Strangeness and Charm: The Courts of the Feyre by Mike Shevdon Page B

moved quickly around to the partly open bedroom door and listened. From the stairwell came a shuffling shifting noise, then a dull thud, followed by a long low growl. My heart thumped in my chest – oh now I can hear my heart, I thought. Blackbird would be so pleased.
      I prayed that no one else would hear my thumping heart as I slid sideways along the wall above the stairs, watching the open stairwell for something ready to leap on me. Where was Tate when you needed him – wasn't he supposed to be watching my back? Something shifted on the floor below me, heavy but moving quietly. There was a creak, a shifting sliding noise like a sigh, then quiet.
      Then it occurred to me – I was the invader here. I was the one out of place. Whoever or whatever was downstairs probably knew this house well and knew every creak of the floorboards, whereas I was the one breaking in with a weapon in my hand. Maybe I should put it away – what did Blackbird say – to the man with a scythe, everything looks like grass?
      A low growl from downstairs changed my mind. If I was going to face whatever was down there, I wanted to do it with a sword in my hand.
      I slid around and down the outside edge of the stairway, keeping my weight against the wall where the stairs would be less likely to creak. My movements were covered by the commotion at the front of the house, and I could see a first floor landing through the bannisters with three doors opening off it. There would be more stairs below these leading to the ground floor. The door to the rear room was pushed closed, the other two were ajar. I watched the two open doors as I reached the landing.
      At the end of the hallway was a coat-rack, with a couple of adult coats and a smaller pink coat hanging there. It reminded me of my own flat which I had lost. The lower stairs would lead down to a doorway, possibly shared with the neighbours or possibly a separate private access for the upstairs flat. The downstairs would be a self-contained flat of its own. The police were probably in there even now, trying to assess the situation upstairs.
      Quietly, I pushed the door to the rear room open. It was a compact kitchen with white units and a stainless steel sink, built out over the rear extension. A bottle of blackcurrant squash was open on the counter and two mugs were placed by a kettle. It looked normal.
      I moved towards the second door. The smell strengthened.
      Pushing the door to this room open I could see it had been furnished with a large double bed against the far wall. On the bed were two things – my eyes flickered between them. Standing on the bed was the huge black cat I encountered in the corridors under Porton Down, its black fur rippling in the orange-tinted light coming through the heavy drapes. At least I assumed it was the same one – there couldn't be two like that, surely? Lying on the sheets beneath it with her throat ripped out was a woman, her blood soaked into the sheets. Her dead eyes stared at the wall, uncaring, unknowing. It stared down at her and I could hear its soft pant timed with the ripples in its fur.
      Its head turned in one liquid movement and it caught me in its gaze, the gold flecks in its amber eyes catching the dim light. I held that gaze for too long; it launched at me, twisting in the air and I fell back, pulling the door closed after me. The cat hit the door and clawed a section out with an easy sweep that cracked the door back against the wall, booming through the building and leaving the door sagging from the bottom hinge. That gave me a moment to stagger around and back up the stairs before it slid round the door. It rippled to the bottom of the stairs and mounted the first steps, its hind legs bunching for a leap.
      I edged backwards up the steps keeping my eyes on it, brandishing the bright blade. It ignored the steel and readied for a spring, but then paused, looking back through the doorway to the bedroom. It licked