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arched, teeth bared,
eyes burning with rebellion. I was armed now, tooth and claw.
Whatever came, I could take it.
    But other things had changed, too. What did
come was not my father, not the man I knew, anyway. What came into
that room, seeking me with a hot and urgent need, was a demon of
darkness with eyes as burning as my own, burning with a black fire
of madness and evil.
    This was the true thing that I had risen
against. Not the man who sired me, whose blood ran in my own veins.
We had both changed, turned into something different, something
deadlier, something greater than ourselves.
    I could have fled. As the cat, I was small
enough, agile enough, and the window was open – one leap, and I
might have been safe. But this was a shadow I knew for an enemy –
and it was an enemy for others, not just for myself. Any victory
here would be a victory for other innocent souls which it had
devoured, souls which had lain defenseless in its path.
    Unlike me.
    I stood my ground. The shadow flowed into the
room, over my empty bed, spasmed, shivered, growled, turned; its
claws were none the less deadly for that they were not totally of
this world, because they were more than that, because their wounds
would go deeper than flesh, would scar the soul. And yet – and yet
– they had to be faced, because this was an old battle, and if they
were not faced down they merely grew stronger.
    We came together, the shadow and the cat, in
the middle of the room. The pain was unbearable, incandescent; I
howled my agony, recoiling, twisting, fighting, biting, scratching.
But I too made my mark because where my claws raked the thing
shredded and faded, and light came through the cracks – and that
helped. A little. By the time we broke apart, the shadow to retreat
through the closed door, the small cat with scoured flanks and a
deep claw-cut beading blood above one eye, out of the window… and
running as fast as it could, limping on one wounded paw, towards
the cottage at the end of the street.
    This is a safe house.
    At last, I understood.
    She was waiting for me, the silver-haired
woman, compassion in her eyes. She had ointment ready, and clean
cloth soaked in warm water to bathe my wounds – and I was a girl
again, in this house, my human body bearing the scars of my battle
that night, but fading slowly under her ministrations.
    "The first time," she murmured, dabbing at
the cut above my eye. "The first time is always the very worst. You
have no idea what to expect. And then it exceeds every expectation
you could not possibly have had. It hurts. Ah, it hurts. I know. I
bear my own scars."
    "The other cats," I said slowly.
    She nodded. "Like you, in a way," she said.
"They come here already wounded, creatures seeking sanctuary. And I
help, I am here for all of them. They are all called here before
the worst happens, so that I can meet them, know them, give them
the cookies… with the secret ingredient in it, the one that makes
it possible for them to escape if they need to, to run like a cat
can, clear-eyed in the dark, and find their way back here to be
healed. But you are not one of those. You are different. You fought
the darkness."
    "Who are you?" I whispered, staring at
her.
    "I'm the Protector," she said simply, sitting
back in her chair. "This is what I do, I take in the wounded of
this world and this house, this garden, can make them whole again.
This is a safe house, safe from darkness, safe from harm. Summer
lives in this garden, and sweet dreams under my roof. I am here to
give to all strength and sustenance, and the will to go on… and,
when the time comes, the will to fight what I fight – to one, and
one alone. So – it is to be you, I think. The Protector who comes
after me. You know. You understand. You stood up to fight the
darkness, all alone, on your own. You have the mark of the
Protector on you. With me… it was later, and the pain already had a
foothold in me, the damage was already done. With you, it might
have