Trixter by Alethea Kontis Read Free Book Online Page B

test before.”
    “Well done, me,” Trix said to himself. And then to Lizinia, “Any advice you’d care to impart would be greatly appreciated in this moment.”
    “Just be careful. Be kind. Be wise.” She picked a shiny apple off the ground and tossed it to him. “Be yourself.”
    The front door of the cottage loomed before him. Even with all the talents he possessed, he wasn’t sure he had what it took to stand up to a Cat Lord and declare his intentions toward his goddaughter. As he exhaled, Trix boldly walked up the stoop and lifted his fist to knock. Silently, the door slid open a crack, as if anticipating his entry.
    “Adventure awaits,” he whispered, and stepped inside.

5
    The Grinning Cat
    T he door slammed behind Trix .
    There was no wind.
    He took a deep breath—the air did not possess that stale tang of old silence. It smelled instead as Lizinia did, of honeysuckle and banked embers. His eyes searched the shadows. The main living area was spacious. Couches and chairs formed a circle around a grand fireplace—every one of them soft and inviting. Even the rug looked comfortable. There was a small piano and several stout bookcases—the cats could read? Or they had been collected for Lizinia, who had been trapped with them inside this cozy prison for who knew how long. Trix bet she could quote every page from memory.
    Not a lamp was lit, not a candle flickered. An alcove in the back seemed to lead to the kitchen and, presumably, the living quarters and the rest of the house. Light from the—now unshuttered—windows filled the main room, but Trix could not see beyond the dark doorway. And nowhere was there a cat to be found.
    “Come to the light, boy.”
    The words were wheezy like an errant breeze. The wall immediately to Trix’s left had two large windows. Each cast an equally large rectangle of light onto the floorboards before it. Trix squinted into the farthest rectangle, catching the faintest flicker of dust motes in the sun’s rays at the edge of his vision. Bit by bit, the sparkles of light resolved themselves into a squat, puffy shape.
    Be it this life or the next , Trix thought to himself. Cats do prefer the sunny spots .
    The spectral feline groomed himself, his flattened face making barely a dent in the voluminous fluff of his coat. His fur reminded Trix of smoke from wet wood or storm clouds, both black and white, the shades of gray between them soft and threatening. Just like smoke and clouds, Papa Gatto’s form seemed to shift in and out of tangibility.
    Trix boldly stepped forward into the closest rectangle of light. Papa Gatto might have intended the intense rays of the afternoon to add to the feeling of scrutiny, but Trix felt safe in the sun. He clasped his hands behind his back as Mama had taught him—fiddling fingers were distracting, she said, and made boys look idle.
    Mama had also taught Trix the importance of speaking only when spoken to, in such situations. As Trix waited in that silent square of sun, he came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t be unusually rude of him to get on with the conversation, so long as he’d already been spoken at .
    “It is an honor to meet you…” Trix knew this was Papa Gatto but suddenly felt odd speaking so familiarly. How might the departed patriarch like to be addressed? Trix considered what he knew of cats and went with “…your majesty.”
    Papa Gatto ceased his constant cleansing and looked up at the address. His head was wider than the cats Trix had encountered in the Wood, his ears more gently curved than pointed and set far apart. His muzzle was also far less pronounced. His whiskers pulled down both sides of his mouth, giving the impression of jowls and a permanently stern look, as if he were unhappy with everything. Lizinia had mentioned that Papa Gatto had grinned down at her beneath the apple tree, but Trix honestly couldn’t imagine this cat ever cracking a smile.
    The smoky fur was black as pitch around Papa Gatto’s