At last her pounding heart eased. At last, reclaiming her good cat sense and determination, she scrambled up the nearest pine tree to the nearest roof where she could see better.

Well, of course! There were the hills, black humps like the backs of huge animals, their familiar curves caught in faintest moonlight against the night sky. There were the hills and there was home, and she ran leaping from roof to roof until the houses stood too far apart, then she scrambled down to the gardens. And away she went, racing through weedy grass and up into the open hills, racing for the ruin’s jagged and protective walls that rose like a palace against the blowing clouds.

Fleeing for home, she wondered why she had ever gone among humans? This always happened, this violence from humans. Her mouth and nose still reeked of the smell of that man, the smell of human rage. On she raced, her senses sharply alert for predators. She was passing the house with dirt piled in its yard when she smelled something other than a predator. She smelled death.

Human death?

She froze in place, looking all around. Why would there be a dead person here? She was frowning, studying the house when she saw something pale stir on the hill above, a small, feeble movement. She crouched warily, looking. She reared up, stretching tall, scenting the air, and it was then that she smelled him. She ran straight up the hill to him, streaked up through the grass and crouched beside him, her paws going cold. “Sage? Oh, Sage.”

He didn’t move or speak, he lay unnaturally hunched. But he was alive, his eyes looked into hers, filled with pain. When she snuggled carefully beside him, touching him with her nose, he pressed against her shivering, his body rigid and tight.

“What?” she said softly. “What happened?” She looked around into the night, but she saw nothing, now, that could have attacked him. She could smell no coyote or other animal, and certainly no human-except for the stench of a dead person that came from the house below.

Above them a raft of clouds blew past, again freeing the fickle moon, and down the hill, the house and the pale drive and the walks brightened. The dirt pile lit up along its side and the tiled roof became a tangle of curved shadows. The smell of death sickened her, and then the wind came straight at her and she smelled that man, too. The man she had run from. How could he be there when he was down in the village in that house?

“A human hurt you…did this to you?”

“He’s gone,” Sage said. “A long time ago.”

“What did he do…what happened?”

“He threw a hard tool at me, a hammer. Threw it through the window where I was watching him. It came through straight at me, broke the glass, I wasn’t quick enough.”

“Why did he?” She licked his face. “What did you do to make him so mad? To make him hurt you?”

Sage rose stiffly and started down the hill, limping badly.

“Stay still, you’ll hurt yourself more.”

Ignoring her, he headed for the house, every line of his body showing pain and anger. She followed him until, approaching the garage, the smell of death hit her so hard she turned away, gagging.

“Come where the window is,” he said impatiently. “Mind the glass. Come where we can see in.” Crawling painfully up onto the stack of lumber, trying to avoid the jagged shards, he put his paws on the sill, looking in between knives of glass. She hopped up beside him.

“See that ditch?”

She looked at the deep fissure. “Why is there a ditch there?” She looked at the dirty concrete floor where earth had been hauled out, at the muddy footprints.

“There’s a dead woman down there. That man went down in the ditch and dug the hole deeper, then he brought her in his car and carried her down the ladder and covered her up with dirt.” Sage turned to look at her, the pupils of his eyes huge and dark-with fear, with anger. “That’s not how humans bury their dead. Even I know that. This was sneaky, stealthy. When he saw me watching, he went white and grabbed the hammer and threw it.”

Tansy looked back at him, surprised not so much by what the man had done-humans would do anything-but because, maybe for the first time in his life, Sage was paying attention to something outside the clowder; he was enraged by something that was not a part of their world. From Sage’s standpoint, the hiding of a dead human would have nothing to do with a cat’s proper business-until the man had hurt him. She guessed that made it his business.

She said, “I saw him earlier, in the village. He was stealing from a house, we watched him. He threw something at Joe Grey and chased him.”

Sage’s eyes widened. “Did he hurt Joe?”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking down in shame. “I ran…I should have gone back. But I must go back,” she said. “I have to see if they’re all right, I have to tell them that he came here and that he buried someone. Why would he bury a woman? Unless…Did he kill her? That is a crime in the human world, humans will want to find him and punish him. We-”

But now Sage turned reluctant. “This has nothing to do with us. This is not a matter for cats.”

“Then why did you show me?”

“Because he hurt me. I’m going home where it’s safe.”

She sat looking at him. “You spent weeks among humans when you were hurt before. Humans cared for you, they pampered you, gave you nice things to eat, made soft beds for you-humans saved your life, Sage!”

“Come on, Tansy.” He eased down from the sill and off the lumber pile with a grunt of pain. “We need to go. This is human business.” Expecting her to follow, he limped away, heading up the hill.

Tansy did follow. She dare not let him travel home alone when he was nearly helpless-yet she was ashamed to let him stop her from what she must do. If they didn’t tell the village cats what Sage had seen, maybe no human would ever know that a dead woman lay there hidden in that ditch. Somewhere, a woman was missing. And no one would ever learn where she had gone.

24

EARLIER IN THE Longley house, when Dulcie and Kit dove into the recess beneath the stairs, Joe Grey had slid around the corner and into the shadows of a hall, stopping, dead ended, at a closet door. Frantically he had pawed it open as the man searched the living room. Slipping inside and beneath a tangle of coats, he pulled the door closed with a hasty paw, thanking the great cat god that the hinges were silent. He didn’t dare let it latch, even the smallest click would crack like a rifle shot. This wasn’t smart, shutting himself in such a trap. If the guy jerked the door open, he’d have to be quick to get out, to save his furry neck. The closet stunk of damp wool, and of dog urine on the tip of an umbrella that was propped in the corner.

As the man’s heavy footsteps approached, he leaped up between a trench coat and a black peacoat, digging his claws into the thick wool. Hanging there with the claws of all four feet busily engaged, he hoped the damn rod wouldn’t give way.

The footsteps paused just outside. The door opened and the man knelt, looking in beneath the coats. He picked up the umbrella and poked it into the dark corners. Then he gave a cross “Hmph,” shut the door, and went back down the hall.

Dropping carefully to the floor, Joe pressed against the door. He listened for some time to the guy searching for him. Finally he must have given up, because Joe heard him return to filling his boxes with books. He imagined Dulcie and Kit watching from beneath the stairs-he’d heard Dulcie hiss at Tansy to run, had heard the smaller cat’s racing footfalls on the floor above.

He waited, it seemed, for a very long time before he heard the guy walk heavily away toward the garage, as if loaded down with another stack of boxes. When he’d gone, Joe leaped at the knob, grabbed it between his paws and swung until he could kick the door open. Peering out, he whispered for Dulcie.