Written in Blood

HorseLULU, I'm so happy you're happy! I hope you'll enjoy this latest chapter as well. YoharasWorld, I look forward to your comment specifically every time I add a chapter. Once again, thank you for reading and sticking around. You are amazing! Guest, OH MY GOODNESS. Thank you for that long and loving comment! Fanfiction has done so much for my own mental health, so it's heartening to see how much positive it's done for you. I'm honoured beyond words that this humble little series has spoken to you. This is exactly the sort of thing that reminds me why I write. And if you're feeling inspired to write a story of your own, DO IT! I would love to read it. Other Guest, thank you thank you! Enjoy some more! Lynx, wow, that's dedication! Time flies indeed, 2011 feels like a lifetime ago now. :)

16. Predation

He'd put it off for as long as possible, but eventually the gentle prodding from Demeter, Munkustrap, and Jenny herself had convinced Mistoffelees to sit down and face the task.

Not Tugger though. A week had passed since Mistoffelees moved back into the den. A week spent in awkward conversation, sleeping at opposite ends of the blankets (but at least not opposite ends of the den.) It wasn't good, but it was better than yelling.

When they did speak, it was never about the kittens now rolling in Mistoffelees' belly and straining his back and hips. It was about what to hunt for dinner or how Electra and Augusta were practicing for their mating dance at the Jellicle Ball. The Ball was four weeks away. Mistoffelees clung to that faraway goal, an abstract point that represented the time where everything would be okay again.

Kittens born. Mandra back home. Macavity and these kittens a distant memory. Tugger would be speaking to him again and everything would be all right.

Intellectually he knew he was missing a few crucial steps between current state and end state, but he was too busy clinging to that distant goal to care about the details right now.

In fact, his gaze stuck hard to the distant future, or at least the ceiling of Jenny's den, while the old queen hummed and hawed and pressed paws and ears against his belly. He was getting big, he knew that. With his returned appetite, Mistoffelees had set himself to eating everything in sight to make up for lost time, the pressure of the kittens against his stomach was enough to slow his appetite.

Things were so different this time. The relentless sickness had been an unexpected misery. It was gone but now he felt exhausted all the time, his joints strained to popping under the weight of the kittens. His hips ached. While he'd craved fish and rice pudding during his first pregnancy, now he felt himself longing for quail and curry, cravings he'd refused to indulge. For one, obtaining the food meant asking Macavity for help. But more distressing, indulging pregnancy cravings held such sweet memories for him that doing it now would taint those memories. At least he had enough energy now to waddle outside on his own to relieve himself. Such a small thing, dignity.

So he endured the hunger, just as he endured Tugger's frosty company and the leg cramps that were ever his companions these days. Jenny had had to stop her examination twice now to help him soothe a tightly twitching muscle, a distraction Mistoffelees resented because it meant the examination would just last longer.

With muscles finally behaving, Mistoffelees focused on disconnecting from what was happening, staring with acute interest at a small tear in the seam of the fabric lining the inside ceiling of the den. Florals. Nice choice.

He barely registered the absence of the pressure on his belly until Jenny spoke. "Well, things don't seem so bad, considering," she clucked. It took Mistoffelees a second to realize she was talking about the kittens and not the situation as a whole. "It wouldn't hurt to put on a bit more weight, of course…"

"How many are there?" Everlasting Cat, please not seven again.

He almost mistook Jenny's hesitation for bad news. "Only two. They seem strong and healthy."

"Only two." Mistoffelees went boneless with relief. "Thank goodness. It won't be as bad as last time."

Jenny made a tutting noise and grabbed his arm to help him sit. "Well, yes and no. The birth may not last as long this time—and second labors are often faster, let me tell you from experience! But dear, think of it this way. When your seven were competing to grow, they could only get so big. These two have a lot more space."

She cupped the left side of his belly, outlining a shape and making the kitten shift and kick Mistoffelees in the ribs. He winced and glared at the shape. Rotten little thing.

He cottoned on to what Jenny was saying though, gathering his legs together with faint revulsion. So far he'd treated thought of the upcoming labor and birth as merely one more step in the process, something to get over with. He'd done it before, he could do it again.

But bloody hell, the lump outlined between Jenny's paws was big. He imagined it wrestling its way towards the exit of his body, followed by its twin, and shuddered.

Everything about this situation had given him nothing but pain and shame, so what was one more thing?

"Oh, I'm sorry, Misto," Jenny soothed, stroking his head. He wasn't crying, dammit, but he had a feeling that if he opened his mouth to inform Jenny of that fact, a broken sob would exit. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Everything's going to be all right. You'll be here, I'll be here, and I'll support you the entire way. I have things to dull the pain and… well, poppet, have you decided who you'd like to have with you when the time comes to birth these kittens?"

Mistoffelees thought back to Tugger holding his paw and licking his face during contractions and holding their newborn kittens. He shook his head. "You said you'll be here, right? And… and Jellylorum too?"

"I wouldn't expect Jelly to be present, poor tired thing," Jenny sighed. "Ever since the fire, Gus has been getting worse and worse. Confused, aggressive… it's almost more than Jelly can handle, even with Skimble and myself there to help out. He'll finally be at peace after the Jellicle Ball."

Mistoffelees nodded mutedly. He wasn't the only one greatly anticipating the relief of the Jellicle Ball.

"Why not Demeter? She's your closest friend."

Ugh, the thought of putting Demeter through that again made his stomach turn. And the thought of tainting even more positive memories of the birth of his first litter by dragging Demeter into watching him press out these two monsters…

Jenny huffed a sigh as Mistoffelees used her for balance to swing his legs off the bed and stand up. "If not Demeter, then… Victoria, maybe? You need someone there for you, dear. I'm there to keep an eye on the progress of the kittens. You need someone there to comfort and support you, and only you."

"I'll try and think of someone. Thank you, Jenny." He left the den without a word. No need to get into how he didn't deserve any sort of support right now, how the only person who would reasonably bring him any sort of comfort was sitting tensely back in their den like they were awkward acquaintances instead of mates. But he was used to it by now, and if he could deal with that, then he could deal with having these kittens with no one holding his paw. He was almost disappointed that Jenny hadn't made a dark joke about asking Macavity to come over and play doting father.

Mandra was bored.

She missed home. She missed every single one of her pain-in-the-ass siblings, she missed her parents, she missed the fussing and noise of every well-meaning and overbearing Jellicle.

Heck. She even missed Jenny and Jelly and Jezebel's singing lessons. The thought made her smile before her throat went tight. She should have enjoyed Jezebel's presence while she still had the chance. She should have enjoyed everything about the junkyard while she still had the chance. She was never going to take anything for granted again, especially not her father's willingness to sacrifice his body and soul for her safety.

Mandra sighed her tears away. She was going to have to find a way to make this up to him. Keep her den clean forever. Hunt his meals for him until the end of his days. Hug him every hour. Practice her magic so he'd be proud.

Magic. Well, at least she'd had plenty of time to develop magic skills, meager as they were. She had exactly one trick up her sleeve, and working it felt like the equivalent of working out the muscle of one leg and one leg only. Lopsided, but strong.

Not to mention useless. Mandra rolled over, propping her head up while she picked at the junk pile she'd amassed in the centre of the room, next to her blankets. After several thorough explorations of the basement, she'd gathered all the trinkets of interest to her and alternated between piling them up, lining them up, knocking them down, and magicking them all over the basement.

There was nothing there she should use as a weapon. Nothing sharp, nothing heavy or blunt enough. Just toys, broken trinkets, shiny little things good for entertainment.

She picked one toy out of the pile, a blue glass trinket shaped like a frog. The glass was too sturdy for her to break, the body too smooth to hurl at someone's face. She held it in her palm, a tiny crease of concentration between her eyes, and the frog vanished. It was exciting how effortless it was now.

There was no clatter in the basement. Mandra concentrated a little harder and the frog returned to her palm, the glassy surface slick and cold from the snow. She could do that now, send objects through solid matter. The front porch was as far as she could send things, but whether it was due to her weakling magic or Macavity's protective wards, she couldn't say.

Useless for escaping, but at least she was keeping busy. She couldn't wait to show Cappella. Maybe next she could start working on perfecting a heating spell.

Moonlight spilled through the high basement window as Mandra yawned and stretched, stomach growling. Lunch would be coming any moment now. At least seeing Vincenzo three times a day was a perk to look forward to. Selfishly, she was grateful for his kind presence, even though the scruffy tom grew progressively scruffier every day. It was difficult to know exactly what happened in the den above her head.

A few times, a different cat had delivered her meals. Nameless toms and queens who sneered or worse, ignored her completely. Twice, that bag-of-bones queen Sedna had dumped her bowl of food, complaining about being too old to traipse up and down stairs to feed a brat. Mandra wondered about her. Too old to be Macavity's mate, too sharp to be anyone's mother.

And then there was Bixbite, the scarred tom who seemed way too invested in the family saga happening here. He was difficult to read, what with one eye fused shut with conspicuous claw marks, but Mandra had the strangest impression that he'd only volunteered to deliver her food so he could leer at her.

But none of that today. It was Vincenzo who appeared once the familiar scrape of bureau from the basement entrance finished rattling the air. Mandra hopped to her feet to greet him, stopping short when she noticed his paws weren't weighted down with the plate of food Macavity normally reserved for her. So much food, as though he were trying to plump her up for something. But, not today.

"Vincenzo?" Something was wrong. The brown tom was always on the skittish side but today he looked downright terrified.

"C'mon. We only got a couple minutes." He grabbed her arm before she had a chance to ask questions or protest. She had questions though, about whatever the hell Macavity had asked him to do, dragging his favourite hostage up the stairs like that and past the bureau, pulled to the side with magic. It was only when Vincenzo squeezed her back against the bureau while he checked the hallway did it occur to her that Macavity hadn't asked him to do anything.

Which meant they were now both as good as dead. Well, maybe not Mandra. She was valuable. But, Vincenzo?

She resisted when he tried to pull her out into the hallway. They had maybe two seconds to put this right before anyone noticed. "No! Vin-"

More frantic pulling. Maybe he thought she didn't understand what he was trying to do. "I'm getting you out of here! We need to run for the front door."

"I know what you're doing! He'll kill you."

"Not if we hurry-!" He was anything but stealthy, shaking so hard he nearly wrenched Mandra's shoulder out of its socket.

Bloody idiot. Poor, bloody idiot. He was stronger than Mandra, and her desperation to save the misguided tom wasn't lending her the strength she needed to break free of his grasp. Of course he thought she was scared, rooted to the spot out of a terror of being caught. And, well, she was scared, but not for herself.

Well, the least she could do was stop making things worse for him. She followed, keeping her footfalls silent as he pulled her through the hallways, taking the long way around to the front door as though somehow Macavity would never think of looking left instead of right in his own house. He probably already knew they were escaping.

A confused young tom with a scabbed ear blocked the end of the hallway right before the front door. Mandra couldn't remember seeing him before, which meant he'd never seen her before, which also meant he didn't immediately panic or resist when she and Vincenzo barreled down the hallway.

The front door was right there. A shining beacon with the pale moonlight spilling in through that half-circle window near the top. Surely not, surely this stupid escape attempt wasn't going to work, not when her own father with all his magic couldn't break in, not where the entire strength of the Jellicle tribe couldn't storm this place, but sometimes the small and unexpected really was the key to survival.

Vincenzo's claws slammed on the doorknob, turning it, pulling it, introducing a blast of cold air to the den.

It was the first fresh air Mandra had smelled in weeks.

It lasted all of two seconds, before two sinuous feline forms blocked the door before they could put a paw beyond it, eyeing the would-be escapees with glee and pink forever staining the fur of their chins and bellies.

Eris. Cesare. She knew these two, because she'd watched them tear Jezebel apart, enjoying every squelch of blood and flesh, wearing the stain of said blood in their fur like war badges.

Vincenzo made a squeak of fear. He hadn't released Mandra's arm yet, so hell-bent on this one good deed, and now he nearly knocked her on her tail as he spun away from the cackling, hissing twin henchcat and dragged her back inside.

Adrenaline made her follow as much as the paw tugging her arm. Maybe they could still do this. If they could dodge, find an open window, escape to the road, all they had to do was run faster than the fastest henchcat, fast until they were back in the safety of the junkyard and Mandra could tell her father he didn't have to do the awful thing he'd agreed to do.

"Argh! Seriously?" They'd almost made it to the small dining room when Vincenzo slammed shoulder-first into Sedna's bony body, the force propelling them all into the room. At long last did Vincenzo release Mandra's arm. She scrabbled against the table, laden with food, catching herself before toppling head-first into a bowl of sardine perched on the edge of the table.

That was it, then. Because if Sedna was there, glaring at the would-be escapees as though they were unruly kittens, then surely Macavity wouldn't be far—and sure enough.

Macavity somehow managed to fill the entire, humans-sized doorway as he materialized next to Sedna and took a weighty, quiet moment to assess the situation. A moment in which Vincenzo awkwardly landed on his knees, fat tears rolling in his fur, paws up and open as though it would make a difference to Macavity's judgement.

"And what," the Hidden Paw coolly asked. "Happened here?"

Macavity was no simpleton. Even without Sedna to properly explain the scene, or those two damn blood-stained white twins who scampered into the dining room now, he would have no trouble putting together the scene. Mandra was as good as obedient, and she almost felt resentment in the way Macavity had no eyes for her just then, gazing down at the doomed Vincenzo.

The brown tom didn't even try to defend himself between heaving sobs. Mandra's resentment helped itself to some guilt as well. Maybe if she'd run a little faster, maybe if she hadn't wasted precious seconds trying to convince Vincenzo he was signing his own death warrant…

Maybe if she could try doing something now, instead of standing there docilely…

Eris and Cesare prowled, unwilling to wait for an order, or maybe having understood a quiet, unspoken one. Mandra backed up, bumping the table, averting her eyes as the twins circled and sniffed the crying brown lump on the floor.

She stared at the table of food. Forks and knives littered the spaces between plates, sharp and glinting. A fork in Macavity's eye would be satisfying, if she suspected she ever had a chance of getting close enough to show him the gravy-laden tines.

Something hard and blunt poked her in the back, giving way a bit when she leaned back against it, focusing on that instead of the hissing and licking and whimpering noises filling the small room. She slipped her paw behind her and felt the cool handle of a knife, sticking out the top of a joint of meat.

A knife, between Macavity's cold, unfeeling ribs. She could do it. She could try, while Macavity was distracted by Vincenzo's pleas, by his low scream and loud squelches as the twins went for his throat.

She could throw it. Knick his fur, maybe hope for it to land on his foot. Hell, aim for Sedna instead, and rattle Macavity by dispatching his girlfriend or whatever she was supposed to be.

She would die, though. The worst part of that was that her father's awful sacrifice would be in vain if she died here. So, what had her father taught her?

Mandra fixed her gaze to a porcelain cup on the table, broken in the tussle. Fought to block out the noises as Vincenzo stopped screaming and the twins continued whatever fun they got out of chewing on a cat's dead body.

Another forgotten stray from Victoria Grove, dispatched in Macavity's clutches. No one, she knew, escaped Macavity's clutches. He'd died trying to save her.

No one else was going to die for her.

Mandra held her breath, closed her paw around the handle, and focused on feeling the magic flow until the handle of the knife vanished from under her grasp.

She kept her eyes on that broken little cup, jumping out of her fur when Macavity's paw landed on her shoulder. "I apologize for that," he rumbled. It wasn't clear if he was apologizing for Vincenzo's dismemberment at her feet, the ill-fated escape attempt, or some other element at play not clear to Mandra. "Let's get you settled again, shall we?"

For a horrible moment Mandra wondered if that was Macavity-speak for an ill fate of her own, but all he did was lead her out of room, around the spreading puddle of gore that used to be Vincenzo, back into the hallway. There came the resentment again, at how easily Mandra let herself be guided back to the basement like some fragile little thing, barely a blip on Macavity's threat radar. Bastard. Bastard.

"I'll have Bixbite bring your dinner." Over Macavity's parting words, Mandra allowed herself a shrill hiss of defiance, skin twitching as the wardrobe slid back into place with a scrape.

She paced the length of the floor a few times until she'd managed to get the adrenaline stamped down. After sucking in a few breaths, she was able to calm her fight-ready nerves, retracting her claws, slowing her furious pulse. With a calmer mind, she had a look at the carefully crafted pile of junk she'd put together to entertain herself.

Mandra grinned.

In the middle of the junk and toys, there was the knife.