Kate Daniels 04.5 - Magic Dreams

salad was delicious. Whenever I went, I’d buy a two-pound tub of it and then pig out as soon as I got home.
    I parked Pooki on a remote street, stepped out of my car, and stripped off my clothes.
    There was a thing that August’s family would dislike even more than having to speak to outsiders. They would go to great lengths to avoid attracting attention. And I was about to Cause a Scene.
    My panties were off. I crouched and scratched a name in the pavement with the car key: Jim. Next I put my glasses on the passenger’s seat, locked the car, dropped the keys behind the left wheel, and took a deep breath.
    The world dissolved, swirling into a thousand
bokeh
, blurry little lights in every color of the rainbow.
    Pretty colors.
    Ooooh, so pretty.
    Mmm, pretty, pretty.
    So many scents. I liked that one, and this one, and this other one was kind of disgusting, and this one made me hungry.
    I licked my lips. Mmm. Yummy smell, so good.
    The
bokeh
slowly came into focus: I was lying in a street. Hmmm. I knew this street. This was South Asia.
    Why was I here?
    I looked down. On the pavement in front of me, right between my two paws, was a single word:
Jim.
    Jim. My handsome, awesome, scary Jim. Rawr. I smiled and sniffed the name. It didn’t smell like Jim.
    A memory popped in my head like a soap bubble bursting: Jim, dying, soul siphoned, Keong Emas, poachers, August. I came here to find out why August had disappeared for twenty-four hours.
    I rose and padded around the corner. The magic was still up and when the light caught my fur, every hair gleamed. People stopped and stared. They knew who I was; I had come to South Asia before many times. They knew my magic, too, because it rolled off me with every step.
    I walked over to the door of Komatsu Grocery and lay down in the middle of the street, staring at the door.
    People looked at me, shocked.
    I gave them a nice big smile. That’s right, look what big teeth I have. I knew I was a vegetarian, but aside from Jim and a few friends, nobody else did. Besides, just because I didn’t eat meat, didn’t mean I wouldn’t bite.
    The few people aiming for the store decided they had better places to be.
    After fifteen minutes August’s second cousin, who liked to call herself Jackie, stuck her head out the door. I released my claws and stretched, making long scratches on the pavement. She gulped and ducked back in.
    I could just imagine the conversation inside: “She’s lying in front of our store!” “In front of our store? In the street where everyone can see?” “Yes!” “Oh no.”
    Minutes passed by. A little blue butterfly landed on my nose. I blinked at it and it fluttered to my ear. A big yellow butterfly gently floated over and landed on my paw. Soon a whole swarm of them floated up and down around me, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened in my backyard, too, if the magic was strong enough. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason I made them feel safe and they gravitated to me like iron shavings to a magnet. They ruined my ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.
    If a baby deer frolicked out from between the buildings trying to cuddle up, I would roar. I wouldn’t bite it, but I would roar. I had my limits.
    I flicked my tail. Hmm, a half hour had passed and we were getting close to the forty-five-minute mark. The family was trying to save face or having an argument, but if nobody came to say hello in the next few minutes, their behavior would be edging on rude. One can’t ignore a mystic white tiger on their doorstep. It just wasn’t done.
    The door opened and August’s auntie bowed and held it open. “Please, come in.”
    I trotted inside, leaving my Lepidoptera entourage outside. August’s auntie led me past the counter to the back room, where August’s grandmother, his uncle, and his mother sat. The entire Komatsu family with the exception of the children and August’s white father. Their faces looked ashen.
    I sat, curling my tail around me.
    We looked at one another.
    “We know why you are here,” August’s uncle said. Mr. Komatsu was a solemn-looking man in the best of times; now his expression was so grave, he could’ve been carved out of stone.
    I waited.
    “August is dead,” he said.
    I sighed. August was the first male son in his generation. The one who would be forgiven every wrong and permitted every privilege, because years later, when