The first thing she notices is the kaleidoscope of colors. She’s in freefall, plummeting through this endless rainbow tunnel. She can’t help but feel like Dorothy on her way to Oz or Alice stumbling upon Wonderland. But unlike Dorothy or Alice, she was on a quest, one that would end with demon blood on her hands.

Suddenly, the colors in the tunnel change. The rainbow gives away to a soft periwinkle. And the ground, which had seemed so far away, rushes toward her.

A scream builds up in her throat. Panic sets in her bones. She closes her eyes, bracing for the immense pain waiting for her. But before she could crash into the ground, she stopped falling. She was no longer hurtling towards the greenfield but floating down, cradled in somebody’s arms.

She cranes her neck to see the face of the person who had rescued her. Alas, at the angle she was being carried, the most she could see was a pair of black wings and steel-toed boots.

A comforting smell rolls off the person holding her, like the air after a heavy storm. She knows the name for that smell, but can’t remember it now. What was it again?

Petrichor. The smell was petrichor, the natural oil plants released on a rainy day.

The person carefully places her in the grass. Just as Nicole was going to turn around and thank them, they vanished, leaving only a single black feather in the grass.

“I … thank you?”, she said. She looks at the sky and the field around her. How does a person disappear like that? Unless she was rescued by something that wasn’t human. If goddesses like Lillian exist, who knows what else could be lurking in the world?

“Meow.” The noise breaks Nicole’s train of thought. A black cat rubs against her legs, purring. It immediately reminds her of Jessie, her cat back home. Not even a day had passed and she already misses him.

“Baby,” she coos, crouching down to the cat at her feet. She runs her fingers through its soft black fur, marveling at its silver eyes. The cat was beautiful, the kind she’d imagine accompanying a witch as a familiar.

“You’re a pretty baby,” she said. “What are you doing in this field?”

“Mrow,” the cat said. It swats at the nearby grass, pouncing on a bug.

“Ah who am I kidding,” she said, “you can’t understand me.” Thank god there was no one around. She felt a little ridiculous trying to talk to a small animal.

The small animal in question walks out of her grasp, heading north of where she was standing.

“Wait, where are you going? Don’t leave me,” she said, going after the cat.

Her words only encourage the cat to move faster, forcing her to run through the grass.

I signed up to kill a demon, not to exercise, she thought. She was running for what seemed like an eternity. But, as the sun begins to set, the cat slows down, walking at a manageable pace.

Her stomach grumbles. She hoped that the cat was leading her to a place with food. Now that she thinks about it, where was this cat going? She feels stupid once again. Instead of gathering food or finding shelter for the night, she had decided to follow a cat. Natural selection was going to kill her.

But still, she continues after the cat. It felt right to her, even though she saw no end to their walk. And as she watches the sky shift from orange-pink to purple-blue, she holds on tighter to that feeling.

This cat belongs to someone. It wasn’t feral, as it didn’t try to attack her in the field. It was used to being around people.

But aren’t black cats bad luck? What if this cat leads me to my doom?

She shakes off the superstitious nonsense. Cats were good animals and this one was going to help her. She just knew it.

At that point in her walk, the sky had turned black. A full moon illuminates their path and the cat keeps marching forward like a small furry soldier. She was finding it harder to spot the animal, but as long as she followed its paw prints, she was never that far behind.

Finally, she sees a house come into view. Scratch that. It was too big to be called a house. Even with just the moon as her only source of light, she could see it was a massive fortress.

The cat bounds up the steps with ease, a prince returning to his castle. She hesitates for a moment before following the furry creature up the stairs.

At the door, the little animal motions for her to knock with its paws. She shakes her head nervously. The cat glares at her, making the motion again. She knew she was being silly. After a long day of being sweaty and hungry, she should be knocking down the doors of the fortress. But she balks at the idea of having to talk to a stranger.

The cat grows impatient, scratching at the door. Nicole sighs. She gathers up her courage, balls her hand into a fist, and knocks on the door.

“Hello?” A maid steps out, rag in hand. “Who’s there?” Then, she looks down at the cat at her feet and smiles.

“Mr. Whiskers!,” the maid exclaims, gathering the cat up in her arms. “Where have you been, you silly cat? You missed your dinner.” She looks around. “And who did you get to knock for you?”

Nicole, the mysterious door knocker, was hiding in the bushes, witnessing the reunion between the cat and the maid. Her social anxiety had kicked in at the last minute, dissolving her courage and sending her away. Now she trembles in the bushes, too scared to ask for entry into the fortress.

The maid was not a scary-looking person. On the contrary, she seemed harmless, with kind eyes and round cheeks. And with her copper plaits and short stature (Nicole guessed she was under five feet), she was the least threatening person imaginable. But still, Nicole was anxious.

“Meow,” said Mr. Whiskers, jumping out of the maid’s arms.

“Come back here!” The maid chases after him, leaving the door wide open. Seeing this as her only chance for shelter, Nicole races through the door, slipping into the fortress.

Inside, she was greeted with a marble bust on a stand and several plush red chairs around a fireplace. A chandelier hung from the painted ceiling. The walls were covered with intricate tapestries. Her jaws drop. Whoever owned this place was loaded.

Nicole’s stomach rumbles, reminding her of her main reason for sneaking in: food. Where was the kitchen?

She wanders around the floor, walking from room to room, finding more chairs and richly decorated walls. Most of the house was surprisingly empty. If she saw the occasional servant, she either ducked into another room or crouched behind a chair. After some more wandering, she stumbles upon the dining room.

At the center of the room was a long, mahogany table, with ten chairs surrounding it. She saw at the far end of the table that there was a small simple dinner, accompanied by candlelight and a small vase of flowers. Well, dinner was a generous description of the bowl of soup and the slice of bread, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The smell of the savory soup wafts towards her. Onion, tomato, carrot, and - was that chicken or pork? She rushes over to the setup, not caring if a maid or butler saw her. She tears off a piece of bread and dips it into the soup.

The taste of the soup mixed with the bread was heavenly on her tongue. She devours the bread in a matter of seconds, dipping every piece into the soup. Before she knows it, the bowl of soup is empty, leaving her fuller than expected.

“My compliments to the chef,” she said to the empty table. She was already beginning to feel the onset of a food coma.

Just then, she catches a flash of an apron. A maid! She quickly ducks under the table.

“Has the Lord come home yet?”, the maid said, standing over the place where Nicole had eaten. “Someone’s finished the first course already.”

Another maid rushes into the room. “No ma’am. He’s not due for another hour.”

“Then who ate the soup? Was it you again? What have I told you about eating the Lord’s food?”, the first maid chides.

“I swear I didn’t touch it,” the second maid said.

“That’s what you said the last time. Go prepare this course again,” the first maid demands.

“Yes ma’am.” The second maid walks into the kitchen, resigned.

“Greedy pig,” muttered the first maid. “As if we don’t empty the icebox for her every night.” She stomps out of the room.

Once the maid’s steps had fully retreated, Nicole crawled out from under the table. That was a close one. Judging by the way the maid spoke, she was glad to have avoided her wrath. But where to now?

As if to answer her question, the black cat appears before her again, leisurely strolling into the dining room.

“Kitty!,” she exclaims, bending down to greet him. “You’ve got quite the home here.”

“Meow,” he said, licking his paw as if to say that the mansion wasn’t much of anything at all. She laughs at the cat’s arrogance.

“Is there a place for me to stay here?” she asks.

“Meow,” Mr. Whiskers repeats, meowing slightly louder and walking out of the room.

I think he wants me to follow him again. Or he could be leading her to her doom. Once again, she decides to put her fate into the paws of a cat. After all, it worked last time.

She tiptoes after him, making her steps as quiet as possible. She follows him up a winding staircase and past a set of heavy oak doors. Upstairs, the carpet muffled her steps so she was able to walk faster and keep up with the cat.

Their walk was short and it ended abruptly before a stone wall. Mr. Whiskers had led her to a dead end.

“I can’t stay here for the night. Someone will see me,” she whispers to him.

The cat rolls his eyes. He begins scratching at the wall. When she doesn’t move, he bites on the fabric of her jeans, dragging her closer.

“Look I don’t see what’s so special about a stupid wall,” she said, touching the carved stones. “I won’t be sleeping on the floor.”

One of the stones felt strange, smoother than the others. Maybe the small furry animal was trying to tell her something about the wall. She presses down on the stone and hears a click. The wall opens, revealing a secret entrance.

“That’s so cool,” she said. “Sorry I ever doubted you.”

“Meow,” Mr. Whiskers said, giving her a stern look. He licks his paw again, busying himself with cleaning his fur.

She peers inside the hidden room. Most of the furniture was covered with white sheets. She makes out the vague outline of a bed and a desk.

“This is perfect. Thank you,” she said, petting the cat. Finally, she had a place to rest.