A Cloak of Blood and Shadow

 A Cloak of Blood and Shadow

By Dreamstar

The skyline of New York City was shrouded in fog, muffling the shouts and honks of people rushing by. The stormy gray sky above was being stabbed by skyscrapers, as if the buildings were trying to stop the rain from falling by forcing the sky upwards.
In one of the darkest alleyways, a cat’s hiss could be heard. The sound of claws tearing flesh. Blood spattering the ground.
Suddenly, a streak of black tore out of the alley, a bright red cloak flapping behind it. It flew down the sidewalk, dodging people walking briskly down the cement paths. It was a cat.
Abruptly, he bumped into a pair of very well-polished black shoes. Terrified, the cat gazed up into the face of the owner of the shoes. He was what looked like a businessman, in a crisp black suit with a red tie, and impeccably combed hair. The man stared down at the cat with utter disgust on his face as he saw the blood pouring from the wounds in his face and chest.
“Ergh,” the man said, and he drew back his leg and kicked the cat right in the face. The poor cat yowled in pain and scrambled away from the man, who continued walking, while muttering, “Vermin.”
The cat suddenly stopped in his tracks in front of a tall, red-brick apartment building. He had now lost so much blood that it was seeing in double-vision.
Spotting the fire escape that led from each apartment to the bottom of the building, the cat practically dragged himself to the bottom of the stairs, bunched its legs beneath it, and sprang.
He hit the metal bars with a clang, spraying blood everywhere. He needed to get to the top apartment, it was the only place where the cat’s injuries could be healed. Mustering the last remains of strength he had, the cat forced himself to crawl up the fire escape, his pain and sudden drowsiness growing worse with each step. Finally, the cat reached the top, where he collapsed, just managing to meow weakly, before passing out altogether.
The cat stirred in the darkness of sleep. A calm woman’s voice was saying his name.
“Kai? Kai? You awake yet?”
He had to answer, he had to respond, but his mouth didn’t seem to want to open. The cat’s eyes fluttered open.
The woman leaning over him had short, wavy chestnut hair held back by butterfly clips, a round, kind face, and large, sapphire-blue eyes. The cat meowed feebly, and suddenly transformed into a man, with light brown skin and bright green eyes. “Yeah, I think I am… or this is a very realistic dream,” Kai replied drowsily.
The woman named Isabelle laughed, but quickly got serious again. “Stay right there while I go whip something up,” she said, hurrying to a small kitchen. For the first time since waking up, Kai took in his surroundings. He was lying on his back on a comfortable blue velvet couch, and he felt bandages crossed across his chest and face, though they were quickly soaking through with scarlet blood.
Across from him was a small round table, with four chairs, and beyond that was a small kitchen. Art supplies were everywhere, from easels with half-finished paintings in the center of the room, to buckets full of paintbrushes next to them. A delicious smell drifted across Kai’s nose. It was Isabelle’s garlic vegetable soup.
Isabelle brought a steaming bowl of the soup over to him, then bent down and crouched next to him. “Keep still, and try to resist eating as best you can,” she instructed, both her hands hovering over Kai’s chest. She closed her eyes in a look of severe concentration, the bowl of soup sitting uneaten on the table next to her. Kai’s stomach growled audibly, and he fought down a laugh. Isabelle’s mouth twitched. Suddenly, a warm glow spread through Kai’s heavily bandaged chest. It was like steam was filling his lungs, though not unpleasantly. He looked at his torso and saw that a pale blue glow had formed in the space between Isabelle’s hands. Then he noticed that the steady drip, drip of blood from his face had stopped, and the warm gush from his chest had vanished! Isabelle had truly mastered her power, Kai thought with pride.
Isabelle had opened her eyes, and was now gingerly removing the soaked bandages from Kai’s torso. Below, the skin had completely healed over, leaving just a purplish stain on the couch. Kai reached up and took off his face dressings, touching the smooth skin underneath. He smiled at Isabelle, and she smiled back. “There you go,” she said happily, handing him a sweatshirt the color of fire. Kai gratefully put it on and started on his soup, which filled his stomach with warmth such as he had rarely experienced. “Now that you’re completely healed, would you mind telling me why I found you covered in blood on the fire escape outside my studio?” Isabelle added severely.
Kai sighed through his nose mid-sip. He started to explain that a dead girl had been found on the doorstep of a woman’s house, how she had had no injuries, but a black mark across her forehead. There had been no human witnesses, so Kai had decided to ask local cats if they had seen anything odd around the time of the attack.
Most of them had told him that they hadn’t seen anything, but one of them, named Smoky, had told him that he had heard a big tom named Shadow talking about a strange happening at the time of the murder. Kai had approached Shadow down a dark alley and questioned him about what he had seen. “Well, by my fourteenth question, ol’ Shadow got a bit--er-- testy with me. Asked me if I thought he was behind the attack, and, well, I kinda lost my nerve, he’s an intimidating guy, Shadow, and, well, I sorta stammered an answer, which apparently wasn’t good enough for him, so…” Kai finished with a violent gesture as if slashing the air in front of him.
Isabelle, who had been listening with rapt attention, sighed.
Kai braced himself for a scolding, though he felt an irritable twinge. Who was she, to lecture him about recklessness when he had nearly died?
But when Isabelle spoke, it was with suppressed rage. “That son of poison, getting so paranoid he nearly killed you!” she stormed, heading to one of her easels, picking up a brush, and violently slashing it across the canvas.
Abruptly, her face changed from thoughtfulness, and then to delight, as she gazed fixedly at the streak of black paint she had made. Positively squealing with joy now, Isabelle suddenly tore over to Kai and hugged him so hard he thought he might start bleeding again. “Oomph-- Izzy, what are you doing?”
Isabelle looked at Kai, shining with utter delight. “I’ve been inspired!”
“To do what?”
“To paint, of course!” Isabelle said excitedly. “Think about it,” she continued, “black like a shadowed heart, merged with red, for the unseen wounds of a soul, with tinges of milky-blue for the little humanity that remains! It’d be like--like-- a cloak of darkness! Or-- or a bloodied shadow, or--” Suddenly she gasped. “A cloak of blood and shadow! Oh, Kai, thank you, thank you, thank you! This is just the thing I needed!”
With a final squeeze, Isabelle let go of Kai and hurried back to her easel, where she proceeded to slash and slice her canvas so aggressively that Kai wasn’t sure if she was using a brush or a sword.
It was quite cozy, Kai thought sleepily, lying there on the couch, propped up on pillows, listening to the rain beating against the windows, with a steaming bowl of soup in front of him, and Isabelle, his good friend, painting furiously next to him. Kai felt himself drifting back into sleep, and his eyes had just closed when a knock on the door jerked him awake again.
Isabelle finally looked up from her painting. “Must be the groceries!” she exclaimed, still elated by her newfound inspiration. She opened the door, her face splattered with paint, but it was not groceries. A hunched figure wrapped in a dark coat was standing in the doorway, a mixture of rain and blood dripping on the floor at his feet. “Hello, sister mine,” the man said, leering.