Blood on the Sandstone

“Hey, Trish? Who’s this? He looks like Aunkie.”

Purrtrice looked up from her book, over the frames of her glasses, at the calico kit that had just spoken. She had found an old platebell and figured out how to unlock it while Trish wasn’t paying attention. Her fingerpads had scored lines through the dust as she looked through the pictures saved on it, and the hologram screen was displaying a photo Trish had forgotten existed.

She kept her face straight as she looked at the kit, inwardly noting the page number she was on and closing the book.

“Dawn,” she said sternly.

The calico’s ears flicked back. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You said we could look at the stuff in your attic…”

“Like a treasure hunt!” said Dawn’s twin brother, Dusk, a tawny tabby who currently had a dusty bandana tied over one eye, and was playing with a deck of hexagonal cards. Thirty-two-pick-up, it looked like. “We’re pillaging! You gave us permission to pillage, remember?”

Trish sighed. “I don’t know if I gave you permission to ‘pillage’. I thought you might dig around for old toys and games. That’s not how you play Old Molly, by the way.”

The tawny kit’s tail flicked in indignation, and he dropped all the cards in a jumble. “You didn’t specify,” he huffed.

Trish considered that. “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “But anything electronic is off-limits. I have a lot of old stuff up there, I don’t want to return you to your parents burnt to crisps because you touched an exposed tube. Slide that over here.”

Dawn frowned, but pushed the album across the floor toward her. Trish stood, her long orange brush of a tail swishing as she knelt to pick it up. She touched the center of the disc and it folded upward, curling into an icosahedron. The hard light of the hologram screen broke apart and the pieces slid back into the object.

“Sorry,” Dawn said, and the elderly queen looked up, her face softening. 

“Well, as Dusk pointed out, I did give you permission,” she said, patting Dawn’s head. Though the kit was far younger than she, Trish almost had to reach up to pat her. These kits are getting huge, she thought, an amused smile on her face.

A few hours later, after the kits’ parents had come to retrieve them, Trish brought the album out again, setting it on the table. She stared at it for a long time. A myriad of thoughts came to her.

No, not mere thoughts. Memories.

The flick of a whisker. The wink of a green eye. The flash of fire. The patch of bare skin on her muzzle wrinkled as she glowered at the album, as if it was still displaying the visage of that tom.

*

“What have you done, Hectfur?”

The violet-striped tabby looked up as Trish hailed him. His golden eyes were wild, mouth parted as he breathed heavily. After a moment, he got up, wiping his bloodied hands on his pants. His tail trailed on the ground as he walked toward her.

She backed up quickly, and he froze in his steps.

He still seemed out of it, but his eyes were focused, pupils slitted like knives piercing into hers. A heartbeat, then he blinked, his mouth snapped closed, and he took a deep breath.

“Trish,” he said hoarsely. He seemed to speak without knowing what he was saying. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you just murdered someone,” she growled. Her fur stood on end, her eyes narrowed at him. “What happened?”

He looked back at the eviscerated corpse, as if noticing it for the first time. His eyes dropped to his hands, and Trish watched him carefully, trying to spot a change in his expression. Horror, maybe. Remorse. Even a shred of just plain sorrow.

She saw no change, but for a quirk to the corner of his lips, and hoped to Wau that wasn’t a smile.

Hectfur was her partner in the force, though he’d only joined a couple of months ago, and was at least nine cycles younger than her. Lately he’d been…off, for lack of a better term. He’d come in to the office hours early and leave hours late, though he had a queen and a new kit back at home. Even on his days off he would come in, delving through papers of long-closed cases. He was always so tight-lipped when asked. Now the words spilled from his lips, as if his head couldn’t contain them any longer.

“They were after me,” he said. His eyes flicked up to hers again, his muzzle wrinkling in a snarl. “You get it. You’ve seen it, right? You can’t tell me you haven’t.”

“I can, because I haven’t.” Trish tried to keep her voice level, but one hand went to the grip of her conduit, the handle of a currently bladeless battleaxe. “Hectfur, you need to come in.”

His fur bristled, the snarl deepened, and he growled low. It might have been her imagination, or the way his eyes caught the light, but she caught a flash of green in those golden eyes. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t have to, if you come quietly,” she said firmly.

The tips of his claws glowed and he lunged with lightning speed. If she’d been any slower he might have ripped her whole face off; as it was, she felt a burning pain in the bridge of her nose, narrowly missing her eye. Her conduit seemed to jump out of its holster into her hand.

She spun on her heel. Hectfur was twice her height normally, but he crouched now, almost feral in his stance as he turned back to glare at her. His eyes flicked to the bladeless axe and his lip curled.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I won’t, if you calm down and come back with me,” she said. Her voice trembled now, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She was confused. Her partner had murdered someone, and wouldn’t tell her why. He’d attacked her–on that alone she should be channeling her chi into the axe and leaping at him. His eyes bore no fear; only contempt.

No. Not contempt. Hatred.

“Please,” she said. “Think of Liliclaw. Of your child. What is your foæfi going to think if she hears about this?”

“You keep my family out of this,” he snapped.

“Hectfur, you just clawed my face unprovoked. She’s going to ask what happened.”

He growled. No, the sound was too loud for a mere growl. Too strangled. Before she could think of the word, however, he leaped at her, claws ablaze.

With blood leaking from her muzzle into her mouth, she took a deep breath. All her confusion, the frustration, the fear, everything went from her head into her hands, and from there into the comforting weight of the grip between her fingers.

The ambient blue tones of the accent lights blazed with hot orange, and the head of it burst to life. As she lifted the handle to block Hectfur’s lunge, fire erupted from the sides and fanned out, creating twin blades of flame. Her flame. She swatted with the side of the weapon, knocking the bigger Ortuxan away.

He toppled backward, eyes blazing with fury as he looked up at her. She stood before him, feet planted, eyes narrowed.

“Last chance,” she said. “Do I tell Liliclaw her husband has been arrested, or do I tell her he’s dead?”

There was a tense heartbeat as the two stared at each other. A foot, wet with blood, smacked against the sandstone pavement to push Hectfur up. Stone scraped as Trish braced herself.

Then he leapt at her.

A whoosh of fire and iron through the air, the smell of singed fur and seared flesh, a pained howl.

*

Trish came back to herself, taking deep breaths as she realized her chest was moving far too rapidly. She looked at the icosahedron, a pain in her heart she hadn’t felt in years. Her memory stopped with those last sounds and smells. She knew that the corpse recovered had been reported to the family, she knew that her statement had been taken. She didn’t remember what she’d said that night, but she was afraid to look at the transcript.

She also remembered that Hectfur’s body had been completely missing from the scene by the time reinforcements arrived. Liliclaw had been told that her husband was killed trying to fight off a mugger, and they’d buried an empty casket.

The photo album seemed to burn in her hands. Hectfur would be Dawn and Dusk’s grandfather, she remembered. Or, at least, their step-grandfather. But, hopefully–and it hurt to hope for this–the feral creature had dragged himself into a ditch to die.

She let her fiery chi build up in her hand. The platebell began to glow orange, then burst into flames, a smoldering fireball swaying drunkenly between her fingers.

There were few things she’d never speak of again. This was number one on that list. What had happened to Hectfur would be buried in the back of her head until the day she returned to Cheu’s embrace.

And no one, not even Hectfur’s family, would ever drag it out of her.