Then a noise interrupted the silence: A soul-shriveling shrieking came from above. Woody shot past Nat like a heat-seeking missile, leaping up the entire staircase in two bounds. Nat followed, the noise getting gradually louder as he climbed the stairs. Then it stopped. Wildly, Nat looked around. All the doors were closed except one. He ran to the end of the corridor, just in time to see Woody’s tail disappear inside.

“Wait!” Nat called, and bounded after Woody. The shrieking noise started up again; it sounded like someone was slowly feeding a cat through one of those mangles that used to squeeze the water out of clothes.

All Nat could see when he entered the elegant bedroom was Woody’s furry white back end sticking out from under a vast, four-poster bed. His long tail was slowly wagging to and fro, and whatever was making this unholy racket appeared to be under the bed. Nat knelt down and counted to five before he reluctantly pushed his face under the frilly bottom of the bedspread.

Two familiar lapis lazuli eyes glared back at him.

“Clawdia!” He laughed, shaky with relief. He grasped her front legs and pulled her out as gently as he could. She hissed at Woody, but seemed happy enough to snuggle into Nat’s arms, still fizzing like a dying firework.

“I wish you could tell us what happened to your mistress,” murmured Nat, stroking her delicate head.

Clawdia yowled dolefully and Woody whined miserably.

“I can’t believe it,” Nat spluttered, near hysteria. “I’m stuck in the weirdest situation of my life, and neither of you creatures can talk!”

This thought sent him off into wild laughter, but he pulled himself together when he felt Woody’s breath on his face. Nat felt bad. Obviously his friend still couldn’t change whenever he wanted to, despite all the practice. It wasn’t fair to complain.

“Sorry,” he said gruffly, wiping his eyes on the lacy bedspread. “C’mon. Let’s go and …” He stopped talking abruptly.

Woody was staring at him, fixing him with a topaz glare just like the one Nat had seen way back in Tate’s yard.

Uh-oh, thought Nat. The evening sunlight seemed to be sucked out of the bedroom, leaving a shimmery, dreamlike glow. He steeled himself as he felt again the strange sensation of Woody pushing at his mind. But what? What was he trying to show him? Would it be something that had already happened? Something that was going to happen? What? The glow faded, just as the sun had seemed to go out in Tate’s yard, and Nat tried in vain to see. Please don’t let it be anything too horrible, he prayed.