Fifteen-year-old Isadora was born with a deformity: silver hair. Though she dyes it an average brown and has perfected blending into the background, she battles with always feeling like a secret freak. Things worsen when her mother remarries. Isadora and her new stepbrother, Cheyenne, have little interest in each other or their new home--- until they discover an unsettling story about a sixteen-year-old girl who went missing from their home, never to be heard from again. Obsessed with the details of the girl's disappearance, Isadora's best friend, Heather, consults with an old Ouija board, ripping the veil between our worlds wide open. Heather vanishes, as does Isadora's mother. Bit by bit, Isadora and Cheyenne, along with their wise cat Serena get sucked into an ancient realm long forgotten by humans- an enchanted land where nothing is what it seems, where nothing can be taken for granted. Before Isadora can save anyone, she will have to dive deep into an unfamiliar world--- one that holds the darkest truths to her fears and family secrets, leaving her to face an intimate threat that will change her life forever . . .
A Cat's Tale
By Susanna FantichAbbott Press
Copyright © 2012 Susanna Fantich
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4582-0525-4Chapter One
The sinking sun had just streaked the sky orange, purple, and gold, as a papery moon peeked out from behind the darkening fringe, signaling that nightfall was fast on its heels. Careful to remain unnoticed, Serena leaped down the magnolia tree's aged branches with ease, periodically stopping to rub her face against its fragrant, creamy white blossoms as if they were laced with catnip.
The distinct sound of crackling leaves and twigs being crushed reached her ears. She stopped to sniff the cool breeze. I'm being followed, she thought. Her spotted fur bristled, and her heart beat faster as her mind wrapped itself tightly around the past.
"Will tonight be it?" Serena whispered to no one.
Placing one padded paw over the other, she scurried down to the lowest limb; it draped over her friend's grave as if shielding it from the rest of the world in its own green cathedral.
She found a comfortable spot and claimed it by dangling her legs down the sides like a rag doll. She strained to hear. Her ears perked up at the sound of squealing children skipping down the sidewalk just beyond the iron gates. She shook her head and yawned. Children would never dare set foot in a cemetery on Halloween night, she thought.
"Knock, knock. Hear my voice; push past the veil, and make your choice," she chortled to the tombstone below. Her lips curled up at the corners into a mischievous grin as her tail thumped against the branch. "Knock, knock."
The leaves rustled.
She swam back in time, back to when the only humans in her life were Jaira, an eccentric thirty-eight-year-old artist who strictly followed her own rules to a fault, and her fifteen-year-old daughter, Isadora, who always seemed to follow everyone's drumbeat but her own.
Isadora was a special child, but she didn't know it. When she looked in the mirror, all she saw was a freak, a monster in disguise. She was born with a slight deformity. While most newborns were blessed with brown, blonde, or red peach-fuzzed heads, Isadora was cursed with a full head of stark silver. Upon delivery, the midwife almost dropped her from the shock. Though Jaira cared less about what others thought, she did care deeply about her daughter. So, she dyed Isadora's hair an average brown to stave off the stares; however, it was never enough to hide the truth. She was different.
"This whole mess could've been avoided had I done a better job of keeping Jaira from falling in love again." Serena shuddered, resting her head over her paws. She could see Jaira in her mind's eye — her hair was the color of roasted coffee, kept short like a pixie for practical reasons. The jagged edges highlighted the sharp angles of her face. A drop of water would likely begin its journey on her high pitched cheekbones and careen down the valleys of her cheeks before dangerously falling over the pointed cliff of her chin, which she was often seen stroking. Some considered her strangely beautiful; most considered her strange.
"Knock. Knock. Hear my voice; push past the veil, and make your choice," the cat cooed, taking notice of the moon, no longer a ghost but a blood-red eye gazing down at her with a swiftly darkening backdrop. The wind suddenly stirred every leaf off the ground, making them coil and hiss. "Knock. Knock." She thumped her tail.
She closed her eyes and welcomed the brisk air on her face. It felt good. The mossy, wet scent reminded her of the day Jaira told her about Devon. "I just met my future husband," Jaira predicted, glancing at her tarot cards, which she always kept close at hand. "And he's perfect, Serena. He's so handsome, funny, and kind. He has crazy red hair, you know, and a son about Isa's age — his name is Cheyenne. You're going to love him."
"You were right about that," Serena sighed.
"Are you talking to me?" A small voice interrupted from below.
Spooked, Serena jumped with a start. She peered down at the rude intruder. It was a male kitten with a fiery orange coat and a crooked smile. His green eyes, full of wonder and life, looked up at her as if he were seeing the world for the very first time.
"Who else would I be talking to, silly boy?" Serena smiled, feeling a chill slither up her spine. "Especially since no one else is here except for us."
Confused, the kitten scratched his head with his hind leg. "Do I know you?"
"Well, I don't know. Do you? My family calls me Serena."
"You seem familiar to me somehow," the kitten said, trying to think of his own name.
Serena winced at her mistake. "Truth is, you caught me talking to myself, or so I thought. I had no idea I had an audience," she admitted, eyeing him with all the curiosity of a cat.
"You can talk to me if you'd like," the kitten meowed sheepishly. "Beats talking to no one, and I've got nothing to do. Nowhere to go. So, what have you got against falling in love?"
Serena chuckled under her breath.
"Well?" The kitten waited.
The wind blew through the cemetery, picking up a few fallen leaves along the way.
"Well, I have nothing against falling in love per se. It's the lack of caution and scrutiny of those we choose to give our heart to that I frown on. Back when I was human, many moons ago, it was the man I had fallen in love with who took part in my murder," she shared.
"What? What happened?"
Serena took a moment to quell her anger. It always rose up to bite whenever her bitter memories flowed forth. "My mother-in-law never approved of me. I came from a humble homestead and spent my days alone, preferring to study the medicinal properties of each plant in our garden instead of carrying on with the trivial vanities the other village girls my age obsessed over. I was considered different and could, therefore, never be trusted. So when my mother-in-law swore I had bewitched her only son with a love spell, no one questioned it, not even the countless people I had healed." She forced a laugh.
"Did you?" asked the kitten in a whisper.
"Most certainly not! Love spells are for the pathetic. Although, you should've seen me the day when she requested a vial of my cough tonic. I jumped at the chance to take it to her myself." She smirked.
"Talk about pathetic."
The kitten tilted his little head to the side. "What's wrong with that?"
Serena sighed. "My expectations clouded my judgment, and I ignored the signs."
"Signs?"
"The universe tried to warn me not to go. My front door jammed shut when I tried to leave, so I climbed out the window. Then my horse refused to move and literally ate the shoes off my feet. Ignoring the cuts from the rough rocks and only stopping to pull out the thorns from my bloody toes, I painfully walked barefoot to her home. And when I finally arrived at her doorstep, a raven shat on my head."
"Those were warning signs with exclamation points," cried the kitten.
Serena nodded in agreement as she licked the back of her paw. She took a deep breath and braced herself as it all swirled back into focus — robed men filed out of her mother-in-law's home carrying a Bible in one hand and an angry hot iron in the other. "The Inquisition charged me with eating the devil's food," she sighed, still lost in her thoughts.
"The devil's food?"
"Potatoes." She smiled. "Long before you were born, it was believed that since the potato grew underground, it must come straight from hell, so most people refused to eat it. Ridiculous."
"But you ate it, didn't you?"
"Paid for it with my life. They strapped me to the...
