Transformed [W&W Book 1]

Chapter 3

"Your sister's gone?"

Daphne looked like a startled deer and then finally replied, "Well, she's with me in spirit."

"That's such a good attitude," the woman cooed towards Theresa in a voice that raised Theresa's irritation drastically.

The woman lowered her voice. "And you have this pretty lady here to keep you company. Is she your familiar?"

"Uh, no," stammered Daphne. "I'm not a witch," she added.

"I understand. It's better that you don't admit it, of course. My brother was a warlock and people often troubled him about it. It's only wise to be cautious."

"But I'm really not," Daphne stated.

"Of course you're not, dear," the woman agreed conspiratorially.

Theresa did not know why Daphne was arguing so much when she should be getting them away from all these prying eyes. What did she care what the woman thought?

It might even be a good thing if people assumed Daphne had some power beyond her general aura of helplessness. Better that than having them realize Daphne was a runaway whose return might net a sweet reward.

Theresa realized that the woman was still talking to Daphne as she petted Theresa's back.

Theresa wished she could tell the woman they needed to get some rest. Of course she was incapable.

She wondered how long Daphne would remain the woman's captive audience and how long she would be subjected to being petted by the nosey woman.

Then Theresa noticed a weird sound, like a deep rumbling. Then she understood and the understanding horrified her.

She was purring.

"Get me out of here!" she tried to snap, but it came out as a strangled meow. Curse her cat throat and tongue!

The woman smiled, showing missing teeth. "Awe, I think she's telling us that she's tired."

Theresa resisted the uncatlike urge to nod vigorously.

"Goodnight then," Daphne said and then fled from the room with her bag swinging wildly and her feline sibling in her arms.

When they got to the room, Theresa noticed there was only one bed and it looked dubiously clean at best. She eyed it distastefully.

It was probably was full of parasites; though she had little experience with such distasteful things.

She glanced at the bed again. There might be fleas, something she had never had to concern herself with before, but she now suspected might be an unfortunate possibility.

Theresa and Daphne had never really had to deal with filth.  Francine's obsession with control had extended even to the aspects of hygiene in the castle. The servants had cleaned themselves daily and anyone who deviated was expelled from their aunt's tightly held sphere of control.

Theresa thought it odd that she might appreciate anything that her aunt had done, but the nasty little room truly did highlight in contrast Francine's one good point.

The thought irritated her.

Daphne was standing in the middle of the room, looking lost.

Theresa sighed. There was nothing to be done about the substandard lodgings so she jumped up on the bed, fleas or no fleas.

Daphne followed her lead with an expression of disgust across her face.

She was clearly no more satisfied with the state of the bed than Theresa was. She sighed deeply. Theresa curled up on a corner of the bed and shut her eyes.