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Why was it cold?

These old mansions were always cold - no matter what part you were in, there was always a draft, or a chilly breeze, or what Jamila envisioned as a small, localized Arctic blizzard. It could be a hundred degrees outside and dripping with humidity - as it did most of the year in New Orleans - and yet inside the big, old homes there always seemed to be a climate all its own.

She tried to ignore how chilly her calves were below the thin knee-length black dress and waited for her cue. Her long tail did curl around her legs, though, adding its own layer of white fur atop that already there. It helped a little.

The music, a mournful blend of ragtime and jazz set in a frame of modern electronic sound, echoed though the nearly empty house from a cheap set of speakers connected to a smartphone. The sound of feet swishing across floorboards was barely audible. The sound of the director's voice was much more so.

"Come on, we've been over this, Sandra, this section is supposed to be slow and majestic - you're moving too sharply! Slow it down, keep your movements more rounded!"

Jamila sighed, the slim cat leaning against a wall. Toby meant well, she knew, but he could at least use his inside voice when dealing with the dancers. He seemed to think that the louder he shouted the better they would perform. She wondered just how long he had been dealing with artists, and how much longer it would take before he really understood them.

"That was brutal! Change that to a pirouette, get rid of that stupid urban funky shit."

A while longer, she decided.

The song trailed off to a low, quiet hum of instruments. Jamila heard Sandra stomp off into another room, swearing more creatively than the director's artistic capabilities, but ignored it and took a deep breath.

When the music rose again, Jamila rose with it.

She moved with a cat's grace amid the strange blend of musical styles. Step step turn, her tail curling behind her, extending the slow swirl in time with a gentle flourish of instruments. Her eyes rose just enough to capture the room, Toby the raccoon watching her critically, a few other dancers standing back amid the plantation-era décor with evaluating gazes, then she drew back within and let the music do the work.

It was one of the silliest things she had ever heard: a modern dance performance set in old mansion houses, blending musical styles and dance to try and express a vaguely Gothic tone. Toby said he wanted to invoke the dark times of slavery with touches of voodoo and Creole culture thrown in.

Jamila thought the idea was silly. The pay for each performance, though, was - compared to her day job doing data entry - less silly. Besides, there weren't many chances to perform in New Orleans.

And it let her dance.

Step, step, jump, swirl - the dance was a touch of modern, a dash of ballet, a little of her own interpretation. Her teachers back in New York would have either had a conniption or given her a medal, depending on the day, but it was what fit the music. Toby recognized that her arts training far outstripped his own knowledge and gave her the freedom to come up with her own choreography. The black cat was his highlight dancer, and Jamila made sure she was worth it.

Every shift of her slim hips, every twitch of her tail, every roll of her shoulders flowed with the music. Jamila lost herself in the steps, subconsciously making slight adjustments to the dance as she went along, allowing herself to polish the performance. A glance up at Toby - he was nodding to himself, pleased with what he saw.

She was halfway through the solo when that cold breeze breathed across her calves again. Jamila hardly noticed, sunk deep into the dance, other than to register that perhaps leg wraps might be in order.

And to notice that, for whatever reason, she was enjoying the performance - really enjoying it.

That was unusual. She loved to dance, and she was very good at it, but the cat realized with just a touch of discomfort that she was becoming aroused.

It was no big deal, really; it wasn't like she wasn't wearing anything under her costume, and the choreography didn't exactly expose her - but she was definitely wet, and what had started as a gentle warmth in her groin was growing rather more uncomfortable the more she moved.

Jamila internally gritted her teeth and focused on the dance, ignoring the tension down below. The music wound down and she followed it off and out the door into her staging area.

"Fantastic, Jay!" Toby called from the big drawing room they were using as their stage. "Take a breather. Calli, you're up!"

Panting softly, the cat leaned against the wall and let herself come down. There was always a high that came with dancing, especially for her, but Jamila hadn't been that heated up by performing even as a horny teenager surrounded by other horny teen performing arts students.

Maybe it was the costume - they hadn't practiced in full gear before. She surreptitiously reached down to check its fit around her crotch, but it was loose enough not to be a bother. The cat gasped as she touched herself in the process, then glanced around guiltily. Nobody had entered the room, though.

She shook her head, brushing some of the fur from her long ponytail back over her shoulder and gathering her street clothes. By the time she had changed, the rehearsals were wrapping up in the main room.

"We're going to work on the group scenes tomorrow, then we've got full run-throughs on Wednesday and Thursday this week," the director was saying as Jamila returned. "Friday and Saturday are yours, then first performance is Sunday. Everyone got that?"

Affirmative murmurs ran around the room, and Toby nodded, giving the dancers a wave. "Okay. Off you go. Nice work, everyone."

Jamila joined the crowd heading for the door. A slim Doberman joined her. "Hey Jay, nice one today! Looked like you were really into it."

The cat flushed, glancing up. "Uh... oh? I mean, thanks, Emma, you looked sharp too."

Emma flashed a smile. "Hey thanks! I mean, I ain't been doing this much, so it's good to hear from a pro that I'm doing okay!" The dobie beamed. "You want to get together for drinks? A few of us are going to go down to the Quarter for a while."

"Oh man, I'd love to but I have to work in an hour."

The dog pouted. "You sure? Lots of cute guys going... and girls, I mean I haven't seen you with either but you never-"

"Thanks, Emma, but I got to go earn my rent for the month." Jamila chuckled. "Just means you get more of the guys. Or girls. Or whatever."

Emma giggled. "I get enough of them anyhow, Jay. You know, you gotta have some fun sometime. Hey, maybe we'll come by your restaurant for a late snack!"

"The cute cook is on tonight, so you'd get a bonus."

"Awesome!" Emma gave the cat an impetuous hug and scampered off after the rest of her group. Jamila watched them leave, sighed, and shouldered her bag. The real job awaited.

* * * * *

A rumble of thunder rolled over the Garden District, shaking some of the old fixtures inside the mansion. Some of the girls looked around uncertainly at the noise, but Jamila shrugged it off; thunderstorms were nothing new for an East Coast girl. Besides, she was too busy watching one of the group dances as they marshaled for a fairly complex scene.

To her surprise, Toby joined them. "Okay, look, I'm gonna dance the male lead for this round, and tomorrow Stevie can take it. If he doesn't trip over a curb again." He glared at a buck sitting off to one side rubbing his ankle; the deer hunched down slightly to avoid the gaze of the company. "Okay, start the music."

This, Jamila decided, was going to be good.

And, somehow, it was. The raccoon danced with an energy and skill that she - and the other dancers gathered around her - had no idea he possessed.

"Holy cow," Emma whispered halfway through the scene. "He's good!"

"The hell he's doing putting on a cheesy performance piece in New Orleans, I dunno," someone else muttered. "He should be up north on stage."

Jamila agreed. The director's talent was surprising, and as he led the group through the scene his stock in the cat's eyes rose sharply. As the dance ended, the raccoon stood, catching his breath, then looked up at the surprised gazes on him. "What? You all thought I was just some schmuck with money and no talent?"

A few heads started to nod, then froze halfway.

"Feh." He looked around at his group. "Great stuff, you all. Stevie, did you watch that? Do it like that. Next!"

Jamila joined five other dancers on the hardwood stage and took her place. It was a rather simple piece with a few intricate steps, but nothing too outlandish. Each of the six had a short solo while the others stayed back. It was easy enough. The feline took a breath as the music rose, then strode into graceful motion.

They were halfway through the five-minute performance when that cold breeze blew past Jamila's legs again - and tickled up her thighs in the process. She nearly lost a step when the sensation rose up and brushed against her groin.

"Oh, not again," she thought, keeping her mind on the flow of the dance as it moved into her solo. That chill followed her though. She felt the heat of her arousal rising, as if the wind itself was stroking over the crotch of her costume, finding gaps through it to swirl its touch against her panties, then brushing those aside to find her folds seeping wetness beneath.

Once again the cat fought to focus, thinking of where her feet needed to go, how her body moved, which way she was called on to move in the dance. With each step, the teasing against her labia continued. Her breath came faster as she swirled and leaped within the solo.

It was less easy to focus when she rejoined the background and let the next dancer step forward. She felt as if her pleasure was going to drip down her legs at any moment. Gritting her teeth, she fixed a neutral expression and finished out the dance, though it seemed as if any movement could cause a very embarrassing incident.

Finally it was over. She hurried off stage; Toby gave her a nod and turned to two of the others to give them notes on the performance. Thankful for the distraction, the feline grabbed her bag, ducked out the back of the prep room and slipped further into the mansion with the chill breeze following every step.

Jamila had explored the old house once or twice during lulls in rehearsal, though never too far. This time, though, she continued past the empty kitchen and deeper into the mansion. A set of stairs led up into the back of the house, and the cat followed them on quiet paws. She couldn't hear any feet behind her, and that was perfect.

The steps opened onto a short hallway with several doors; she picked one at random and ducked into the room. It was an old bedroom, empty of furniture, a faded rug piled up in one corner where it had been left some time in the past. Jamila listened again - still no sounds of anyone behind her.

Perfect.

She closed the door quietly and leaned against it. Her black costume slid off in seconds, followed by her panties. Exposing herself fully pushed her arousal higher, and as the breeze swirled around her legs she slipped her fingers down between her thighs.

A moan escaped the feline's lips at the first touches of her fingertips against her folds. The amount of wetness there surprised her, but she made good use of it, spreading her slick juices over her fingers and spreading her labia to slip inside.

It was almost electric, the sensations spreading as Jamila stroked herself with practiced fingers. It had been two years since her last time with anyone else and she was skilled at pleasing herself, but this felt like something even greater. She turned around and leaned on the door, bending at the waist and sinking her fingers deeper, thrusting in and out, pressing against her sensitive clitoris with each movement.

An image rose in her mind, her leaning against the door, slim white tail raised over her back, someone kneeling behind her, muzzle pressed between her cheeks, questing tongue exploring her sex with eager caresses. She matched the fantasy's movements with eager fingers, rocking her hips back and forth in time with the nondescript figure's actions as the touch moved closer to her needy center.

Impatient, the cat let herself focus on her clit with both fingers, rubbing fast and hard - and almost instantly came. She shuddered as the climax rolled through her every fiber. It was urgent and intense and nearly drove her to her knees, but she managed to stay upright - barely - as the sensation slowly subsided.

The fantasy figure seemed to whisper "thank you" before it faded slowly away along with the chill of the breeze, leaving her panting against her arm, barely propped up.

Jamila opened her eyes and stared at the door. A set of claw marks dragged through the varnish, flecks of wood at the bottom. She flushed - hopefully nobody had taken that close of a survey of the house before Toby had rented it for his show.

A few drops of wetness had fallen to the dusty hardwood beneath her; Jamila took a workout towel from her bag and cleaned herself up as best she could before turning to wipe the floor.

Something caught her eye, and she paused.

Her footprints were obvious in the dust, to either side of the droplets she had left. But behind that, the dust had been disturbed as well. It still covered the floor - but there were patches that were not as thick as the rest. It was as if, some time in the past, someone had knelt there - in just the spot her fantasy partner had been.

She stared at that and glanced around the room with a shiver that had nothing to do with the mansion's resident chills. Everywhere else, the dust was just as thick - except for that one spot.

And two more spots - footprints that stood in front of the old, ornate fireplace set into one wall. They had the same look as the first, a layer of dust newer than the rest of the room, but still there.

Jamila shivered and pulled her clothes on in record time. She stepped out of the room and glanced back - to see that the footprints had shifted, just slightly.

She dashed back downstairs, tail puffed out and heart racing for reasons far different than a few moments before.

Toby looked up as she re-entered the prep room. "Oh, there you are - I thought you had left."

"Not... not yet." Jamila looked around; a few of the others were still present, but it appeared the rehearsal had broken up early. "Uh... did I miss anything?"

"You missed Mister Director admitting that he's done two Broadway productions and a bunch of repertory stuff up East!" Emma said, the Doberman leaning through the door with a grin.

Toby waved the canine off, the raccoon's thick ringed tail flicking back and forth. "I should have kept my mouth shut, this bunch suddenly thinks I've got a stack of Tonys in my den or some shit. It was second page of the playbill every time, I swear." He gave Jamila a look and motioned in the direction she had come from. "You off exploring?"

"Um... yeah, I was a bit wound up and needed to walk around some. Do you, uh... do you know much about this place, its history, that sort of thing?"

"Hm?" Toby scratched an ear. "Not really. I know it ain't been lived in for about a decade, but the owners keep it up enough that it isn't gonna fall apart any time soon. Built in, like, 1850 or something, and the same family's had it since then."

"Huh." She paused, and flushed a little. "Have you, uh... have you heard anything about it being, you know... haunted, or anything?"

"Haunted? Hah. You've been in New Orleans too long, girl." Toby scoffed, picking up his speakers. "Voodoo, spooks, all that stuff, they really get into it down here. Only thing haunting this place is you when you aren't focusing on my genius direction."

"Heh. Yeah, well, I guess you're right. Just figured I'd ask. Might add some atmosphere to the performance, you know?"

"Hmm. Maybe." The raccoon looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "Nah. Doesn't quite fit what I wanna do with it. Thanks for the idea, though."

Jamila took a few deep breaths, glancing up towards the room above. Maybe she had imagined the markings in the dust. Maybe they'd been shadows cast by the ancient drapes.

Maybe.

She shrugged her pack onto her shoulders. "Yeah. Sure, Toby. See you tomorrow afternoon."

"Two more rehearsals!" he called after her. Jamila waved back as she stepped out the front door.

None of the other dancers had stayed behind. She was relieved at that - with no shift at the diner she had no excuse not to go out, and there was something else that was on her mind beyond carousing in the French Quarter.

Jamila let the breeze off the river push her towards the streetcar line and headed for the university district. The library would be open for a while yet, and she wanted to do some research.

* * * * *

As it turned out, Tulane's library held a surprisingly large collection of historical texts surrounding New Orleans and its districts. Unfortunately, Jamila mused, when one combined 'Garden District' with 'haunted' or 'ghosts' the number of books dropped significantly.

The cat stared at the six books sitting on the table in front of her. It had taken most of an hour to track them down - Jamila was surprised at how her academic skills had faded in the few years since she had finished school - and another hour of skimming through them had turned up little information. One book had seemed promising, with a mention of the area in which the mansion was located combined with a little-known graveyard, but beyond that she was striking out.

Not that she was sure what she wanted to learn, at any rate. Had someone written about the house being haunted? What difference would it make if they had? Were there any logical explanations for what she might have seen? That was an entirely different line of research.

Jamila shoved the latest book away and stared at her notes. So far, she had written "Garden District spirits - maybe?" and that was about all she had managed.

"Rough times, miss?"

The voice was right next to her. Jamila left four parallel claw marks along the top sheet of note paper and spun, her tail bottled out, to face the person standing next to her.

He held up his paws apologetically. "So sorry, I don' mean no fright," the red wolf said, his voice coated in a deep Cajun tone. "Done caught sight of y'all's research an' figured maybe I can offer some help, non?"

The wolf was middle-aged at best, his grey-flecked fur lighter around the muzzle and ears. He wore a Tulane polo shirt, a bit tight around the middle, and had a book bag slung over his shoulder with a photo pass attached. Jamila recognized the pass as a faculty ID. "You work here?" she asked, relaxing slightly.

The wolf nodded. "Sure do. Name's Wyatt Landry. I'm a professor here, though got some other interests I play with when the dean's lookin' elsewhere." He motioned to the books. "Sometin' like dem works. Voodoo, spiritualism an' such."

"Huh. I knew there was a lot of interest in this stuff, but I didn't know they were scholarly subjects. I get the feeling if I were to get too into these things I'd get laughed off the campus."

Wyatt grinned and sat down. "Cher, ain't nobody gon' laugh ol' Wyatt off this campus. I got tenure." He picked up a book. "What's your name, and what y'all lookin' for?"

"Jamila Cook." She motioned to the books. "I'm, well... I'm trying to figure out what I saw the other day."

"What you saw?" Wyatt's bushy eyebrows raised curiously. "Y'all see something 'long these lines?"

"Yeah. Sort of. I mean... I don't know." The cat flushed slightly. "It was probably nothing."

"Miss Cook, first thing y'all gotta know when it come to these subjects is ain't no such thing as nothin'." Landry glanced at the book he held, grimaced and put it back down. "You want to learn about how strange New Orleans could be, you follow the crazy ol' professor, he help you with what you want to know. Oh!" Wyatt raised a finger, and stepped into the shelves where Jamila had been searching. "Where you be... ah, there."

Wyatt slid a book from the shelf, then looked around a moment, winked at Jamila, and picked up a volume from the pile she had selected. "Ain't all totally awful, anyhow. You got a good eye. C'mon, let's solve a mystery."

* * * * *

Jamila followed the red wolf through the corridors to a door labeled with his named and the title Professor of History. Inside, a small conference room boasted a table, several chairs and a whiteboard, along with haphazard piles of books and papers. Beyond that was the least professorial offices Jamila had ever seen.

Masks and totems sat on shelves surrounded by strings of Mardi Gras beads and woven strands of feathers, flowers and other unidentifiable materials. Untidy bookshelves were heaped with various titles, and a table was covered with a large map of the Mississippi Delta, covered with sketches and notes.

Landry added his library books to the collection on his desk and sat down. He noted the cat's bemused expression and grinned. "Got into this research a while back. My mama was a voodoo queen out on the bayou west of here, I got the spark from her tales." He found a notepad and pen. "Come, sit, tell me what got you lookin' at spooks and spirits, Miss Cook."

"It's a little strange to be talking about, especially to someone I just met a half-hour ago," Jamila admitted as she took the only other open chair in the room. "I, uh... well, I think I saw a ghost. I guess, anyhow?"

"Saw, or felt?" Wyatt asked, leaning forward, his ears suddenly perked and alert.

"Saw... well, no, it was more like felt, now that you mention it." Jamila frowned, thinking back over the earlier experience. "I didn't actually see, like, a figure, but I saw some footprints and other tracks in some dust, and it looked like some of those were moving while I watched."

"Ahh. Now that's interesting. Walk me through it, Miss Cook?"

Landry watched the cat intently, scrawling notes on a pad of paper while Jamila haltingly worked her way through what had happened in the mansion - editing heavily around the whole arousal and masturbation thing, of course. When she finished, the wolf tapped his pen on his lips with a thoughtful gaze.

"Ain't first time I heard of this kind of incident, t' be honest," he said slowly, watching her. "'Cept in those other cases I hear tell there's sometimes a heightened sense of emotion involved - irrational anger, sudden sadness, overwhelming urge to leave an' go someplace far away. Any of that?"

Jamila flushed, her ears twitching back and tail sliding around her ankles. "I, uh... maybe?"

"No need to be embarrassed about nothin' with me, Miss Cook. Purely scientific interest in what y'all experienced." He lifted an eyebrow. "So...?"

"Uh... there was some emotional stuff, yes. Se... sexual, emotional stuff." She looked away, sure that her ears had turned bright red through her fur.

Landry scribbled notes again. "Ain't the first time I heard that one, either, cher. How intense were the feelings?"

"What?" She straightened, indignant. "You want me to give you the blow-by-blow? You writing porn or something over-"

Landry held up his paws defensively with a laugh. "Non, non, mais non! Ain't no ulterior motive here, Miss Cook, just helps me compare with the other reports I read on this kind of thing. We can skip it if y'all insist."

Jamila relaxed, slightly, and looked down again. "Sorry. I don't go around talking about sex with strange men."

"If it helps, ain't no great thing for ol' Landry here, cher. He play for the other team, anyhow." He met her surprised look with a grin. "Y'all could tell me any dirty story about pretty young ladies an' I'd be askin' about the room décor after. Ain't my thing."

"I, uh... oh. Well." Sure that she was now a redhead, Jamila explained again with the salient points included, then fell silent again.

Wyatt studied the notes, and nodded. "Yup. Matches up real good." He stood and beckoned her to join him at the table. "What address is this again?"

"I forget exactly, but it's, uh... You got a map of the city?"

"Sure thing. Here we go."

Papers scattered as Wyatt leafed through maps, finally drawing one out and setting it on top. Jamila saw that it was already marked up with a number of incomprehensible scrawls, penciled lines and other notations. The cat traced her finger along the streets of the Garden District, and pointed. "Here. Right here."

"Damn, girl, that explains a lot." Wyatt leaned across the table with a pencil and ruler, and started comparing the location with some of the other points sketched on the map. "That part of town be beaucoup busy right now, lots of strange stuff goin' on."

Jamila watched, confused, for a few moments as the professor mumbled to himself under his breath, making notes and drawing additional lines. "Excuse me. What the hell is all this?"

"Y'all ever hear of ley lines?"

"I might have heard the phrase once or twice. What are they?"

"Depends on who you talk to. Some folks think they just natural sightlines used for buildin' things - least that was how it started back in England. Got a bit more interesting this century, though." Wyatt scribbled another note. "Some folks said they was a way to measure the energy of the earth, or the universe, or whatever happen to be their preferred interest at the time."

Jamila scratched an ear. "I don't understand."

"Neither do most of us who get into it, cher." She rolled her eyes at the wolf's impish grin. "I got my own theory, and it look to be comin' together right now."

"Can you explain to a stupid dancer, please?"

Wyatt stood up, rubbing his lower back. "Lots of people say ley lines are related to spirits, residual energy, same thing ghosts and spooks and such tend t' be tied to in a lot of theories. Fact is, ain't no way to measure that, an' depending on who you talk to it makes no sense for these spirits to be here. You religious?"

"I was raised Protestant, but I only really go to church on holidays." Jamila shrugged. "I believe in God, anyhow."

"Me too. So, if the soul goes to heaven - or hell - when we die, what's this left behind t' be seen by people who think they see stuff?"

Jamila started to speak, then paused. "That... is a good question. Makes no sense for there to be any energy left behind, right?"

"Right! See, you ain't hardly stupid." He grinned. "So what are these energies that we crazy buggers into paranormal science keep blabbin' on about? Nobody's sure. But I got a hunch, anyhow."

Landry pointed to the map. "I'm a big science fiction fan, read a lot about multiple dimensions and such. What if that's right - that we got more dimensions floating around out there, maybe some of the closest identical to ours, kinda like timelines runnin' side by each with little differences here and there?"

"You're losing me again, Wyatt. How does this make me suddenly get really horny and see ghost footprints?"

"Patience, cher. I'm gettin' there. Look, if there are these other dimensions alongside ours, there's a big question: do they touch? Do they cross over? Is it possible to see them alongside ourselves?" Wyatt drew several more lines. "Me, I think them ley lines I been measurin' mark the crossing of dimensions somehow. Closer the dimensions are, the stronger the energy - magnetic, is what I measure - and them ley lines been getting stronger around here lately."

He slapped the map with his ruler. "And you, young dancer, seem t' have found where that dimension is closest."

On the paper, the lines converged, at least a half-dozen of them, all on the spot Jamila had pointed out. She blinked. "So what does that mean?"

"It means, cher, we may be able to communicate between dimensions, depending on how close they truly get." He grinned. "Seems like, from what you had happen, might have had some early communication already."

She flushed again. "Hey! What do you mean, I was raped by a ghost or something?"

"Nah. If these are other dimensions similar to ours, then if you happen to be in a point where they're closing, the theory is that there may be a you in that dimension - or close as never mind to - and that you're connecting somehow with their emotions, just amplified. Either that or you're connecting with someone close to that other you somehow. Ain't nobody know the mechanics, but it's possible." He tapped his nose with the ruler. "The dust, now, that might be somethin' different - localized wind currents cause of the magnetic shifting, maybe - I'd have to talk to someone smarter on that end to-"

"Mister Landry?"

The wolf looked up. "Hm?"

Jamila leaned on the table and caught his gaze with hers. "Do you have any idea how insane that all sounds? A lot of people would listen to that line of bullshit and suggest you call a psychiatrist - if they didn't volunteer to do it themselves. How the hell am I supposed to believe any of this?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Ain't nothin' saying you got to believe me, cher. I'm not sellin' you anything, just offering an explanation for your experience. You can go back on to your dancin' and enjoy life, maybe have another free orgasm or three before the show's over. Or..."

"Or what?"

"Or you be a curious, intelligent young lady, invite me by to check this out first-hand, take some measurements, and maybe the two of us get to have a chat with some folks from another dimension."

Jamila flopped onto her chair. "I know which option makes more sense."

Wyatt smiled, sadly. "Wouldn't blame y'all to pick it, Miss Cook."

"Call me Jay, please," the cat replied. "And as much as I think you're probably crazy - would you like to come to rehearsal tomorrow?"

* * * * *

A small bribe had facilitated Wyatt entry - Toby was nothing if not mercenary. Wyatt's Chevy was waiting when Jamila emerged in her street clothes after the rehearsal. She climbed into the back seat. Wyatt blinked and half-turned in his seat to look at her curiously.

"Drive," she snapped.

"But I-"

"Drive!"

"Yes ma'am." The red wolf turned back around. Jamila waited for the car to start rolling, then, when she was sure her companion was looking ahead, shoved a paw down the waistband of her loose sweats.

It took thirty seconds of frantic rubbing, her fingers slickened by her nearly overwhelming arousal, to reach a climax, and she nearly bit through her lip to keep from screaming at the rush of pleasure. A minute later, the cat extracted her wet fingers from her pants and slumped back against the seat.

Wyatt glanced back at her in the rear-view. "Everything all right back there, cher?"

"It was... it was worse tonight. More intense. Like, really intense."

"Musta been. Y'all putting off enough scent to get an old gay wolf riled up, anyhow."

She blushed hard. "Ugh... sorry, Wyatt, I just..."

"It's okay, Jay." He rolled down the windows a crack. "And you're right - real intense, on my side too. Got some pretty high numbers on the meters tonight. I think we're gettin' pretty close to matching up. You don't mind me comin' back tomorrow night, we may have what I need to plot all this out."

Jamila rolled her window down fully and leaned out into the scant breeze. "So, uh... if you're wrong about your theory and this really is some sort of paranormal thing, spooks and spirits and such as you put it - what happens if something really does happen?"

"Well, cher, if the dimensions meet and ol' Baron Samedi steps through a hole in reality to whisk us all off, I'll take off my hat an' offer to buy him a drink if he'll leave my soul just where it is." He grinned into the rear-view. "Ain't expectin' that, but, just in case... he got a thing for good rum, if y'all wanna hedge your bets."

* * * * *

A confused crowd of dancers met them the next night when the pair walked up Camp towards the mansion. Emma saw them coming and practically charged at Jamila, waving her phone angrily. "Have you seen this shit?" the Doberman shouted, pointing at the screen. "That ringtailed asshole dumped us!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Jamila looked at the blur of light that the dog was waving around, then blinked when her own phone buzzed against her hip.

The text was from Toby. She read it twice, swore and handed it to Wyatt, who grunted. "Ran out of money, bad ticket sales, show's canceled, huh? Well ain't that a thing."

"It's a major thing!" Jamila hissed in anger and watching the others start to wander off.

Her phone buzzed again in Wyatt's hands, and he looked down. "Well, least he's throwin' some of what money he got at you."

The cat took her phone back and looked down. Sure enough, there was an e-transfer. "That's nice of him, at least."

Around them, the other dancers were also looking at their phones, and the level of muttering rose then lowered. Slowly, the group began to disperse. "You going to come with us for some drinks on that asshole, Jay?" one of them called.

"I, uh... got some other things I need to do, Casey."

The coyote looked at Wyatt, then back at Jamila. "Oh. Well... okay." She trotted off after a group.

Jamila glanced at the red wolf, who smiled back. "Looks like I got a girlfriend, huh?"

"You'd be so lucky, Professor. What are we going to do?"

"Well, I can try an' talk someone into a table over at Commander's Palace, we spend some of Toby's money, and..."

She jabbed him in the ribs. "Damn it, Wyatt, you know what I'm talking about! Toby had the lease on this place, so he had the keys - it's locked up tight!"

At her gesture towards the mansion, he shrugged. "Ain't nothin' we can do about it right now." The wolf glanced up and down the street appraisingly. "You gotta work tonight?"

"Yeah, I got a short shift. Why?"

"How 'bout I pick you up when you're done, we see about what we can do then."

She lifted an eyebrow. "You have an idea?"

"Yep. Little backwater know-how go a long way, cher."

* * * * *

The district was nearly silent at midnight on a Thursday. Jamila looked around as she and Wyatt strolled casually along the streets. A few cars rolled past, and some other pedestrians were around, but in general there wasn't a lot of traffic.

"So, what are we doing other than enjoying the evening air?"

Wyatt smiled as they walked onto the dark lot that held the abandoned mansion. "Remindin' me of my younger days a little bit, Jay. C'mon." The wolf looked around, then darted down along the side of the house. "Use them dancer's skills to keep quiet, hm?"

"Wha-"

Jamila followed along silently, and watched as the wolf found a side door. He checked the lock, grunted quietly and pulled something out of his sleeve. "You grow up on the bayou, sometimes you maybe kinda want somethin' from someone down the other end of the bayou - or in town, but you ain't got the money," he murmured quietly, fiddling with the lock. "Ain't really somethin' to brag about, but... ah!"

The door swung open. Jamila eyed the wolf, who grinned. "Still got it. After you."

The cat's tail swished back and forth. She eyed the door warily. "You have alarms and such on the bayou, monsieur?"

"Nope. And no alarms in here either. I looked the other night."

"You sure you aren't a cat burglar on the side?"

"I ain't the feline breakin' into an old empty house, cher." He winked. "C'mon, kittycat, let's see what we find, non?"

Inside, the house was silent save for the occasional creak of a board settling in the cooling night. Wyatt mumbled to himself a moment in the darkness, then a circle of light from his phone spread out before them. "Y'all hold this please, Jay?"

The cat accepted his phone. "What do we do?"

"I'm goin' to check some numbers here, see if we can't pinpoint where things are closest tonight."

Wyatt drew two handheld magnetometers from the bag slung over his shoulder, and switched each one on. Their panels cast dim, shimmering light across the wolf's face as he fiddled with dials and switches. Jamila looked around nervously. "This place is creepy enough in the daytime, in the dark it's worse."

"Just an old house, Jay. Old houses like t' talk sometimes at night." His teeth flashed green in the dim light from his equipment. "Tellin' stories of days gone by, I like to think."

"I guess." She looked up at a particularly loud groan from somewhere towards the back of the house. "This one sounds like it's telling horror stories."

"Aw, come on now, cher. We on the cusp of great discoveries! Cheer up. Ah!" Wyatt pointed. "Best reading seem to be comin' from that way."

Jamila looked in the direction he was gesturing. "That's, uh... that's where the room is. Upstairs. The one where I saw the footprints."

"Makes sense, then. Come on, time's wastin'!"

Stairs creaked as the two climbed to the second floor, and Jamila winced at every sound. Wyatt mumbled, watching the meters flicker. "Which room was it?"

Silently, Jamila shone the light onto the closed door. Wyatt hummed to himself. "Well, cher, let's see what we got."

He opened the door carefully, letting the light from his phone spill in. The room was as empty as Jamila remembered, but on the floor the dust was still disturbed - and even more so than before. She could see the smudging where she had stood, then the half-covered spots where the other marks had been. And, in the white light, more footprints that spread around the room, each covered by that same smudge of dust.

Wyatt whistled quietly. "Someone been busy in here, cher. These were you, yeah?"

He pointed to the fresh marks by the door. Jamila nodded. "Yes. And the ones right next to that were there after, uh..." She colored, and the wolf nodded. "But all the rest - it looks... almost like someone was-"

"Dancin'. Yeah."

Wyatt circled the room slowly. Jamila watched the wolf dig into his bag and produce a handful of thick candles. These were set around the room, and lit, casting flickering light into the broad room. "What are you doing?"

"I need a little light." He set a small video camera on an elderly chest of drawers and pointed it towards the middle of the room. "Dunno if I'm gonna catch anything on tape, but ain't no reason not to try."

The little red light lit on the camera. The cat and wolf stared at each other for a long moment in silence. Finally, Jamila shifted her feet. "So... what now?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Hell if I know, cher. Ain't nobody wrote nothin' about this." He scratched at his chin and motioned to the footprints in the dust. "You been makin' connections with whatever this is by dancin', non? Well... dance."

"Finally, something I can do right. Wait a second." The cat handed Wyatt his phone back, then took her own out and went through the music files. A title caught her eye, and she smiled slightly. "Lindsey Sterling... that's appropriate." She thumbed the play button and set the phone next to the camera.

A quiet electronic beat started, and Jamila set her feet inside the door, breathing softly, letting the strains of 'Shadows' take her. Violin laced softly into the thumping bass line, and she moved, smooth, crisp, her feet joining with the melody to carry the feline across the room and turn with the chorus, her movements flowing to the tone of the violin. Dust drifted as her feet tapped and slid, the old boards creaking beneath her weight, lost beneath the building theme of the song.

The arousal slipped up on Jamila as she moved; one moment nothing, the next moment a sudden surge that flowed from her lower body up her spine.

She heard a gasp from Wyatt that pulled her out of the music for just a moment, and looked up.

A shadow danced with her.

It was halting, uncertain, unsure, but with each bar of the song it seemed to move with greater surety, as if it was learning from her. Jamila slowed her own steps, simplified the patterns she danced just a little while keeping the beat, her slim body flowing with the violin, nagging desire swelling even more. The shadow seemed to catch on as Jamila made her dance less complex, and slowly the cat and the dark, blurred form joined into step.

"Who are you?" Jamila whispered as they paused during a short gap in the music.

The shadow moved closer, its form becoming more distinct. "Jain..." a thin voice whispered from far away. An arm lifted towards her. "Jamila..."

She froze as the apparition spoke her name. It shifted as the music started again, though, and the voice spoke again, its tone filled with emotion and desire.

"Dance."

Jamila danced. She let the shadow lead, and the two spun and twirled around the room, lifted by the violin melody, anchored by the thumping electronic bass. The shadow took on greater form, a feline form, black as the night outside the old smudged windowpane. Its tail swirled in time with Jamila's, and it seemed to radiate sheer joy as it moved with her.

The two closed in distance. The melody built, and as the violin doubled on itself to a climax, Jamila reached out a paw towards the shadow.

And touched soft, furred fingers.

Amber eyes glowed out of black fur as Jamila met its - her - gaze. She wore a simple grey-toned dress, any other details lost in the candlelight. Her fingers trembled. Jamila realized that hers were doing the same.

The music swept over them again. The other cat - Jani - smiled, shyly, and took a tentative step. Jamila matched it with her own. Jani moved again, and again, and Jamila followed, until the two felines fell back into the dance.

They flowed with the music, never letting their fingers part, tails whirling and feet kicking up dust wildly as the pair danced through the song's final verse with urgent energy. Finally, the song ended, leaving silence in the room.

Jamila and Jani came to rest facing each other, their paws still entwined. The white cat and black cat both panted with exertion. They stared at each other for a long moment. Jamila caught a familiar scent rising - her own arousal. Doubled.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to step towards the other cat, so she did. And found that Jani had done the same thing.

Jamila had occasionally fooled around with other girls, though not for some time. But when her lips met Jani's it felt like she had been doing it for years. The slim arms that wrapped around her waist drew her close, and for a moment Jamila, lost in the touch and taste and feel of the cat, thought to herself that this was what it felt like when other people hugged her.

She felt pretty good.

Jani kissed awkwardly, as if she had little experience, but that didn't really matter to the white-furred feline. She slid a paw up to cup the back of Jani's neck, and the black cat sighed against her lips, her hips pushing closer.

A discreet cough to one side drew Jamila's attention away for a moment. Wyatt watched them with a bemused expression from one corner, the red wolf's tail curled around to cover his groin. She almost felt sorry for him, and nearly disengaged from Jani's arms. But the black feline lowered her head and kissed along Jamila's collarbone through her thin T-shirt, and she moaned. Wyatt could deal with it.

She barely registered him picking up the camera and stepping out of the room. Her focus was too much on the other cat, whose paws were hesitantly sliding down over Jamila's jeans to explore her rump. "Yes," she murmured into an ebon ear, which twitched; the paws became more eager, and Jamila threw herself into things with her own enthusiasm.

Jani's breasts were small and firm - just like her own - and she knew how sensitive they were. The black cat rowled quietly against her shoulder as she cupped those breasts under the dress, the nipples pressing firmly into her palms.

Within a few moments, the jeans thumped to the floor. They were followed quickly by Jani's simple dress, and Jamila's T-shirt and underclothes. The two cats looked each other up and down, panting, then threw themselves back into each other's arms, kissing urgently.

The touch of exploring fingers on her sex arched Jamila's back, sending thrills through her body as Jani stroked with fumbling, uncertain motions. Jamila leaned down to nibble through the cat's black neck fur and reached down to find the other feline sopping wet. She kissed a pointed ear and murmured "Like this." She touched the other cat just so, knowing how she liked to be stroked, finding the erect and eager clitoris to circle it with a gentle touch.

Jani arched this time, and yowled, a high keen that announced the black cat's orgasm. She writhed against Jamila's fingers, bathing the other cat's paw with her fluids. When it was over, Jani slumped in Jamila's arms, her head against the white fur of her shoulder. Jamila carefully lowered the cat down to her knees, and Jani looked up with a gentle smile.

"Remember this?" Jamila murmured down to the other cat. Jani watched, curious, as Jamila turned and leaned her elbows against the wall. She curled her tail up, presenting for the black female.

Jani's eyes widened. "I... that was..."

"...amazing," Jamila murmured. "Again?"

"Yes."

Lips pressed against Jamila's wet folds. She moaned, pushing back against that touch. Jani's tongue flicked out and caressed along her sex, earning a more urgent whine from the white cat. The soft, wet caress of her tongue shifted down to roam around Jamila's clit, flicking and swirling, lapping at the fluids that were flowing more freely as her arousal built.

"Oh... oh, there," Jamila murmured, her fingers slipping down to guide Jani's lapping tongue to the right spots within her. The black cat took guidance well and focused on those spots, gently, eagerly driving Jamila towards a peak.

When a slim finger tentatively pushed its way into her, thrusting in time with the flickering tongue that lashed at her clit, Jamila arched her back and came, hard. This time she didn't hold back and yowled, a lustful sound that echoed around the room for long moments. Jani slowed her touch, but didn't stop moving until Jamila gently pushed her back and slumped down to sit next to the other feline.

They rested in each other's arms, sitting side by side and sharing gentle kisses until their breathing had returned to normal. Jamila drew back and looked into Jani's eyes. "What... oh, there are so many things to ask!"

"Yes, there are. Where is this?" Jani gestured around. "I was in my room in my granny's house. Been havin' these dreams about a cat looked a lot like me, getting this urge to... well, dance. And..." She looked down. "...well, touch myself, lots."

Jamila chuckled, nuzzling into the black fur between Jani's ears. "I've been dancing. And touching myself. But I think you knew that."

The other cat blushed. "One night, I swore I could hear this strange music, and then had this feeling when I was, um, you know. Dreamed that I did what I just did to you to my beautiful white cat. And then tonight, somehow... I did." She shivered a little against Jamila's side. "Hope my granny doesn't hear about this, she'd throw me out on my ear. Girls lovin' girls - the church says that's a sin. But" - she kissed Jamila's nose - "to hell with sin."

Jamila smiled, her tail curling around the other cat's. "Um, this is going to sound strange, but - what year is it?"

"What year? It's eighteen-ninety-two, of course."

"How is that-" She paused, and thumped on the door. "Wyatt! I know you're listening out there - how is that possible?"

The door creaked open a crack, and the red wolf peeked through. He saw the two felines naked on the floor and ducked his head back hurriedly. "Um, well, seems like the dimensions ain't totally aligned in time, perhaps. Or space - this place been here since before the Civil War, I'd bet."

"Before the war?" Jani looked confused. "We built Granny's shack about ten years back on the high ground outside Baton Rouge. Her old place got flooded out."

"See? There ya go." Wyatt sounded smug. "I ain't smart enough in physics and such to know why, but after I show some folks this, they finally gonna see that ol' Wyatt ain't the crazy they thought he was."

Jamila rolled her eyes. "Are you smart enough to know how long this junction of dimensions, or whatever it is, is going to last?"

"Seems like the lines are slowly movin', cher. I'm guessing around an hour more, at this strength."

"Then what happens?" Jamila felt Jani's arms tighten, and the black cat stiffened.

There was a long pause outside the door. Finally Wyatt spoke again. "Dimensions drift apart again. Jani there goes back to her shack, you stay here."

Jani sighed quietly. "Will this... can this ever happen again?" she asked in a small voice.

"Don't know, cher. But one thing I'm gonna try an' work on is mapping the movements of the ley lines. Maybe we find another crossing point. Maybe it comes back here. Like I say, I ain't smart enough to work that out, but I'm gonna recruit people who are."

"So, right now, we have about an hour together." Jamila looked into the eyes of the black cat. Jani looked back. "What would you like to do?"

Jani smiled, and leaned in. Black muzzle met white muzzle, lips lingering against one another for a long moment, before the black cat lifted her mouth to Jamila's ear.

"Let's dance."