Work Text:
This wasn’t working.
Of course he was way off on his guess. Of course the Cat King had laughed in his face at a mere one hundred and forty two cats. His methods were shoddy, based on assumptions and rustles in bushes. He’d almost counted a raccoon for goodness’ sake, and he hadn’t ever seen one of those creatures before. He was a detective, and the Cat King had given him a detective’s task! If it meant he could get out of the wretched town, Edwin was going to investigate.
…
“You there. Cat. What is your name?” Edwin was out while the girls slept and Charles did… whatever it was he did in Crystal’s room. The back alley of the butcher shop was actually a great place to meet cats.
“Ay, you’re the boss’ new squeeze!” The cat giggled, sounding oddly like a ditzy heroine in those American picture shows Niko showed him from a few decades after he died.
“I can assure you, he is not squeezing anything of mine,” Edwin replied, stooping into a crouch to look at this cat better. A grey one, flecked with black, and she had luminous green eyes.
“Well, not yet,” the cat said, bashfully ducking her head. She swayed forward, curving around Edwin’s thigh to rub against him. “Boss has a way with people. They just can’t resist those darn big eyes!”
Edwin sighed at the reminder that the Cat King’s body count—as he’d recently discovered it was called—was far greater than his own, as a literal virgin sacrifice. He steeled his nerves and held out his hand, glove creaking not because it was real, corporeal leather but because even a ghost’s clothes had to have some dramatic flair now and again. Edwin hesitated, but then ever so slowly, he lowered his hand to the cat’s head.
“Oh, aren’t you the charmer?” The cat pushed her head into his flat palm. A good sign, if his other observations were correct.
“What is your name?” Edwin asked again.
“My humans are a little thick. They named me Triscuit, but you can call me Trixie, handsome.” She curled around his bum, swishing her tail over his lower back before prancing away. He turned to assess her over his shoulder, one brow arched primly.
“And are there more cats in your household? Or I suppose… friends of yours?” Edwin’s hand slipped inside his jacket for his notebook.
“Oh sure, there’s plenty of cats in my house! The humans can’t even keep track,” Trixie replied. “There’s Saltine, though we usually call her Tina. Ritzy comes and goes these days, you know how it is, but Chicken Biskit will die in a human’s lap. We’ve all placed our bets on which one. Honestly, now I’m thinkin’ about how we never came up with a nickname for Chicken Biskit! What about—?”
Edwin took detailed notes.
…
“Hello, Cat. What is your name?” Edwin paused their trip to the library to crouch and check under the dry cleaner’s over-trimmed bushes.
“Shhh!” The cat responded, swiping a paw at him. This one had been declawed. Edwin could tell by the way his knuckles curled. Nasty business, according to Trixie. The cat flashed his teeth and hissed, “You’re giving away my position!”
Edwin checked around, finding one young mother and her toddler waddling away down the street and an old man reading what looked like an equally old newspaper on bench several meters in the direction of the library.
“I don’t mean to expose your operation, but I’d like to know your name, please,” Edwin said. The cat made a startlingly human sound like teeth sucked against lips—an epithet of disappointment far more popular in the last fifty years.
“I’m Carl,” the cat said. “Now can you shove off?”
“Thank you, Carl,” Edwin replied, reaching for his notebook. Orange, short hair.
“Actually, wait! Does your friend there have any bread? Like crumbs?” The cat lowered his head almost to the ground, his paws flexing against the thin dirt. Edwin traced the fixed gaze, finding a trio of pigeons pecking at the sidewalk.
“Ah.” Edwin straightened up. “Niko, do you still have the wrapper from the sandwich you bought for lunch—?”
…
He didn’t make a habit of phasing into people’s houses for no reason, but this was an investigation after all. He had it on good authority that this was the largest collection of cats in all of Port Townsend, and they were mostly inside cats. Edwin was glad he could choose not to smell it. The collars were very helpful, though, as he made his way through several dozing felines. He even had proper spelling for many of their names which had been eluding him on some of the more American affectations.
He passed a large bay window and stopped, spotting another cat in the precise middle of the window. The cat was frightfully still, even its tail curled and frozen like a child’s broken pendulum clock. Edwin shook off his apprehension. He was far too used to rounding corners and finding nightmares instead of harmless little cats. He drifted forward, peering out the window to find a good view of the full moon. He opened his mouth to ask his usual question, but the quietness of the slumbering household touched an ill-used, fuzzy space somewhere near where Edwin’s heart would have beat, had he been alive. He stood there for a while, basking in the silvery glow. It wasn’t often he found the time to just sit and admire the world he’d crawled out of hell to spend his afterlife in.
“This is quite peaceful,” he whispered after a while. He wished he could show Charles or Niko. Crystal would likely find something to be mad at. Edwin let the silence have another beat, and then he added, “I’m Edwin.”
“You won’t get anything out of him,” a posh, distinctly English accent said. Edwin tensed, but he found the source of the voice quickly—a midnight black cat prowling forward from the shadows cast underneath the windows. The cat leapt onto the windowsill, brushing past her immobile companion.
“And who might you be?”
“Jewel,” the cat said, dipping her head. “Hello, Edwin.”
“Hello, Jewel.” Edwin slid his notebook out of his pocket. “What’s wrong with your friend here? Deaf? I’m afraid I only know BSL.”
“Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s always like this. Day in, day out.” Jewel’s tail flicked side to side to punctuate her meaning.
“Does he have a name?” Edwin edged off his glove. He was told it was more polite this way. He held his hand out for Jewel to assess his scent. He wondered what ghosts smelled like to cats, but he didn’t know if he wanted to find out, in case the answer was unpleasant.
Jewel sniffed his knuckles, and then she ducked her head which Edwin now knew indicated acceptance. He reached up to give the appropriate scritches, but right before contact, she ducked away, smoothly dodging him as she said, “We call him Tinfoil.”
“Why on earth do you do that?” Edwin hadn’t been briefed on this scenario. Was he supposed to try again with the petting?
“I think Maureen left some on the counter from cooking earlier. Go grab it, and I’ll show you,” Jewel said.
This was not in service of counting cats, but now Edwin was curious. A mystery to solve. He found his way into the kitchen and saw the leftover tinfoil, soiled with burnt spices and dried salt. He brought it back to Jewel, careful to keep it from making too much racket.
“Now, hold it over his head,” Jewel instructed, and Edwin didn’t quite see the point, but he did.
As soon as the rectangle of foil cleared the cat’s airspace, Tinfoil slouched like a marionette with its strings cut. He chirruped happily and twisted around, seeking out Edwin’s free hand. He dipped his head, mewing and purring and generally making the kinds of cat sounds that Edwin didn’t get to hear anymore, not since he’d learned their language. Tinfoil snuggled under Edwin’s hand, and Edwin reacted belatedly to wiggle his fingers down Tinfoil’s head. Jewel reached up to put both paws on Edwin’s arm holding the thin sheet of metal, pushing until he took it away.
The change was instant. Tinfoil stiffened, eyes relaxing, going wide, and he turned back around to stare again out of the window.
“Very odd,” Edwin mused. He moved the foil back over the cat’s head to the same results before he removed the piece entirely.
“It works with pretty much any metal,” Jewel said with a cat’s version of a shrug. They sort of dipped their heads and let their shoulder blades pop out.
“A very good observation, Jewel. I believe I know what is afflicting your friend.” Edwin took the foil back to the kitchen, and depending on what kind of humans these were… ah, perfect. They had everything he needed.
“We always thought he was simply mad. You’re saying there’s a reason?” Jewel wound through his legs as he stepped around the kitchen, but he moved with a deftness that didn’t often lend itself to being tripped.
“The old sailors used to call it moon sickness or moon ache, depending on the language,” Edwin explained. He started a pot of water to boil. If he did this wrong, it would be extremely cruel, so he wasn’t going to do it wrong. “It was said that some feeble minds would gaze too long at the moon’s beauty and become hypnotized, always to seek it out. Sometimes if you could bring the afflicted indoors, the sickness could be kept at bay. We of course know that some buildings are reinforced with metals, and this is likely why that phenomenon occurred.”
The humans didn’t have everything he needed, but after a quick jaunt through his pockets, he found the last of a packet marketed as pixie dust from Tragic Mick’s shop. Actually, it was the secretions from a pixalarum scintillo which was a flower and not an organism like most pedestrians assumed. He brought the mixture to a rolling boil and then cut it, making his way to the bathroom to find the other implement he needed.
A little bit of a ghost’s touch, and the tincture was appropriately cool and ready for application.
“Come, your friend may be disoriented after being under the sickness for so long,” Edwin said, moving towards the bay window. See, that may have sounded like he cared, but actually, he just didn’t want to deal with cat hysteria once it was all over.
Jewel trotted alongside him and leapt up onto the wide sill. She swayed, checking out Tinfoil’s wide, unblinking eyes, before stationing herself next to him.
“He’s been like this for as long as I’ve known him. If you can cure him—”
“Oh, I’m going to cure him,” Edwin replied, and he sucked a few drops of the tincture into the eyedropper. “There will simply be an unfortunate side effect.”
He braced his hand gingerly on the back of Tinfoil’s head, grasping the loose skin to tilt Tinfoil into staring at the ceiling. Edwin brought the eyedropper over and put exactly seven drops in both eyes. The yellow of them started to swirl like water running down a drain until it was all gone, replaced with an icy blue. Edwin let go, petting once to be polite.
Tinfoil blinked.
His pupils contracted into a more classic cat’s eye. His nose twitched, whiskers bouncing in the air, and his ears swiveled back and forth.
“Tinfoil? Can you hear me?” Jewel asked, and Tinfoil’s head twitched to the side.
“That’s you, isn’t it, Jewel,” Tinfoil said, his voice high and sweet.
Edwin smirked at a job well done; he clearly wasn’t above gloating. He squeezed the rest of the solution from the eyedropper back into the pot, preparing to wash up and return the kitchen to its previous state, and that was when Tinfoil pounced. If he was going for Edwin’s chest, he was a little off kilter, but his claws hit true, digging into the facade of Edwin’s clothes. They didn’t hurt, presumably because Tinfoil did not want them to, but Edwin was befuddled about what to do next. Flinging the cat off in a touch-averse panic did not seem to be the correct move to ingratiate himself to the creatures, so he merely stuttered out several versions of things that could have been words, standing awkwardly as Tinfoil crawled on him like a cat tree.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you, Edwin!” Tinfoil cried, butting his head against Edwin as he climbed. “If I were a dog, I would lick you!”
“I am lucky you are a cat, then,” Edwin said back. “If you would so kindly vacate my shoulders, I have business to which I should attend.”
“Oh, but everything’s so dark now! What if I hurt myself wandering around. It seems very safe up here,” Tinfoil replied, and he snuggled in, wrapped around Edwin like a strangely lumpy scarf.
“Come now, Edwin. Do be a gentleman,” Jewel teased. Tinfoil began purring.
“I will not hesitate to evacuate you as soon as I am done here. Understand?” Edwin turned his cheek into the fur of the cat, and he marveled at the soft caress. They were one of few living creatures that could truly interact with the dead, though they were usually delivering a stinging swipe. This was almost… nice.
“Come on. I’ll help you,” Jewel said, jumping off the sill and landing with grace. “You’ll never find Bella to count her, but she’s in here somewhere.”
Edwin had to stoop just a little. He wasn’t used to such terrible posture, but he adjusted. When the night came to a close, he almost missed the weight of a gently rumbling, utterly content cat against his neck.
…
“You there! Might I inquire after your name?” Edwin called, having popped to the back alley for a quick gossip.
“Fuck off,” the cat at the mouth of the alley responded.
“That seems rather rude.” Edwin frowned, ready to write unnamed rude one in his notebook, but Trixie gave one of her trademark giggles.
“He’s just mad because he’s not the King’s favorite Edwin anymore,” Trixie said. Ghosts couldn’t blush, not in the sense that blood rushed to their cheeks, but they could turn a spectacular shade of red due to the afterlife having more whimsy than sense.
“I see.”
…
“Hey, magic pretty boy.” A cat was tapping on Niko’s window, but Edwin was staunchly focused on his research. If he didn’t get this done by morning then they would be flying blind into the job, and Edwin hated that. It put him and Charles in so much danger, but particularly Charles since he was such a loose, violent canon. Charles preferred to be called heroic and instinctive, but Edwin refused to sully the Queen’s English by using it so inexactly.
“I’m busy,” Edwin said when the cat tapped the window again with their claws.
“Yeah, stuffy books. Whatever. Listen, we need your help,” the cat said, voice hardly distorted by the cheap single pane.
“I am not in the habit of performing services for rude creatures loitering outside my window,” Edwin said primly, and he turned another page, scanning the titles to see if this would be a more helpful section.
“Ay, I heard you refused to perform some services for the big boss, if you know what I’m saying,” the cat snickered.
“Excellent. Not only are you rude, but you are also vulgar. Another reason I shan’t be aiding you tonight.” Edwin found his case notes and jotted down a possible phylum for the creature they were facing.
“Jesus, who uses words like shan’t? Don’t be such a stick in the mud, kid. Stella’s having her litter at the park near here, and she really needs your help,” the cat said without an ounce of self-awareness.
“I am not a veterinarian. I don’t see how this has anything to do with me.”
“Well, they told me to get you ‘cause they don’t exactly look like kittens…”
…
“I think he’s gunna be happy to see you,” Trixie said, trotting alongside him as he made the trek out to the warehouse. As it happened, one could not find the Cat King’s throne room unless one was guided by his subjects.
“Hopefully happy enough,” Edwin quipped, and he waggled the bracelet at her.
“Oh come on, I think it makes you look like an absolute doll! Every man needs a little bling in his life,” Trixie said.
“I’d prefer some bling that does not interfere with my work.” Edwin didn’t like the feel of the modern word on his tongue. There were lots of modern things he didn’t like, but there were others… well, he was coming to terms with them.
“You’ll miss us once you’re not in Port Townsend anymore,” Trixie declared, rubbing up against his calves.
Edwin spent his life as an outsider, the majority of his afterlife in hell, and what time he’d spent dead roaming the earth was with only one person by his side. He thought he wanted it that way. Humans—live ones at least—were frivolous and prone to dying anyways, but he didn’t hate his time with Niko and Crystal, no matter how much he bloviated. He’d also found something charming in learning the ways of the cats. Much like people, he hadn’t ever understood cats, but now he thought he did. They were fickle, but once he stopped trying to puzzle over every single action, the broad strokes became clear. The mannerisms and the games.
At this point, he might have actually understood cats better than humans.
“I think I might,” Edwin said quietly. Trixie glanced up at him, her pupils blown wide with what he could recognize as affection.
“Oh, you old sap! I’m tellin’ Carl you said that!”
Edwin couldn’t help but smile as they stepped into the apparently abandoned warehouse. There was the throne of lost things, illuminated by some mysterious light. If he focused, Edwin could feel the thrum of the Cat King’s magic laced throughout his domain. It appeared he was not home.
But Edwin had learned cats did not always appear when one wanted them to.
“I suppose I should try another time,” Edwin said, turning on his heel only to find the Cat King lurking behind him in the doorway. He had on a tight black shirt of some sort of texture, a pleated skirt that reminded Edwin of the Scots, and a garish amount of baubles. Fashion was mostly wasted on Edwin, but it was rather… pleasing. The way the skirt cinched around the King’s waist, the way the shirt clung to his masculine frame. Edwin knew what that body looked like underneath the shirt, and his eyes darted down, losing some of the bravado that had carried him here.
“Trixie,” the Cat King said coldly, narrowing his eyes at the feline helping herself to Edwin’s bony ankles.
“Hiya, boss,” she responded, and the King’s lower lip jutted out.
“You weren’t supposed to help him.” The Cat King pushed himself off the doorframe, lumbering forward, barely giving Edwin room as he slouched his way to his throne. If Edwin had a beating heart, he imagined it would have skipped a beat at the King’s approach. As it was, he was glad he wasn’t given away so easily.
“But he was just so nice! I don’t know what you’re always complainin’ about, boss. He’s a real charmer,” Trixie said, and the Cat King’s eyes glowed just a smidge brighter.
“He’s been very mean to me,” the Cat King pouted, draping himself across his throne like it was a fainting couch.
“Well, we know you don’t always get along too well with the uprights, boss. You’ve had your struggles in the past, but maybe you two can turn over a new leaf—”
“Trixie!” The Cat King hissed. “Leave us.”
“Alright, whatever you say.” Trixie flicked her tail around Edwin’s knees, and here in the Cat King’s domain, she actually managed to leave a few hairs stuck to his trousers. Edwin suppressed the urge to ask about how that worked, exactly.
The Cat King sighed heavily. He flicked a spare piece of fabric over his eyes, arm splaying backwards in the air. He said, “Go on. You’re here to break my heart.”
“I’m here to answer your question,” Edwin said. The Cat King peeked an eye out underneath his makeshift blindfold.
“How many cats are there?” He drawled.
Edwin flicked out his notebook.
“In reverse chronological order, we have Mr. Paws, Bela Lugosi, Whiskers the house cat, Whiskers the alley cat, Whiskers the forest cat, Hamish, Batman also known as Glenn, Darling, Admiral Meowington—”
As he read off his list, the Cat King sank even further into his throne. It seemed rather impossible, but Edwin knew that cats were contortionist creatures. Edwin stuttered on Abraham Delacey Guisseppe Casey when an errant thought ambushed him—he wondered what other surprising positions the Cat King might be able to show him. He picked up the rhythm again instantly, though now the Cat King was looking at him underneath a shielding hand. He plowed through, confident that his detective skills had solved it this time, but on the edge of his vision was the Cat King’s mesmerizing stare, watching him, analyzing him, picking out all the things he was the most sensitive about.
Slowly, the King righted himself on his throne, his knees splayed wide. A temptation, the kind that Edwin would have once squashed with all the ruthless frigidity of a true Englishman, but now he tried to let it as close as he dared. Let it flirt around the edges of his mind as he focused on something else. It felt lurid and dangerous, to even allow the shadow of a thought. To do something so wanton as to enjoy the sight in front of him.
“Stop,” the Cat King ordered, but Edwin clung to the task, reciting each of the cats’ names.
“—Grandma Purr, Burrito, Cindy Clawford, Jeff, Jeff’s brother, Asphalt—”
“Stop.” The Cat King rolled out of his throne, moving forward with a sinuous, predatory gait.
“I’m simply trying to satisfy your terms,” Edwin said. He pressed his notebook to his chest like a talisman, and the Cat King’s eyes flickered down.
“Stop saying their names—my cats’ names,” the Cat King said slowly. “Or I will kiss you.”
His slitted pupils assessed every tremble in Edwin’s expression—and he did tremble. A bit. He was man enough to admit it.
He could also admit he hadn’t stopped thinking about the Cat King’s lips since the park. Since Monty. His first kiss, stolen in boyish innocence and enthusiasm. He was glad it happened, that the shattering of that first barrier had been entrusted to someone other than him. He’d clung for far too long to the shame of his rearing, nurturing it. Protecting it. Building it a sturdy house in his ribcage since he didn’t have use for anything else in there anymore. Monty had taken a brick, allowing the light to shine through.
Edwin needed someone who could burn it all down. He didn’t want it there anymore.
Edwin swallowed down the initial panic, and something sweet followed. Something that could have been bravery, if looked at with just the right angle. He opened his notebook again.
“Kitty Softpaws,” Edwin said, eyes flickering up to the Cat King’s unfairly handsome face. “Leland. Marky Mark and the Furry Bunch.”
A Cheshire grin curved across the Cat King’s lips as he reached up to pluck the notebook from Edwin’s grasp.
Edwin wouldn’t need it anymore.