Shuffling through the crowded streets, I struggle to get a grip on the current hustle and bustle. It’s not that there’s too much going on for me to keep track of, it’s just that I’m caught up in my own head, thinking about feelings I shouldn’t have. I can’t stop thinking of Bitty’s gorgeous smile, her smooth skin, her adorable muscles, and outfits, and, and all we’ve been through together. She’s been there, always, ever since forever. I adore her soot-and-sweat-stained overalls, her pigtails or ponytail depending on the day, but most of all, her brilliant smile.

There’s no way she feels like I do though. She’s so earnest when we have girl-talk, about the boys she’s interested in. We’ve always said we’re like sisters to each other. Sniffling, I rub my eyes furiously with the hem of my sleeve. Come on Tikki, get a grip gal. There’s criminals afoot, and adventure to be had. I probably should warm up with the small-fries. Hopefully that’ll get my head in the game. I can still die here.

Is that it? Do I have a death-wish? Why’d I bribe for tougher bounties? My gaze downcast, I slow my shuffle and lean against the exterior wall of the pub I’m skirting around. I drag my shoulder and part of my scalp along the wall, my lower lip quivering. There’s no way, right? Goofy, cheery, tricky Tikki, depressed? Nah, couldn’t happen. Could it? What do I even have to be sad about? Nothing!

I’ve got a great family, even if they’re annoyed with me. I’ve got an amazing bestie, even if she doesn’t feel the way about me that I feel about her. I pull great pranks that aren’t at anyone’s expense, even if they go unappreciated. I live in the safest realm on Rayileklia, and I’m one of few people who have access to The ‘Twixt. So there’s no reason, no reason! Right?

For some reason, my heart is aching and racing. How do I even know for sure Littlebit doesn’t feel that way about me? I’ve never asked her directly. I’m not sure if I could though. I don’t want to ruin our friendship by making it awkward and weird for her. I mean, if she said no. If she said yes, then, then, then I’d be the happiest me I could ever be. But I don’t want to hurt her.

What if me telling her how I feel about her, deep down in my heart, scares her, or makes her not want to be around me anymore? If she loses her bestie, because I turn into someone she doesn’t want to be around, then, then I’d hate myself. So I can’t do it. I can’t risk hurting my bestie.

My sudden determination has me come to a halt as I puff myself up, settling on a course of no-action. The act of stopping in place and straightening up saves me from a knife through the skull as one is suddenly sticking out of the wall a scant inch in front of my nose. I go cross-eyed looking at it, and my ears are ringing with how loud the sudden screams from the townsfolk are.

Well shoot. I guess Millions of Knives, err, Knives, Mill Yunzuv, found me first. Eep! I throw up a protective magical shield just in time to deflect another volley of throwing-daggers sailing my way. Well, there goes a good chunk of my magic for the day, being as low rank of a sorceress as I am.

Chanting, “Fizz fizz frizz fazizz,” the sound of myriad clocks ticking near-inaudibly fills the air around me. When the magic materializes, I send a bolt of fire sailing towards the hooded figure whose entire body under his cloak is covered in bandoleers of knives.

Unfortunately, taking my time to stand still and aim left a good opening for the skilled killer. A knife with a slimy coating slides past my defenses and sticks into my left shoulder, just above my bicep. I cry out in pain. Between the depth the knife sinks into my arm, and the poison it’s coated in, my left arm is in utter agony.

Tiktik honey, you’ve never run from anything in your life, but now might be a good time to start. Doubled over in pain, barely resisting ripping the knife out of my arm, I roll aside as another pair of knives sink into the ground where I’d just been planted. I’m already woozy from blood loss and the poison.

That last one, I can at least do something about. Chanting, “Dote dote dote, anti,” I manifest a lesser cureall through my spellwork, eating deeply into my available magic for the day. The soothing power washes over me, flushing the poison out of my system. Unfortunately it does nothing for the blood loss, or the knife sticking out of my second-favorite arm.

Scrabbling away on three limbs, I round a corner as another pair of knives sails past the sharp turn that I take. Mustering myself, I claw my way to standing, and resist doubling over or clutching at my left arm. The rapid approach of soft-soled feet that are barely audible to even my radar-dishes that I call ears, alerts me that Knives isn’t ready to give up his prey at our current distance.

While I’m dashing down the thoroughfare, Knives rounds the corner, and immediately lets slip another pair of blades that sail my way with deadly accuracy. Thankfully, I’ve put a few dozen paces between us, so I have a split second to react. In this split second I turn hard right and lunge, throwing myself across the thoroughfare into the nearest alley.

One thing you need to know as an urban bounty-hunter is the layout of the city, and thankfully that’s one qualification I do actually have. Dashing into the alley that looks like a dead end, I skirt around a barrel and dive, sliding on slick wet stones. My aim isn’t perfect, so my right ear hitches painfully and is scraped, cut open, as I slip through a small hole in the wall of the alley.

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Not wanting to chance Knives leaping over the wall, or contorting small enough to follow me through the tiny tunnel, I jimmy the lock on the cellar window to my left, and slip unnoticed into the root cellar of an abandoned building. Closing the window behind me silently, I rip the throwing-knife out of my arm, and use it as a makeshift latch to keep the window shut, though taking care to keep it out of view, so it doesn’t give away that I chose this room in my escape route.

An urban bounty-hunter has to be fairly hearty, and have a certain degree of stamina. I pride myself on feeling pretty fully qualified for my chosen profession. Still, it doesn’t hurt to know some first aid. Pinching my wound shut, I materialize some sterilized sap to glue the sucker closed. It burns as my skin attempts to stretch away, while the glue keeps it in place. To relieve the pain, I put pressure on the wound while using a magical ghostly hand to tightly wrap it in some scrap linen from my pouch.

There, whew. At least I’m not going to bleed out, but this still hurts like heck. I need a couple of nights to recuperate, bare minimum. A couple of knights to rearrange Knives’ face would be pretty good right about now too. I guess I bit off a bit more than I could chew. I was a bit impulsive, what with trying to distract myself, make myself feel better, and all that. I wanted to flex my urban bounty-hunting skills, and get to be proud of something, like knowing how to get some juicy rumors or leads from a contact. It’s one skill an urban bounty-hunter should have.

Okay, another thing an urban bounty-hunter should have is situational awareness. I was distracted earlier, moping about things, but now I’m fairly alert. Unfortunately, I probably should have looked before I leapt, or uh, crawled down here. While this place is normally abandoned, that makes it one of the go-to locations for bounties trying to escape detection.

Gulping, I wear a nervous grin and announce myself to the trio hiding out in this basement, “Um, meow ya doin’?”

Seems I’ve stumbled onto Kitty Larue, Meowster Purrington, and Felix Dome Esticus, and their hideout. Thankfully, they’re more surprised than angry, though I can’t help feeling like a mouse caught in a trap as they casually saunter to positions spread out around me. They’re just a bit out of arms’ reach, but any way I move, I’d move into one of their grasps. Unless I wanted to chance heading back out into the alley, which I do not, not at the moment at least.

The one whose face matches Felix’s wanted poster begins, “Well well well, what have we here? Look what the cat just dragged in—a tiny tasty treat.”

Gulping, I chuckle nervously, my hands up, palms forward placatingly. Kitty Larue, purring, arches her back while doing a toe-touch before sensually running her hands up her body to end in a tall arms-up stretch. She somehow manages to look simultaneously sexy and intimidating with her hands splayed, arms high up in the air as she responds, “A pawsitively scrumptious morsel. Why, I could just eat her all up.”

Felix’s sleek black coat manages to catch enough candlelight to shimmer. His eyes virtually glow as he grins and nods in agreement. The third, Meowster Purrington asks, “So Kitten, what’s got you clawing your way into our cozy little den?”

Now, by all accounts, these three are non-violent. They’re mostly art-thieves, classic storybook criminals, suave con-artists or sneaks who get in and out without a trace. Still, play it cool Tiktik, don’t blow your cover. You’re not in any position to nab the three of them for their bounties right now. You’ve got to be cool, calm, collected.

Trying to smoothen out my nervous grin into a cutesy smile, I answer, “I was on the wrong side of a game of ‘Cat and Mouse,’ and caught the business end of some serious fangs. I guess mew already saw me nursing the scrape from that little scrap.”

Kitty Larue draws up uncomfortably close and rolls her shoulders while backing into my side. She virtually uses me as a back-scratching post while purring and claiming, “Ooo, I like this little kitten. Let’s adopt her.”

Despite myself, I reach up and actually scratch Kitty’s back, from my short stature. Out of the corner of my eye I catch her twirling a lockpick between her elegant digits. The cat-puns make all the more sense as I can make out the pointy, furry ears hidden beneath her luxurious hair.

I bet they’re all shifters, and can take the form of actual cats. That’s probably how they get in and out of places unnoticed. They can sneak in somewhere, displace some art without even having to take it all the way off the property, stash it away, sneak back out as a cat, then retrieve it later at their leisure.

Answering Kitty’s claim, Felix’s lips twist into a snarl as he states, “I don’t like uninvited guests dropping in—literally—unannounced, crashing our private parties Kitty darling.”

Thankfully the lovely lady getting a bit too friendly with me sticks up for me, “Oh don’t get your whiskers in a twist,” she pauses for the briefest beat and adds, “darling,” in a voice dripping with sarcasm, before continuing smoothly, “She’s here now, so let’s not get hiss-terical. I just know she’d be pick-of-the-litter wherever she’s fur-om. After her little spill, it looks like she could use some help landing on her feet.”

Turning to me, Kitty asks, “What’s your take on this Kitten? Purr-lease tell us your name, and story, don’t keep us dying in suspense.”

Being an urban bounty-hunter in a literal den of thieves, I fib a little, “It just so happens I go by Kitten, Kitten Around. I’m from here and there, all around. Mew know how the story goes. Gal grows up. Gal leaves home fur adventure. Gal meets world. World throws gal a curve-hairball.”

Larue chuckles and leans firmly into my hand that’s scratching her back. While I’m distracted by her friendliness, Purrington comments, “It’s not the fur-st time I’ve heard a sob story fur-om a clawssy lookin’ dame claiming to be a harmless kitten who later turns out to be a dangerous tiger.”

Sweating bullets, I chuckle nervously, hoping the others don’t share Meowster’s suspicions. I should really get out of here, but I’m cornered, caught like a rat in—well—a trap.