Page 11 of The Heart and the Hawthorn

The first time Raziel had purred in Frida’s presence had been one of the greatest moments of her life. But even better had been when Cliff first let Frida go inside with the ghost-lynx. As soon as she’d stepped through the doors, Raz had wrapped her tail around Frida’s legs, her fur deepening to the exact shade of brown as Frida’s eyes, flecked with ripples of blues and coppers. Cliff had said he’d never seen Raz turn quite that colour before. Frida had never felt so deeply and wondrously seen. Raz had licked her arms lovingly until they’d bruised and later, the team had presented her with a cake that said RAZ♥SWAN2 in frosted icing. That evening, she, her mum, Antony and Hamish had celebrated with Frida’s favourite takeaway from the China Garden. That’s when her mum had given her the Kiss the Keeper travel mug. It had made her laugh so hard she’d snorted fried rice out of her nose.

Frida swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She used that mug every day. It was already starting to leak. She didn’t think she had the capacity to consider what she was going to do when it broke. This morning, of all mornings, she’d really been hoping that Raz would be in a good mood. Sometimes, when she was around other humans – even Antony and Hamish, occasionally – it felt as if she was disappearing. Like she was just surviving. But with Raz, with Issy and the others, it was different. It was like their hearts met, somehow, wordless.

It was not to be though, not today.

Frida slid open the gate and entered, shuddering as she passed through. This headache was turning into a full-blown migraine. ‘Coffee,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I just need coffee.’

She waited until Raz came back down to land. ‘Hello gorgeous.’

Raz flicked her tail with disdain, prowling crossly towards Frida across the carpet of pine needles, the scent of snow and sap curling around her. She stared up with narrowed eyes; her pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Her fur was stark white.

Uh oh, Frida thought. She did not have the wherewithal to deal with a Level 5 hissy fit right now. ‘Hey love,’ she said, trying to stay calm. ‘What’s wrong? Are you hungry?’

Raz flashed. Not just a shift, but a blaze. Her fur, her tail, her eyes – all the sudden royal blue of an arctic lagoon. The colour landed inside Frida’s mind like a demand: blue, blue, BLUE. She shook her head to get rid of it, only causing a shockwave of pain to skitter down her spine. Raz snarled and, moving quicker than light, slammed against Frida’s leg. Frida stumbled, catching herself as Raz transitioned urgently to a different shade – not lagoon now but the steely, angry blue of the beginning of a storm. Then a flash of brilliant white. The accompanying rush of emotion, all snapping winds and icy teeth, made Frida cry out. Then Raz became the hot purple of fire, and the colour slapped into Frida, clagging her nostrils with fear.

Purple . . .

She remembered last night how she had been lit up with purple.

Before she could do anything, the ghost-lynx had bounded away in a dizzying horizontal lunge. Frida watched, bewildered, as Raz became a literal rainbow, turning colour after colour. Frida had never seen her this het up before. When Raz finally came to a stop, the lynx froze in the centre of the enclosure, surrounded by craggy rocks and cascades of honeysuckle. The cat was trembling. The sharpness of orange blazed through Frida’s mind. Attached to it, like a note tied to a balloon, were words, along with the pungent, unmistakably metallic scent of the spaces between the stars. ‘You are different.’

Frida blinked. ‘What?’ she whispered.

‘You are different.’

Colours burst behind her eyelids, as if they were waves, trying to crash over a breakwater. The vivid iridescent green of a hummingbird’s wing. A blast of night black. Rust red. Toffee gold. The underside of a beetle’s shell. The warm yellow of an afternoon. Lavender. Amber. Holly-berry red. And more. As the spaces between the stars blazed behind her temples, colour after colour burned through her. They were all trying to say something, landing in her mind like letters of an alphabet she couldn’t decipher. What. Was. Happening.

She just stood there, gaping like a fish. Raz pushed against her, flicked her tail.

‘I don’t understand!’ Frida exclaimed.

Raz’s stare was slitted and feline, before she dropped her head in disappointment. All at once Raz dimmed to grey. Drab, ash, slate. The vibrant energy drained from her, and like a strobe that’s run out of battery, the colours wilted.

Frida felt her failure. ‘I’m so sorry Raz, I’m trying to understand.’

The ghost-lynx butted her hand gently as if in forgiveness. Then Frida had a sudden vision of a long icy lake surrounded by pine needles and sap, a flash of hot pink, the pink of a flamingo’s wing, pure happiness, home, and then grey again. And that was it. Raziel changed back into the cold white crust of snow. Her markings stood out like splatters of pale cream as she looked at Frida in that devastating way only a cat is capable of.

Suddenly, Frida’s radio buzzed. ‘Hawk for Swan2, do you copy?’

Frida jolted.

Raz was already turning away, spreading her wings.

‘Raz!’ Frida cried. ‘Wait.’

‘Swan2, do you copy?’ It was Sora.

Frida gave a moan, grabbing her radio. ‘Copy. What’s up?’ Her heart pounded as Raz took off, disappearing into the emerald darkness of the treetops. Sora was speaking, and Frida had to shake herself to listen. Her nostrils flared, but all she could smell was honeysuckle.

‘. . . Urgent, we really need some help over here. Cliff said you’d be delighted.’

Frida blinked. ‘What?’

‘Frida, we need you at Dragon’s Deep. Do you copy?’

It took her a moment. ‘What?’ she repeated stupidly. ‘Why?’

‘Sorry, can you hear me? One of the vet students spilled his tea over the last batch of bloods we took from Lucky. Irma’s hopping.’