A black cat lay on the porch of 13 Bigelow Street. She yawned and stretched, then looked at the men milling about in the street. Some were armed with bats, chains, and tire irons. All were clearly spoiling for a fight. After another yawn, the cat got up and wandered into the house. She found Grace Bigelow in her sewing room and mewed at her.

“Trouble brewing, eh,” Grace said, smiling at the cat, “Guess I should have a look.”

Putting aside the dress she was repairing, Grace got up and looked out the window. She watched the men for a moment, smile turning to a frown. Then she looked up to the street. Another group of men was walking down from Old Victoria Road. They were close enough for Grace to see that they were also armed.

With a sigh, Grace headed down the stairs. The cat followed.

“Won’t do,” Grace muttered, “It’s been a long time, but I guess men never learn.”

“Meow,” said the cat, tail twitching.

“Indeed,” Grace replied.

As she stepped out on to her porch, the leader of the group coming down from Victoria yelled out, “We are here. This is my turf now, Malloy.”

“Fat chance, Mackenzie,” roared back Matt Malloy, leader of the Bigelow Street group, “This has been ours for decades now.”

He brandished a baseball bat and started toward the Mackenzie gang. His followers lined up behind, their own weapons held ready. The Mackenzies picked up their pace, closing the gap quickly.

At that moment, Grace charged into the street between them. Dressed in a long black skirt and black blouse, her long white hair blowing in the wind, she cut a striking figure. Stopping right in the middle of the street, Grace raised her arms, a palm towards each group.

“Stop right where you are. That’s quite enough, boys,” Grace ordered in a voice that seemed very powerful for someone who looked to be quite old on first glance.

On the curb, the cat sat down and watched. Her tail twitched and there was an angry gleam in her bright green eyes.

Both groups stopped advancing. A buzz of voices came from both sides.

“Get out of the way, Grace. This is men’s business,” said Matt.

Grace shot him a fierce glare.

She growled, “It is my business, Matt Malloy. I am the Bigelow here. This street is mine and your pa raised you to respect that.”

The cat shifted position and almost seemed to nod her head in agreement.

Matt blanched at the glare in Grace’s eyes and stepped back. Grace turned to the outsiders. That same glare fell on their leader.

“So which Mackenzie are you, boy?” she asked.

“Dan Mackenzie. What’s it to you, lady? And I’m no boy,” the man responded.

Grace snorted.

“You’re all boys to me. You sure look like one. So, you’re Big Jim’s son, eh. Named for your grandpa. Cute.”

“You know my family, lady?” Mackenzie responded, sounding incredulous.

“I know your pa, your grandpa, and your great-grandpa, Dan Mackenzie. Every one of them would have told you to leave Bigelow Street well enough alone.”

Dan Mackenzie snorted.

“My pa sent me down here, lady. Said if I got control of Bigelow, it was mine to run.”

Grace chuckled and told him, “Did he have a smirk on his face as he said it? Because he learned the hard way that Bigelow is not Mackenzie country. It’s Bigelow country. I think he’s testing you, boy.”

Mackenzie scowled. He was not used to women calling him a “boy” anymore. Though he was only twenty-six and Grace looked ... well, he couldn’t really place an age on her, just old.

“Get this daft old bat out of my way, Vic,” he snapped at the man next to him, “I’m no boy, woman. I grew up a long time ago.”

Grace laughed and shook her head as Vic stepped forward. He was a tall, hefty looking man. To all appearances, he would be able to throw Grace over his shoulder with one hand. Grinning, he marched towards her.

After a sigh, Grace raised her arms and pointed fingers towards Vic and uttered some strange words. On the curb, the cat stood. She arched her back and hissed.

Vic jerked backward and fell to the ground as if he had been hit hard. For a moment, his body twitched. When he sat up, his eyes were wide and there was a panicked look on his face.

“What the fuck?” he said, massaging his head, “I feel like I got hit by a fucking truck.”

Mackenzie scowled and whirled to face Grace again.

“You fucking witch,” he snarled, “No more kid gloves. Billy, deal with her.”

Another one of his crew marched out. This one held a length of steel pipe as a club.

Grace glared at Billy, then chanted more of her strange words and moving her hands almost as if dancing. The cat hissed. Billy screamed and dropped the steel rod. The portion he had been holding was glowing. Shaking and looking close to tears, Billy raised his hand. Across the palm was a nasty-looking burn.

“That’s quite enough of you,” Mackenzie snapped, pulling a revolver from under his coat and levelling it at Grace.

Grace smiled and responded, “I do think I am the one who has had enough of you.”

Something black flashed past so rapidly that neither gang really saw it. Mackenzie screamed and dropped the gun, blood dripping from his hand. A piece appeared to be missing. The cat was now on the curb opposite her original location, licking her lips. Grace smiled at her and nodded.

“Jesus Murphy, let’s get out of here,” Mackenzie yelled at his men.

The crew raced off, Dan Mackenzie in the lead. Vic pulled up the rear, still looking unsteady on his feet. The cat watched them go, then quietly disappeared between two houses.

Grace turned on the Bigelow Street defenders.

“So, Matt Malloy, you still think this is your street?”

“We could have handled them.”

“That was not the question, boy.”

Matt sighed. He hung his head and conceded, “It’s yours. Dad was right.”

“And what else did he tell you about me?”

“That there would be an offering needed, a sacrifice to pay for the protection of your magic.”

Grace smiled. Clearly old Ed Malloy had raised his son better than she thought. Her eyes scanned the group behind Matt until they fell on a teenager near Matt holding a tire iron.

“Very good, Mister Malloy. I think that boy there will be just right,” she said, pointing to the teen.

Matt looked. His face paled.

“That’s Tim, my son.”

The witch shrugged.

“You know how it works. He comes with me for a year, then he’s back with you. I promise his time will be well-spent and that I will endeavour to return him in one piece.”

Well, in one piece but changed. They rarely went unchanged after a year with Grace.

Matt slowly turned to his son, “Go home, Tim. Pack a bag and say goodbye to your mum. Then go to the Bigelow house.”

“Tomorrow will be fine,” Grace added, “Need time to get a room ready for company.”

The boy, looking nervous, nodded and raced off.

“Is that all?” Matt asked.

“That is all. Mister Mackenzie will have some rough times coming. He won’t be bothering Bigelow Street anymore.”

By the time Grace reached her porch, the cat was back. She rubbed against the witch’s leg mewing and purring. Sirens sounded in the distance.

The witch knelt and pet the cat.

“Thank you for your help as always,” Grace told her, “We won’t see that ugly lot around here again. This is our street, after all.”

The cat mewed once more, then followed Grace into the house.

“We have a new companion coming,” Grace told the cat once she settled back in her sewing room, “I think we have a lot to show him, don’t you? The usual room, I think.”

The cat lay down at Grace’s feet and purred softly. At the sound of more sirens, she looked up at Grace and mewed. Grace smiled at the cat but said nothing.

Matt Malloy sat in his living room with the radio on that evening. For years, he had convinced himself that the stories about Grace Bigelow were just that, stories. Now, though, he had a Grace story of his own.

A news break came on and Matt turned up the volume, wanting to hear if the afternoon’s events had been noticed outside Bigelow Street.

“Topping the news this evening,” said the announcer, “Police are investigating a fatal car crash that occurred this afternoon on the William Road rail overpass. Witnesses report that a vehicle left the road and broke through the guardrail, falling into the path of an oncoming train. Four men riding in the car were pronounced dead at the scene. Two others are in hospital in critical condition. Among the dead is Dan Mackenzie, the son of prominent local businessman and alleged organized crime figure Jim Mackenzie. The others are known associates of the Mackenzies. William Street remains closed at the overpass due to the investigation. Police are expected to release more information tomorrow morning.”

Malloy sat still, digesting the news. After a moment, he shuddered.

“Mister Mackenzie will have some rough times coming. He won’t be bothering Bigelow Street anymore,” Grace had told him.