Free A Feather of Stone #3 by Tiernan Cate

closed, I drew sigils in the air, the ones described in the grimoire . This spell was strange in that it didn’t specify exactly what creature’s powers it would call to you. I assumed it would be insects or perhaps lizards or frogs.
    So when I opened my eyes and found six neighborhood cats and Q-Tip waiting patiently for me, I was shocked. Cats were mammals—higher, very complex beings compared to insects. They surrounded me, watching me even as they washed a paw or followed a wind-shaken leaf.
    “Cats,” I murmured, amazed. This was powerful magick. Q-Tip looked at me, wondering what I wanted. Ordinarily he would have chased strange cats out of the yard, so I knew without a doubt he was under my spell.
    The next part of the spell was to access the creatures’ power. I was scared—I had no idea what would happen and worried that doing this one spell, taking this one step, would somehow color me evil forever. Like it would take away any hope I had of general goodness. Not goody-two-shoes goodness, which, face it, I’d never had a lot of. But goodness in the sense of . . . lack of real badness.
    But the stakes were so high. My life. My sister’s life. Would it be better to be tainted dark forever but keep my free will or to be good but controlled by someone else?
    I closed my eyes again and murmured the words that would let me access the cats’ power. It wasn’t gradual, a slow, gentle twining of our spirits. It was sudden, shocking. Within seconds I felt their feline life forces standing all around me, animal sentinels in the darkness. They were alien, totally other , not like anything I’d ever felt, even during the wildest circle. Each cat was an unmistakable individual. Their energies were sharp and pointed, little clumps of crackling force; small, wild, and primitive. Even Q-Tip, my baby, who was about as domesticated as they come, felt like: animal . It was freaky in the extreme.
    Feeling shaken, I went on to step three: joining their energies to mine. I sang the third part of the spell, checking the words again in the grimoire , which was open in front of me. I sang the words that let my spirit glide out and encircle theirs one by one, as if I were a stream and they were bits of debris that I was picking up and carrying downstream with me. I sat quietly, feeling the joining. I began to assimilate them—I began to feel catlike.
    My eyes popped open. The seven cats were completely still, staring off at nothing. Totally under my power. I had taken their strength, their force, and they were diminished and hollowed because of it. I felt ashamed that I had done this to them. But I also felt an exhilaration: I was super-Clio, more than I had been, more than I had ever been. I felt bursting with life and power, and a dark and terrible joy rose up in me. Standing, I held my arms out, trying to encompass this hugeness, this surge of strength.
    And then I jumped. The strong feline power within me insisted on showing itself, and without thinking, I coiled my muscles. I crouched and jumped easily to the top of our seven-foot brick wall. Right to the top of it. I landed on my toes, arms out for balance, but felt solid and secure. I could do anything.
    Laughing aloud, feeling glorious, I raised my face to the sky. I saw differently, heard differently, tasted the air more powerfully. Every scent the air carried was distinct, clear, strong. The last of the blooming jasmine, the sweet olive, the roses in our neighbor’s garden. I smelled other animals, damp brick, green leaves and decaying plants and dirt. Everything tasted exciting, and my senses seemed close to overload. I was giddy with sensation, thrilled, with fierce anticipation about exploring the whole new world opened to me. Laughing, I spun in a surefooted circle on the eight-inch-wide wall. My night vision was amazing, and I gazed at everything, seeing every dark leaf, every swaying plant, every cricket in the grass, one crisp, clear snapshot at a time.
    And I saw