Tales of The Brave And Bold

Luna The Witch Cat Part 2

I blink open my eyes and take in my surroundings.

No owner. No home. No plan.

Sounds of heavy breathing echo around me, I whip my head around, trying to catch the culprit. Beams of light blur together before forming the shape of a fluttering dove.

Lumos.

"This supposed to intimidate me, DimBulb?" I snort. "Cats eat birds."

"Appalling manners, as always, Luna." Lumos sighs.

"What do you want, DimBulb?" I roll my eyes.

"To make a deal."

Well, that's a first.

"You help these poor people by delivering them to their destination and keeping them safe." She tweets.

"So what's in it for me?" I sneer, thinking this to be a rather one-win deal.

Giving a  collective sigh, Lumos mumbles: "I'll help you."

"How could a goody little two-shoes like you help-"

-Help me get back to my owner.

"Yes." 

Urgh.

Not only do I have to waste my energy transporting a person by dark magic on a T-Zone Massage Chair, but my passenger is an OLD MAN!?

"Hello little kitty." He grins, patting my head.

"Shut. Up," I growl, shoving him onto the chair and getting the chair started.

"YOU CAN SPEAK!?" He screams, nearly falling off if I hadn't have caught him.

"Duh." I roll my eyes. "What's your destination, Wrinkly?"

"Um, you see.." Wrinkly squirms uncomfortably. "I am sort of...searching for my journal..."

Seething with rage, I take a deep breath to calm down. "Fine. Do you have a picture of it?" 

From his pockets, he removes a photo of a dusty maroon journal. Exactly the same journal that a bunch of silly children threw in the garbage last week.

"Follow me!" I shout, grabbing Wrinkly and jumping off the chair, sending us plummeting to the ground.

We land (headfirst) in the garbage bin.

"Not exactly how I planned," I mutter.  "Besides that fact, let's get looking!"

An hour later, after searching through 30 garbage bins, Wrinkly shouts: "I'VE FOUND IT!"

Before falling face-first on the ground.

"Idiot." I sigh in annoyance, leafing through the journal. "Aha!"

Peering over me, Wrinkly reads the page aloud: "25 Brick Lane, London, England!" He moans. "How on earth can we get to England that fast!?"

"You heard of Shadowaka, Wrinkly?" I ask.

"No..." He raises an eyebrow.

"Good." I exclaim. "It's the ancient dark art of travelling by a wisper."

"Please don't tell me were doing that." Wrinky pleads.

"I'm afraid I already have." I laugh.

When he looks around, his mouth drops in shop. Red buses pump by, yellow taxis beep aggressively, and bacon butty shops flock with people chomping on delicious sandwiches.