Ruby was gone.
Winston leaned against the front counter of his magic shop, rattling the empty glass potion bottles. Behind him, the beaded curtains clinked, still moving from the violence of his panicked run through them.
He had searched every inch of the shop, called her name, looked beneath shelves and inside boxes. He picked up his coat, peered behind cabinets, and tossed aside piles of books.
Ruby, his familiar, was missing.
His hands shook, not sure what to do next. Ruby was a petite black cat, barely nineteen months old--a child really, a teenager, who thought she knew the world and didn't.
Had she slipped outside? It was March, cold, damp, drizzly March. Ruby loved her comfort. She hated getting her paws wet. She often asked him to carry her from the store to the car.
She would never go outside in this kind of weather, at least not voluntarily.
And that's what scared him.
He took a deep breath. He had to calm down. He had to go about this logically. Ruby was a familiar, and she had a distinct personality, but she was a cat. Perhaps something intrigued her enough to overcome her aversion to cold air and water-covered sidewalks. Maybe she had gone outside and he hadn't noticed.
But how? He'd been working in the back all morning, doing potions. He'd worked steadily and quietly, no radio, no stereo, nothing to accompany his work except his own breathing. He hadn't heard the bell over the door jingle. He hadn't felt the wall shake as it often did when the door closed.
Ruby had come in with him that morning, like she always did. She watched him mix for a while, and then she went through the beaded curtains to flop on the counter.
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