Chapter 13

 Mary’s hideout is… strange, Missy surmises, in a different way than the cemetery cats’ had been. First of all being that the cats had a much stricter hierarchy than what Missy was used to, with an actual leader and other cats who were assigned work. The name ‘Mary’ also was a title given to each leader regardless of their own, derived from some important Owner name from long, long ago. At least, that’s how the secret keepers told the story. Mary’s block was strictly matriarchal as well, with all seers and secret keepers being sisters.

    Somehow, Missy didn’t think that these cats would be responsible for the Old Crone’s death. They were too… zealous in their worship of the Day Cat. Missy and Moon were curled up under a dusty piece of silver bone that gave some shade from the sun while Hemp was continuously charming the sentry sister. Mary herself had greeted them when they’d entered the hideout, a sandy-colored, spotted sister a few turns older than Missy, and declared the three of them guests until nightfall. They’d joined some of the cats for grooming and gossip earlier, retreating to the silver bone when Missy couldn’t feel her paws anymore. She was tired.

    “Isn’t it strange,” Moon meowed softly, turning towards Missy. There was something feverish in his gaze. “How there’s no single orange cat present? I had noticed it at the cemetery as well.”

    Missy flicks her ears. “We’ve met Dusty.”

    “Dusty wasn’t of the block. I heard that there had been an orange sister named Louisa who left Mary’s. Twine-Sky’s mentioned it to Hemp. The sentry.” Moon added, at Missy’s confused look. “And we’re looking for an orange cat.”

    “With black marks, or the other way around,” Missy added, automatically. Moon frowned, heaving himself up.

    “See, but what if we’re wrong. What if we’re looking for two cats: one orange, one black.” He stared at her, pointedly. Missy was uncomprehending for a second, before her fur stood on end and she hissed.

    “You’re accusing Dusty?! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

    “Not Dusty necessarily,” Moon demurred. “But the cat with him, Magpie? He was holding an owl. They prey on kits, and I’ve never seen a sister or brother catch one. …their scent carried something foul.”

    Missy stared at him, aware at how much sense it made. “And Pinecone is an orange cat who knew the Crone from days past.” They shared another look. “…I hope you’re wrong, if only for Dusty’s sake,” Missy admitted.

    “I’m sorry,” Moon said, softly, “but it feels- right, somehow. Let’s go and save my brother from the sister before I become an uncle.” Missy chuffed a laugh at that before they set off to look for Hemp together.