image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/f9999113-c4bc-4384-8ece-659b6a761419/0_2.png]

The Talent show was held in the Municipal House, maybe fifteen minutes from the hotel and half an hour from Vincent’s parents if walking. So walking they did. There was a beautiful layer of snow, unspoiled by dirt, and the view was beautiful. It calmed Irene. Having Vincent away, in another world, made her anxious. Like when they were separated for a month.

Please be safe! They passed a church, and she added a prayer, just in case.

Reaching the Charles Bridge, Lila went in front of the group, waving her hands to make them stop. “Guys, an influencer saw me on the show, and I got a gig—”

“I got a gig,” Sven chirped from the girl’s backpack.

“Sven will DJ in a club, and I’ll dance… It’s ten grand each. I said yes. You know, a girl has to have her own money… You’re welcome to join. Free entry and the first round of drinks.”

“I’d love to, but… Milo,” Elina said, with Karl nodding.

“Promised the twins we’ll watch cartoons together,” Raya said.

“We’re going to a restaurant for a late romantic dinner,” Bee said, taking Barbara’s hand.

Bella crossed herself. “You‘d have to drag me dead body to that a sinful place!”

Irene repressed an impulse to facepalm. Goodness, she’s so pretty, but that accent…

“I’m a virgin and methinks one must keep true and pure until marriage,” Bella continued. “I’ll choose me betrothed to be pure as well. I want to marry a priest!” she added with fiery eyes.

“But—” Irene shut up. Brindabella was obviously from a century when catholic priests were still married, but it was better to let her discover the news for herself. “I’ll come,” she said. She was sure she couldn’t sleep; she worried too much about Vincent. Maybe a little fun and a couple of drinks would help her relax.

“Promise me you won’t touch alcohol,” Elina came to grab her shoulders, staring into her eyes.

Irene returned the stare straight and unwavering. “I swear I won’t touch alcohol.”

“Message me when you get home…”

Irene nodded and tailed Lila, who followed the map on her phone.

“Sweet! We’ll dance so much!” Sven said from his shelter.

The club was not as close as Irene had hoped, but it looked nice. They had low tables and sofas on one side, leaving room for the dance floor. Lila beelined for the DJ stage, and Irene for a table.

“Can I sit with you?” she asked. The table had four seats, and only two were occupied by a couple of young girls kissing. That meant there were no boyfriends in the landscape. Thus, the rest of the places were free.

“Uhuh,” one of the girls waved her hand, returning to her previous endeavor.

On the stage, an opening DJ was making a place for a man with many tattoos on his face. The influencer Lila had talked about.

“Hey, peeps,” the influencer roared. “Look who’s here! DJ Sven and Lila, the best number on the talent show! I’ll livestream all night. Have fun, like, and subscribe!”

“Good evening!” Sven yelled, jumping on the DJ board. “Let’s dance together!” The spider started with a lower energy tune while Lila moved with the rhythm, clapping her hands. For the second piece, Sven increased the speed and started dancing too. “Why are so many pretty girls sitting? Pretty girls dance!”

It was not an asking but an order. A mild hypnosis, working only on those predisposed to do so in the first place. Irene resisted it without difficulty, but the girls at her table went to the dance floor. She ordered a lemonade to keep true to her word. However, she poured a bit of catnip powder into it. It had no side effects and helped her relax.

Tune after tune, the club warmed up. Sven was a novice at DJing but knew how to entertain a crowd. The public was ecstatic.

Lila’s so beautiful… Irene had never seen the dancer doing those dubstep moves. Lila’s body and hair were floating in surreal moves, making Irene’s chest fill with warmth. She increasingly considered Lila as someone she loved, not only a bed partner…

“Hey, darling. What are you doing here?”

A hand over her shoulders extracted Irene from her daydreams. Inches away from her, a slick grin plastered on his face, was her ex-boyfriend. The worst mistake of her life. Irene’s heart skipped a beat, an avalanche of bad memories swiping her joy away. Most of all, how she had left her first love, a sweet boy who truly cared for her, for a crook who was only after her money.

Sander looked like a rough, bad boy, but it was only a façade. He was a slime. His unbuttoned shirt revealed a toned chest, but Irene could see the fake bronze and the tacky, thick gold chain. Everything was fake about Sander. His love, first of all.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

She had been blinded by that bogus glamour, a cute, naïve young girl. Sander had made her buy him cars and gifts worth over a couple hundred thousand, got her into drinking, and almost into drugs, too. And then, she caught him in the act, cheating on her and texting other women how stupid and ugly Irene was, making fun of her bracers, glasses, and overall nerdiness. That had sobered her up. If Vincent’s inner demons were about knowing true love and hanging to it, hers were about being taken for a fool and made into a toy. The foundation had been her salvation, the way to crawl back to sanity through work.

“What’s up with the headscarf?” her ex asked. Irene was hiding her ears with it, her tail tucked in her vest, like usual. “I have some good stuff, brand new,” Sander said, showing her a plastic bottle and shaking the pills in it. “What do you say we try some together, for old times' sake?”

She slapped him, rose, and beelined for the secondary exit. Why was Sander there in Prague? It didn’t matter. Irene wanted him out of her life for good. The cold air made her stop and reconsider her plan A to return to the hotel. Why run? She could call the club security and have Sander thrown out. Or call the police. He had drugs on him, after all. Way more than the laws allowed for personal use.

A couple, a man and a woman, smoked outside in the back alley. Irene thought for a second to ask for a cigarette. The tobacco scent in the fresh air was tempting. She hadn’t touched a smoke since leaving Sander because quitting had helped her get over the alcohol too.

Then, the moment was lost. The door opened behind her, letting out Sander and a massive man who beckoned the smokers, showing them the club with his finger. The young couple darted inside, and the man closed the door. On the other side of the alley, two more men appeared. Likewise, they were tall, with muscles bulging under their black sweaters and leather jackets.

“Sorry, sweetheart, you’re coming with us. It would have been easier if you’d taken a pill…” Sander said. “Don’t bother to scream. Nobody will hear you here, and there are no cameras.”

Shit… A kidnapping? He thinks I’m still rich…

Irene felt her heart beating like a drum in her throat, ears, temples, and even in her eyes. She and Lila shared a magical ring, for now, and it was on the dancer. Irene had no access to her powers and had no idea if she could fight four men. One thing she knew, though. That she won’t give up without a fight. Everything she had worked for: her relationship with Vincent, the Guild, the Realm, her friends, and her family, was on the line, and it was worth fighting for.

She unwrapped her scarf, letting her ears free, and wiggled to free her tail as well. From all the training she had been through, she remembered a line Vincent had told her once: Between Chuck Norris and a bum with a knife, always bet on the bum. Any weapon increases your chances exponentially.

Irene was four times stronger than the average woman, and her new species was built for speed and acrobatics. And she had weapons. Her nails. Still looking human, but sharp, an inch in length and as tough as steel.

Maybe seeing her ears, eyes reflecting the light or the tail, the three men hesitated. The one behind moved first, maybe because she wasn’t looking at him. However, his breath, taking in air, gave him away.

Irene kicked backward, her boot meeting the man’s shin. From that hit, she took the energy to jump forward, grab a drainpipe, rotate, send a kick into the left man’s groin, and swipe her right hand toward the largest man of the three, aiming for the throat, leaving a red and long line on the skin but missing cutting the carotid by a millimeter.

As the one hurt jumped back, she followed with a thrust in the left man’s inner left elbow, where another major artery was situated, clawing through the leather jacket and the sweater. The man yelped in pain and tried to hit her, but she ducked the blow and tried her luck with the femoral artery but missed.

If not for the bigger man blocking her exit, she would have run. If he managed to stop her for a second while the others would arrive, she was toast. Pivoting on her left heel, she burrowed her right boot into Sander’s stomach. The snail had tried to attack her from the back with a telescopic baton.

“Ugh…” her ex exhaled, falling on the snow, out of breath. Sander’s weapon clinked and rolled on the cobblestones under the eaves.

There was a brief pause in the fighting. The man behind was getting his strength back. He extracted a baton of his own, making Irene consider reaching for the one on the pavement. The man whose femoral artery she almost nicked pulled out a folding knife and pushed its button.

The bigger adversary raised a hand. “This is not an easy target,” he said in a raspy voice. It was all. He turned and left, followed by the one with the knife, his weapon now stored in the pocket. The one behind hit the baton on the ground, reducing its size, and followed. Irene hugged the wall, letting him pass.

Seconds later, there was no one there except her and Sander. She let out a deep breath of relief first, then approached with murder in her eyes, squatting next to him.

“Please, those guys made me do it… They’re mafia!” he blurted as she grabbed his throat. “Remember, we were in love!”

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Irene roared, spitting in his face. She squeezed, and despite the man flailing his arms, trying to hit her, he was too weak to stop her. Soon, he fell unconscious. Just one more push, and he would be dead.

“No…” Irene heaved, relaxing her grasp. “I’m no murderer…”

This is not murder; it’s justice.

“I’m not a murderer, but justice has to be done,” she replied to the inner voice that pushed her to kill the jerk. She raised on her feet, wobbling, the adrenaline leaving her body as he tried to think. Reporting the kidnapping to the police was one option, but there were no witnesses… no proof… The snail would say it was a lovers’ quarrel gone bad… Plus, her tail and ears were hard to explain.

Leaning down briefly, she stuck her index and middle fingers’ nails in Sander’s scalp, running them down to the chin, leaving behind two deep scars. Sander woke up, screaming, only to faint back. “Here… for all the girls you tricked. Good luck at charming women with that face.”

She wiped the blood on his clothes and noticed a thick roll of money that had fallen out of Sander’s poket. She took it, along with her scarf. Before returning to the club, Irene took her burner phone and called the police, trying to sound panicked.

“There’s been a mugging. Somebody’s hurt… I saw drugs and money… I think it was a deal gone wrong.”

“Where are you, miss?” the call person asked.

Irene gave the address and closed the call, switching the phone off. Heading inside, she carefully washed her nails. Ten minutes later, a policeman—fit and in his late twenties—entered the club, asking to speak with the manager, who was the influencer. Irene’s cat ears picked up the conversation despite the noise.

“A junkie had been mugged behind your club; have you heard anything? He’s delirious. Says something about a cat doing it.”

“Sorry,” the influencer raised his palms up. Sven was now rolling music at full intensity, bouncing up.

“Any cameras to the back?”

The influencer repeated the gesture.

“Never mind… That guy’s a prick anyway. We’ll book him for the night. Err… you think you can get me an autograph?” the policeman pointed at Lila.

“Sure, man. Give me a second.”

“Sweet,” the policeman rubbed his hands.

Irene’s heart was beaming with the joy of closure and self-delivered justice. For a brief moment, she regretted not having gauged an eye out but dismissed that thought. She was a good person, after all.