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The Language of Cats: Uncollected Anthology
The Language of Cats: Uncollected Anthology
The Language of Cats: Uncollected Anthology
Ebook37 pages23 minutesUncollected Anthology

The Language of Cats: Uncollected Anthology

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The Crossroads Hotel. A place between worlds. A place of magic and mystery.

Brice McCleary, fighting a hellish rainstorm from the driver's seat of an old car. Trapped somewhere between Bakersfield and Flagstaff. Hungry. Tired. Stressed near the brink. His only passenger, a beloved cat named Pepperhead.

A passing semi nearly drowns them. Brice must chance an unlit, unmapped exit.

Pain, wonder, and transformation await him at the Crossroads Hotel.

"The Language of Cats" -- a contemporary fantasy short story full of subtle magic, and heart. From Stefon Mears, author of the Spells for Hire series.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 1, 2019
ISBN9781393951865
The Language of Cats: Uncollected Anthology
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    The Language of Cats - Stefon Mears

    The Language of Cats

    The Language of Cats

    Stefon Mears

    Thousand Faces Publishing

    Contents

    Introduction

    Start Reading

    Uncollected Anthology

    Sign Up for Stefon's Newsletter

    About the Author

    Also by Stefon Mears

    Introduction

    The Crossroads Hotel:


    Consider the hotel: a place often found where two or more roads meet. Your home away from home. The place where business meets pleasure, where opposites attract, where the questions of the soul have no distraction but the mini-fridge and cable TV, and where the familiar gets stripped down to crisp white sheets, the smell of bleach, and a mirror that doesn’t quite reflect the same face it does at home.

    A hotel can give the illusion of invisibility. What happens in a hotel, stays in a hotel…most of the time. A hotel can give the illusion of luxury. A concierge might bring you anything you want…as long as you pay for it.

    And as long as you have a reservation.

    Bring your baggage, bring your business, bring your hopes and dreams…

    But don’t expect to leave the Crossroads Hotel in the same direction in which you arrived.

    The Language of Cats

    The rain came down so hard it slowed my windshield wipers. They creaked and struggled to move that much sheer weight of water.

    The worst was when some long-haul semi came roaring past me, flinging enough to drown a herd of horses.

    Every time that happened – at least once every minute or so – I lost all visibility for three or four eternal, heart-stopping seconds. Always felt as though some other car would pick that exact moment to careen into my lane, or slam on their brakes, or something equally fatal.

    I was on the freeway somewhere between Bakersfield and Flagstaff. No idea what time it was. The clock was broken in my ancient 280 ZX – so old it was technically a Datsun with an engine made by Nissan. The car was older than the cat in my passenger seat, and that cat had to be pushing a decade pretty hard.

    Sweet little thing. Curled up in her fluffy yellow blanket, tucked into the bucket seat, and enjoying what

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