Night of the Werecat (8 page)

Tina turned and smiled at Wendy. “If werecats really existed,” she said, “you would be a great one. No one loves cats more than you.”

Wendy sighed. Tina was not going to believe her. Tina wouldn't be able to help her. Face it, Wendy, she thought sadly. You're alone. All alone.

“I can always count on you to be a goof. Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” Tina said. “I feel so bad about Shalimar. Hey, I have an idea,” she continued. “Let's hang out with Shal in the basement. He's so lonesome down there.”

Wendy felt even worse. That's my fault, too. Shal is being punished because of something I did.

She gave Tina a weak smile and then followed her down the basement steps.

“Shalimar!” Tina called. “Here, Shal!” She stopped on the bottom step. “That's weird,” she said. “Usually I have to stop him from flying out of the basement the second I open the door.”

Wendy glanced around the room. There was no sign of the Siamese cat. “Here, Shal,” Wendy crooned. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

“I guess he's hiding,” Tina figured. “Something must have scared him.”

The girls poked around the basement, searching behind boxes and under furniture.

Wendy spotted something beneath an old easy chair. She lay flat on her stomach. “Found him,” Wendy announced. She reached for the cat. “Come on, boy,” she urged.

Shalimar's blue eyes glittered at her. He wasn't moving. “Come on,” she repeated. She stretched her hand toward him.

Suddenly Shalimar hissed and clawed at her. Wendy recoiled. “He scratched me!” she cried. Shalimar streaked across the basement and bounded up the stairs.

“He'll get out!” Tina shouted. “I left the kitchen door open!”

Forgetting about her scratched hand, Wendy scrambled up the stairs after Tina. Shalimar was a house cat. He never went outside.

When Wendy rushed into the kitchen, Tina had already cornered Shalimar by the sink. “It's okay,” Tina said soothingly. The frightened animal's eyes darted back and forth.

Then they locked onto Wendy. Instantly he arched his back and hissed again. With a burst of energy he bounded out the kitchen door.

“What's wrong with him?” Tina wailed.

But Wendy was afraid she might know. Mrs. Bast's words echoed in her head:
“Werecats and ordinary cats are mortal enemies.
” Shalimar used to love her. But now that Wendy was a werecat, he was terrified of her.

“Come on!” Tina shouted. “We have to get him back!” The girls raced out of the house. They searched the backyard.

“There he is!” Wendy cried. Shalimar was perched on top of the backyard fence. As soon as he spotted
Wendy, he leaped into the neighboring yard. Tina and Wendy rushed through the gate, calling to the cat. But Shalimar continued to run. He darted across Hill Street and through a large corner yard.

“He's headed for Fear Street,” Wendy realized.

“If we don't catch him, he'll get run over!” Tina wailed.

Shalimar kept running. Wendy and Tina raced after the cat. When Shalimar reached Old Mill, he turned and streaked into another alley. Wendy, out of breath, arrived a moment later.

But the alley was empty.

“Where is he?” Tina wailed.

“Maybe he went into one of the yards,” Wendy suggested. She glanced around the alley, trying to decide which way the cat might have gone. Then she spotted him.

“Tina,” she whispered, “there he is.” She pointed down the alley. Shalimar perched on top of a garbage can at the far end of the alley. He was licking his right paw.

“Oh!” Tina exclaimed. “He's hurt!”

“Shhh!” Wendy held a finger to her mouth. “We don't want him to take off again.”

“Right,” Tina agreed. They nodded at each other, then very slowly, very quietly, crept toward the cat.

Shalimar continued licking his paw. Tina and Wendy were halfway down the alley when a gate opened. An old woman wearing a dress with a cat on the front tottered into the alley.

“Look!” Wendy cried in surprise.

At the same moment Tina said, “It's Mrs. Bast!”

The old woman didn't seem to notice the girls. She strode quickly toward Shalimar. In one swift move she grabbed the cat and thrust him into the basket she was carrying. Then she disappeared around the corner.

“NO!” Tina shrieked. “She has Shalimar!” The girls sped to the end of the alley. They peered around the corner.

But Mrs. Bast was gone.

Tina slumped against Wendy's shoulder. She looked as if she were about to cry. “She stole him. Shalimar is gone forever.”

“Don't worry,” Wendy comforted her friend. “Mrs. Bast can't have gotten far. We'll find them. I promise.”

Tina nodded. She took a shaky breath. “Okay. Which way?”

“You go that way,” Wendy instructed, “and I'll go down the other block. We should be able to spot her.” Tina nodded and began to jog down the street.

Wendy raced to the end of the block. She glanced all around. Bingo! “I found her!” she shouted to Tina. She took off after Mrs. Bast. A moment later Tina caught up with her.

“What if she won't give him back?” Tina asked, worried.

“Let's follow her. We'll think of something,” Wendy reassured her.

And I'll think of a way to get Mrs. Bast to help me, Wendy thought.

Wendy felt Tina tug at her sleeve. “What is it?” Wendy asked.

Tina pointed to a street sign. “Uh, Wendy,” she said nervously. “Look where we are.”

Wendy glanced up. Fear Street. They were now following Mrs. Bast down Fear Street.

Fear Street wasn't like the other streets in Shadyside. It always seemed colder, darker. Enormous trees lined both sides of the street. Wendy shuddered. Those branches look ready to grab us, she thought. Strange shadows danced along the ground.

Figures, she thought. Of course this is where Mrs. Bast would lead them. Nothing had been normal since Wendy met the old woman.

“She lives here,” Tina whispered. Wendy watched Mrs. Bast disappear inside a small shabby house.

Still carrying the cat in the basket.

“Come on,” Wendy said. “Let's find out what she's up to.” She gestured for Tina to follow her.

Wendy tried to quiet her pounding heart as she sneaked up to the house. She crawled across the porch and crouched below the window. Tina knelt beside her. Keeping her head low, Wendy peered through the dirty panes.

The room was dark and gloomy. Wendy spied an old purple sofa with the stuffing falling out and a large dining room table. As the girls watched, Mrs. Bast placed the basket in the center of the table.

“What's she going to do to Shalimar?” Tina wondered, her voice shaking.

“Don't worry,” Wendy assured her. “We won't let anything bad happen to him.”

Wendy gazed through the glass. Mrs. Bast stood over the basket. Wendy could see that Mrs. Bast was talking to herself but couldn't hear the words. The basket began to shake.

Mrs. Bast reached into a box on the table and pulled out jars and bottles. She lined them up by the basket, continuing to mutter. Then she lifted the lid of the basket, pulled Shalimar out, and set him on the table.

Holding the cat with one hand, Mrs. Bast picked up a large bottle with the other. She sprinkled white powder on the cat. Her lips moved rapidly the whole time.

Wendy sank back on her heels. A chill ran down her spine. Of course! It all makes sense, she realized with horror. Mrs. Bast is a witch!

The pieces fit together. The werecat charm. Wendy's transformation. The house on Fear Street.

The bottles must be filled with potions. Mrs. Bast must be putting a spell on Shalimar!

A loud yowl from inside the house interrupted Wendy's thoughts.

“She's torturing him!” Tina cried.

“We've got to stop her!” Wendy yelled.

The girls scrambled to their feet. Wendy yanked the door open and rushed inside. She had to save Shalimar!

“You let go of him!” she shouted at Mrs. Bast.

“Shalimar!” Tina called.

Mrs. Bast glanced up from the table. Her eyes were wide with surprise. Then they narrowed. She raised a long bony finger and pointed straight at Wendy.

“You!” Mrs. Bast growled.

16

“Y
ou!” Mrs. Bast repeated. “It's you!”

“Mrs. Bast,” Wendy began. But she didn't know what to say.

Shalimar howled even louder. He struggled in Mrs. Bast's grip, twisting his body in an effort to escape.

Mrs. Bast's eyes returned to the cat. “Stop that,” she ordered.

The cat broke free. It leaped from the table, scattering bottles and jars. Wendy's hands reached out to keep the bottles from smashing to the ground.

“Shalimar!” Tina cried. “No!” Tina and Mrs. Bast grabbed for the cat at the same time. It ducked out of reach, then bounded to the top of a tall bookcase.

Wendy glanced up. The cat gazed down at them, then began to wash its face.

“Wendy!” Tina exclaimed. “It's not Shalimar. Look—it has one brown eye. Shal's eyes are both blue.”

Wendy peered at the cat. Tina was right. The cat looked exactly like Shal except for its eyes.

“Look what you've done,” Mrs. Bast scolded. “Look at this mess.” She began to pick up the bottles and jars that had fallen. Wendy tried to help, but Mrs. Bast stopped her. “Haven't you done enough already?” she scolded. “I know who you are. You're the girl who stole the werecat charm.”

Wendy's face flushed with embarrassment. Mrs. Bast was right to be angry with her. “I'm sorry,” she said. “But I did pay for it. I didn't really steal it.”

“Hmmmph,” Mrs. Bast grunted.

“And I'm here to return it,” Wendy continued. Now, finally, she'd be able to get rid of the necklace. “But I can't get the clasp open.”

Mrs. Bast gazed at Wendy for a long moment. Wendy wondered what the old woman was thinking.

Mrs. Bast shook her head. “Sorry. But you'll never get that charm off. Never.”

17

W
endy stared at Mrs. Bast, horrified. “Did you say—did you say I'll
never
get this charm off?” she repeated. Her voice shook.

“That's right,” Mrs. Bast said firmly. “It will never open.” She paused, then leaned very close to Wendy. “Unless you find the secret clasp.”

Wendy blinked. “The secret . . .” Wendy wasn't sure she had heard correctly.

“It's very cleverly hidden,” Mrs. Bast explained. “Come over to the mirror. I'll show you.”

Dazed, Wendy followed the old woman to a large dusty mirror hanging on the wall. She stood silently as Mrs. Bast pulled the clasp to the front. “Now, you see this?” Mrs. Bast asked. Wendy nodded. “It looks like a regular clasp. It looks like all you have to do is
unhook it. But . . .” Mrs. Bast's eyes twinkled. “Instead you have to turn it clockwise, then pull it through the cat charm. Like this.”

With nimble fingers Mrs. Bast released the catch. The necklace opened. Wendy was free!

“No wonder we couldn't get it off,” Tina said.

A wave of relief swept over Wendy. It was over. The charm was off. She would never be a werecat again!

“Oh, Mrs. Bast, thank you! Thank you so much!” she cried.

“You shouldn't have taken the necklace,” Mrs. Bast said sternly.

“I know.” Wendy hung her head, ashamed. “I know I should never have done it. But I wanted it so badly. It was as if I couldn't help myself.”

Mrs. Bast nodded. “I feel the same way about the charm. I never meant to sell it. It's from my personal collection. I don't even know how it wound up in the five-dollar tray.”

“Please, take it back!” Wendy said. “And keep the five dollars, too.”

Mrs. Bast smiled, then slipped the charm into her pocket. Wendy wondered if the old woman knew about the power the charm had. Well, she figured, if Mrs. Bast really is a witch, maybe she doesn't mind turning into a werecat every night.