Page 7 of Bittersweet & Strange

I found her two years ago.

Or perhaps she found me.

She couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old, little more than skin, bones, and wet fur when I discovered her curled against the roots of a fallen tree after an early winter storm. I brought her inside and set a bowl of cream on the kitchen floor. I assumed she’d disappear once she’d recovered.

A week later, I woke up to find her asleep on my pillow.

And now I have a cat.

It’s an arrangement neither of us agreed to.

She doesn’t come when I call her. Half the time, she pretends not to hear me at all. She shreds curtains that have survived for decades without damage and sharpens her claws on furniture that cost more than most people earn in a year. She disappears into the castle for days at a time without explanation, then casually reappears when she’s damn good and ready.

On the other hand, there aren’t many mice.

Which works out well for both of us.

Especially since I occasionally forget to feed her.

Soleil opens one eye and stares at me. Then, with all the judgment of a creature who contributes nothing to the household, she closes it again and returns to her nap.

I return to the balcony and look toward the forest.

A dark shape near the tree line catches my attention.

I squint my eyes.

At first, I dismiss it as a fallen branch or part of a tree that gave way under the weight of melting snow. The mountains are littered with debris this time of year. Broken limbs, uprooted saplings, and entire trees brought down by winter storms are hardly uncommon.

But this isn’t a tree.

The longer I stare at the shape resting near one of the pines, the clearer it becomes.

Someone is on my property.

I straighten.

People know better.

The road leading to the castle hasn’t been maintained in decades. The path disappeared long ago under fallen trees, overgrown brush, and years of neglect. Reaching this place requires determination, stupidity, or a complete disregard for self-preservation.

I’m no longer certain which possibility irritates me more.

Whoever they are, they have no business being here.

I step back into my bedroom and pull a heavy wool coat over my shoulders. Then I reach for my gloves and boots. Leather creaks under my fingers as I pull the gloves into place. The thick soles of my boots strike the stone floor as I leave the room.

The castle seems too damn large whenever I’m in a hurry.

My footsteps follow me through narrow corridors lined with portraits that have watched over this house for generations. I pass towering windows framed by velvet drapes before reaching the central staircase that winds through the heart of the castle. The steps curve downward in a wide spiral around an enormous iron candle chandelier suspended several stories above the entrance hall. The hand-carved banister bears the marks left by centuries of use.

I take the stairs quickly.

The front doors swing open. Cold air rushes inside.

I step into it without hesitation.

The forest isn’t far from the castle, and I reach the tree line within minutes. My eyes stay fixed on the motionless shape near the pine. Snow gives under my boots while damp earth and crushed needles release their scent into the afternoon air.