Mittens's Arc

Chapter 1 of 5

Mittens walked down the middle of the market road in a red coat that no one in this sector was foolish enough to wear. Her devil tail flicked behind her. Vendors pulled their children inside. She had come to Whiskers's sector to finish what he started when he cut her out of their court without a word, and she planned to do it by taking something he loved. She had traded three infernal favors for the right to corrupt one pure celestial soul into her service. She had only enough favors left for one attempt. The problem was picking the right soul. Whiskers's sector was full of winged strays and hedge-saints and small bright creatures that looked pure at a glance. Corrupt the wrong one and the favors burned off like paper. She had been watching for three days and had narrowed it down to two. The first was a flying kitten that lived above the fruit stalls. It swooped down for scraps and let children pet its wings. Sweet, yes. But Mittens crouched in an alley and watched it steal a coin from a blind woman's cup, then hide the coin under a loose tile. Not pure. Already halfway to her side on its own. A waste. The second lived in a mushroom-shaped cottage at the edge of the sector, a small round building with lanterns strung along the vines. Mittens had heard the name Meowza spoken with the careful softness people used for saints. She crossed the field at dusk and looked through the round window. Inside, a gray cat with pale horns sat before a wall painting of a horned dragon cat, praying. The cat had emptied her own bowl into a smaller bowl for a stray at the door. She had bandaged the stray's paw. She was humming. Mittens watched for an hour and saw no lie in any of it. This was the one. She could feel the favors in her chest lean toward the cottage like iron toward a magnet. She turned to go and mark the choice, and a shadow crossed the lantern light. Whiskers stood at the end of the path in his black hoodie, white wings folded tight, yellow eyes on her. He had not been there a moment before. "Wrong door," he said. "That one's mine already." He did not raise his voice. He did not explain. He walked past her toward the cottage and did not look back. Mittens stayed where she was, one attempt left, and now she knew two things she had not known an hour ago. Meowza was the right target. And Whiskers had gotten there first.