Free Cat Magic by Whitley Strieber Page A

about her looks, the strong-muscled aims and legs, the tiny breasts beneath the prim black bathing suit, the soft, gentle face with those dark humorous eyes. If such a woman were to embrace her, Mandy wondered, what would happen then?
    “I’m afraid I’m terribly late. I was due at 9:30.” The girl stared at her, almost as if she thought her mad. “A mistake,” Mandy added miserably. “Please help me.”
    The girl smiled at that. “You sound like you’re desperate.”
    “I know she doesn’t like people to be late. The job is very important to me. And I’m so late!”
    “You she’ll forgive, Amanda.”
    “Where can I find her, can you tell me that?”
    “Look what I have here.” The girl bent down and picked up a big, colorfully illustrated book that Mandy recognized at once.
    “The Hobbes edition of Faery !”
    “Signed and hand-colored by Hobbes just for Connie. Isn’t it wonderful?” She gave the precious volume to Mandy almost indifferently.
    “But this—it’s extraordinary. I didn’t even know it existed.” She looked down at the leather embossed cover. Reverently she opened it. Tucked inside was a photograph of Hobbes sitting with a much younger Constance Collier on the pediment of this very statue. He wore a wing collar and a striped shirt, the cuffs rolled up to the elbows. She was in a long dress, its top of lace. Her dark Celtic eyes gazed merrily at her companion, who looked rather stunned.
    This book was not illustrated with washed etchings as Mandy had assumed but with the delicate original watercolors that had been their models.
    A Hobbes watercolor of this quality went for five thousand dollars. And how many were here? At least twenty. “My God.”

    “See Leannan sinking dead,
   her eyes pearled by dew,
   Falling all ruined upon
   fearsome Braura’s bed.”

    Amanda was surprised at Ivy’s erudition. “You know Faery ?”
    “Of course. Why do you think we’re here, Robin and I? We are students, just as you are a student.”
    “I’m an illustrator.”
    “That was only a pretext to get you here. You’ll see. She’s got all sorts of ideas for you.”
    Just then a new voice cracked from among the cedars:
    “There you are, you prowling ninny! Come out of there! Why didn’t you come upstairs? You must have heard us.”
    “Miss Collier?”
    A tall, thin woman in a dusty suit appeared among the shrubs. She burst forth brushing spiderwebs and twigs from her tweeds. “What in Goddess’ name are you doing in here? Oh! What do you have in your hands, you stupid girl!”
    Mandy was horrified. All she could do was hold out the priceless book and hope that Ivy would own up to her wrongdoing.
    “Don’t give it to me! I’ll drop it on the way back. Oh, be careful, careful! Don’t let those cedars touch the leather, they’ll start acid rot going! How could anybody be so thoughtless! Come on!”
    Mandy’s heart pounded as she hurried along behind Constance Collier, the precious book cradled in her arms. Back in the maze she heard soft laughter and realized that brother had joined sister from some hidden entrance, and both were enjoying the joke together—
    She followed Constance through the kitchen and into a tall library, its bookcases laden with calfskin and morocco bindings. A heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the crows. Finally Constance spoke.
    “Put it on the table. There. Now, young woman, are you mad? You must be to come in here and take the very best volume I have and carry it out into the sun, and then you go into mat dirty old maze—it’s criminal.”
    “I didn’t—”
    “No excuses! If you want to work with me, the first thing you’ve got to learn is to stop making excuses. I consider excuses loathsome.”
    Mandy knew she was turning scarlet, and hated herself for it. Blushing was a curse. But there was nothing she could do about it. She could only hope against hope and push ahead. “I brought my portfolio, Miss Collier. Of the ideas I’ve