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gone.”
    â€œBut—but—” Wendy sputtered. “They were just here!”
    Wendy jumped off her bike, letting it clatter to the ground. She raced up to the front doors of the building. She yanked the handles.
    The doors were locked.
    Wendy peered in through the glass panes. All she saw was an empty room.
    No tables. No booths. No cats.
    No Mrs. Bast.
    No one to open the clasp. No one to take back the werecat charm.
    The cat show was over. Everyone was gone.
    And now there was no way to find Mrs. Bast.
    Wendy would be a werecat forever.

10

    A s soon as Wendy slammed through her front door, she raced over to the telephone table. She flung open the phone book and flipped to the Bs. But there was no Bast listed. Not in Shadyside. Not in Waynesbridge, the next town over.
    Wendy hurled the phone book to the floor. I’ll never find her, she thought. Never!
    â€œIs something wrong, dear?”
    Wendy glanced up. Her mother stood in the kitchen doorway. She wore a worried frown.
    Wendy wanted to tell her mother everything. She even opened her mouth to start speaking. But then she stopped. What could she say? Her mother would never believe her. Believe that her “advanced” daughterturned into some kind of monster after midnight? No way.
    Besides, Wendy felt terrible about taking the charm. She didn’t want to admit she had done something so dishonest. Her mother would be disappointed in her.
    No. Wendy couldn’t say anything. She would have to solve the problem herself.
    Her mother was still standing in the doorway. Wendy smiled. “No,” she lied. “Everything’s fine.”
    â€œWell, in that case I could use some help,” Mrs. Chapman said. “I just made brownies and I need someone to lick the bowl.”
    â€œHey, Mom,” Wendy said, standing up. “It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
    *  *  *
    Later that night Wendy carried a plate of brownies into the family room. Her mother and Brad were already sprawled on the couch, a huge bowl of popcorn between them. Mr. Chapman popped a video into the VCR.
    â€œI got a movie I think you’ll enjoy,” he told Wendy. “It’s called Bell, Book, and Candle. There’s a Siamese cat in it.”
    â€œCool!” Wendy commented. She liked Saturday-night movies with her family. And maybe a movie with an ordinary cat in it would take her mind off her extraordinary cat problems.
    Brad rolled his eyes. “Bo-ring,” he said. But he grinned and grabbed a handful of popcorn.
    Wendy scrunched down on the floor with her backagainst the sofa and the plate of brownies on her stomach. But once the video started, her mind began to wander.
    To wonder.
    Would she turn into a werecat again?
    Of course she would. She never got the charm off. There would be no way to stop the transformation.
    What would happen? Would the black werecat be out there? Would they fight?
    â€œHow do you like the cat?” Wendy’s father’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
    â€œWhat?” For a moment Wendy didn’t understand what he was talking about. Did he mean the black werecat?
    Of course not, dummy, she told herself. Her father meant the cat in the movie. Pay attention!
    â€œIt’s pretty,” Wendy murmured. But she hadn’t really noticed.
    The video ended at a quarter to eleven. With a loud yawn Brad rose, stretched, and went up to his room. A few moments later Wendy’s parents followed. Finally Wendy slowly climbed the stairs to her room.
    Maybe it won’t happen tonight, she thought.
    But she knew it would.
    Maybe, I can avoid the black cat. I know! I won’t go out at all! I’ll be safe that way.
    That was the answer! Wendy was determined to stay inside. I can make my own decisions, even if I do turn into a werecat, she told herself firmly. I’ll stay home.
    Feeling more relaxed, she put on her nightgown andturned out the light. But she