Chapter 5: Death Goddess & Kittens

It was three sleepless night before Bastet came home. Three long days with the dead claiming all hours. The girl who visited Mel returned with family, friends, and generations of the household servants. So many relations, the family tree sagged and wove complicated and dark with all sorts of half cousins and second aunts. Mel was very used to a large family she unused to any of them speaking to her or caring what her thoughts were. The novelty grated on her until suddenly it became a comfort. Their stories were better than any costume drama and some had even begun to help her with her studies. One governess in particular was very helpful with history even if she could or would not talk, only tossing pamphlets and books at her in the library, standing over her with stern expressions until Mel read the book. She would not leave until Mel reiterated what she had learned. If it met with the governes’s approval she would leave if not she would stare Mel down until Mel began again. Mel wonders why and how she was so easily trained.

Some of the ghosts spoke. Some cried. They all had their bumps, rubs, and protections of each other. Though all hinted to knowing secrets of their deaths and the house. They found ways to be as unhelpful and cryptic as the newspapers. A fire. A madness. Mushrooms under the log. Lightening. Drowned in the lake that was drained. If she didn’t believe e she could hike to the place the pines form a circle and see for herself that no matter the weather no water will puddle on that ground.  A fall from the top of a tree. A bad elopement. A governess carried off by fairies, or was it dwarves, or was that the unfortunate elopement. Time had turned their stories to chalk. Impermanent and shifting depending on the teller of the tale. Only Kitty stayed away. Mel's annoyance at their hints and twists only entertained the ghosts. A new game after centuries. They were not about to give the plot away. The only thing better for them was watching Mel stumble through studies they swore were the easiest things in the world to learn.

On the third morning since Bastet wandered out their kitchen through a locked door and out into the meadows, Mel's mother’s nerves had become raw and frayed. She pushed away the coffee making chamomile tea. Eleanore holds a brown candle in one hand and Bastet’s favorite mouse poppet in the other. Bastet had never been gone for so long. It was not just the ghosts nocturnal hours that wore on her mother. Being without one's familiar, as her mother put it, was like when your child left. Something of you in the world with none of your control. Bastet's food dish remained untouched. The window sill looks wrong and too bright with her curled upon it. 

“I’m worried about her too. I searched most of the woods and the meadow. I was going to go into the basement today.” Her mother stops leaning on the stairs. “OK I won’t go in the basement. Didn’t that aunt’s best friend’s governess hang herself down there? I swear these ghosts are starting to sound like tele novellas. I can’t keep their story lines straight.”

“It was the governess of the twins. And I don’t think she hung herself. Bastet has never been away this long before. I know she’s here but I can’t get her here, here.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Come with me.”

“To your study?”

“Yes, study. Come, help out. You can even play with the mouse.” Eleanore tosses the mouse to Mel who snaps it out of the air petting it behind the ears. Holding it she feels the cat. It feel like closing your eyes and reaching for someone’s perfume. Maddening close.

If it had been for any other reason than Bastet Mel would have found any excuse to run to the meadow but a question had been asked and answered. She places her own coffee mug down and following her mother up the stairs. Eleanore’s approval is loud and does not bother Mel nearly as much as she expected.

The room was the last to be finished and thanks to some impressive feats of architecture and craftsmanship boasts a glass ceiling curving in a dome with iron wisteria and grape vines setting the glass. The books created their own labyrinth and Mel couldn’t resist a quick exploration. There were books on herbs that could solve problems. Books on stones to help heal a sick soul or the ailing body or the body that was sick because of an ailing soul. Books on words that said in the right way that could catch fate's attention. It seems like fuss and bother to Mel. If it was all about focusing her will to the outcome then why all the theatre? But, who could resist a book that promised it to turn fate?

In a vestibule made of protection book Mel finds the doll’s house. It stands as tall as a child and is an exact replica of the house down to the drain spout gargoyles. Mel takes a quick detour trying the siding of the house. Her mother looks over, “Do you see the pink rose in the red roses under the window by the door?” There it was, pink. Unmistakable amongst arterial red. Mel touches what she thinks will be paint to pull up the rose coming out in her hand sticking her finger with a microscopic thorn. Mel yelps starting to stick her finger in her mouth, “Don’t do that. Put your finger on the door where a key would go.”

Of course. Nothing could be simple. Not a hinge or normal key. Why wouldn’t a dollhouse here open with a drop of blood, but that is what it did. The front panels fade until she sees the entrance with a less dusty staircase. Shadows flit in hallways but the doors are shut on the upper level. Mel begins to turn back to her mother with more important matters until something needles her brain. She spins just as the front facade is solidifying. Of course there isn’t a door next to her room. She would have noticed that. Mel shakes her head moving towards Eleanore.

Eleanore sits in the middle of the room her legs crossed and the candle flames twisting blue and white. Her eyes , her body, her very soul pouring itself towards the candle. It is Mel who curls next to her putting the mouse poppet next to the turquoise and tiger’s eye. They stay like this for minutes on end. Breath, flame, and a tapping of an oak branch that keeps its’ own rhythm in time. What begins as a distraction becomes a test of focus becomes an unbearable weight on her attention.

Mel gets up to open the window pane away from the reach of the branch finding Bastet on the edge of the branch, or what was becoming a less translucent Bastet and more of a solid  Bastet. Bastet and something small, gray, and quickly settling in its’ own form. Mewling in a way that means only one thing for anyone with a soul, even a shriveled and sarcastic one. It is a mewl that set at the perfect pitch means, you will love and protect me no matter what I do. As their shapes take and their fur becomes more than smoke Mel shakes her mother’s shoulder.

Eleanore jumps to her feet removing the kitten from Bastet’s mouth passing it to Mel. “My girl you could have warned me it would take so long.” There is no anger and they are both squinting and head butting.

The grey ball stops its' sound, secure in knowing it worked the magic that all small things learn to be cared for and that Mel could be trusted. It stretches, yawns, and falls asleep in Mel’s palm. Mel feels her heart break just a little. Something had been lost and given and now it will never just be her again. She has her protector and something to protect. Shocked by the wave of love Mel places the kitten on the ground by her boot. The kitten shakes itself away and turns to chase after the spider that had crawled into the circle.

“Do you have a name for the little one?”

“Will there ever be a name for a cat familiar as good as Bastet?”

“My darling is unparalleled.”

“I was thinking Hecate.” Her mother’s eyebrow rises over the frame of her glasses. “Or Pandora.”

“One guards trouble and the other searches it out. I think you know which one you are, which leaves the name for your little girl…”

“Hecate.”

“May she grow into her name and guide you through trouble and not into it.” Bastet wanders to the circle standing in front of the kitten head bumps Hecate who falls back onto her tail batting her paw back at Bastet’s who gamely side steps . Mother scoops Hecate into her hand. “You are charged with protecting this home and this girl. In exchange you are ours and we are yours.” Hecate blinks slow. Eleanore, Mel, and Bastet bring their foreheads to the kitten’s, a family together.