‘Mew.’ I keep my voice soft, plaintive, as I peer up at the matron, blinking my green eyes in feigned affection. ‘Mew,’ I say again.
The cry she emits is not what I expected. A squeal of hatred or disgust, she recoils as if I were verminous or as rank as a poorly cured pelt. I am taken off guard, it is true, but so too is the officer. Having already checked his initial aggressive reaction to my unwanted advance, he has not yet resumed his wide-legged stance, and in that I see safety. I cannot purr. That is beyond me at this time, but I can lean in, and do, throwing myself against his shin.
‘What the hell?’ The man looks down. If only the girl would seize her moment, not hesitate from concern for me. I stare up at her, willing her to go. ‘Hey, girl!’
Too late, my gaze has drawn his attention back to Care, even as she had begun to sidle by his still-outstretched baton. ‘I’m not done with you!’
With a glance to me that seems half apology and half despair, she pulls back farther even as he reaches and steps toward her. And as he does, he forgets that I am there.
The woman shrieks as he stumbles, tripping over me. His steel-toed boots lift me up but a lifetime of training, as well as a lower center of gravity, serve me well as I scramble from beneath his flailing figure and head for the gutter, running fast and low and keeping the girl in sight.
She takes off like a rabbit, darting around corners and people to elude pursuit. But where a rabbit does this by instinct, I see sense in her flight – a quick appraisal of the landscape guiding her choices as she skips one alley to duck down another, a delivery van providing cover as she squeezes through its torn rear fence. I follow, of course, although the beep-beep-beep of the van signals its backing even as I clear the tires, making the chain link’s gap almost too dear a risk.
She slows after that but keeps moving and I see her head turning, that mop of hair a beacon to her foes. I will her to go to ground, not least because of my own fatigue: the prolonged sprint has winded me; the ache in my side becomes a piercing with every panting breath. She has become used to hunting, to being in pursuit, but now she is the prey. I would that she seek safety. That she hide.
Then I see it. She is not merely running, fleeing heedless of the danger. She is adjusting her course, a destination in mind. These streets carry some memories in their perfume – the smell of leather, of horses long gone and, more faint and farther off, tar – and soon I realize that I, too, know our path. We are nearing the train yard, the wasteland where we found safety briefly once before. And where, I realize, the fur stiffening on my neck, we were also nearly trapped.
She pauses at last, bending, hands on knees, to gasp in air, and with a last effort I reach her, moving from the gutter to the open street to catch her eye.
‘Blackie.’ Despite everything, she looks pleased, a smile brightening her pale and sweating face. ‘I thought you—’ She stops and shakes her head. ‘No, you couldn’t have, but thank you.’
I approach, tempted for a moment to rub her legs, to feel her warmth against my heaving side. Instead, I sit and wait as my own breath grows steady again. This is not the time for sentiment, nor would I have her recall the ploy that I have so recently used.
‘OK.’ She nods and pulls herself upright. Walking now, she heads down the street. It is quiet here, far enough from the center of commerce that the pedestrians and police are less of a threat. But no part of this city is without some life. I notice with approval how she looks ahead, leaning to peer around each building before we pass, checking that the fire escapes and windows are as blank and quiet as they appear.
I check as well, though with other senses more acute than sight. A quick scan, using ears and nose, and we would appear to be alone, the day too early still for the dealers and their shills, the whores and petty thieves who make such borderlands their home. Some are still uptown, hiding under the mantle of respectability, on the hunt. Others wait in restless repose, sheltering inside these husks of buildings. I hear their muttered sighs and snoring, as much the soundtrack of the city as the scrambling of rodents in the drains. I do not sense any undue interest, however. No suppressed breathing, no footsteps shadowing ours. Unmolested, we reach the train tracks, and as the girl slows, inspecting the terrain, it dawns on me what she is after. What she, in her frail human way, is stalking.