Cricket chimed in with a sly smirk.
At least Salem thought it was a smirk. It could have just been the facial scar.