Chapter 19
A summer rain had just washed over Ether Drive, and the highway's background hum was now enriched by a cheerful chirping that seemed to come from everywhere. Through the open living room window of the House of the Winds, the ozone-scented air felt like the perfect therapy to bring the white cat back to her senses.
From the kitchen, male voices could be heard, quite similar in timbre. But by the recliner chair in front of Remi, on the thick, fluffy carpet, the household's fur-babies had formed a semicircle—if you can imagine a semicircle made up of a black tomcat, a ginger kitten, and a mouse strategically positioned behind a pair of Anemo’s glasses.
"You... you're awake, Miss Remi! Are you feeling better?" Sirocco asked the moment he saw the white cat open her eyes.
Remi measured the three of them with her gaze and stopped on Aeolus, who was trembling ever so slightly.
"Aeolus? It's still me, why are you shaking and... what are you doing behind those glasses?"
The mouse wiped a paw across his forehead and, with a voice that tried to sound brave, replied, "One never knows what kind of feline instincts might awaken in you, Remi. Better safe than sorry..."
"Seriously? Weren't you Agent 003.5 at my disposal?" Remi meowed, and her fine irony made all the furballs breathe a sigh of relief.
"Ne soyez pas des enfants! Don't be children!" Mistral intervened in a lazy, aristocratic tone, elegantly flicking his black tail. "Such barbaric instincts don't awaken overnight in a successful writer, mon cher Aeolus."
Aeolus stepped out slowly from behind the large lenses of Anemo's glasses, shaking his whiskers, proud to be called "agent" once again. Meanwhile, from the kitchen, the voices of Anemo and Professor Simoon continued to flow warmly, so similar in timbre that, if you weren't paying close attention, you would have thought it was a single man talking to his own echo. The professor had come straight from the airport while she was asleep. Remi-Bise lowered her white paws onto the fluffy carpet. The ozone therapy coming through the window had done its job; she was no longer dizzy, but another matter was pressing on her now.
"Listen to me carefully," she whispered to the furballs, keeping her voice low so as not to be heard from the kitchen. "Before the men come out of there with the coffee, I need to save my skin with the publishing house. Arbalest has been sending desperate messages. If I don't reply, he's capable of hunting me down with Interpol."
"And how are you going to write to him if you don't have fingers, Miss Remi?"
"Well, that's what I have Aeolus for, isn't it? Hasn't he always sorted things out for me?"
"I am at your service, Remi!"
"Perfect! I need to send him an email lying that I am already in Egypt, in Cairo, on a secret research trip where I have no phone signal. I'll ask him for three months' breathing room, until the Equinox!"
Mistral looked at her with deep admiration: "Magnifique, Remi. But what if he wants to publish something now, in the summer? Editors are impatient people."
"For that, I have a hidden treasure in my personal blog, which, of course, I can access from anywhere in this world, from any device, as long as I know my password and have access to my email address. Let's not forget my phone which, now that Anemo knows my secret, I no longer have to access on the sly."
"You are brilliant, ma belle! But that would be too much running around on the keyboard for Agent 003.5. Isn't it better to take advantage of Anemo's dexterity? He's a long-haul writer, after all, and he knows how to smooth-talk Arbalest..." Mistral suggested, and catching a glimpse of Fleur stopping in the doorway out of the corner of his eye, he added, "He took lessons from a certain seven-year-old topknot."
Fleur burst out laughing and came toward them, skipping from one foot to the other.
"How does Sirocco put it? I learn more and more every single day!"
Professor Simoon, followed closely by his son, appeared as well to take part in the now expanded council of the House of the Winds.
*
Anemo's fingers were ready to fly like the wind across the laptop keyboard.
"So? What should I write to Archibald?" he asked, taking in the entire "council" in one glance.
"Let me think, let me think... write this: 'Dear Archibald, I am already in Cairo. I left in a great hurry, following an urgent research trail for my next novel – Remi Storm never stands still! It is something absolutely amazing, a mystical story that will leave everyone open-mouthed. I need three months of total peace, until the end of September, around the Equinox. Don't look for me on my phone, the signal in the archaeological sites and the desert is catastrophic, so we will only communicate via email whenever I catch Wi-Fi at the hotel.'"
Anemo grinned, sending her a complicit look over the screen: "Brilliant! But you know how publishing houses are, they want quick profit in the middle of summer. What if he says he wants to publish something now?"
Remi-Bise shook her head with a completely confident look: "Add the following paragraph: 'So as not to keep the readers waiting this summer, I am making my poetry available to you. In the attachment, you will find the manuscript with plenty of material. I have gathered enough poems, old and new, a whole volume full of soul, ready for print. That will keep you busy for exactly the three months I need.'"
"Anemo, I have a folder saved right in my email, look here! You'd think I foresaw that I would need such a backup plan. Send it!"
Anemo executed the command with the the precision of a literary surgeon. The attachment uploaded with an electronic whoosh, and the writer pressed the Enter key with a theatrical gesture. The message flew toward Archibald Peter Stone, saving the author's career for the next 90 days... Exactly the time they needed to prepare for the great journey to Cairo.
Professor Simoon, who had watched the whole scene while tactfully sipping his coffee, burst out laughing. His voice, so similar in timbre to Anemo's, filled the room:
"Well, Miss Remi, I see you are a consummate strategist. Now that you have secured your editorial peace, I think it's time to move on to even more serious matters. I understand that on Monday you'll have all the cat's papers ready, but we must be prepared too. What condition is your passport in, Anemo?"
"It's perfectly valid, Dad, don't worry! I have it right here in the drawer, renewed last year, so it has plenty of years left," Anemo said, placing the laptop on the black leather sofa and getting up to fetch the document.
Professor Simoon took it, flipped through its pages carefully, and nodded approvingly. Then, he looked up at the two writers—the human and the furry one—and adjusted his glasses on his nose, adopting the rigorous tone of a researcher:
"Good. The validity is perfect; you have more than the mandatory 6 months from the moment we set foot in Egypt. But, to avoid any surprises due to your 'abrupt departure' in the middle of summer, we need to think exactly about what comes next. Have you looked into the details?"
"Well... we get the visa directly at the Cairo airport, right? I understand it's quite simple, costs about 30 dollars," Anemo chimed in, glancing at Remi, who approved by slowly wagging her white tail.
"Correct, but look at what you two are overlooking in your literary enthusiasm," Professor Simoon said, tapping his finger lightly on the table. "The email you just sent to Arbalest says that Remi Storm needs three months of peace. What if Archibald asks for a video call? What am I saying, video... you can't even have an audio call with him!"
"She'll manage, Dad, she's Remi Storm after all! And it wouldn't hurt for us to head to Egypt sooner either. To be ready for any eventuality."
"We're going to Egypt, hurrah!" Sirocco shouted enthusiastically, but only Anemo, who had his hand on the white cat's collar, and Fleur understood his voice. And Mistral, who cut his excitement short immediately.
"We are not going, kiddo! We are staying home with Fleur..." Mistral instantly forgot all his pride as a chat noir too noble to get tangled up with "slippery topknots like that" and addressed the little girl in the sweetest voice in the world: "You will come to take care of us, won't you? Otherwise, that blockhead Anemo will take us to the lady mother... Goddess Durga, who lives in a porcelain exhibition."
"Durga? You nicknamed Mrs. Aura, Durga? But she's such a nice lady!"
Aeolus, who in the meantime had gathered enough courage to jump onto the sofa right next to the laptop screen, brought a paw to his eyes, seemingly overwhelmed with shame, and scolded Mistral:
"Did you really have to give us away?"
Only Professor Simoon, who had just heard his wife's nickname from the little girl's mouth, found the situation extremely amusing and began to laugh out loud, even to tears, trying to get something, however intelligible, out of his mouth:
"Anemo, my boy, ha-ha-ha, hi... please don't tell your mother I laughed! Hi-hi, nothing is more fitting for my dear than the image of the ten-armed goddess, hi-hi, ten arms cleaning, playing the piano, cooking, and feeding your tomcats! Hi, hi..."
The front door opened suddenly, without any warning, and then, right at that very moment, Goddess Durga of Ether Drive walked in with a huge pizza box... as if she had been summoned.
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