The Witch Notes

Story 2

It is a story about a witch who follows a black cat

In truth, this story took place ten years ago—or, to be exact, nine and a half. So, I might not remember every detail, and I hope you'll forgive me for that. Witches may live longer than mortals, but memory doesn’t improve with age. If anything, it often gets worse—some spells have a way of stealing fragments of your sanity. What I remember clearly is that this story began with a black cat. Everyone’s heard the old tales that every witch must have a black cat. Well, that’s simply not true. A cat can be any color—white, ginger, gray, even piebald! In our family, we’ve had four different cats, but, unfortunately, the tense atmosphere of our coven wasn’t ideal for a cat's long-term employment, so they didn’t stay for very long. I like to imagine each of them now has a more “normal” coven or a lone witch who pays well for good company.

Anyway, back to our story and the cat. A few weeks had passed since I’d moved across the country. The four-hour time difference didn’t affect me much, but I stayed up until six in the morning. I think this had more to do with Ella than human time zones. My new roommate often sat quietly in the half-light with her music and a cup of tea—or, better yet, coffee with lemon! Yes, she’s the one who introduced me to that magical drink. Since we shared a room and had separate beds, I enjoyed keeping her company at night. We didn’t talk much, but a comfortable quiet was between us. She usually worked on assignments for her mortal university, drawing illustrations and graphics, while I quietly watched her, occasionally stepping out onto our shared balcony to smoke another cigarette. We smoked a lot together. You could find at least three jars full of cigarette butts on the balcony, not to mention those scattered under the bench and along the baseboard.

One of those nights, or rather mornings—it was already five o’clock—we stepped onto the balcony. Our usual dream pop or shoegaze played softly from the room, though I could never tell the difference. The sky was turning pink, and the first spring blossoms were opening on the apple tree branches. And that’s when I saw the black cat. He sat right on the tree at the level of our balcony, staring at me with his enormous yellow eyes.

“Hello there,” I nodded at him, taking another drag of cheap tobacco. The cat didn’t move; he kept staring at me without blinking.

“Is he yours?” I asked Ella, breaking our usual silence. “Hmm?” She looked up at me as if I’d interrupted an important thought. I nodded silently toward the black visitor, who still perched on the branch.

“Nope, first time I’ve seen him,” she replied, snuffing out her cigarette in her lemon coffee out of habit. “Damn!” she cursed, realizing what she’d done. “I guess that’s a sign I should go to bed,” she muttered, leaving me alone on the balcony. After making sure it wasn't my coffee cup, I finished my cigarette and stubbed it out in one of the old jars. There wasn’t space there for ages, but I stubbornly forced it in. “Probably time to take out the trash,” I thought.

The cat stretched, blinked at me, and hopped off the branch, going on his way. I figured it was probably time for me to sleep, too, if I was starting to see winking, silent cats. 

Ella was already softly snoring when I returned to the room. Her glasses were slipping down her nose as she lay awkwardly on her bed, laptop on her stomach. It had become my tradition to remove her glasses, move the computer, and cover her with a blanket. They say that her previous roommates did the same, but I like to think I was the first to be given that honour.

After quietly envying Ella, I checked the clock and realized I had just over four hours until my interview. Factoring in time for breakfast, getting ready, and taking the bus—it left me with two hours. Deciding not to waste precious sleep time, I chose to tidy up a bit and finally take out the trash. Not too concerned with my appearance, I went out in my robe and slippers. After tossing the bag in the dumpster, I turned around and, to my surprise, saw the cat from the tree sitting right there on the sidewalk. He was grooming his paw nonchalantly.

I paused, eyeing him curiously. He didn’t resemble any cat from our coven or any other witch families I knew.

“Whose cat are you?” I asked. The cat lazily lifted his gaze to me.

“Mrow?” he meowed, continuing to groom his paw. I looked around, making sure there were no mortals nearby.

“Don’t pretend—I know you can talk.” No, I’m not crazy. Yes, all cats can talk; they just usually don’t want to. Imagine any mortal’s reaction if a cat suddenly started reciting Sartre.

The cat sighed and looked back at me. “Why do I have to belong to anyone?” he finally spoke.

“Well, I see you have a collar, so I highly doubt you put it on yourself,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Is it really that important?” he asked indifferently, clearly a bit annoyed. “I don’t have much time; you need to come with me.”

“Come with you?” I laughed. Everyone knows you can’t trust a strange cat, especially one who won’t say who he belongs to. Then it hit me. “Did my mother send you?”

The cat stayed silent, shifting his attention to another paw, licking it meticulously.

“Well, tell her that I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t plan on going home—especially not to the Academy!” I said, turning toward the house, leaving the unwanted visitor behind.

“Staying up all night smoking one cigarette after another—that’s what you call fine?” I heard him call from behind, making me pause. “Heading to a waitress interview—also fine?” His gaze mocked me. “Anyway,” he sighed tiredly, “I’m not from your mother. You don’t know my owner, but I’m here to help you. So be kind enough to stop resisting and follow me.”

I froze as if struck by lightning. Whoever’s cat he was, he’d clearly been watching me for at least a few days. It was an uncomfortable realization, highlighting my own lack of awareness. I should have noticed him tailing me sooner.

“Are you coming?” his voice broke my trance, and I saw he was already headed toward the private sector bordering our neighbourhood. My mind wrestled with the pros and cons. Was Alice foolish for following the white rabbit? That’s a philosophical question for another time. I cursed under my breath and followed the cat.

The cat’s tail twitched nervously as he led me through the deserted streets. Houses around us were still asleep, except for a few neighbour dogs upset by the disturbance, barking at the arrogant cat who ignored them completely.

“What’s your name?” I asked, passing a house with an anxious German shepherd, pacing along the fence and eyeing our unusual pair.

“Felix,” he murmured, without looking back.

“I’m Tori,” I introduced myself. Felix only grunted. He probably already knew my name by now, given how long he’d been watching me.

“Where are we going?” I asked. The whole situation was unnerving, though I can’t say it wasn’t intriguing. How often are you told to follow a black cat at dawn? Not frequently, I’d wager.

“To my master,” Felix replied reluctantly. His tone grew more irritated with each question, and I should warn you that many cats are born that way. Testing a cat’s patience—especially one serving a witch or warlock, let alone an entire coven—is generally bad luck. So, I decided to keep silent, hoping he wasn’t leading me to my doom.

Finally, the street with houses gave way to a park, or more accurately, a forest. I’d walked through it a few times, and it wasn’t the most comforting path in the dark. The paths were half-ruined, and don’t even get me started on the lack of streetlights. But Felix didn’t stop, striding confidently into the forest-park without hesitation. Thankfully, by now, there was enough light to stop my mind from conjuring terrifying scenes of my own death, though a shiver still ran down my spine.

After ten minutes, I found myself in a clearing, far from the main path. There was nothing here but a fallen tree and an old fire pit—a hangout spot for the local youth.

“So?” I raised an eyebrow and looked at Felix. He jumped onto the fallen tree and began grooming himself again.

“There,” he pointed a paw toward something behind the tree. I circled around the log, expecting to find nothing but last year’s leaves and twigs. Suddenly, something shiny caught my eye. I nudged aside the dried leaves with my slipper and noticed a lighter. It wasn’t the cheap kind you’d buy at a corner store; this was a metal “Zippo” with an embossed pattern. In my financial state at the time, this little object seemed like a treasure, so without thinking, I leaned down and picked it up. I know many of you have heard stories about not picking up valuable items on the street—jewelry, coins, things like that. Mortals often dismiss it as superstition, but the truth is that objects can carry residual energy and sometimes even danger. But my sleep-deprived brain didn’t consider that.

“Hello,” a voice said from behind, startling me so much I almost jumped. I hadn’t even noticed the figure who appeared beside me—a tall young man, around twenty or a bit older, with wavy dark hair to his shoulders and deep brown eyes. “My type,” I thought, because what else would cross my mind at that moment?

“Hi,” I replied, suddenly aware of how I must look—pyjamas, robe, slippers, hair unbrushed for days. I won’t even mention the permanent dark circles under my eyes and my bewildered expression. I was still holding the lighter firmly in front of me, clutching it tightly.

Felix purred contentedly and leapt from the tree, rubbing against the guy’s legs, to which he responded with a warm smile.

“So, you’re his owner,” I said, surprised, glancing between the stranger and the cat. I didn’t encounter warlocks often—not that they were rare, but most people I knew were witches. I spent most of my time among mortals.

“I’m Lex,” the guy introduced himself in a low, quiet voice, and I was momentarily at a loss.

“Tori,” I managed my voice unexpectedly raspy, forcing me to clear my throat. Yes, I fell under the spell of charming men a little too quickly. It had happened before, clouding my judgment as it did with Kevin.

“Nice to meet you, Tori,” he smiled, and I scolded myself when my heart skipped a beat. “Good job, Felix,” he added, kneeling down to pet the cat, who purred in delight.

“So you sent Felix here on purpose?” I finally asked, realizing how I’d ended up here.

“Yes, I’ve been watching you for the past few weeks. There aren’t usually any witches in this area,” he said, flashing a dazzling smile. I’d need to take a cold shower when I got back.

“My roommate, Ella, she…” I trailed off, unsure if I should reveal that Ella was also a witch. Probably better to ask her first.

“Yes, I’ve seen her. But I liked you better.” If I could have melted into a puddle, I would have done so right there without caring that the spring soil would soak me up thoroughly.

“So… you wanted to meet me? Why not just come over?” 

“Well,” he looked embarrassed, tucking his hands into his pockets. “It’s… not that simple.”

“Felix said he was here to help,” I recalled my conversation with the cat, his last words finally convincing me to follow him.

“Yes, that’s true,” Lex nodded, taking a careful step toward me. “Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed a lot of potential in you, potential you’re wasting in the mortal world.”

“What does that mean?” Lex was an emotional rollercoaster for me. His smile could knock all thoughts out of my head, but I was still trying to keep a clear mind, and it was proving difficult. His words reminded me of my mother’s, who often couldn’t decide if I was her biggest disappointment or if I had a great potential being wasted.

“I want to help you unlock it… if you’ll help me.”

And finally, here we were. In the magical world, exchanges of services were a common currency. Barter, if you will. It was risky and often unwise to make such deals outside one’s coven since it could end badly for both parties. But with the correct terms, these deals could bring remarkable fortune. It was always a gamble, tempting to accept when someone offered you something valuable in return.

“So, how exactly do you want me to help?” I asked cautiously, recalling all the rules for making this kind of deal.

“I need the Book of Souls,” he replied after a slight pause. Excuse me, what?! If my eyes could physically pop out of my head, they would have.

“And how do you think I could help you with that?” I couldn’t hide the ironic tone in my voice.

“I want you to sneak into the Archives of Souls and steal it.” His gaze was unwavering. For a second, I marvelled at how quickly he dropped the charming smile. Maybe if he’d kept up the charm a little longer, I would have agreed without a second thought.

"Two questions: why do you think I’d do this, and how exactly am I supposed to get in?" I let out a nervous laugh.

"Because the Archives hold a book that can help you gain the power of several witches at once. And because your father works there." Lex’s charming smile returned to his face, but the magic of his charisma lost its effect when he mentioned my father. I hadn’t seen him in years—not because I didn’t want to, but maybe he didn’t. Our relationship wasn’t exactly ideal. I shook off the thoughts of my father and returned to the conversation with Lex.

"You're talking about the Book of Power?" I frowned. Many believed it was a myth. But I knew for a fact it existed. As a child, on those rare visits to the Archives with my father, I even saw that book locked behind enchanted glass in the most bottomless vault. "It’s been there for centuries, impossible to decipher." That was why so many witches began to think it was just a legend.

"I know how," Lex smirked.

"So you’ve been watching me just because my father works in the Archives?" I finally put two and two together, feeling disappointed, though not surprised. I had a habit of reading too much into things, which often led to disappointment—a kind of hobby, really.

"I’d consider it a pleasant bonus," he said softly, perhaps thinking his quiet charm would influence my decision. But irritation had already crept into my mind, and I was done being swayed by men who thought they controlled everything. Yes, my emotions could be as volatile as that.

"I don’t think so," I replied dryly. "I think it’s time for me to head home. I have an interview today and need to prepare." I straightened up and began to walk past him.

"You won’t be able to gain enough power to call yourself a true witch without me!" I heard his voice behind me. That did it. I felt my blood boiling, and I clenched my fists, realizing that I was still holding the metal lighter—his metal lighter.

"You are nothing, and you don’t get to tell me who or what I can be!" I spat out each word, struggling to keep my composure. When I was nervous or angry, I often forgot the perfect comebacks, which I regretted later. It took all my strength to say these words. I took two quick steps toward him.

"I believe this is yours," I said, swinging my hand with the lighter to hit him in the chest. But there was no impact—my hand went straight through his chest. Off balance, I stumbled, falling hard to the cold ground and twisting my right wrist. Above me, I heard a quiet laugh. My gaze landed on the metal lighter lying in the dirt, then drifted to Felix, who was once again sitting lazily on the fallen tree.

"You…" I breathed out in disbelief, staring at the cat. "You set me up."

Felix simply flicked his tail in mild irritation. I slowly lifted my gaze to Lex, who was still standing over me, a satisfied smile on his dead lips. Lex, who had probably been dead for some time and was now bound to me, until I completed his one request.

And at that moment, I realized I was in way over my head.