Croe endured the familiar’s attack without giving her the pleasure of a reaction – two could play her game, if this was how Sperantia wanted to play, and the punch was nothing compared to The Boot. It was unnecessary, petty even, and the excess of it made her clench her fingers into fists. But her assumptions and theatrics drew a smile from her. She studied the creature out of the corner of her eye, slowly turning back to center. Her expression was frigid.
“You have no idea who I am,” she said simply, yanking the amulet from around her neck. “or what I am capable of.” Mallos tossed his amulet carelessly to the grass before the crouching cat, though Croe wished she could have shot it like a bullet through the fur-clad skull instead. It sailed in a gentle arc, and before it hit the ground, the god had vanished.
Croe-Mallos reappeared in an empty cellar of the castle, which was lucky. In her frustration she had teleported randomly out and down, wanting only to put some distance between herself and the impossibly irritating feline. Summoning the familiar sensation of her healing powers, amplified a hundred-fold by the potency of the god, she erased the bruise that was forming along her right jaw. She imagined walls around her mind, like a forcefield, to keep out the prying Sperantia in case she had managed to mark her in some way. But magic could not ease the building fury that in the very first moments of acquiring all this power, a goddamn house cat had ruined her immediate plans. Pushy, obnoxious, vain, meddling pussy. If she hadn’t hated the animals in her previous life, she hated them, now.
But nevermind. Mallos’ face might not be of any use to her, but his powers still were. She thought of transparency and shadows, focused on ridding herself of the vision of his thick hands with their wisps of black hair, and was soon wholly invisible. If there was one thing to be said for the familiar’s intervention, it appeared to have adjusted Croe’s learning curve. She would look for what she had wanted, take it, and get out. No need to spend any extra time exploring in the place Sperantia would already expect her. What a complete waste of energy over a map, she thought to herself, and reached for the door handle.
It opened before she could touch it. In the doorway, three servants were carrying casks of wine, obviously intent on storing them in the room Croe was occupying. She shrank back against the wall beside the door, watching them as they filed in, oblivious to her presence. When they were all inside, she crept behind them and out, and tiptoed up a nearby stairwell, remembering only as she reached the top that she possessed enough magic to silence even her heaviest steps.
So. Sperantia had been right about experience. How she had known was anyone’s guess, although Croe supposed that, being an original, the possibilities were few. That was disconcerting. She would have to be very cautious, to avoid attracting any more unnecessary attention from the gods.
Or their pets.
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