Night Magic by Karen Robards

her arms bound to her sides it was impossible to move the object that was causing her discomfort, but suddenly she didn’t want to. With a completely ridiculous sense of comfort, she realized that the weight was Puff, that he was trapped in the enshrouding folds of canvas with her and was even now crouched on her chest. The stabbing sensation was caused by his claws as he dug them into her sensitive flesh. Under the circumstances, she welcomed that small pain. If she had had the use of her arms she would have hugged him.
    The vehicle slowed and veered left. There was more jolting as it left the pavement to grind over what sounded like gravel. Clara felt her stomach sink clear to her toes. Obviously they were taking her to an isolated spot, where they would do their worst to her. Bound, blinded, and half suffocated as she was, there didn’t seem much she could do to save herself from whatever fate they intended for her. At the moment, all she could do was continue to feign unconsciousness and wait for whatever opening God might see fit to send her.
    As the road grew rougher, Puff’s claws sank deeper. Clarawinced at the pain, but there was nothing she could do to alleviate her discomfort without announcing to her captors that she was conscious. So she lay, gritting her teeth, willing her churning stomach to be still, and endured.
    At last the vehicle jerked to a halt. Clara’s first reaction was relief, followed by an immediate stab of fear. Whatever they intended to do to her, they would probably do now.
    “She still out?” The voice was thick, gutteral—and not Rostov’s. Clara knew that she would recognize the KGB man’s distinctive accent anywhere.
    “Yeah.”
    Ridiculously, the knowledge that neither of her captors was Rostov comforted her. Although she knew perfectly well that they were almost certainly his henchmen, told to bring her to him. Still, it was likely that she would not be harmed until he appeared.
    Clara felt hands grab onto her shoulders, and other hands take her feet, which from the feel of them on her bare ankles were clear of the canvas. Then she was lifted and carried clumsily from the van. Concentrating on being a dead weight—no easy task with a twenty pound cat digging its claws into her chest—Clara tried to project the muscle tone of a limp noodle.
    “Heavy, ain’t she?”
    This grunt, as they descended what felt like a steep flight of steps, piqued her pride. Which was ridiculous under the circumstances, she knew. Still, she’d always been sensitive about her weight, and it was some comfort to her to reflect that Puff was responsible for an additional twenty-odd pounds.
    “God, I’m going to drop her!”
    He did, before his gasping announcement even registered. Luckily, it was the man holding her feet who had fallen victim to butter fingers. Still, her leg crashed into what feltlike the comer of a table, and the ensuing sharp pain did not quite cancel out the ripping of claws in flesh as Puff, dislodged from his perch, skidded protesting to where the rope binding her arms to her hips made it impossible for him to skid any further. Despite her best efforts to fall like a dead weight, she could not help trying to protect herself as much as possible. Perhaps they hadn’t noticed how she’d cringed?
    “What was that?”
    The question was clearly in response to Puff’s menacing growl.
    “The damn cat.”
    “You didn’t get rid of it?”
    “How the hell was I supposed to get rid of it? The thing’s a monster. You stick your hand up inside that bag and get rid of it.”
    “I don’t suppose it makes that much difference. Come on, pick her up again and let’s get this over with. The colonel will be here soon.”
    Clara’s feet were lifted again. She was carried through a door and then put down on what felt like a cold stone floor. The scent of dampness wafted through the stiff folds of canvas. She was in a cellar of some kind.
    There was a sharp rapping on a door a few feet