She danced away a couple feet in another twirl, and completed the pull on her top, letting it flutter down beside her blouse. When she looked back at Mr. Blue, she kept her eyes on his, doing her best to ignore what he was doing with his hands. She shouldn’t have been bothered—she knew what she was dancing for—but the expression on his face made her skin crawl under her fur. Even so, she was being paid for a show; her fingers combed through the fur over her belly, across her thighs, back under her tail. Maintaining the same slow pace and rhythm of the dance, she dipped lower, swayed more, swiveled her hips in widening circles.
“Closer,” he wheezed, leaning forward.
Roulette let herself pirouette closer.
As she spun back to face him, Mr. Blue sprung at her.
She shrieked, falling backward, but he stayed with her, arms wrapping around her back and head, crushing her face to his chest. His erection pressed hot against her belly. Panicking, she curled her fingers and stabbed her claws into his sides. It was enough to make him grunt in pain and loosen his grip. She scrambled back.
“Come on, beast.” His tone dripped lust and hate. “I need to fuck you.”
She darted toward the door, but he lurched in front of her to cut her off, then drove her back against the dresser. This time he grabbed her arms, keeping her from using her claws again.
“Let go of me!”
He twisted her around, forcing her to face the dresser, and slammed her down against it so she was bent over.
Roulette tried desperately to twist away, her flailing hands knocking over one of the perfume bottles.
If only these were mace.
Yet maybe it would at least loosen his grip before—
Holding her down with his weight, he slid a hand in front of her, fumbling at her skirt.
Grabbing the closest bottle, she thrust it back behind her at his face and sprayed repeatedly.
The reaction was sharp and immediate. He let go of her almost before the spray hit him, bringing his arms up. “No!”
The scent released was nothing like perfume. Roulette quickly slid away along the dresser, turning around.
Mr. Blue was rubbing frantically where the spray had hit him, smoke rising in thin, acrid wisps. “Oh living god. You fucking animal
bitch.
Get me—help—” Blisters were appearing on his cheeks, his arms, his fingers. Drops of blood had formed under his eyes. He fell to his knees, grabbing at the bed and pulling up the sheet to wipe at his face. His skin stuck to the cloth. He started to scream, a noise of pure terror—for only a second. The noise ended in a soft gargling sound.
Feeling bile rise in her throat faster than her own scream, Roulette grabbed her clothes and ran from the room, slamming the door behind. She pulled both layers back on as she ran down the hall, took a deep steadying breath, and walked down to the lobby and to the exit as fast as she thought she could without drawing attention. She kept her expression studiously neutral; no one gave her curious, accusing looks, so she was sure she was—
Was that the vixen from the dance this afternoon?
Don’t look,
she told herself fiercely.
It isn’t, and if it is, that’s just a coincidence.
She stepped outside. No guests had looked up in alarm, no staff had hurried upstairs. As awful as Mr. Blue was, she couldn’t just leave him like that. Could she?
I’ll give you some perfume after we’re finished. I insist.
Roulette managed to get into a side alley and over a trash can before she started to vomit.
Roulette tried to sleep,
but every time she closed her eyes, the images returned. She didn’t want to put a name to it, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Melting.
She’d left Mr. Blue with his face melting.
When the sun rose the next morning, she splashed water on her face, dressed simply, and headed downstairs. A coffee shop, open only for breakfast and lunch, sat across the street from the boarding house. She’d made visiting it part of her morning ritual most days.
Today the shop’s opener was a Melifen named Rissi. He didn’t know Roulette’s name but he knew her usual order; as she sat at the counter, the cat was already pouring a cup of coffee for her, and set it down in front of her with a little ceramic creamer, a plate with a warm raspberry turnover following a few seconds later. “You don’t look dressed for capturing hearts today. No dancing?”
“I didn’t get much sleep,” she said, forcing a smile as she poured cream into the coffee.
“You look really tired,” he agreed. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you, okay?”
She gave him a nod and a more sincere smile as she cupped her hands around the mug, lifting it for a sip.
Dancing. She
couldn’t
dance here now, could she? She’d have to get out of Achoren. If Mr. Blue had survived, he’d finger her for the attack, and it would be her word against his. While she’d grown up trusting the Ranean Guard in Orinthe, her impression of Achoren had taken a sharp turn for the worse in the last twelve hours.
And if Mr. Blue
hadn’t
survived…then what? She might be in the clear. But even if there weren’t any witnesses, she’d been the only non-human at the White Orchid last night. Despite Mr. Blue’s little charade of not going up the stairs together, she might be remembered speaking with him.
She’d been the first customer through the door this morning. As she nibbled on the turnover, other customers began to trickle in. A wolf she’d seen before sat down a couple stools down and tipped his cap to her; she nodded back, absently noting other regulars in the small crowd.
Maybe she should go to the Ranean Guard herself. She’d rarely felt truly unwelcome here, after all. Her paranoia about Achoren prejudices was likely unjustified. And as part of the Empire, Ranean law—in which all citizens were held as equal regardless of race—took precedence.
She’d reached for her coffee mug again when someone slipped onto the stool immediately to her right, a tall woman in dark gray slacks and a light blue blouse. The vixen.
Roulette kept her hand on her mug but let it drop back onto the counter. It clinked loudly, coffee sloshing over its edge.
Rissi walked over and took her order. “I’ll have what she’s having,” the vixen murmured, her voice soft and pitched low as she turned to look directly at Roulette. The raccoon tightened her grip on her coffee mug.
“Coming right up,” Rissi said, ears flicking. He glanced between the two women and headed off.
“Roulette,” the vixen said, keeping her storm green eyes fixed on the shorter raccoon.
She looked down at her turnover, ears flat.
“After breakfast, we’re going to chat about last night.”
“What do you want?” Roulette hissed.
“Don’t play stupid.” She picked up the pastry Rissi had just set down and bit into it.
Roulette slammed money down on the counter, took a final quick gulp of her coffee, and stood up abruptly. “If you follow me I’ll scream,” she whispered. “Stay away from me.”
The vixen didn’t even look up.
Once outside, she paused to make sure the woman wasn’t following, then dashed across the street, into the boarding house and up the stairs. When she got into her room she locked the door behind her, dropped onto the bed and held her head in her hands until the sob threatening to burst out subsided.
Nothing to do but run. She paid for the room by the week; leaving now meant she’d lose three days worth of money, but at this point she didn’t care.
She started to drag the trunk out from under the bed, then paused. There was no way she could lug this around
and
duck the damn vixen. She could just grab the bills, but she’d hate to lose the strongbox—and she’d have trouble getting even half the trunk’s contents into her knapsack. She’d planned to leave by purchasing a seat and cargo space on a public carriage to Raneadhros. She hadn’t counted on—
A knock sounded on the door. Roulette froze.
The door knob jiggled, clacking as the lock held it in place.
Roulette tried to hold her breath.
“I know you’re in there,” the vixen growled from outside. “I’m not here to hurt you, but neither of us has time for this. Don’t make me break the door down.”
She whimpered, holding her hand on the doorknob as if to brace it. “Why are you following me?”
“Up until this morning, I hadn’t been following
you
.”
Roulette trembled, ears folding back in her hair. “Just go away,” she said. “All I want to do is leave town. No one will ever see me again.”
“It’s too late for that.” The vixen’s voice remained hard.
Roulette closed her eyes for a second, then steeled herself and unlocked the door.
The vixen pushed the door open, slipped in, shut and locked the door behind her. “First I need to know if you went there to kill Grayson.”
Roulette stared incredulously. “Who is—”
In a frighteningly fast motion the vixen closed the distance between them, now scowling. “I said no time for this. Were you there to kill Grayson, or just fuck him?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” She shoved at the vixen with both hands.
The world blurred and hit Roulette hard in the back, knocking the breath out of her as the Vraini slammed her against the nearest wall, pinning her shoulders.
“Listen to me very closely.” The vixen’s voice carried a cold steel edge. “Sometime between the point Grayson stopped talking to you in the lobby and when you left in a hurry, something happened that kept him from an important meeting he was supposed to have an hour before midnight. When I broke into his room this morning, it was empty and
very
clean. But the cleaners couldn’t quite mask the scent of human blood.”
“I didn’t know what was in them!” Roulette shrieked.
The vixen narrowed her eyes. “What was in what?”
“The perfume bottles. They—they—he tried to
rape
me.”
The pressure on her shoulders relaxed, and it took a few seconds before the vixen spoke, now softly. “Start at the beginning.”
Roulette swallowed. “All I was going to do was dance.” Tears started to mat the fur under her eyes. “He said he’d pay me a lot, and he agreed—no touching. But he got worked up and—and bent me over the dresser…”
She risked a glance up at the vixen’s face. Her expression remained frozen, unreadable.
“He had…bottles on the dresser. He said they were perfume. I grabbed one—sprayed him in his face to make him let go—and—and—his face started to burn. And bleed.” Her voice broke. “And I ran. That’s it. I swear.”
The vixen dropped her arms away and remained quiet for several seconds. “Acid in perfume bottles.”
“Yes! He…” Roulette shuddered. “I think he was going to use it on me. After the dance.”
At that, the vixen showed the most emotion the raccoon had seen from her so far: she closed her eyes for a full second and clenched her fists. “You don’t know who he was, do you?” she finally murmured.
Roulette shook her head, sniffling.
“An influential businessman in another town. A friend of the damned assistant mayor here. And someone I’d been watching for a month because I’m sure he is—was—planning something.” She ran a hand through her hair, then focused her gaze on Roulette again. “Get your things. Just what you can carry.”
“What?” The raccoon shook her head. “Look. Look. I just want to get out of here. I’m going to go to Raneadhros and—”
“The Brothers are going to be looking for you, and if they find you, they
will
kill you. They can’t take the chance, however small, that someone official might actually listen to you. You’re not going to make it to the border.”
“What? This is crazy! Who are the ‘Brothers?’ Why should I—”
The vixen took her shoulders again, more gently, but her expression remained hard as ice. “This is
why
we don’t have time for this. Get your things. Now.”
Roulette stared into her eyes. She could tell the vixen believed what she was saying, although that didn’t mean she wasn’t crazy.
“Dammit,” she swore aloud, then crouched by her trunk, surveying its contents. Clothes, mostly none too fine. Jewelry. Three pairs of sandals. Four books. Her knapsack. A few mementos of home. She began stuffing clothes hurriedly into the sack. “I at least need the strongbox—”
“You need to be alive, and that means you need to move fast. I don’t want the next place I see you to be the morgue. Lock the trunk, shove it back under your bed, and lock the door. How long is the room paid for?”
Roulette did as instructed, re-locking the trunk and pushing it under the bed until it was well-hidden once more. “Through the end of the week—hey!” Her ears folded back as the vixen pulled her out of the room.
“Lock the door.”
“I know,” Roulette snapped, locking it.
“Then come on.” The vixen rushed her outside, marching her at a military pace away from downtown, glancing from side to side constantly.
When they reached a corner two blocks away, she abruptly pointed to the right. “Go down the street another block, turn right at Andersen, then three blocks. The Aid Society will be on the left side of the road. Tell them Lisha sent you.”
“Where are you—”
“To check out your story.” She spun on her heel and walked the other direction.
Roulette stared after the vixen in stunned silence for several seconds, then swore again and hurried down the street.
Lisha’s directions took the raccoon
through a section of Norinton she usually stayed clear of—the area around the boarding house had been unlovely, but this area was positively dismal. All the windows had bars, but few had glass. Most walls remained unpainted beyond crude messages from vandals. Trash piled forgotten in the streets. Even a human nose would find the air rancid, but she didn’t see a single human, only suspicious-looking L’rovri and Melifen, Vraini and Rilima she refused to meet eyes with. She gripped her knapsack tightly, wishing—not for the first time—she’d replaced the cheap little dagger that she’d lost on her journey from Orinthe.
Once on Andersen the atmosphere improved, although it never quite returned to the merely ramshackle heights of the boarding house’s neighborhood. After three blocks, Roulette studied the building to her left, a long brick warehouse. It didn’t look like any of its high, small windows had ever had glass to be knocked out. No address, sign, or even door could be seen.