Meow

by Skye MacKinnon

  "You may want to take this," I say and throw a tiny vial towards him that I had hidden in one of the many pockets of my shirt.

  He catches it easily and looks at it curiously. "What's that?"

  "Antidote to the poison I gave you." I grin. "Sorry, I wasn't sure if you'd actually take off the collar or had some more sinister plans."

  He raises an eyebrow. "Darts?"

  I nod. "Hidden in my collar. I pricked you when you put your hands around my throat."

  "Well, I didn't see that coming. Impressive. Seems you're cleverer than you look."

  He uncorks the vial and swallows the contents. I'm amazed he trusts me not to poison him. Of course, I've already done that, but it could always be a double bluff.

  He screws up his face at the taste. "Next time, add a little cinnamon. It enhances the aftertaste."

  I keep my face passive. "I'll keep it under advisement."

  "There's a lab in the basement. In the office, you'll find a folder with all the necessary key codes to get around the house and into the important rooms."

  He picks up on my questioning look.

  "The weapons storage, the lab I mentioned, the training gym and the morgue."

  This time, I can't help but gasp. "A morgue? In this house?"

  He looks at me strangely.

  "Of course. Doesn't your current employer have one?"

  I shake my head. "We just dispose of the bodies or leave them to be found."

  He clucks his tongue. "Such a waste. There is much to learn about death by studying corpses. And you never know when you might need a well-placed corpse to send someone a message."

  In a way, he makes sense, but at the same time, do I want to live in a house above a morgue? Then I remind myself: I'm an assassin. The one thing I'm really not scared about is death. There are a lot worse things on Earth than death itself.

  "I don't think my current employer," I emphasise that last word as it's the one thing I'd never call Brut, "will just let me go. He's invested in me, he's trained me. He won't accept me leaving and opening my own agency."

  "Don't worry about that," the man says dismissively. "He won't trouble you. What you need to concern yourself with is who to hire. I have a lot of work for you and you won't be able to handle it all on your own. You can start small, but at some point, I expect you to have at least as many employees as your current manager."

  Employer, manager, is he using euphemisms or does he really believe that's how it works? Slavemaster would be more accurate. Owner. It's not like we ever signed up to work for him. There's no wage either. Does this man expect me to be like Brut or does he want me to run things differently?

  "You'll find everything else you need in the office, including your first case. Of course, you're free to do as you wish, but my only condition is that my assignments always take priority over others. In return, you get the house, some cash and, of course, a collarless life. Do you agree?"

  I don't have to think twice. Not because I wholeheartedly agree with all he's promising. I'm expecting him to break his promises anyway. But no, I'm good at double-crossing people. Very good. And no matter what he believes of me, the one thing I'm really good at is looking out for myself.

  Chapter One

  6 months later

  He smells of sweat and fear. I cross my legs, the heels of my feet on the desk I'm currently sitting behind. Although lounging would be a better term. Mud is dripping from the soles of my boots. I'll have to clean that up later, but it works well for the badass appearance I'm trying to exude. I'm not someone to mess with. I don't care about rules, conventions and dress codes. While the man on the other side of the desk is wearing a pristine suit, I'm in my usual leather tights and tunic. Tights because they don't get in the way when fighting or jumping off buildings, and a tunic because it's longer than a shirt and therefore has more space for hidden pockets. All in black, of course. Blood stains are a pain to get out of clothes. I'm nothing but practical.

  My hair is hidden beneath the black cap I've started wearing recently. I think it makes me look more mysterious, although Lily keeps telling me to take it off. That girl has no sense for making an outfit convey a message. A dangerous one, in this case. Don't mess with me, that's what my clothes are saying. Especially the muddy boots on my desk.

  The man clears his throat.

  "You came highly recommended," he mutters as if he's not quite sure if he's allowed to speak.

  I raise an eyebrow. "Who recommended me?"

  His eyes widen. Typical deer in headlights look. He's scared but not just of me.

  "Contacts," he says evasively. "I'm willing to pay whatever fee you charge."

  Immediately, my price list increases by about ten times what I'd usually tell him. I do like wealthy customers. They rarely care what I charge other people who are less well-off.

  "What is it that you need from me?" I ask, studying him closely. He doesn't look like a man who's used to dealing with assassins. He's an office kind of guy who only ever reads about shady things in the newspaper.

  "My brother was killed. I need you to find whoever did it."

  That makes me sit up a little straighter. "You've come to the wrong place, sir," I say with a trace of condescension. "I don't find killers. I send them."

  He cringes visibly. "Once you've found whoever killed my brother, you're welcome to kill the bastard."

  I purse my lips. This is unusual. Actually, this has never happened before. I've done this job for half a year now, very successfully, but nobody has ever asked me to find an assassin.

  "What if one of my people killed your brother?" I ask, taking my feet off the desk to look at my records. "What's his name?"

  "I don't think it was a professional," he mutters, not looking me in the eye. "It seemed unplanned and very violent." He shudders slightly. "There was a lot of blood."

  Interesting. He's right, that doesn't sound like an assassin did it. We take pride in leaving a crime scene as neat as possible. Don't want to make it too easy for the police.

  "What's his name?" I repeat.

  "Winston Kindler. 14B Merchant Street. He had a sweet shop there."

  Sweets? Maybe I need to take on this case myself. It sounds enticing.

  I flick through my box of index cards, but I already know that I won't find a Mr Kindler in there. While I don't do all the jobs myself, I deal with all our clients. I remember the names of our marks.

  "What are the police doing?" I ask absentmindedly.

  "Nothing," he says, anger lacing his voice. "They're convinced it was a mugging, but his wallet wasn't taken. The cash register was emptied, but the safe was intact. It was early in the day, so there wouldn't have been much in the money box anyway. It doesn't make sense."

  I nod. "Let's pretend I was to take this case. What kind of remuneration are we talking about?"

  For the first time since he entered my office, he smiles.

  "How about a blank cheque?"

  There's a head in the fridge. I sigh. Not again.

  "Lily!" I shout. "I told you, no body parts in the kitchen!"

  My friend laughs. "Until you fix the morgue's cooling chamber, the fridge is the only place to keep them."

  I groan. We've had a problem with that cooling room for two months now. Whenever I think it's fixed, it stops working again. It's like the basement is haunted.

  "I'll get on it," I promise. "We just got a very rich new client, so I'll be able to afford a professional handyman this time."

  Not Jock from around the corner who did it for free in the hope for a kiss from Lily. I think he made it worse. And didn't get a kiss, obviously. Lily isn't into guys although she doesn't usually tell them. She likes to use her looks to her advantage.

  I close the fridge, unwilling to stare into the dead woman's eyes for much longer. To be fair, one of her eyes is missing, but while it's not enough to put me off my dinner, it's also not very appetising.

  "Get a second fridge for now," I tell Lily. "I think you n
eed it often enough to warrant the cost."

  She grins widely. She likes to play with her prey when she gets the chance. Sometimes, that involves taking random body parts home to later send them to her marks' families. That may sound evil, but actually, Lily is a really nice girl. She just has a bit of a violent streak.

  "What's for dinner?" I ask, now that I know that there's nothing edible in the fridge.

  "Robbie was going to bring home some takeaway," she says with a shrug. "He's not home yet though, so we may have to wait for a bit longer. Hungry?"

  I nod. "Could eat a dinosaur."

  She laughs. "I don't think they're on the menu. Let's see what's left in the living room. I think there was half a bag of crisps left last night."

  I don't meet her gaze. "Not anymore."

  Lily puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. "Glutton."

  I shrug. "They were there. I'm an assassin, I kill things. Even if it's just crisps. They're basically dead potatoes."

  She chuckles. "So, what's this new rich client about? The one who's financing our new cooling chamber?"

  I follow her into the living room, where she magically produces a bar of chocolate and a handful of dried peanuts. They look drier than they should, so I stick with the chocolate for now.

  We throw ourselves onto the biggest sofa. It's not my furniture, at least I didn't buy any of it. It came with the house. I've been planning to get something more to my taste at some point, but money's been tight. When the mysterious man offered me a 'cash injection' to start my business off with, he was talking about a rather small syringe, and I used most of that to pay off the Pack. I shouldn't complain though. I've got a house, an office, even a morgue. I had none of that before. And I even got rid of my collar. Win-win.

  "He wants me to find whoever killed his brother," I say with a certain distaste.

  "Wait, that's new." Lily laughs. "So… you're not going to kill anyone?"

  I shrug. "I've got permission to kill the killer, if I find them."

  "That's weird. Why would he come to you?"

  "No idea. Maybe the Pack refused his request. Maybe he only knows about me and not about any of the others in town. I have no clue, but the pay is totally worth the confusion."

  She raises an eyebrow. "How much?"

  I give her a cheeky wink. "Enough. We'll be able to fix the house, pay ourselves some nice salaries and feed a few stray cats at the same time."

  Lily chuckles. "You need to stop feeding them. I had two kittens sitting on the doorstep this morning, begging for food. I think they're beginning to learn to come here if they're hungry. That's all your fault."

  "Can’t help it," I shrug. "It's in my nature to help my fellow felines."

  She grins. "I'm not a feline, and yet you helped me."

  I sigh. "Okay, and friends. Felines and non-feline friends. Better?"

  "Much. How are you going to find the killer, though? You don't have any experience with solving murders."

  "I'm sure I'm going to come up with something. First of all, I'm going to inspect the crime scene, then find some witnesses. That's how they do it in books."

  She laughs again. "You're going to crack this case, I'm sure. Let me know if you need my help, although I'm quite busy with my current mark. He's such a bore, but he loves his new girlfriend." She chuckles. "Pity she's not actually real."

  Lily grins widely. She's a predator playing with her prey before killing it. She loves to make men go crazy for her, then kills them right when they realise that they've been fooled. Break their hearts before stabbing them. She's evil in a fun way. Just like all of us. The Pride, my team of outcast assassins and ragtag thieves. So far, there are only five of us, but we've already managed to make a name for ourselves. Our reputation is increasing with every kill, and we're very efficient at killing. I still can't believe that six months ago, I was a slave, working for the Pack because they had me collared. Now, I'm my own woman. A businesswoman. I work for myself, pay myself, even employ other people. And not a single one of them is collared. They're all here because they want to be.

  I yawn, tiredness catching up with me. I was up late last night, running over the roofs of the town, checking out the location of an assassination we're planning. I'm likely going to pass it on to one of the others now that I have a more lucrative job. This strange murder case is getting priority. We need the money.

  "I'll head to bed," I announce. It takes all my stomach muscles to get up from the sofa. It's far too low and soft. Once I solve the murder, I'm going to buy us a new one.

  "Sweet dreams," Lily says with a cheeky smile. "I might head out and have some fun."

  I leave her to it and climb up the stairs until I reach the ladder leading up to the attic. I smile when I remember how I first came here. Back then, I thought what a lovely home this would make. How the loft would be perfect as a bedroom. Now, it's become exactly that.

  I climb the ladder and pull it up behind me, closing the trapdoor. I like my privacy. In the past few months, I've transformed the room into my own personal sanctum. Large pillows are strewn all over the floor that's now covered in dozens of rugs. A few shelves are clinging to the sloping ceiling, but the best part about the room is the hammock, strung between two of the large wooden beams. I quickly change into something more comfortable and check that the window is closed properly. I broke in through it once, and I know how easy it would be for others to do just the same. I've had it reglazed with very thick glass though. It should be strong enough to withstand anyone kicking against it.

  There's a small sound from outside that has me open the window to check it out.

  Someone is meowing softly. I lean out of the window until I see the tiny kitten clinging to the top of the window frame. It must have been running over the roofs but then got stuck on top of the dormer window. Poor thing. I stretch out a hand and begin to purr. I don't want it to scratch me.

  Its ears flick when it realises that I'm making the soothing sound. It's probably confused by a human sounding like a cat. They always are.

  Slowly, it steps onto my hand, just about fitting on it. I gently carry it into the room and put it onto the floor. It stares at me with large yellow eyes.

  "Now what?" I ask. "I'm not going to take you all the way downstairs. You'll have to sleep here tonight."

  The kitten hisses. I know it understands me.

  "Sorry," I tell it. "I'm tired. It's not my fault you got stuck."

  Not wanting to be completely selfish, I pour some water from a bottle into a bowl and put it on the floor. At least the kitten will have something to drink.

  "Now it's time to sleep," I yawn. I climb onto my hammock and am instantly transported into the land of dreams.

  Chapter Two

  Meow. Meow.

  I blink open my eyes only to stare into big yellow pupils lined with black. Whiskers stroke my cheeks.

  I groan and close my eyes again. It feels way too early.

  Meow.

  "Shut up," I mutter and hide my head beneath a pillow.

  In response, the kitten begins to claw my shirt. Great. An alarm clock with claws. Worst invention ever.

  "Piss off," I growl, but the cat doesn't budge. It's probably hungry.

  I breathe in deep. It's a male. Usually, I don't let males into my bed. I sleep with them in theirs and leave before sunrise. That's the rule. No attachments. Luckily, this little male isn't human.

  Meooooow.

  "Okay then," I sigh dramatically and sit up, surprising the kitten. He tumbles and lands on my thighs, meowing indignantly.

  I don't apologise. It's his fault for standing on my chest.

  Yawning loudly, I pick him up and climb out of the hammock. Usually, I'd get dressed, but the kitten won't stop asking for food. I'm far too easily manipulated.

  I take him downstairs into the kitchen. The house is quiet, I seem to be the first one awake.

  "Don't look," I warn him and open one of the cabinets, revealing my stash of cat food.
It's my guilty little secret. Even to me, it smells appetising, but I've got enough of a grip on my feral side to resist the temptation. I put some of the food in a bowl and hand it to the kitten. He starts eating greedily, leaving me with an amused smile on my face.

  While he's enjoying his breakfast, I make myself some beans on toast. It's that kind of day. In a way, the beans almost look like wet cat food. Not sure if that makes them more or less enticing.

  Meow.

  He's already finished his food and still sounds hungry. Cats. Greedy little bastards.

  I grin and give him some more. I feel like giving him a name, but he probably already has one. To find out, I'd need to shift, but I'm not in the mood. I know cats can understand me when I'm human, but I only understand the intentions behind their meows, not actual words like names.

  Maybe I'll shift later, although by then, he'll likely be gone. Unless what Lily said is true and I am training the local cats to come here for food. I can't help it.

  Suddenly, a thought strikes my mind and I almost meow myself. I think I've just had the most brilliant idea.

  I crouch down so I'm closer to the little kitten. He ignores me, busy eating the last remaining crumbs. No idea how he's managed to devour two bowls of cat food this fast. Even I would have taken longer than that.

  "Hey little one," I say quietly. "Shall we make a deal?"

  His ears twitch, but he continues eating.

  "How about I give you food every day, and in return, you run some errands for me? Go to places and check them out? Tell me if there are any humans around? Stuff like that?"

  I can feel how he's thinking about it, but he's too distracted by his meal. I sigh and wait for him to finish.

  He rubs his face with his front paws, and I think my heart is close to melting. He's too cute for my cold assassin heart. Maybe I shouldn't get involved with baby cats. They're bound to change me into a bubbling mess.