This story is dedicated to Remo, Cotton, Yukon, Zooey, Ilsa, Shadow and CatToy, from their Aunt Christina (playing with other people's cats is more fun than being owned by one!)
6:27 AM
Brianne yawned, and glared around the Raven at the glasses, bottles and trash left to clean up. It was almost an hour until dawn, and most of the other denizens had either left or retired for the day. Great. She was the only one here, so she'd have to be the one to close the bar. Not for the first time she wished she'd left when Janette did. Everything in Toronto had gone downhill since then.
Too late now. LaCroix didn't pay enough for her to get a place of her own, much less a plane ticket to somewhere else. She was stuck here, with the rest of the fledglings too young to be independent. Brianne picked up one of the shot glasses on the bar and threw it against the wall just to hear it shatter. The door opened and Brianne whirled, eyes yellow, only to relax when she saw who it was. "Close the damn door, will you? It's getting early."
"Okay, okay. Why are you in such a bad mood?" Urs adjusted a bra strap and trudged down the stairs to the main dance floor. Her wide blue eyes studied Brianne with a combination of worry and confusion. Usually, getting any conversation at all out of Brianne was a major task, but the New Orleans vampire had been in an evil mood for weeks now, and it was starting to get old. Pretty soon Brianne'd be hanging out at the biker bars, starting fights just so she had an excuse to break some bones.
"Forget it. It's nothing," Brianne growled as the door opened again. "Shut the DAMN DOOR!" she snarled before she saw who it was.
"Sorry," Nick Knight said in bemusement as he toed the door shut. He was holding a basket in his hands, and seemed somewhat harried. "Is LaCroix around?"
Urs smiled sunnily and shook back her curls, to Brianne's sour amusement. Anything male had Urs smiling within seconds, as eager to please as a puppy. But the homicide detective had been relatively kind to her, Brianne knew, so he was even more likely to get the Urs Treatment. "The General's not here," Brianne said shortly, turning back to wipe down the counter.
"What have you got there?" Urs asked as Nick approached the bar and put the basket down.
Nick wrinkled up his nose ruefully, and moved the blanket covering the basket so they could see. Urs's eyes widened. "Oh, how cuuuute!" she gushed, reaching for the contents, and lifting one out. The basket was seething with small felines. A tiny white kitten with black ears and tail, and tilted green eyes, purred and rubbed its face against her hands. "Where did you get it?" the blonde vampire asked as she cuddled the furry handful.
"Someone left a whole litter of them on my doorstep. These are among the last ones," Knight replied, grimacing. "I managed to give a lot of them away, but..." His eyes started to gleam as he watched Urs coo at the small feline. "He seems to like you," he commented in a warm voice. Brianne felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in horrified realization.
"You think so?" Urs tickled it behind its ears, giggling a little when it meowed in pleasure.
"No. No way. Forget it, Urs," Brianne leaned forward and shot a glare at the oh-so-innocently smiling Detective Knight. "You can't keep it."
"What? Keep it? Oh, what a great idea," the other woman responded, beaming brilliantly. Brianne hung her head and groaned.
"Yeah, why don't you-"
"Not a CHANCE, Knight." Shaking her head, Brianne looked up at the two of them (three, if you counted the cat), all watching her with pleading eyes. "Will you both get real for a second? Urs, you keep that puffball around her for more than a day and it'll be someone's lunch. You should know that! A lot of the others aren't real picky about their snacks. And if they didn't munch on it, they might decide to play games with it. Interesting games."
"Well, why don't you find someone else to take it then?" Nick asked, grabbing the basket and blanket, and heading for the door. "Listen, I have to get going-"
"Knight-"
"The sun's almost up, you know how it is. Thanks for taking him off my hands, Urs!"
The door opened and shut one more time as Brianne yelled, "KNIGHT!" and Urs looked up from petting the cat.
"What should we name him?" she asked, kissing the kitten on the nose.
"What do you mean, 'we'?" Brianne muttered, then sighed.
7:57 PM
By the following evening, it was obvious that Brianne had been right. You really couldn't keep a sweet, active, funny, curious kitty at the Raven. Too many of the other residents resented being awakened by a "meowr?" and a pawed-open casket door. One of them (Urs thought his name was Mike, or something) had even threatened to "neuter the animal without anesthetic if Urs doesn't get the little monster out of my face. Now!" Some of the others had picked up on the phrase and begun to use it any time the kitten approached them. As a joke, Brianne had started to call the kitten the Neutered, which got shortened to Newt by Urs. Newt's high-pitched meows and demanding, affectionate ways were irritating to people who always wanted to be the center of attention, and resented the competition. The ones who did like him were even scarier; the hungry way in which one of the Morticia look-alikes said "Come here, pretty, pretty little morsel" had Urs scrambling to pick him up and keep him close.
"What are we going to do with him?" Urs mourned as Newt drank milk from a saucer on the bar, stroking his head while earnestly watching Brianne serve drinks. "You were right. It isn't safe for him here."
"Will you listen to me, the next time I try to tell you something?"
Urs nodded emphatically, and Brianne rolled her eyes. Urs was not stupid. It was just that she tended to focus on only one thing at a time, to the exclusion of anything else. So she never anticipated the consequences of her actions, since she was too busy concentrating whatever new experience was occurring, and other people sometimes had to bail her out of the messes she created. Brianne eyed the small feline on the bar and shrugged. "Look, do what Nick did. Give him away to the next sucker that wants him." At Urs's stricken expression, the Creole pointed out, "It's either that, or offer him up as the Special of the Day, Urs."
"You'll help me find him a good owner, right?"
"Why should I?" Out of the corner of her eye, Brianne noticed that Newt had padded down the length of the bar toward one of the patrons, a tough-looking redhead in a sprayed-on green dress. The woman didn't notice the kitten; she was busily chatting with a mortal, smiling seductively, twirling a finger around a stray curl and keeping one hand near her glass. Newt examined the cocktail glass, tail twitching, then placed both paws on the rim of the drink and pulled himself up. This lasted for two seconds before he tipped it over, just as the woman reached for it, spilling the Raven's special stock all over her lap.
The vampire screeched in surprise, frightening her mortal companion into taking a several steps away. Furious, the redhead turned and saw Newt. "You little-" Her eyes glowed yellow and her fangs descended. Newt hissed, fur fluffing out until he was the size of two sets of earmuffs instead of just one. Brianne scooted down the bar and grabbed Newt right before he became an hors'douvre. "Sorry about that. Here's a free drink-"
"That little monster ruined my dress!"
Brianne raised her eyebrows coolly, despite her difficulty in keeping the spitting, yowling kitten from breaking free. "Really? Wow. I guess the General will be happy to reimburse you. Maybe."
The vampire paled, even under her thick layer of cosmetics. "LaCroix?"
"He's the only General this place has. Unless another one's hit town." Amused, the Creole could see that the vamp rated upsetting LaCroix as somewhat worse than a ruined dress. "Of course, he's so fond of this 'little monster'-I'm sure he'll tell you it was only accidental..."
"Never mind," the woman said hoarsely, grabbing her replacement drink and sliding off the barstool. "I just remembered I have to be somewhere else."
Urs looked suitably chastened by Brianne's, "Keep your hands on him at ALL TIMES," but not chastened enough not to repeat, "So you'll help, right?"
"I guess." Brianne glowered at the now-calm and affectionate kitten. "There won't be any peace around here 'til he's gone."
12:36 AM
First attempt: a balding, middle-aged man who was chatting up Urs, asking her opinion on his hair implants.
"Nice," Urs said sincerely. "You can hardly see your scalp at all."
The mortal looked on the verge of being offended, then decided to be amused instead. "What a kidder! Say, sweetheart, has anyone ever told you that you look like Marilyn Monroe?"
"Yes. But not for a long while...," Brianne made throat-cutting motions behind the man's back, and the blonde stopped herself from commenting on the man's age. "I mean, most people don't like her movies that much these days."
"Well, they don't know what they're missing." The man moved closer, and insinuated his hand onto Urs's knee. "Yeah, you know, I always wished I could've met her."
"Really?" Urs widened her eyes, and covered the hand with her own, thus diverting his attention when she moved it off her knee and back onto the bar.
"Yeah, I always thought we'd hit it off. You know. Become friends. Good friends." He leaned close to Urs. "I'm a lonely man, you know."
"You need a friend," Urs said thoughtfully, "don't you?"
"Oh, I do," the man breathed.
"I know someone else who needs a friend."
"Oh, yes?" the mortal closed his eyes and leaned even closer, only to open them in shock to find Newt deposited in his arms.
"He's very affectionate. And well-behaved. And sweet. You'd be doing me the most wonderful favor if you took care of him." Urs pointed out all these strong points in the tone of someone giving instructions to a two-year-old: slowly, carefully, as if afraid to be misunderstood.
"I can't." The mortal gaped down at Newt, who was sniffing his tie curiously, and was raising a paw to sharpen his claws when the man picked him up by the scruff of his neck and plopped him down on the bar. Newt complained, loudly, as the mortal turned back to Urs. "Now, about us...."
"Why can't you take him?" the blonde asked in an injured tone.
"I just can't," the man said in exasperation. He pushed the cat away as it began stalking him. "Shoo. Nice kitty."
"He likes you," Urs said in a coaxing tone.
"And I like him," the man said, "but-"
"He wouldn't be any trouble at all."
"Listen, blondie, if I brought a cat home my wife would ask where I got it-"
"Wife?" Urs said in disappointment. "I thought you said you were divorced. Lonely."
"Um. Well, I am. Almost. Well, soon, I mean, I'll have to tell her-" But Urs had already picked up Newt and was walking away. The mortal turned back to his drink in confusion and not a little bit of frustration. "Weird chicks in this joint."
"Did you say something?" Brianne asked, her voice taking on the sepulchral tones of a crypt-dweller. She let a little gold gleam in her eyes.
"N-no. Not me. No, I was just-"
"Why don't you finish your drink?" Brianne smiled, showing the barest intimation of fang. "And leave?"
The man choked on his drink, sputtered, threw down a ten, and almost ran out of the Raven.
1:45 AM
"Sure, I like cats," mumbled a drowsy brunette, pushing her hair out of her face very carefully. "They're nice. Calm." She slowly stroked a fingernail down Newt's spine. The kitten arched his back in ecstasy, eyes closed, humming like a miniature motor. Urs was biting her lip doubtfully, her eyes wide with mingled regret and hope, but Brianne just smiled and unobtrusively pushed Newt closer to the customer.
"He's housebroken, doesn't scratch the furniture, and doesn't eat much," the bartender lied, smiling even wider as the woman chucked Newt under his chin. "We'd love to keep him, but well...allergies. You know how they are."
"Uh-hunh," the woman nodded, eyelids dropping shut a second, then fluttering open again. "Do you wan' me to pay for him?"
"Just take good care of Newt," Urs said softly, touching one of his whiskers with a fingertip, "and we'll be happy."
"You guys... are the best," the mortal said solemnly, as she gathered Newt to her chest, then wove her tipsy way across the dancefloor to the exit.
Urs looked near tears, but she grimaced at Brianne and said, "Well, that's over with", without any anger as she finished her drink. "I guess it had to be done."
"Definitely." The other vampire poured her another glass of the special stock, and patted Urs's hand sympathetically. "Hey, you can always get a goldfish."
6:15 AM
"Mrowr? Meeeooowwrrrr? Mee-OWwwW!"
"Guhhhhh..." Brianne staggered unsteadily to the door, uttering voodoo imprecations under her breath as she climbed the steps to the entrance, then leaning against the door for a second, getting her bearings. She'd just gone to bed less than twenty minutes earlier, and still wasn't certain what woke her. Whatever it was, it was loud, and it wasn't going away. Carefully, she opened the door a tiny crack-
-and a black-and-white blurr streaked past her ankles, meowing all the way.
"What-? Why? Why me, for the love of...," Brianne groaned, then checked outside. It was still dark, but for a glow on the horizon. The streetlamps were still on, and parked by the curb across the street, three or four spaces away, was a convertible Porsche with the top down. Fast asleep in the front seat was the woman from last night.
The growl that followed the slam of the door was audible outside the club.
10:12 PM
"I don't care if you have to pay someone. Get it out of here by the end of the night."
Urs cuddled Newt close, watching Brianne defensively as the bartender practically threw the drinks at the customers. "It's not his fault," she insisted.
"No, it's YOURS. Your fault, my problem. Which is why I want him gone by the close of business. Or I really will introduce him to the General. Or the RSPCA. I mean it, Urs."
"Okay, okay. Poor baby," Urs whispered softly, giving the kitten a kiss between his ears. "Nobody this cute should have to go through this."
A very young-looking customer nervously approached the bar, her brown eyes wide as she offered a ten to Brianne. "Rum and Coke, please," she said, sounding like a fifteen-year-old trying to be twenty-one.
"You got I.D.?"
"Sure." The girl fumbled with her purse, and withdrew a driver's license. Brianne took a casual look at it, then returned her gaze to the customer.
"How old are you, Michelle? Really?"
"Twenty-one, just like it says." Michelle's eyes fell at the blatant amusement on Brianne's face. "Well, I will be. On my next birthday. Sort of," she mumbled.
"Uh-hunh. How about I just give you the Coke, and not the rum, so your 'friends' don't know you can't drink yet?" Brianne asked evenly, her eyes flicking to the group of rowdy mortals in one corner of the bar who were making too much noise. I should throw them out now, she thought, before they become trouble...
"Please!" the girl whispered, her face agonized. "I can't let them know I couldn't get served! They think I'm eighteen and that I have a fake I.D. and that I'm really cool... You've got to give me a real drink!"
"I don't got to anything, little girl-"
Just then, another mortal of about thirty with greased hair, dressed in a stock-broker's suit and tie, sidled up to the bar. "Excuse me, I'd like a rum and Coke," he said, shooting Michelle a smarmy smirk. His pupils were narrowed to pin-points, and his hands were jittering.
"Rum and Coke," Brianne repeated, her eyes narrowing.
"Yeah, are you deaf or something?" The guy was smiling at little Michelle like a shark smiles at a tuna, not even glancing at Brianne.
"Coming right up," Brianne said out loud. I don't like this, but if she's this dumb.... She took the man's money and gave him the glass, which he immediately gave to Michelle while putting his arm around her shoulder. "Why don't you sit over here with me?"
Brianne shook her head slowly as the young mortal followed the sleazebag. It wasn't her job to stop silly mortals from accepting drinks from rotten creeps, but the Raven would get in trouble with the cops if she left with him. Serving minors, solicitation... it looked like a mess in the making. She made a mental note to keep an eye on the situation, and went back to serving drinks.
10:37 PM
"Cool cat," the burly biker nodded, tickling Newt under the chin. "But I don't have enough room to keep one, you know? My brothers are staying with me right now."
"How sweeeeet," cooed the businesswoman, waving her fingers in front of his face, "I loove kitties. But my apartment doesn't allow pets."
"Ooza widdle puddy tat?" burbled a young man with spiky hair and a purple nose ring. "Awwwww. Ee's a wittle pussy face!"
"Then you'll take him?" Urs asked eagerly.
"Can't. My mom'll kill me. She hates cats," the kid shrugged.
Urs was beginning to get depressed. If she didn't find a place for him by the end of the night, Brianne would carry out her threat to take him to the RSPCA. It was so unfair.
Just then, two large, stocky men in dark suits and trenchcoats made their way through the crowd to the bar. "Excuse us, can we talk to the manager?" one of them asked Urs.
She blinked at them. Did she look like she worked here? Maybe she did. "No."
The man blinked, and looked taken aback. "Well, who can we talk to?"
"Her," she replied, pointing at a frazzled Brianne.
"What?" Brianne asked in irritation. The man held out a picture of Michelle.
"Have you seen this girl?"
"Yeah. Over there," Brianne motioned to the table, where an extremely uncomfortable-looking Michelle was trying to slide away from the shark. The two men nodded and began to purposefully approach the pair. Seeing them, Michelle started to rise, only to be yanked back into her seat by the other mortal. Brianne frowned, watching the scene unfold. Urs turned too, puzzlement replacing her concern about Newt.
"C'mon, Michelle, your mom was worried about you," one of them said in an annoyed tone. Even over the music, their words were clear enough to the two vampires at the bar.
"How did you find me?"
"You circled the advertisement for this place in the phone book. Excuse me sir, will you please let go of her?" the other said to the shark.
"And what if I won't?" the man asked in a cocky voice.
"Then we'll have to hurt you," the first one replied matter-of-factly.
"And what if I... oh, pull out this gun?" The mortal was laughing now, waving a small automatic in their faces. The men froze, unsure of what to do, while Brianne unobtrusively came out from behind the bar and headed toward the knot of mortals. Michelle was stiff with fear, her head twitching away from the man's roving other hand.
"You don't want to do that," one of the two bodyguards said, trying to seem authoritative.
"No? Why not?"
"Michelle's mother is Devora Bishop." At the wide-eyed look of indifference the shark shot them, waving the gun around in an even wider arc, the man went on, "The soap opera actress? She's very rich... we're Michelle's bodyguards."
"Oh, and the little doll gave you the slip, did she? Tch, tch," the doped-up mortal smirked. "What a shame. Well, Michelle and I are going to a private party now. Tell Mummy not to wait up." He pulled the girl to her feet, still watching the two trenchcoated wonders in front of him.
Which was why he didn't see Brianne snake her arm around him from behind, pulling his hand up over his head while Urs grabbed Michelle and led her away from the table. "You don't want to do that."
"Urgh." The man gasped as she tightened her other arm around his neck. He tried to turn, his free arm flailing out to strike at Brianne. Annoyed, the bartender kicked him in the back of the knee, then brought her hand up under his chin. He slumped to the floor, choking and whimpering in pain, as the two bodyguards gaped in shock. Meanwhile, Urs comforted a crying Michelle at a nearby booth, patting the girl's shoulder as she sobbed her fear and relief into Newt's fur.
"How much money are you two making at this job?" Brianne asked conversationally.
"Uhhh...about twenty an hour."
"You're overpaid," she snarled, pushing past them to join Urs and the girl at the booth. Michelle looked up from crying and stroking Newt, her eyes shining with gratitude. The kitten was licking the tears off her face and insinuating its head under her chin, purring in concern.
"Thank you so much. Oh, God... " Michelle hiccupped, wiping her face. "I, I...I was so scared...."
"Why don't you go home with these two geniuses now?" Brianne said, not unkindly.
"Can I.. stay here a second? Just 'til I get a grip?" the girl asked, clutching the cat closer. Newt meowed, then twisted a little to get comfortable. Brianne eyed Michelle and the kitten speculatively.
"Sure. Nice cat, hunh?"
"Oh, yeah..."
6:18 AM
Urs smiled at Brianne, then gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "Michelle seems real nice, doesn't she? I think Newt will be happy with her."
"Mmmm." Brianne nodded sleepily as she put away the last of the cocktail glasses. "Yeah. I'm just glad the little furball's gone."
"Aw. Won't you miss him? Just a little?"
"Not even a little-"
Someone opened the front door. Both Urs and Brianne turned and yelled, "SHUT THE DOOR!"
"Sorry," an embarrassed voice said. "Is there someone named Brianne here?" A very cute, redheaded young man in a chauffer's uniform stood on the platform near the entrance, twisting a cap in his hands.
"That would be me," Brianne purred, leaning forward and smiling dazzlingly. The chauffer shook his head, looking a little dazed.
"Mrs. Bishop wanted me to thank you for taking care of Michelle last night," the chauffer blurted out. "And... she wondered if you wanted a job?"
Brianne shook her head, thinking she hadn't heard correctly. "A what?"
"A job? The two bodyguards who used to work for her got fired last night, after they brought Michelle back. Something about incompetence?" He blinked, running his tongue around his lips.
Urs grinned, slipping off the barstool and heading toward the back of the club. "I'll leave you to finish negotiations," she said to a bemused Brianne. "And just think...you'll get to see a lot of Newt in your new job, too."
The glance of mingled disgust and annoyance that Brianne sent her couldn't hide the slow smile of triumph threatening to break free.