The Chapter Twenty-eight: The Vanishing and the Morning After
No one could quite say when Ms. Betty White had gone. One moment she’d been there, draped on the top perch of the tallest tree like a queen surveying her borrowed kingdom, her amber eyes reflecting every flicker of the lamplight. The next, nothing. No sound of pawsteps, no flash of fur, no goodbye. Just the faint shift of shadows in the hall and the lingering scent of long-haired tortoiseshell, warm, smoky, and spiced with something foreign.
It was as if she’d dissolved into the night.
The council hadn’t meant to miss her departure. They’d been on shifts — Tokyo and Menace at the French doors, Raven stationed on the forbidden chair, Eddie prowling between the food stations — but Ms. Betty had somehow slipped past them all. Olive muttered something about “camouflage in plain sight,” but no one liked admitting they’d been outmaneuvered.
Morning brought the cold silver light that poured over the river and into the upstairs exile. The sound of the front door opening drew every ear forward, followed by Bonnie’s voice greeting someone warmly.