A light drumming became a tapping then danced into a happy swaying with an iconic drone. Slate glanced back at me after knocking out his first opponent and a shocked grin flashed across his face. He loved it when I got corny. I shrugged and launched into one of the most famous lion songs ever recorded. Mainly, about them sleeping. Or at least one of them was sleeping. No biggie, I could work with it and twist it to affect all of the wild cats I targeted. I couldn't bring myself to wimoweh but I didn't need that part anyway. I sang about a jungle while I stood in an urban version and let my music spread across the fighting predators like a kitty lullaby.
“The Lion Sleeps Tonight” by The Tokens. It turned out to be the perfect choice despite its silliness. Cat-Shifters started to drop like flies, curling up into fetal feline balls to bat at their twitching whiskers and pant happily through their kitty dreams. It would have been adorable if they hadn't been savaging each other mere moments before and if the proof of that savagery hadn't been turning their pretty fur red. The Gargoyles went still as the Felinae fell asleep and when it became apparent that they'd keep sleeping, the Gargoyles breathed a collective sigh of relief.
I let the song and my magic fade away as soon as the last cat went beddy-bye.
“Thanks for the assist, Diva,” Slate used Jago's nickname for me and chased it with a deep chuckle. “I think you bypassed a big part of that song, though.”
“My pride can only take so much,” I shot back.
“Well, you saved this pride from a lot worse than embarrassment.” He waved at the sleeping cats. To his men, he shouted, “Restrain them, all of them, and get them into cells. We'll sort this out when they wake up.”
“Yes, Sir!” The Gargoyles shouted together then started zip-tying the shapeshifters' wrists together.
Personally, I would have gone with chains.
“Jago?” Slate called out.
“Boss?” Jago hurried over.
“I want men posted around every Felinae neighborhood in the Zone and throughout the central areas. If a single whisker twitches the wrong way, I want to know about it.”
“You got it!” Jago launched himself into the air.
In case you haven't figured it out on your own, “Felinae” is the collective term for all shapeshifters who turn into any type of feline; from the little domestic cats—like my friends, the Terrencal brothers—to the large predator cats like the Simba. Although the races are distinctly different, every feline shapeshifter comes from the Felinae Realm, some even hail from the same planet. And it looked as if that association was strong enough to either provide them with a common enemy or make them vulnerable to a common threat.
“We need a cat expert,” I said to Slate.
“I'm a step ahead of you, sweetheart.” Slate swung me into his arms like a bridegroom and jumped into the air.
“You starting to feel like Superman?” I asked him with a wry smile.
“Why? Are you diggin' it, Lois?” He grinned back at me but on his Gargoyle face, it looked more menacing than mischievous.
“We should get you a red cape and paint an S on your chest.”
Slate laughed. “Only if you'll wimoweh while we fly.”
I started wailing the nonsense words.
Slate cringed. “I take it back. No deal.”
Chapter Five
As Slate's men investigated the catfights, we had a conference call with the Aslan of the Simba. Go ahead and chuckle but, as was the case with simba, aslan is yet another word for lion; in this case, a Turkish word. As I mentioned before, the Simba are, generally, peaceful Felinae. Mainly because—also previously mentioned—they are the most powerful. Power, if used properly, can bring peace and the Simba are a great example of that. They aren't called the King of Beasts for nothing; they earned the title.
In the Felinae Realm, the Simba are known as the Bringers of Peace. Peacekeepers. They stop wars; they've done so even before they left their planet. They were also the first Felinae to venture to Earth and they brought a wealth of knowledge with them. Because the Simba aren't merely the mediators of the Felinae Races, they're also the holders of their history.
And the Aslan is their king.
It's a title, not a name, and there are two Aslans; one on Earth and one on planet Roshar, the Simba's home planet in the Felinae Realm. Both Aslans have many kings who serve beneath them but somehow, unlike the regular lions of Earth—I speak of the actual beasts—they coexist calmly with other males. Although to be fair, I've heard of male lions in the wild forming prides. But I digress. We had the Earth Aslan on the phone in the hopes that he might shed some light on our Felinae predicament.
“I can think of nothing that would cause Felinae to fight each other in such ways,” the cultured accent of the Aslan came through the speaker on Slate's desk with a tinge of the Middle East in it.
Aaro, Slate's older brother, who stood to our left with Binx and Jago, scowled at the other men before asking, “Aslan, do you know of any enemies the Felinae, as a whole, may have? The possibility of the men being drugged has not yet been ruled out.”
A long sigh preceded the Aslan's answer, “Only the Loup would dare something as brazen this. They are brash enough and mean enough to disregard even Gargoyle authority. That being said, I do not accuse them. There is no reason for it. We have a shaky truce between our people that I can't see them breaking; it was their Alpha who fought for it, in the first place. We outnumber them, you see? It's in their best interests to leave us be.”
“Then tell us, if you please, what kind of drugs your people might be sensitive to,” Slate urged. “Perhaps the drug wasn't intended for the Felinae, they just happened to
