PROMISE

CHAPTER 5

Hain looked from the cat, to La Doña, and back to the cat.

"The door–" Hain broke off, his words mashing together on their trip from his brain to his mouth. "Did he? Did you?"

"He did." La Doña let out a humphing sound, and bumped the cat's flank with the tip of her cane. "Since he moved it there to begin with."

La Doña's cat let out an indignant meow.

La Doña rolled her eyes. "Stop being so dramatic."

The cat growled deep in his throat.

La Doña looked scandalized. "Language!"

The cat's notched ears folded back, but it stayed quiet.

Hain stared, too stunned to speak before La Doña turned, and started toward the door with a thump of her cane.

"Come on then. Lots of things to talk through and not much time to do it," La Doña said, then disappeared into the vagón.

The cat lingered. It blinked its yellow lamp-like eyes once at him–a lazy gesture that seemed to convey both condescension and complete disinterest–before it rose into a languid stretch and sauntered after La Doña.

Hain blinked too. Then trudged up the ramp after them.

At the threshold, Hain stopped and gaped. Candle flames wobbled in the darkness, spilling over a jumble of mismatched furniture that gave the place the air of a junk shop rather than a home. Each piece stood lashed to others or to thick iron rings set in the walls.

La Doña's voice came from some unseen nook amongst the furniture. "Well, shut the door and come in! Come in!"

Hain did as he was told, before turning sideways to weave through the cloistered maze. The air was dry, and hot, and it smelled of burning sage and too many cats. Rugs softened the floor underfoot while sundries crowded every surface–books and papers, pots of ink and quills, an empty bird cage, a metal case with a lock so tough it looked as though it might bite if he came too close. Amongst it all, a half-dozen squishy looking cats lay sprawled in various states of feline slumber.

Hain found La Doña crouched behind a tall wardrobe, her hands winding rope about the free leg of a table, the small black cat curled up on the ground beside her. A black wool poncho draped her tiny frame, the fabric pooling on the ground like cooling tar. Two braids sprouted from her head–brilliant white shot through with black–their lengths knotted into a tight bun atop her head. Her brown hands moved quick as poured sand as she worked, as though in defiance of the age spots spreading over them. Sigils of El Todo ran the lengths of her arms, the dark tattoos faded from black to green by time.

Hain watched her for a moment, and he would have kept on watching, were it not for the resigned mewls starting again from the sack on his shoulder.

Her hands stopped their work.

"You've brought me something?" La Doña turned her head half toward him, but didn't rise. "Or maybe many somethings?"

"Many." Hain set the bag down behind her. "Furry, angry, and probably very hungry somethings."

La Doña let out a pleased sound as she reached for the bag. She shook it open gently. Both cats hissed from within.

"Buenas tardes, gatitos." Warmth sang in her voice. She looked up at Hain. Her face was the sun. "Very thoughtful of you, Hain. Gracias."

Hain felt joy swell inside him, crowding out the lingering shame he'd felt since Rico had led him into the camp. Perhaps this visit wouldn't go as poorly as he'd first thought.