Chapter One:

"Bye, Leo, bye, old fellow!" Father Fidelis surprised himself by pausing on the porch to stroke the small ginger cat that was sitting on one of the benches. Father Peter, who was holding the front door open with one hand and gripping Fidelis's suitcase with the other, grimaced and held his breath as he waited for the creature to claw the outstretched arm, for there had been bad blood between Fidelis and the cat for as long as he could remember. Fidelis was not a cat lover and didn't bother to hide the fact. To his amazement, however, Peter heard the cat give a friendly maiow and saw him push his head encouragingly into the priest's palm. Fidelis himself seemed taken aback by this feline display of affection. A little nervously he ran his hand over the silken fur. Both he and the cat seemed to enjoy the sensation, and he did it again. The cat purred and rippled his back as the hand passed gently along it. Fidelis smiled at Peter. It was the first time Peter had seen him smile in weeks.

"Well, how's about that then!" Fidelis said. "We're buddies now. Unless" he added "he knows I'm leaving and he's thinking it'll be nice to see the back of me." He patted the cat's head. The cat nuzzled him, a little ostentatiously it seemed to Peter.

"Well, bye, puss, time to be off. Being seeing you." Fidelis went through the open door and headed towards the parish car, where Father Valentine sat waiting to drive him down to the station.

Before following his Guardian out Peter glanced suspiciously at the cat. Green eyes regarded him innocently, then the animal bent down momentarily to lick a paw. When the furry head lifted again the eyes that looked back at Peter had changed from green to gold. A deep, rich gold that burned into him. Peter looked away. He had seen these golden eyes before.

They had frightened him then and they frightened him now. These weren't the eyes of a domestic pet. They belonged to a creature from other realms, a creature with powers beyond his imagining. This cat could skip from the land of the living to the land of the dead and then back again without batting an eye. Peter knew this. He had seen the cat dematerialise himself, in the friary cemetery, in very theatrical circumstances, then reappear moments later, in this very same porch. This cat could dance through dimensions with ease.

Which was considerably more than his late brother-in-faith, Jerome, could do. The late Brother Jerome, Peter had come to realise, wasn't exactly resting in peace. Well, he seemed to be peaceful enough, in his own way, but he didn't seem to be doing much resting. Death had given him itchy feet. Jerome, who had been a real stay-at-home type during his life, was now, in death, out and about all over the place. The only problem was that he didn't seem to have quite mastered the knack of after-death travel.

He appeared to be on something of a learning curve. Only natural, Peter thought: he's not been at it long - not been long dead. No, he corrected himself, it wasn't natural. All this flitting about wasn't natural at all. It was very unnatural. When a chap was meant to be lying quietly in his coffin, it was no joke having him pop suddenly out of the aether and give you the fright of your life. It was a grave matter, when the dead wouldn't stay dead, or at least wouldn't stay put. As for the cat, well, the cat... who knew whether he was dead or alive? Life and death seemed to be all one to him, for he was with the living and he was with the dead. At much the same time.

Peter forced himself to look at the cat again, and found himself looking into green eyes once more. The golden fire that had blazed a moment earlier had gone out. There was nothing unusual about the eyes that regarded him now. They were just...cat's eyes. Nothing unusual about them now. Nothing out of the ordinary. And yet Peter knew that the friary cat was far from ordinary. The cat was a very extraordinary creature indeed. Peter gulped, turned and went quickly out of the porch and towards the waiting car. He found the cat in his household pet incarnation profoundly disturbing, for he knew that the familiar exterior masked something strange, alien.

Peter was trembling as he carried Fidelis's suitcase over to the car. Valentine evidently noticed his unsteadiness, for he quickly got out of the car and came over to take the case from him. "Here, give it to me" he said, grasping the suitcase. He took it, seemed surprised not to find it heavier, and stowed it away in the boot of the car. As he banged the boot lid shut a thought seemed to occur to him, for he looked into Peter's eyes and said, "You've seen something, haven't you?"

Peter said nothing.

"What have you seen?" asked Valentine.

Peter nodded towards the front of the car, where Fidelis sat waiting in the passenger seat, and frowned.

"Oh, right" Valentine said quietly. "Well, you'll tell me later?"

Still Peter said nothing, but evidently Valentine took his continued silence for a positive answer, for he said, "Okay, see you when I get back". He went back to the driver's door and got into the car. "That it?" he asked Fidelis. "Sure you've got everything? Anything else you want to take with you?"

"Nothing, thanks" Fidelis assured him. "I'm travelling light." He smiled. It was a happy smile. It struck Valentine that Fidelis was not only light on luggage but was surprisingly light in heart in the circumstances. He was off on a tough new posting, with practically no notice, yet he gave every appearance of relishing the prospect. Indeed he looked like a man who couldn't wait to get started. Valentine watched his passenger give a final wave to Peter and the other friars who had come out to wish him well on his journey.

"Well," he thought admiringly "you've got to hand it to him. A word from the Provincial, and he's packing his bag, ready to be off. There's obedience for you! An example to us all." As he pulled away down the drive he glanced in his mirror and saw that the cat had now joined the assembled friars to watch the departing car.

As the friars turned to go back into their home Peter noticed that the cat was now standing beside him. He bent down to stroke him. Though deeply uneasy in the cat's presence he was anxious to show him that he wanted to be friends. Only sensible, he reasoned, to be on the best possible terms with such a creature.

As if reading his mind, and being ready for a petting, the cat purred and led the way back to the porch. He jumped once more onto one of the benches that lined the porch and maiowed encouragingly. Peter took the hint and sat down beside him. As he stroked the smooth fur he remembered the cat's unexpected and very obvious show of affection towards Fidelis a few minutes earlier. It had been unexpected because everyone knew there'd been no love lost between the two. And it had been so obvious as to be unmissable; the cat had really made up to Fidelis, in a most overt manner.

Maybe, as Fidelis had jokingly surmised, the creature had known he was leaving and was expressing his pleasure at seeing the back of him. Could be, Peter thought. Yet somehow he didn't think so. The cat's display of good will had seemed to be genuine. It was as if, guessing that Fidelis was leaving, the creature wanted to let him know that he, for his part, had put their differences behind him, had buried the hatchet and was now ready to talk peace. Unable to talk, he'd cosied up to his old enemy instead. Time to let bygones be bygones had been his unmistakeable message. So unmistakeable as to be...what was the word that had sprung into his mind earlier? Ostentatious. Yes, that was it. The cat's display of affection had been ostentatious. Theatrical.

Theatrical. Hmm. Peter remembered that that word had occurred to him after the scene in the cemetery. The drama of the appearance of the late Father Egbert and the late Brother Jerome had been completely overshadowed by the vanishing act performed by the cat. Two ghosts had appeared. Two ghosts and a cat -- this very same cat that now murmured contentedly beside him on the bench -- had disappeared.

As he stroked the creature's furry back Peter went back to the episode in the graveyard. He saw again Egbert standing on his grave and Jerome hovering uncertainly above it, to Egbert's evident annoyance. Their appearance had shocked him, but he had been more shocked when the cat, who had been standing beside him watching the spectacle, had stepped daintily onto the grave and had disappeared with them. He and they had simply vanished into thin air.

Yet a few minutes later, on returning to the friary, he'd found the cat sitting on the bench in the porch washing his paws as if nothing unusual had happened. Peter recalled how he had all but collapsed onto the bench, beside the cat, and had nervously run his hand along the animal's back, half-expecting his hand to pass through the fur. But he had found himself stroking the fur of a flesh-and-blood cat. There had been nothing insubstantial about the creature, despite his having vanished a few minutes earlier.

Now, as then, Peter ran his fingers along the ridges of the cat's backbone, then slid his hand round to the silky chest and felt the steady, regular heartbeat. He patted the cat's head, then resumed stroking the smooth back. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, trying to slow his own frantic heartbeat. Then he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Again he revisited the scene in the graveyard. He watched Egbert, seemingly exasperated with the posthumous wanderings of his brother-in-spirit, turn to the cat and wave a hand despairingly in Jerome's direction. He heard him say to the cat "Do something about him. Please!" He watched the animal step daintily over the coping stone and onto the grave, as if answering the plea, and join the two apparitions. Then the cat had looked archly, teasingly, across at him, as if to say "Watch this!" -- knowing he was about to dazzle him with a display of his powers, had stretched out a paw for all the world as if he had been holding out a magic wand, and had simply disappeared, along with the two ghosts. He'd vanished. Just like that. And his vanishing had been far more frightening than the vanishing of the two ghosts, for ghosts are known for disappearing -- it's expected of them, part of their job -- but flesh-and-blood cats aren't known for disappearing. Yet this cat had disappeared. One moment he was there, the next there he was, gone.

Peter's hand was trembling now as he stroked the cat. What kind of creature was it that sat beside him? He seemed solid enough, he had bones and flesh and fur and a heartbeat. And yet he could magic himself away into nothingness -- to reappear moments later as if nothing had happened. Magic. Peter repeated the word, and the more he thought about it the more appropriate it seemed to be. The cat had performed a magic trick when he'd disappeared in the company of two ghosts. He'd stepped onto the grave as if onto a stage, he'd looked across at his audience with an archness that had been quite actorly, he'd stretched out a paw like a conjuror with a wand, and he'd performed a piece of prestidigitation that had left his audience gasping with disbelief. He'd put on a show, starring himself and with a supporting company of ghosts. It had been a pure piece of theatre, lacking only a drumroll and a fanfare.

The scene with Fidelis a few minutes earlier had been another piece of theatre. The cat had wanted to let Fidelis know that he'd put the past behind him and that, as far he as was concerned, they parted on good terms and as friends, so he'd put on a very public, quite flamboyant, display of affection. It had been a stagey little performance.

But why should the cat be interested in Fidelis' departure? Why should it matter to him? Yet clearly it did matter and the cat had been determined to show that past enmities were over and done with and that Fidelis left with his good will. He'd all but shaken hands with him and wished him all the best. Peter wondered how the creature had seemed to know that Fidelis was leaving and wasn't just going off on holiday. He'd definitely been saying goodbye to him, and not au revoir and see you in a couple of weeks. It had been a puzzling little episode. Quite baffling. The cat's attitude baffled him. So did Fidelis's.

Peter couldn't understand his Guardian's eager acceptance of his new posting, and his anxiety to be away. Fidelis had seemed to want to be in his new parish as soon as possible. This had surprised them all, for he'd become a frequent visitor to the home of the new parishioner on the hillside -- nothing new in that, for he'd always been a ladies' man. Yet when asked by the Provincial to take on the care of a parish miles away, whose priest had gone awol in particularly scandalous circumstances, he'd agreed instantly and had gone upstairs to pack. His readiness to leave had impressed the friars. They'd all have gone if asked, of course, but they wouldn't have wanted to, for who'd choose to exchange a pleasant rural parish for the hardships of an inner city one, especially one in a state of turmoil, the circs being what they were?

Fidelis, however, had seemed anxious to leave for his new home. He gave every appearance of positively looking forward to his new posting. All very curious, Peter thought. Fidelis had had quite a cushy number and he'd never been one for hardship. Yet here he was, falling in instantly with proposals to take himself off to a really tough new post, in the heart of a deprived area and with a seething congregation to soothe and unite. It wasn't a challenge Peter, or any of the others, would have wanted to face, yet Fidelis had been raring to go, as if he couldn't wait to leave and get on with it. There's no telling with folk, Peter thought.

Peter felt the cat move beneath his hand, and he glanced down to find the creature craning his head to look up at him. He had the strangest impression that the cat was smiling at him and that the creature wanted him to see that he was smiling. Peter stared at the furry face and saw the green eyes sparkle. They seemed to be alight with mischief. The cat gave every appearance of enjoying a quiet, private joke -- and of, moreover, wanting Peter to know that he found something funny and that he knew Peter wasn't in on the secret. It wasn't a malicious smile on the cat's face. It was a knowing kind of smile. Peter wondered what was so funny. Not only was there no telling with people, he thought: there was no telling with cats. Certainly not this cat. He carried on stroking the soft coat for a few more moments, then said "Well, be seeing you, puss," got up and went into the house.

When Valentine returned from the station he looked for Peter but could not find him. He discovered that he had gone over to a nearby convent to take a service that Fidelis had been down to take -- Fidelis had left so suddenly that an emergency rota had to be organised. He did not see him again until tea-time and did not have the chance for a private word with him then. At tea-time he glanced across the table at Peter, but Peter seemed fully to have recovered his poise, and sat laughing and joking with those around him, with no hint that anything had troubled him earlier.

The friars were looking forward to the arrival of their new Guardian next day, for they all remembered Father Aidan from previous postings and knew him to be an even-tempered, good-natured sort, who understood the value of harmony in a community such as theirs, where people had to get on together or they all suffered. While not as charismatic as Fidelis undoubtedly was, Aidan was easy to get on with. He had been a Guardian before, and a popular one, for he allowed those in his charge space of their own. He gave them room, and it was appreciated. They chatted eagerly about his arrival.

The red car drew up outside the front door of the friary mid-morning. Father Aidan got out and went to get his suitcase out of the boot. Father Oliver, passing along the corridor, noticed the car and hurried out. He insisted on taking the suitcase out of Aidan's hand. He beamed at his new Guardian. "Good to see you again, Aidan" he said, his round, rosy face showing the pleasure he felt. He waited for his Guardian to lock the car, then ushered him through the open door. "I'll show you up to your room" he said. "Had a good trip?" he enquired as they made their way along the corridor to the staircase.

"Not bad at all" Aidan said. "Fidelis get off all right yesterday?"

Oliver nodded. "Got the train about three o'clock. He left his car here, of course. You might want to use it yourself. It's a new one. It's very nice." he added admiringly. "I've driven it myself a few times."

"I shan't be needing it" Aidan said sharply. "The one I've got will do fine. It's old, but there's nothing wrong with it."

"Oh, er, right" Oliver said, clearly taken aback. He didn't know what else to say. It sounded as if Aidan didn't approve of new cars.

When Aidan reached his room he didn't seem to approve of that, either. When Oliver, with a beam, flung open the door to the en-suite shower room, he didn't meet with the expression of approval he had been expecting at the sight of the enhanced facilities. Aidan frowned and said "How long has this been here?"

"Erm, about a year" Oliver said, adding, hesitantly, "We've, er, all got them."

"Have you now?" Aidan's tone was distinctly frosty. "That must've cost a pretty penny.

"A local chap did them" Oliver said miserably. "I don't think he charged a lot."

"Well, I think I'll be having a look at the accounts" Aidan said, in voice that was icy now.

"Er, right." Oliver shuffled his feet. After a short silence he asked "Anything I can get you? Cup of tea? Coffee?"

"Nothing, thanks. I'll get unpacked, then I'll be down to see you all." Aidan glanced at his watch. "You still have prayers at noon, I take it?"

"Oh, yes" Oliver assured him.

"Right. You all attend, of course?"

"Oh, yes" Oliver said again. He moved towards the door. "Well, if there's nothing you need for the moment, I'll, er, get back downstairs."

"See you later" Aidan said. "Thanks for fetching my suitcase up."

Oliver was all but groaning as he went downstairs. This wasn't the Aidan they'd been expecting. This Aidan seemed to have had a personality change. What had happened to him? Oliver's usually cheerful face was gloomy as he walked down the corridor. He quickened his pace as he made for the lounge. Better see who was around. Get the chaps rounded up, ready for prayers. He just hoped everyone was in. He'd a nasty feeling one or two of the friars might have gone out shopping, probably without signing themselves out. Oh dear, it didn't look as if life was going to be quite as jolly as they'd been expecting. It looked as if harsher times lay ahead.

A delicious smell of food cooking drifted towards him from the direction of the kitchen and Oliver remembered that Ignatius was cooking a special lunch to welcome the newcomer. Oh dear, he thought again. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to greet their new Guardian with a slap-up meal. Oliver groaned out loud now. Good food was one of the pleasures of life, and Ignatius was a divine cook. He hoped Aidan wasn't against eating. He seemed to be against just about everything else. The omens weren't good. As Oliver turned towards the lounge, he stopped to stroke the friary cat, who was sitting sunning himself on a window-sill. The cat watched him go through the door, then jumped nimbly down and followed him.