Moonstone: The Battle Begins

By Chris Salamone

In ancient times, cats were bestowed with special powers to balance and preserve order for all life on Earth. Kept secret from humans, these powers were forgotten as time went on and cats became more spoiled and pampered; until one day an evil witch plots to steal these forgotten secrets in a wicked plan to overtake Mother Nature. Only a few select breeds can reclaim and harness their powers to unite and defeat the witch – and the key to their success is the most powerful of their lineage, a Moonstone named Scarlet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483524719

Book preview

9781483524719

Prologue

No! It was inconceivable to him that he would have to give it up. The endless scheming, the relentless efforts, the trials and errors, the now fleeting thrill of success, all evaporating in a stand-off of insurmountable odds.

I won’t give it back! Dominick shouted out his mouse hole. If there were a portlier mouse in the neighborhood, he would have to be an impressive specimen to rival the blubbery size of this over-stuffed house mouse. I worked too hard to get it! I need it.

The robust gray and brown mouse was the hardest working mouse around. Not only had he spent weeks, months even, tunneling an elaborate labyrinth through the house; but he had built himself a virtual mouse palace using pirated items he had collected. The walls were fit with towers of half-eaten Styrofoam cups stacked like pantry shelves. This is where Dominick organized his peanuts, potato chips, pretzels, and whatever scavenged scraps he acquired from the house. He even rigged a system of straws and tinfoil from a leaky pipe into a homemade water dispenser using a marble inside an upside down soda can that he managed to tear in half. His prized invention, however, was his masterfully designed layout of mirror shards reflecting the images from the big screen TV in the living room into his lazy little mouse nest, right to a vanity mirror mounted in front of his throne made of pillow scrap.

This chubby rodent was blessed with genius wit when it came to engineering and methodical thinking. Kitchen scraps were child’s play to Dominick, and certainly didn’t help his weight problem. Dominick was so smart he devised ways of stealing canned goods from the pantry in the middle of the night by using kitchen utensils to pry, tip, roll, and flip his prize until he could get it into one of his holes. The Gables often wondered why their kitchen utensils were scattered around the floor in the mornings. Dominick even knew how to use a can opener, which was another stolen item he used frequently in his mouse mansion.

Come on, Dominick. You know better. The soft feminine voice was like a spring breeze. To the mouse it sounded so soothing, so calming, he could just curl up and take a nap.

Stop it. Stop your mind games! Just let me have it. Why can’t you just let me have it? Dominick cowered by the entrance to his mouse lair. He was breathing heavily and sweat had his fur matted and clumped. Clutched in a tight grip against his chest was the battery cover to the TV remote. The desperate manner in which he held it indicated that he would almost be willing to give his life to keep it. I need it. The words whimpered out of him.

Dominick, what could you possibly want with a thing like that? Her voice was so nurturing it reminded Dominick of his mother. He slid to his bottom like a pouting child. It was painfully obvious he wasn’t going to get to keep his prize.

It’s so versatile! I can use it as a footrest when I watch TV, and it has the rigidity I need for my back when I sleep. I was even thinking of installing a little pool. It would make a great diving board. Marvelous possibilities continued to strike him as he took on a far away look.

I assure you, your needs do not supercede those of my masters. They will be quite upset to find it missing.

I don’t care. I want it. I’ll chew it in half if I can’t have it!

Dominick… Her voice was stern this time.

No!

Did you forget what I am capable of? Now she was passive aggressive, almost condescending. Have you forgotten what I can do to you? Maybe you need a reminder that the luxuries you have are because I allow you to have them.

Please don’t blind me! Dominick’s annoyed temper tantrum had melted into raw fear.

"I could blind you, but your sense of smell is too good to stop your mischief. A curse of bad luck, on the other paw, would do you nicely."

Aw, come on. Why do I deserve that? How about a deal? It’s Monday night. The football game is about on. Just let me keep it for the game then I promise I’ll return it. His chubby face crept around the corner of his hole and gleamed up at the looming feline with a glimmer of hope in his beady, black eyes.

Scarlet was a beautiful and regal cat. Her raven-colored fur was cropped short and groomed immaculately. It shimmered with a lustrous sheen at the slightest movement. Her eyes glistened like two green emeralds amidst a sea of black. They were captivating to stare into, regardless of her mood. Long black whiskers branched out from her cheeks like pistils from a flower. She had a red collar around her neck, sporting a shiny silver medallion with her name etched in it. As she sat back, she curled her little black tail around her feet as if wrapping them in a blanket.

No, Dominick, it must be returned before the game… Her voice suddenly trailed off and her head snapped in sudden realization. The time! She trotted off into the next room, seemingly forgetting her confrontation with the mouse.

Dominick’s eyes grew big and he turned giddy. Perhaps he would get his prize after all. Oh boy, oh boy, he chuckled to himself.

Don’t even think about it, Dominick. The voice was inside his head, but it was still Scarlet’s voice warning him. His eyes narrowed and his body curled over the battery cap like a thief protecting his score. A foot inched its way back into the hole as his eyes probed the doorway Scarlet left through. He slowly slipped his whole body back in the safe confines of his nest. One minute passed like a lifetime as he stood there waiting to make sure the coast was clear. Eagerness overriding caution, he decided to go on as if all were normal.

Beaming with pride, he neatly propped the battery cap beside his mouse throne and stepped back to admire it. Satisfied with his efforts and its placement, he turned to grab a snack for the big game. As he reached for a peanut the entire pantry collapsed before him, flooding his nest with food.

I warned you, Scarlet’s voice snickered inside his head. He released an exasperated sigh, grabbed the battery cover, and dragged it, regrettably, out of his hole to return it to its home.

Scarlet had more pressing issues on her mind than Dominick’s indulgences. She had to get outside, and fast. It was almost sunset and she couldn’t be late. Her first attempt would be with Karen: wife, mother of two girls, and master. Karen was always the safest bet for getting what she wanted.

The problem Scarlet now faced with Karen was that she was on the phone with her mother, an event that could last for hours. Karen was remarkably resilient to phone call distractions. It was one of the few times she actually didn’t pay attention to Scarlet when she called for it. Scarlet tried to tell her three times that she needed to go outside, but as humans can only hear meows when cats speak, Karen didn’t exactly jump to the request. Instead, Scarlet jumped up on the kitchen table where she wasn’t allowed, and bellowed a meow that made Karen pause in her conversation to remove the cat from the no fur zone.

It was obvious she wasn’t getting anywhere with Karen. She glanced into the living room and saw Bill Gable seated in preparation for the game. He was in the middle of discovering that the battery cover was missing on the remote. Huh, what in blue blazes happened to that? Bill questioned as he looked around the coffee table.

Scarlet panned her gaze down the leg of the sofa and caught Dominick cowering underneath the couch holding on to the battery cap for dear life. Trying to get Bill’s attention would be completely futile. There were few things in the world that would pry him from the game. Anything related to a cat didn’t even come close to making the list. Bill wouldn’t even notice if Scarlet disappeared for a few days. Her last hope was Lauren and Holly, the seven and five-year-old kids.

Scarlet slinked down the hall to the pink and white painted room. A warm yellow glow beamed out into the dim hall from the crack in the door. She slipped into the room and was instantly struck with regret. The two blonde pretenders were right in the middle of a tea party with their friends Mr. Macadamia (the stuffed koala), Eeyore, and Rudy (pronounced Woo-dy), Holly’s stuffed rabbit. Scarlet had become, despite her hastened state, the guest of honor at their party.

Lauren tied a bib around her while Holly pulled the elastic from a birthday hat over her head, burying her face in the funnel. Wud you wike some tea Scarwet? Holly asked in her sweet, phonetically challenged voice.

Scarlet responded by backing out of both the hat and the bib in one motion and adroitly attempting to run out of the room six times, meowing indignantly at their persistence in keeping her in the room and sitting her down at the place setting they made for her at the tea table.

Enough was enough. Desperate times called for desperate measures. The only way Scarlet would get out of the house would be to use her powers; powers kept secret from humans, and rarely used against them for personal gain. Her power, being a black cat as she was, is the transference of bad luck to those she desired it upon.

She calmed herself and sat still, wrapping her tail around her feet, closing her green eyes in careful concentration. Her statuesque pose made her look like an onyx sphinx. She took a deep breath, slowly released it, and then there was total silence. The playful banter of the two hostesses, the mindless chatter of the sports commentators booming from the television down the hall, Karen’s muffled conversation from the kitchen, the orchestra of crickets warming up their evening instruments, all faded into a peaceful stillness.

Suddenly, the power went out in the entire house.

You’ve got to be kidding me?! Bill barked from the living room.

Scarlet’s eyes popped open. They took on an eerie nocturnal glow. It was her time to move. The girls had frozen in the absence of light. Scarlet skirted out of the tea party and slithered her way through the house to the back door leading out of the kitchen.

Bill, the power’s out! Karen’s voice sounded urgent and dependent as it hollered from the kitchen.

I know that, dear, he mumbled, agitated; still pondering the disappearance of the battery cover. Bill stood from his chair and slowly navigated around the furniture in the dark.

Dominick had gently set the battery cover against the couch leg when the lights went out. Utilizing the darkness, he shot back to the safe confines of his hole.

Bill saw something out of the corner of his eye. Huh? What was that? he said aloud to himself.

Bill! Karen shouted impatiently from the kitchen.

I’m coming! Bill fired back as he dragged himself to the back door, unaware of Scarlet waiting there for it to open. As Bill unbolted the latch and turned the doorknob, Scarlet dug her paws into the ground, stalking in a prone position. She was ready to take off like a track runner to the starting gun. Bill paused. Do you know what happened to the battery cover on the remote? The anticipation was killing Scarlet.

No, I don’t, Bill. Could you hurry? I got cut off talking to mom.

Yeah, yeah. Bill opened the door and Scarlet flew outside like greased lightning. Scarlet, get back in the house! Bill’s demand was useless. Scarlet was gone. She had zipped around the two-story colonial home and rushed into the neighboring woods. You better not come begging to get back in at three in the morning. Bill made his way to the breaker box only to see the lights pop back on in the house before he could open the panel door.

Bill, the power’s back! Karen shouted from inside.

Bill gently set his head against the breaker box. I know that, dear, he muttered under his breath.

Scarlet sprinted through the shadowy woods, dodging trees, hurdling logs, and launching over bushes and rocks. On the other side of an active creek was a distant house that had two menacing Dobermans stretched at the end of their chains, snapping in violent protest at Scarlet’s passage through the woods. She continued on, hastening her speed as she ran the length of two football fields following the flow of the water until the creek suddenly dropped off the earth before her and plummeted into a gurgling pool of frothy water and mist below.

I did not think you were going to make it, said a voice with a subtle aristocratic French accent.

Scarlet turned her attention from the gaping beauty of the Hudson River Valley below her to the handsome gray and white cat stoically perched on a rock beside her. Ye of little faith.

Bijou was a Chartreux/Maine Coon mix. He wasn’t as large as a normal Maine Coon, but he had the muscular physique of one. His coat was short and mostly dark gray, thanks to his Chartreux genes. The splotches of white on the left side of his face, his right and left sides, and his chest were recessive from his Maine Coon side. His eyes were crystal blue. His nose was gray. His tightly packed black whiskers looked like a well-manicured moustache. Bijou slipped a handsome smile at the corner of his mouth and beckoned Scarlet beside him.

Scarlet found Bijou to be irresistible. She found his presence to be so soothing, so invigorating, it was difficult for her to be away from him. Bijou felt the same for Scarlet. They were very much in love. Scarlet and Bijou had a very special connection, a cosmic connection that could be only be attributed to their breeds.

Scarlet was a Moonstone, the most rare and most mysterious of all the cat breeds. Maine Coons were a close second. Together they made a powerful pair.

Scarlet sat beside Bijou and nudged her face against his soft neck. They groomed each other for a minute, tenderly licking the other’s face to prove their affection to one another.

This was a favorite meeting spot for them. It was perched high on the side of a hill overlooking the mighty Hudson. Summer was coming to an end and subtle hints of fall crept into the breezes. The birds were giving up for the day, trading their sounds of the day to the creatures of the night. Lights flickered on from the houses in the hills and the vessels cruising the deep blue water. Car lights could be seen winding through the hills like fleas through a furry coat. As the sun dipped down onto the horizon, and vibrant colors of orange and red faded into the blues and purples of night, the two lovers snuggled up close to watch nature’s moving canvas.

Bijou wrapped his tail around her and pulled her close. Happiness had Scarlet’s purr idling in a blissful rhythm. I love you, she said, peering up at him, her eyes like sparkling gemstones.

I love you too. He rubbed his nose against hers. More than anything.

Scarlet patted her belly with her tail. I can’t wait for our litter to arrive so we can finally start our family.

I would say it has already started.

You know what I mean.

I know. He smiled at her tenderly and touched tails with her on her belly. I can not wait either.

A faint rustling nearby quickly stole their attention and soiled the moment. In an instant all of their animalistic instincts snapped into gear.

What is it? Scarlet asked in a whisper.

I don’t know.

Their ears and noses probed the air trying to zero in on the noise. Bijou saw it first. His ears folded back as he crouched into attack mode. Bijou’s eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on the tiny field mouse riffling through a leaf pile. He was just about to go after it when a tail flew up in his face and shattered his concentration.

What do you think you’re doing? Scarlet asked.

I hadn’t really thought about it, he replied. The answer surprised him a little. Pure hunting instinct had overcome him.

"You weren’t planning on eating him, were you?

Of course not. I’m a vegetarian. You know that. I was just…playing, I suppose.

Ah, I see. Scarlet’s tone was mixed with humor and skepticism. Well, since you want to play, how about a little wager?

What are the stakes?

First one to catch the mouse wins. The loser has to prepare dinner for one week.

Bijou considered the bet for a moment. Powers?

No powers. Just skill.

Bijou was fast, but so was she. They had played this game many times before and the victor had changed paws so many times they had lost count. A smile washed over Bijou’s face, curling his whiskers up. You’re on.

In a flash, Bijou was off after the mouse. Hey, no fair, Scarlet protested before launching into the hunt herself. The mouse felt the danger coming and scurried off into the brush, adding fuel to the fire of their game.

Bijou and Scarlet zigzagged around the woods in playful pursuit of the elusive rodent like two teens feeding off of hormones. They were so wrapped up in the amusement of their game they failed to notice how deep into the woods the mouse was leading them.

Both cats fought and missed chances at catching the mouse; both were right on top of it. Scarlet leapt over Bijou and landed on a brush pile. She was certain she had the mouse pinned. Bijou even relented in the chase thinking she had won. When she lifted her paws they were both stunned to find nothing but sticks and leaves. Then, at the same time, the cats saw the mouse break into a clearing ahead. The clearing had a paved access road passing through it and the mouse was headed straight for it.

Scarlet and Bijou both blasted off in a final attempt to win the bet. Their speeds were equally matched and they bumped each other like racecar drivers barreling for the finish line. In a unified motion, they soared through the air and pounced on the mouse. They rolled around on it at first, out of breath, giggling, and playing for ownership of the prize.

I won! Scarlet boasted victoriously.

I don’t think so. It was clearly a tie.

Nope. I won.

You did not.

Accept it, my love. Victory is mine.

Bijou shook his head in loving defeat. Fine, you win. Whatever you say. But you better let the mouse go before you accidentally kill the poor thing.

Scarlet snickered and lifted her paws. They were completely mystified by their discovery. The mouse looked like a mouse. It was small, had four legs, a tail, two ears, and fur. What puzzled them were the strange stitch marks down the spine of the lifeless mouse. Its beady eyes were made of glass and blinked with a red light. There was a tiny metal wire coiling out the top of the mouse’s head.

Bijou pawed at the strange creature and it fell over on its side. That’s not a mouse at all. It looks like…a robot. Bijou backed away from it suspiciously. Scarlet went in for a closer look. Scarlet, get back!

Just then the mouse exploded in a flash of flame and smoke, knocking the cats back a few feet.

Bijou’s head pounded. The ringing in his ears was stifling. His vision was doubled and cloudy. He was desperately trying to clear the cobwebs so he could check on Scarlet. He called for her. Scarlet? Scarlet?

The cackling sound of laughter approached from the shadows. Bijou could barely make out the form of a human approaching out of the darkness. The person was wearing a robe and had a mane of frizzy hair, but that’s all Bijou could discern of her appearance. He stammered to his feet trying to steady his vision.

Not so fast, Maine Coon. I need your special abilities too. The course voice came from the human. The voice was raspy and shrill, and was that of an elderly woman.

Bijou’s vision cleared enough to see the old woman pick Scarlet’s limp body up and place it into a cage. Scarlet! He charged the old woman like a staggering drunk. The woman shot a beam of light from a crystal in the palm of her hand that knocked him back three feet and rippled an electric current through him.

The old lady shuffled her way to him and stood over his weakened and sore body. Her face remained in shadow as she reached a craggy hand down to pick him up. Bijou saw that her hand was tattered with cat scratches, both scarred and fresh. His nostrils flared from the scent of a few dozen cats hitting his senses. Suddenly, adrenaline shot into his legs and spine. Bijou sprung to his feet like a lineman coming off a snap, and he placed himself between the old lady and the cage with Scarlet catatonic inside.

You’re a feisty one, the old lady crackled.

Bijou cleared his head and went for his power. Since every cat breed was endowed a different power, Bijou’s was mind control, a power that stemmed from the Chartreux bloodline. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on manipulating her thoughts.

Get out of there, muttered the old lady in a voice that was inside of his head. The old lady laughed.

Bijou was thunderstruck. The woman had spoken to him telepathically. Only animals could speak to one another through telepathy. Only cats could speak to all creatures telepathically. It was unheard of for a human to do it.

The old lady slowly raised her hand at him. Bijou could see the white crystal glow and suddenly turn bright blue. He didn’t wait for the blast to fire at him. He took off into the woods and hid in the first available place under a fold of rocks. Confusion, fear, despair were beginning to overwhelm him. His heart was filling with concern for his mate.

He watched the woman probe the woods for him with a strange light emanating from the crystal in her hand. He could see Scarlet lying motionless in the cage and he felt completely helpless to do anything about it. His mind raced for a solution, but before he could come up with one the light had vanished and the old woman disappeared.

Night had overtaken the woods and shrouded it in darkness. Bijou was alone and ripped from his mate; left to stew in the maddening sounds of the crickets. Bijou couldn’t help any other emotion. He was mortified beyond comprehension.

Chapter One: Sewer Cats

Deep within the endless chasms of the New York City sewer and subway system, tucked away in an old drainage chamber beneath the intersection of 169th St. and Boston Rd. in the Bronx, was an empty space claimed by three tough New York alley cats. Located almost between Yankee Stadium and the Bronx Zoo, the lair served as the ultimate cat-chelor’s pad, giving them a central location between two food sources.

The eight-foot by twelve-foot space was once a drainage reservoir for a series of converging run-offs used to regulate rainwater to prevent the streets from flooding. The reservoir was originally made in the early nineteen teens, but was sealed off when renovations were made on the subway’s 4 Line, making it a perfect, isolated spot to live.

The urban cat oasis was adorned with Yankee paraphernalia from pennants and posters, to helmet sundae caps and actual game balls hit out of the park off the bats of some big league sluggers. They were popular toys when times were good and the cats felt frisky, but those times had become few and far between as of late.

Crumpled newspapers and bags stuffed with garbage made nice little beds in the corners of the reservoir. Cardboard boxes and scrap wood formed bridges, perches, and pedestals for the three inhabitants to lounge on.

Four, two-foot diameter pipes led into the reservoir from the world outside. But only two of the four pipes served as exits, one to the west, and one to the north; the other two acted as private bedrooms. The pipe to the north led to the Boston Road subway stop, toward the zoo.

The pipe to the west led out towards the baseball park and a repetitive thumping noise echoed down that pipe. When the noise reverberated in the reservoir chamber it sounded more like distant mortar fire.

What’s that racket? muttered a bitter voice from one of the pipes.

Huh? responded another sleepy voice from the adjacent pipe.

That noise? What is it?

There was no response to the question. An irritable groan bellowed from the dark hole of the southern pipe. Seconds later, a large American Wirehair emerged from the shadows. His short gray coat was matted and dirty, and the underside had a yellowish hue. A puff of blueish-gray hair wrapped around his muzzle like a beard, and he had long gray hairs that curled off his cheeks like muttonchops. His nose was charcoal gray. He had one eye that was colored an intense cobalt blue, while the other was just a deep empty socket covered in soft white hairs; a crater where his left eye used to be. The cat definitely looked like a pirate, of sorts. That was why all the cats around knew him as Bluebeard, and he had a reputation of ruthlessness to accompany the frightening look.

Bluebeard stepped to the edge of the pipe and stretched his two calloused paws way out in front of him. The American Wiretail arched his back up and his body curved like an S as he worked the sleep out of his bones. He twitched his mangled whiskers back and forth fighting off an inevitable yawn. The disruption of a gnawing flea broke his morning wake-up, and he found himself driving a probing claw behind his ear.

Wake up! I’m hungry, he blurted into space, satisfied with his scratching.

Ten more minutes, replied the sleepy voice in a Latino accent.

Bluebeard sniffed a pile of spent tuna cans for a sign of leftovers and recoiled from the stench. He almost gagged. Ten nothing. We’ve slept through the entire game. It’s time to go search for food.

The repetitive thumping sound grew louder and more erratic. What IS that? Bluebeard was about to launch into a heated investigation when a baseball bounced down out of the west pipe and dropped into the reservoir, nearly hitting Bluebeard in the head.

Oops, sorry about that, said the gray and white coated cat that poked his head out of the pipe. The cat was a Chartreux/Maine Coon mix with a gray nose and sky blue eyes. I was getting restless waiting for you guys to wake.

Then you should have been out finding us something to eat instead of playing around. Bluebeard was cranky. Food had been scarce lately. New zoo security meant it was harder to break in without getting caught, and getting caught meant going to the pound, and going to the pound meant getting put to sleep. The zoo option had become too risky. The cats had seen too many of their friends rounded-up and never return. Also hindering their provisions were a pack of wild Pit Bulls that had assumed total control of the southern and eastern side of the Bronx, making it hard to get to Brooklyn or Queens to search for food.

I saw a soft pretzel vendor topside. I bet there’s some scraps floating around up there. Buju’s tone was playful and optimistic, and