After that first bend, the prints veered toward and up the luminescent, white wall. They ended at alcove-row level, each recess being a foot tall, half-egg shaped, and chest high. Human-chest high. Actually, the prints ended inside the first such small recess. Its brighter, white glow highlighted a familiar-looking bracelet resting on its shelf.

Above and to the sides of the alcove, nothing.

Yet the cat had scaled straight up a wall.

And disappeared into a hollow.

“Impossible,” I breathed.

I ran up to it, and Old Reliable pricked my chest like a mosquito bite, but, unlike that bloodsucker, it did so slowly as if unsure. But I was certain of this: the prints were right under my nose, and the magic didn’t come from them; hadn’t before. I touched one below the alcove. They were there, a touch of warmth on cold, smooth wall. That evoked no stronger pricking. Not the wall then, either. But more important than unexpected magic were the prints.

“Where did your trail end up, Kit?”

More important than that:

“Where did you end up, Kit?”

Above the alcove, the wall stretched bare and unmarked. Completely white. Clean as clouds. Impossible for her to leap to the top. But it should have been impossible for Kit to find clawholds in the first place, even to the alcove.

I looked back at Pit bull’s jewelry box. The only thing inside of that, beside paw prints, was the bracelet centered on the built-in shelf. A shelf perfectly flush with the wall.

The cat couldn’t be in there. Impossible.

One of the lower prints on the wall faded. As I watched, another did. Disappearing, one by one.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Even the last disappeared from the bracelet.

The bracelet. It was made of what looked like white metal with raised black marks--script. I hadn’t looked too closely at Pit bull’s at the shop, but I did this one now. I could read none of it. Didn’t look familiar.

Interesting.

Worth snagging, too. An easy grab, if it weren’t booby trapped. But shouldn’t it be true, what was good for the feline to paw was good for the human?

Usually.

“Coward, dawdling coward, it is the doorway to the kitten’s chosen world.”

“Small door.”

“Simpleton, blind simpleton. Touch the object and be transported after her.”

“That easy, huh?” Yeah, right. Easy came with a high price for idiots this day.

To Her Lowliness’s earth-crumbling sighs, I took out Old Reliable and did some pricking about the alcove. On the back. On the sides. On the shelf. On the bracelet--at that, Ol' Reliable rolled a bit, but reacted no stronger. Might be general squeamishness, but more likely, it was an opinion on magic. Not a strong opinion at that.

Information gained, but information not much helpful.

I returned needle to pocket and made up my mind to test things a little more thoroughly. I thrust my hand in the alcove, brushing down the back of the curved wall.

Ol' Reliable didn't dig in.

I touched the shelf.

No response.

I thrust my hand in, just above the bracelet, but pulled it back before it could touch.

This caused a response at last: a particularly vicious, sweet viny nothing curling about in my head.

"I don't see you volunteering any of your seeds to try it out, Your Weediness."

This time, I slipped my hand in slowly. My fingers brushed the bracelet.

Ol’ Reliable kicked up a sharp, negatory opinion at that.

A little too late, for a light came searing in.

White.

Very bright.

And all consuming.