15

	Outside, it was snowing again, in heavy, wet flakes that stuck to her fur.  Jess shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to keep warm.  Her dress was made of good, warm cotton, but it was soaked in blood and other fluids and offered little protection now.  By the time she reached the end of the street, she was covered in white, and she could no longer feel the tips of her fingers or her toes.  She wanted to find a hidden corner, somewhere out of the wind, and just curl up around her wounds, but she didn't dare stop here.  This wasn’t a part of the city she knew.  There weren’t many she did, for all that she’d lived in Jaspertree her entire life.  There were streets where even a House collar didn’t mean much, and even the city militia were afraid of them.
	The other problem was that the city was ancient and while it had originally been built with some pattern in mind, five centuries of haphazard additions had completely wiped out whatever the original founders had in mind.  Now, the streets wandered in wide circles and crooked paths, and sometimes they doubled back on themselves completely.  As long as she knew where the docks were, she knew how to get around, but after fifteen minutes and more than a dozen turns, she was so lost she didn’t even know which direction she was facing anymore.  To make things even worse, someone was following her.  He had been for the last five minutes, and it was her considered opinion that he couldn’t sneak worth a damn.  That was disgraceful for any predator, but especially for a cat.  She normally got along with cats.  Most of them had the sense to leave her in peace, even if they didn't know what she was.  But this was one tabby who obviously couldn’t see past outward appearances.
	Elizabeth had taught her to always think of herself as a mouse first.  The idea was that was long as she stayed meek, and kept her temper in check, she would be safe, but she was sick of always being someone’s prey.  In spite of her own better judgement, she began to walk out in the light, where any fool could see her.  When he left the shadows at the end of the street, he walked up to her with a grin.   There was a stench of sickness about him, a taint of sour vomit and open sores.  He walked with a limp, and like every male she’d ever met, he was staring at her breasts.  The top of her dress had come untied while she’d been walking so that all that was covering her was her own arm.
	“You look lost, little mousie.  That’s not a good thing to be, around here.  I could help you out, maybe, for a little fee,” he said.
	“Clever comments only work if you’ve got the brains for them.  Go crawl back into your fleapit and leave me alone.  I’m not in the mood,” she said.
	“You look like you are to me,” he said.
	He was still smiling when he grabbed her wrist and slammed her arm against the wall.  Her dress fell the rest of the way open to leave her exposed.  He fondled her clumsily, and he leaned forward to stick his muzzle in the crook of her neck.  He licked the place where Marcus had bitten her, and nipped at her with his own rotting teeth.
	“I don’t think you mind this at all, do you?” he said.
	He bit her harder, making her whimper with the pain, and press her back against the wall.  But that was the way the mouse had always acted when threatened, and now she had mostly hidden herself away.  That left the weasel free, and she was rising fast, eager to take over.
	He hooked his claws in the tatters of her dress and ripped it all the way to her navel.  The sound of tearing cloth, and the rush of cold air stung as much as the fresh blood dripping down her neck.  A white haze blurred what was left of her vision, and she could feel a hot prickling on the back of her neck that rushed forward to drown out everything but her anger.  The stink of cat was so thick in her nose she could taste it on the back of her tongue, and she had to open her mouth just to breathe.  This let the cat see her teeth and she heard him whimper, just before she pounced.