Tracie Hicks

The gavel’s thud reverberated through the courtroom, momentarily silencing the cacophony of accusations and defenses. Brad, a seasoned legal predator in the city’s most esteemed law firm, released a held breath. A brief respite in the whirlwind of a murder trial. It was in this stolen moment of calm that news arrived, sharp and unexpected—Aunt Millie was dead. Her legacy? Three cats.

A Blue Bengal, a Savannah, a rare black Ashera. Dollar signs danced in Brad’s eyes. Over $200,000, he calculated, enough to fuel his lavish lifestyle. Millie’s house, a tomb of forgotten memories, smelled of dust and decay. He hadn’t seen her in twenty years, not since he’d fled their shared past for the frigid embrace of ambition. The house, like the cats, was just another asset to liquidate.

But stepping inside, the air thick with the aroma of aged wood and mothballs, Brad encountered a different kind of wealth. Antiques, polished to a gleam by time, stood like sentinels in the dimly lit rooms. Millions, his mind buzzed, picturing the antique furnishings replaced with sleek, modern surfaces, the rooms awash in the cold, artificial glow of LEDs. He would sell the cats, gut the house, and rebuild it in his image—a monument to his success.

The estate lawyer, a woman whose tailored suit and sharp gaze spoke of power, swiftly dismantled his aspirations. He could renovate, she decreed, but nothing could be sold. Not the antiques, not the dusty furniture, and certainly not the cats. Every change had to prioritize their well-being. Frustration coiled in Brad’s stomach, a viper gnawing at his ambitions.

He decided the cats would become tools of seduction—exotic, alluring accessories to draw women into his web. He would hire a caretaker, of course. But the lawyer’s next words clipped his wings. Brad, and only Brad, would be responsible for their care.

He moved into Millie’s decaying house, his modern belongings clashing with the antique furnishings like intruders in a forgotten kingdom. As he delved into his aunt’s possessions, an unsettling truth unfurled—Millie, his deceased mother, and sister had been practitioners of witchcraft. The discovery sent a chill down his spine. The agreement stipulated he was bound to keep it all, though it remained silent on the ‘where’.

Renovations commenced, a flurry of hammers and saws. The cats were exiled to a sterile kennel. Brad banished his family’s unsettling legacy to the basement, sealed behind a newly erected wall, hidden from sight and mind. He would uphold his end of the bargain, but only superficially. The house would be his, a testament to his will.

The cats returned, drawn to the false wall as if by an unseen force. They paced, their mournful cries echoing in the renovated rooms, their claws raking at the smooth surface. Brad tried to divert them, to no avail. Each night, as he slept, a sensation like cold claws raking his soul would jolt him awake. Three pairs of eyes, luminous and unwavering, stared at him from the foot of his bed. He would chase them away, the disquiet growing with each encounter. This nightly ritual persisted for nine long days. Finally, the cats, their patience at an end, took action.

While Brad waged legal battles in the sterile environment of the courtroom, the cats ripped through the false wall with a primal fury. He returned home to find not just the wall demolished, but the basement door flung open. A chill, colder than any courtroom, invaded his bones. He flicked on the basement light, dread coiling around his heart.

Three figures materialized in the dim light—his mother, sister, and Aunt Millie. He stumbled back, his mind recoiling from the impossible. The world dissolved into darkness.

He awoke in his bed, the impossible encounter a fading nightmare. Then, his mother walked in, bearing a steaming cup of tea. Her familiar scent, a calming blend of lavender and chamomile, filled the room.

“Why do you run from us?” she asked, her voice as familiar and soothing as the scent.

“You’re… alive?” he stammered, disbelief warring with the evidence of his senses.

“Of course, dear,” his mother smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “We are descendants of Bastet.”

A groan escaped Brad’s lips, frustration mixing with disbelief. “Not this again.”

“It is your time to join us, dear,” his mother’s voice held a gentle insistence. “That is why we left you the property. You are the guardian now.”

“Guardian of what?”

“Of Bastet, and her secrets,” his aunt Millie’s voice, a gravelly whisper, filled the space. 

Brad could only stare, struggling to comprehend. They had faked their deaths for this? To become… animals? What possible reason could there be?

“When the time is right,” his sister’s voice, a playful lilt he hadn’t heard in years, cut through his confusion, “you too will have the power to transform.”

This was the folklore he’d spent his life escaping. He craved tangibility, the solid ground of reality, a world away from his family’s mystical tales. He yearned for a life free from ancient deities and inherited powers.

He couldn’t escape his past, but he could use it to forge a new path. Piece by piece, he shed his old life by selling off most of his possessions. He brought his family’s legacy out of the shadows, transforming the basement into a haven for Bastet and her son, Maahes. It became a sanctuary for his mother, sister, and aunt, a secret haven only revealed to trusted few.

One day, a sleek brown Persian cat appeared on his doorstep, scratching at the door with insistent grace. As he opened the door, the cat shimmered, brown fur melting into the form of a breathtakingly beautiful woman. He met her gaze, mesmerizing green eyes holding ancient secrets, and knew he no longer desired escape.

He married her, their love a tapestry woven from shared secrets and ancient magic. They had children, their laughter filling the old house, breathing new life into its aging bones. When the time came, Brad embraced his heritage, transforming into a majestic Scottish Fold. The house remained, passed down through generations, a silent guardian of Bastet’s secrets. The legacy continued, woven into the fabric of their lives, a testament to family, magic, and the acceptance of a destiny long denied.