Cat's cradle – Strange Tales Of Halloween 2024 – Prompt: several ;)
A/N: A light story with some creepy elements for the season. Beta by the wonderful @hayanwulf. Prompts from the event Strange Tales Of Halloween 2024 @a-strange-server: Claws | “I don’t take orders from a cat.” | Shadow | Demon | Halloween
Stephen deserved a cup of hot tea, with a little honey. Actually, make it a lot of honey: today had been a fruitful day full of successful ghost hunting. The celebratory tea wasn’t meant to be, apparently: he felt a growing tension in the Sanctum, heavy enough to make him stop in his tracks on his way to the kitchen. It suddenly transitioned into something alarming, and Stephen turned toward the corridor of seldom-used practice rooms, trying to place the origin of the feeling. His pace quickened with every step until he was running full-tilt for the last few feet.
He came to an abrupt halt. The door to one of the practice rooms opened wide at his presence, as if welcoming him. Yet the feeling of the room was anything but welcoming. The unpleasant hum he had felt in his breastbone earlier became audible now. The light streaming from the open door pulsed in a staccato rhythm, conducive to a piercing headache. He faced it all head-on.
The room was filled with a complicated latticework of flashing strands of energy, crisscrossing the space like intangible strings. At the center, where many of the lines converged to form a luminescent nexus, stood a familiar human shape.
Stephen groaned. It was not a whine.
“America? What is this supposed to be?” His voice was calm, given the circumstances, with just a hint of tension.
“Stephen? It hurts!”
The cry for help spurred Stephen into action. He took in the scene again, trying to make sense of it, but the complex spell had barely any parts he recognized. He had to rely on his instincts. He reached out mentally and grasped the wavering energy lines. He straightened, flicked his hands and pulled a fistful of the pulsing strands to himself, forcing the terrible harsh light into a bearable glow.
He was able to discern more of the novice now—her desperate grimace and glowing eyes, her hands grabbing at the energy lines trembling in a way that made Stephen’s look steady. The room still looked just as confusing as before: the short bursts of light should have created sharply outlined shadows on the walls, but instead an indistinct mass like heavy smoke swirled menacingly around America’s feet.
Stephen hooked the strands with his will, like strings over fingers, pulling and twisting them into new patterns. He wanted to reduce the complexity and slowly dissolve the spell, but it had a mind of its own, refusing to cooperate.
America adjusted her footing and loosened her grip on the strands. The lattice moved into a star shape and held it for a moment, and Stephen snatched at the chance. He delicately tugged at a knot, taking over from America seamlessly and turning the tangle into a simple frame.
In turn, the shadowy mass erupted around America, streamed toward the ceiling through the spell-frame, doused its light, then dropped down in the furthest corner. It had taken on a somewhat more solid shape now.
Stephen squinted.
“It’s a cat.”
“It’s a demon!” whispered America breathlessly. “Look at the glowing eyes… And the black fangs… It’s a shadow demon, it’s come to tear out our souls!”
“Kid,” whispered back Stephen in exasperation, “stop being melodramatic!” He was, of course, aware of the irony of him requesting this.
The cat-demon-shadow creature used his momentary distraction to leap at his face, use it as a springboard, and somersault out of the open door into the dark corridor. Its claws left burning streaks of pain behind. Excellent. Lifting his trembling hand to his face, carefully avoiding pressure on the injury, Stephen turned to America.
“Now would be a good time to quickly summarize what this was supposed to be?”
~~~
America was one of the more bearable people visiting for Sanctum duty. She was funny, self-reliant, knew no fear (or at least, little fear), and only needed to be told what to do once, maybe twice—unlike most of the lot. The downside was that she had little to no fear of Stephen, and her self-reliance combined with her inventiveness could lead to situations like the current one.
“So, you integrated several summoning and shadow shaping spells into the Harridan Rites. But to what purpose again?”
“I wanted to decorate for Samhain, as a surprise for you. With moving shadows.”
“Since when does one decorate with shadows for Samhain? Is carving turnip lamps and weaving hawthorn wreaths not enough? Admit it, you wanted to make it spookier for Halloween…”
America made a face of unbelieving, falsely accused innocence. She had mentioned being curious about Halloween earlier, when Stephen had given her the short, requisite orientation upon her arrival at the Sanctum. But that was in the morning, just before heading out, and he had been too preoccupied with reducing the hauntings in his assigned area to pay it enough mind.
They were scouring the Sanctum up and down for the escaped shadow creature. Almost an hour went by with no success. The Sanctum itself remained frustratingly uncooperative. The feeling of danger had disappeared completely. The Cloak showed up only to trail after the two of them for a few minutes, then slipped away wherever without helping. Stephen would remember this when it came to brushing time.
After running around futilely, Stephen decided to turn this into a learning opportunity for America. He showed her the wards against intruders in the Observation Room and demonstrated how to run an active check on the Sanctum. He knew it would be of no use for detecting the creature. If the wards didn’t alert him and the Sanctum didn’t guide him to the source of danger, there was, from a magical point of view, no danger. At least no greater one than what always lurked in the Sanctum.
As evening turned into night, America began to flag. Stephen checked her again for residual malignant energies and found her clear for the third time. So, he sent her back to the dorm in Kamar-Taj.
“Are you sure, Stephen? Shouldn’t I stay with you? It’s not safe to be alone like this. The demon could attack you again any minute now.”
“It’s a cat, America. And although I appreciate your concern, your respect would be more welcome in this case.”
“Notice how I’m not speaking in Spanish. Out of respect to you and your ignorance.”
“Your consideration fills me with awe.”
“And gratitude?”
“No, para nada.”
America laughed and turned back from the Kamar-Taj Gateway for a quick hug. Stephen let her prevail. He even managed to untense a smidge.
America let go of him and seemed to hesitate a bit before speaking up. “Thank you for coming and untangling the mess I made. I only kept my control because I knew you would help me.”
“No need to thank me. But you’ll consult me before trying something innovative again, won’t you?”
“I will. I’m sorry. For being reckless. And also for getting you hurt. And releasing a demon in the Sanctum.”
“Oh, get out of here already!” Stephen grinned.
America left with a crooked smile and a small wave. Stephen made his way to the bathroom connected to his bedroom and took out a disinfectant from the medicine cabinet. The burning sensation on the right side of his face came from the three neat, parallel lines torn into his cheek. Not too deep, thankfully. But why was it always his cheeks? A mystery.
~~~
The next morning started bright and early. It was research day, finally! Stephen went to the Sanctum library to gather the next books on his list. He even made sure to put some aside for America, that fit her new interest in the holidays of this universe. He piled his bounty on his study table, brought snacks and tea, set up additional alarms on top of the usual ones, and dove in.
During the day, whenever he resurfaced, he heard unfamiliar sounds, reminiscent of the patter of paws, claws clicking and scratching. To stretch his legs, he went into the kitchen to prepare more tea by hand and was greeted by a strong, unfamiliar odor. Splendid. Hopefully, the thing didn’t mark up his scant supplies.
The food was untampered with, but a quick check on the astral critter population showed a decrease in the bigger ones. That was all right by Stephen—he wasn’t enamored with the vampiric blobs and the book-eating giant insects anyway. What he also wasn’t fond of though were the remains of the critters (some venomous fangs and spindly, barbed legs) he found under his study table.
The scratches on the chair legs didn’t faze him: the Sanctum had some excellent self-healing furniture, and should it prove reticent, Stephen had some mending spells he wanted to try. They would be a good choice to teach America next time as well. It could keep her occupied and out of trouble.
All in all, the cat was doing cat things. And yes, it was a cat in every way that mattered. Stephen knew cats. He had grown up with several cats—barn cats, to be precise—until he left his family, and with it, his childhood behind. They had practically raised him in many ways. Stephen was aware that this statement, should he share it, invited jokes—how, even if he wasn’t raised by wolves but by cats, it still explained a lot about him. But the barn cats were very well socialized.
In the afternoon, the event Stephen had felt was inevitably coming but had deliberately kept out of his mind occurred: a visit from Wong.
“Are those empty plates beside the Tome of Crystal Foci?” Wong asked.
Stephen made a quick gesture to send the plates to the kitchen and turned a composed face toward Wong, calm as they come.
“Wong! A fine day to visit. What can I do for you?” There was no need to address the pertinent topic any sooner than necessary.
“America says you are harboring a dangerous shadow demon in the Sanctum.” Ah, leave it to Wong to get straight to the crux of the matter without any polite nonsense. He also looked pretty harried, if Stephen was honest. His usually impeccably tied belts were a bit loose, and his hair was standing up more than usual. But he wouldn’t thank Stephen for going easy on him, now would he?
“Harboring? Her exact words, I’m sure.” Maintain a poker face. There was nothing extraordinary here.
“You also didn’t really chastise her for the unsupervised experimentation.”
“That also sounds like something America would say. ‘Stephen didn’t chastise me, Wong, please go and chastise him.’ Very likely.”
“No, she used more colorful expressions and less insolence. Look, Stephen. America feels very guilty. And she’s also worried about you.”
“That kid has a terrible sense for what constitutes danger.”
“You are one to talk. What she described is dangerous, Stephen. Let’s not speak about how you left America to her own devices—”
“—I had been assigned to ghost hunting!—” yelped Stephen. How unjust was it to double-schedule him and make it out to be his fault!
“—and let’s only evaluate the summoned entity. Made up of shadows, obviously a predator—”
“It’s a cat!” Stephen threw in, exasperatedly.
“Regardless of its cat-like shape, the Harridan Rites work with demonic energies. As you well know. Don’t make this face at me. This face contains bloody marks, Stephen, not very effective to convince me the entity is harmless.”
“I never claimed it was harmless. But it isn’t all that dangerous either. The Sanctum would know; I would know. It’s been hunting the letter bugs. You of all people would appreciate that, wouldn’t you?”
“So, it’s killing already?”
“Bugs! And such like! Come on, Wong.”
“…Such like. I see. We’ll have the next magical extermination seminar in the New York Sanctum, it looks like.”
“No! Not a seminar! I’ll catch it and show it to you, all right? Nobody else needs to be inconvenienced!” Stephen rushed out. He sat up very straight and proper, every bit the responsible sorcerer and Sanctum Master.
Wong stared at him blankly. Then he seemed to crumple. He sighed and sat down, pulling out one of Stephen’s teacups from its hiding place behind a grimoire and drinking all its contents in one big gulp.
“Stephen, I’m not doing this to torture you.”
“I know.”
“I’m worried. And rightfully so.”
“I know. You don’t need to be, but I know, and I’ll do my due diligence. Honestly.”
“Before Samhain? Shadows grow stronger and stronger in this area until then, you know that as well.”
“No worries, Wong. I know cats and also shadows.”
~~~
Stephen knew cats and also shadows. He obviously didn’t know shadow cats of the demonic variety. The creature evaded every last attempt to capture it. Traps were left unsprung. Stakeouts were unsuccessful. He only caught sight of it a handful of times, as it darted from dark corners to other secluded places. It seemed to grow in size at a steady rate. On one memorable occasion, it appeared from under his bed after he had spent every free minute searching for it and desperately needed a power nap. It blended into the shadows of his bedside table and vanished. Stephen had to work through his adrenaline response with some extra breathing exercises.
Sadly, the Cloak was performing below their usual level of competence. They were more diligent in helping Stephen with his manual dexterity exercises than in assisting during the hunt. Novices were forbidden to come and help out for the time being, because of the supposed danger. Everyone above their rank was busier than ever, as this period fell between mystically significant times that various cultures associated with the harvest and the border between life and death. Stephen was alone with this task, and he was getting a bit miffed.
~~~
Stephen woke with a start in the middle of the night. Luminescent eyes greeted him so close to his face that he had difficulty focusing. He lurched into motion, clapped his hands, and snapped out glowing tendrils from between them—only for them to trail uselessly in the darkness of his bedroom. With a wave of his hand, the candles flared up, their light revealing the cat sitting in the open doorway. Its shape was blurred by the shadowy mist swirling around it. The creature had grown even larger, now about the size of a panther. Not that size mattered in these things.
To Stephen, it still appeared to be a cat, with pointed ears like black flames and yellow eyes. Its sharp black teeth were permanently on display though, as it had no lips to draw back. The mist reminded Stephen of swishing tails and seemed to express an almost palpable disdain.
It blinked slowly. Stephen blinked back to communicate friendliness. It turned around, looking back at him, its expectant attitude clear despite its smoky shape and perpetually menacing face.
“Don’t tell me there’s a little Timmy somewhere. With a well… Or did you perhaps prepare a mousetrap for me?” Not expecting an answer, Stephen stood up, spelled his sorcerer’s garb on, and stepped out into the corridor after the cat.
The Sanctum was silent, and no suspicious movement in the mystical energies caught Stephen’s attention. The cat, as was its wont, dissolved into the shadows. Still, something was afoot. Stephen decided to visit the Observation Room again, where several wards were anchored for easier monitoring. He turned left, and after just a few steps, the cat's form coalesced before him, blocking the width of the corridor imperiously and forbidding him to go any further. A low hiss served as a warning.
“I don’t take orders from a cat.”
The hiss grew into a distinctly uncatlike, unearthly sound, as if it were rattling from many throats, with higher tones mixed in. The rattling and whistling reminded Stephen of the old teakettle his college roommate had. Its faulty valve had produced a very similar sound. That kettle had been a health hazard, just like this cat.
Stephen took a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on the aggravating beast. The rattling shifted into hissing before fading into silence. After a few tense moments, he decided to collect more data on the cat’s behavior. He turned around and began to walk away, ready to duck at a moment’s notice. The cat glided past him, somehow using both the walls and the floor, which unsettled him even more. It stopped at the end of the corridor, blinked at him again, and slipped around the corner.
After a few false turns, guided by the cat, Stephen finally stepped into the foyer. The Cloak came hurtling from one of the side passages and settled onto his shoulders.
“Now you show up? Where have you been? Sniffing at the laundry again?”
The Cloak slapped his calf, clearly not appreciating his humor.
Stephen peered suspiciously down the stairs into the corridor leading to the Kamar-Taj Gateway, where a wisp of dark mist was just seeping away. He then lifted into the air and slowly descended.
He had barely touched down before the Gateway activated. The double doors beyond its surface swung open, revealing a crowd of people on the other side, all clad in gray and white. They moved frantically and in a disorganized manner, jostling one another as they backed away from something out of Stephen's sight. Though the general clamor was muted, their sense of urgency was unmistakable.
One person from the crowd stepped up to the door frame and locked eyes with Stephen. It was America, both a relief and a cause for the worry already churning in Stephen’s gut to intensify. She shouted to the others, prompting them to move toward the Gateway. At first, only the nearest two responded; then the Novices further back in the Hall of Agamotto’s Orb turned and hurried through to Stephen. They brought with them frantic energy, panicked shouting, and the acrid smell of fire and smoke.
Stephen flattened himself against the wall and raised his voice over the cacophony: “Go on through! Step out into the foyer! No need to shove each other, but make space!”
The people seemed to listen, their panic lessening, though the cramped corridor was slow to empty. America was the last to run through, having waved the others forward. She hastily described a fire of unknown origin laying waste to the practice courtyard, the novices' dorms, and the refectory, seemingly burning stone and wood alike. Its strength and unpredictability both made Stephen suspect a magical source.
“What about the others?” Stephen glanced at the still-open Gateway, keenly aware of the ongoing threat. He saw no movement, only thickening smoke. The refugees slowly shuffled along in the relative safety of the Sanctum corridor.
It turned out that the few Apprentices who were supposed to keep an eye on the Novices in the morning were unaccounted for. As far as America knew, everyone else had left Kamar Taj on missions. She and a few others tried to round up everyone they could, but some must have fled into Kathmandu, and the smoke and heat prevented her group from going after them. Few of them had sling rings, and those didn’t seem to work, so they retreated to the permanent gateways instead. At first, all three were locked, but then the one to New York opened, and here they were. Stephen’s stomach clenched at her words. He wanted to step through himself to help, but leaving the refugees alone would be irresponsible and… The decision was taken away from him as the Gateway closed and didn’t open at his prodding. It was locked.
Swallowing a sense of trepidation, Stephen clapped America on the shoulder, muttered a ‘Good job!’, and sent her to guide the novices from the foyer to a conference room to evaluate injuries. As he moved to herd the remaining refugees further into the Sanctum, he was suddenly forced to a halt: the shadow cat had dropped down from the ceiling. It let out an eerie shriek, making the earlier rattling sound seem like a calming melody in comparison. In an instant, the cat’s shadowy form filled the narrow passage to safety, completely blocking the way. The Sanctum behind it was shrouded in darkness. Only two stragglers remained with Stephen, trapped between the Gateway and the shadow creature.
Stephen didn’t hesitate. He leapt forward, wedging himself between the cat and the two Novices—a young boy and a middle-aged woman in heavily singed practice robes. Both looked terrified beyond measure, clutching each other’s hands tightly.
Stephen spread his arms wide, ensuring the Novices remained safely behind his back.
“What’s the matter with you? Let us through now! There’s no need for violence,” Stephen rasped, his throat raw from the bitter smoke that had clung to the refugees. While he intended to stall, he also conjured his shields.
But the creature wasn’t interested in his reasoning or his measly protection. It flowed around him, seeping into his robes, into his skin. His breath hitched, yet the terror he should have felt was muted, as if behind a heavy curtain. Was the creature suppressing his natural emotional responses? He tried to clench his hands, to no avail. It was definitely affecting his motor control. His cognitive functions—his ability to think—seemed to remain his own.
Abruptly, the shadows turned his body, and he found himself now facing the boy and the woman. He saw the smoky shadow waft from his mouth and his nose, and swirl in the hollows of his eyes. An incongruous thought struck him, trying to elicit an inappropriate laugh but not succeeding: what a spooky apparition he must be now, with shadows pooling over his eyes—America’s shadow decoration taken to the extreme. His determination didn’t waver. As long as he had control over his mind, he retained some control over his magic. He would not succumb to this creature. He would not harm his charges.
Suddenly, and bloodcurdlingly, the third eye in the middle of his forehead burst open unexpectedly, shattering his illusion of control. The drab, ashen-faced figures before him turned into a bonfire of roiling colors—forest green and dirty blue for both of them, with pale yellow in addition for the woman.
Then he saw it. Both feet of the boy and the sole of the woman's left foot were a disturbing red, with drips traveling upward, glowing like embers and consuming the colors surrounding their bodies. They must have come into contact with something malicious and highly dangerous. Maybe they had tripped into the magical cause of the fire.
“Step out of your shoes and step back,” he growled. It seemed the creature was relinquishing at least some control back to him.
The boy obeyed instantly, stepping on his own heel to kick off his trainers while tugging on the hand of the woman—his sister, or maybe mother. His trembling was evident even through Stephen’s altered vision. Finally, she broke free from her stupor and did the same. They both backed away hastily.
The redness stayed with the shoes. Good. Now something to contain it, and quickly. Stephen lifted his arms of his own volition and slapped the Cage of Dorian—a half-sphere of amber light—over the shoes. It was a fruitless endeavor. The red glow grew, shattered Stephen’s hold, and formed into a monster shrouded in flame lunging at him. He grabbed his Cloak, sent them to rescue the novices trapped behind the creature, and conjured his Eldritch Blade in a smooth motion.
The shadow cat left his body with a throaty rumble, snapping his third eye shut again.
The whoosh of displacement tugged Stephen forward and to the side, giving the creature one last chance to exert control over his body. He let the movement carry him to the corridor’s wall and slashed his blade upward in a controlled arc.
The fire monster sent a whip of flames after him, the weapon's tendrils writhing like living things. Stephen ducked and continued his swing. His blade tore a gash into the monster's blackened wing. It threw its head to the side, its twisted horn barely missing Stephen’s shoulder.
The shadow cat sprang at the fire monster’s back, then lost its catlike form completely, twisted around its torso, and squeezed in a clear attempt to fight it. Though it was unable to douse the flames, it provided a few precious seconds for the Cloak to abscond with the novices and for Stephen to seal the corridor behind them. Turning back to look into the fire being’s eyes, which burned with ancient, malevolent intelligence, Stephen knew this might be his last fight. He only hoped he could buy enough time for the others to find help.
~~~
Fighting in close quarters was not Stephen’s greatest strength. It was more luck than design that enabled him to keep the monster from burning him to cinders. The minutes stretched out painfully, and he struggled to keep his footing. He managed to slice off one of its horns, destroy its whips, and reduce the heat it emanated enough that the floor beneath its feet was no longer melting. But he had reached his limit, and the monster wasn’t slowing down or weakening at all. The flames that enveloped its body were still deadly.
Despite his small victories, Stephen was still losing, and he knew he couldn't hold on much longer. He forced down the familiar sense of dread.
The shadow, diminished in size by now, threw itself with abandon against the intruder again and again. It managed to latch on to its maw, occupying its attention, and Stephen retreated a few steps, his breath coming in short gasps.
The heat was unbearable, and the air was probably thinner than was healthy for Stephen. Normal flames would have already grown smaller due to a lack of oxygen… probably. But these weren’t normal flames.
There was a thought, though! If Stephen could find the mystical equivalent of the oxygen the monster’s fire needed and block it... By lowering the flames or even extinguishing them, the monster could become vulnerable. He felt his resolve strengthen.
The idea barely took form in Stephen’s mind before the monster tore the shadow into pieces, leaving him no more time to plan. He threw everything he could think of at the snarling face coming for him, trying to smother the flames. He conjured various liquids—or rather, summoned them from the Sanctum's hidden storages. He coated it with the shimmering dust that fell from one of the relics originating from Egypt, said to interfere with connections to several dimensions. Nothing helped.
In his desperation, there was only one last thing he could think of: use up everything, like drawing out the air from the area or igniting a backfire would do in the case of a normal fire. He vaulted into the corner at the Kamar-Taj Gateway, cupped his hand, and called up the Dissolution Matrix. He hurtled it at the monster’s back.
The Matrix opened up like a bloom, transforming everything it could in the small room. It sucked up every kind of energy Stephen had inscribed in it—including the ambient radiation of his life force. The implications were clear: he would lose consciousness, and soon.
The flames on the monster’s limbs were the first to flicker and die. It thrashed about, thumping against the walls and roaring as if in pain. Stephen squeezed himself further into the corner to avoid its flailing, protecting his head with his arms.
The last thing Stephen saw before losing consciousness was the final flames extinguishing on the monster’s head, a small shadow tearing into its writhing form through its howling maw, exiting through its nape and then dispersing into nothing, and the Matrix erupting into blue butterflies.
~~~
There was a commotion outside his door. Stephen sat cross-legged on his bed, eyeing his lightly twitching hands. His left one was burned. He seriously contemplated numbing it from the elbow down—but that was just him whining. The damage was superficial.
He sighed heavily, only to regret it when the movement tugged at the bandages over his shoulder. Burns there as well. The whole room reeked of the burn salve America had generously swathed on him before another novice covered his wounds with sterile dressing and gauze. At least none of the burns were serious enough to require a hospital visit.
The commotion became too loud to ignore, so Stephen slid his legs over the side of the bed, though he didn't get up. After awakening among the rubble from the fight, he had activated the Gateway to Kamar-Taj—thankfully, it worked again. He had unsealed the corridor, let America drag him into the foyer, opened portals to the other Sanctums, checked in with the Masters, asked for aid, and finally given in to the novices' pleading, allowing them to provide medical aid. Only then had he left America in charge, assigning the Cloak as her second in command, and taken shelter in his room. There were too many people in the Sanctum.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, wishing hard that whatever it was would just go away, he felt his shoulders droop in relief when Wong stepped in.
“Wong! You are taking care of the novices, aren’t you?”
“The novices are well and are happily exploring the Sanctum,” Wong said matter-of-factly.
“You're a true comedian, Wong. I hope they keep to the approved areas.” The Sanctum wasn’t alerting Stephen to anything alarming, but it was also occupied with repairs. Who knew what could slip under the radar, so to speak.
“America is riding herd over them,” Wong said as he pulled an armchair across from Stephen and sat down.
“Good. What happened in Kamar-Taj? Where did the real-life version of a stunted Balrog come from?”
Wong grimaced and rubbed a hand over his already spiky hair. “Remnants of chaos energy, hidden in a mirror, all this time. After getting out, it spread quickly, and it warped the dimensional energies enough to prevent travel. We don’t know yet what managed to overcome its influence long enough to open the way here. It could have been your presence. But it prevented casualties, thank the Vishanti. The loss is already great enough. A lot of what we had barely rebuilt is destroyed or marred beyond use.”
Stephen didn’t know what to say. There was probably nothing that could be said. He could, however, distract Wong from his woes for a bit. “You know, the shadow cat you all have been so suspicious of? It warned us. It also fought for us, to its own detriment. It killed the chaos entity in the end and then vanished.”
“I heard it from America and Ms. Shaiwan. What happened after you sealed yourself in, Stephen?”
Stephen made a laconic report in the original sense. He began with the wake-up call from the cat, summarized the situation, listed what worked and what didn’t against the chaos entity, and gave a brief roundup of the injuries and lost resources in the New York Sanctum.
“This method of yours deserves further investigation, but well done.” This was a rare word of almost-praise from Wong. “I've been thinking about your shadow cat as well, Stephen. I looked up a few things about the original spell constellation. It required some key components that America had left out, and I suspect it got them from you. You gave form to the shadow entity she had called up.”
“Sounds plausible.”
Wong allowed a small smile to show. “It imprinted on you. Looks like you have catlike tendencies.”
“Of course I have them. Anyone with healthy boundaries should.” Cats were very assertive creatures in Stephen’s experience.
“Luckily for us, you’ve also internalized the role of a protector. That’s why you shaped a protector-cat shadow being.”
“It’s more likely that it imprinted on me at the moment of its embodiment, when the main purpose in my mind was to protect America and the Sanctum,” Stephen said dryly.
“That works as well.” Wong stood up, stretched his back, and groaned. “Now, use your time to convalesce, Stephen. Light duty.” He stopped before opening the door and turned a suspiciously satisfied expression toward Stephen. “Only taking care of yourself and your novices. It’ll take time to rebuild again; we need to clean more rigorously, it seems.”
“My novices? Wong!”
Wong quickly pulled the door shut behind him. Stephen huffed. The audacity!
Everything was blessedly silent again. He looked down and wiggled his toes. And if there was a small wisp of shadow weaving in and out between his legs on the floor, nobody needed to know, did they?
