The door closing cut off the view, but regardless my gaze had been caught by the large, gleaming object on the bench next to my sire. I had last seen the bronze cauldron in the temple of Carnonos watched over by my grandfather. The face of a horned man shone in the polished surface.
“Not a very good likeness, if you ask me,” said my sire, noticing the direction of my gaze. “Imagine! He had the effrontery to pour water into it and watch me every Hallows’ Night. I put a stop to that!”
“Did you kill him?”
“Kill him? Of course not! On Hallows’ Night, the Hunt gathers up the spirits of those fated to die in the coming year. We don’t kill them. You mortals kill each other, or you die of other causes. I only kill one mortal a year, and I do that because I am commanded to do so by my masters.”
Strangely, the moment the coach arrived, all my fear had melted away like ice under heat. The coachman cracked his whip. I pulled the shutter back in time to wave at Rory as we rolled away down the street.
“Then what did you do in the mortal world all these weeks?” I demanded.
“Your mother piqued my curiosity. Tara had all sorts of interesting stories. She told me tales of what the mortal world is truly like, for of course I normally only catch a glimpse of it when I pass through.” He ran a hand along the curve of the cauldron, tracing the figure meant to be him. Like a cat, he rather relished himself. “So besides wanting to get hold of this cauldron, I had a hankering, a curiosity if you will, to make one grand tour.”
I laughed.
“Why does that amuse you? I do not understand your jests, little cat.”
He was not like me or any human. When the river floods and drowns, it does not regret its victims. When a storm lays waste, it does not ponder the uses of power. Fire consumes and does not grieve. The ice gives no thought to what it crushes as it works its way over the land.
But I did not have to like him. “That my mother told you tales, that’s all.”
We turned the corner into a commercial district on the road leading out of town, lined with taverns and inns whose windows were ablaze with Hallows candles. These flames went out one by one as we rumbled along the cobblestones. The buzz of voluble conversation ceased, too, fading to an anxious silence that draped the street with its fear.
The luscious aroma of coffee drifted to my nose.
“Did you try coffee, Sire?”