Pilot had made it her business to know any cats of note in Twin Rivers – but by no means did this involve ever meeting or building a relationship with any of them. She had heard of the Collector, long before their paths had been set together, but this would be their first meeting in person.

“What do you think she collects?" asked Prince, trotting alongside her. It was almost admirable how much he trusted her to keep him out of traffic while he paid no attention to the roads.

“Who knows?" Pilot sighed. “More importantly, what did our loverboy want with her?"

The Prince giggled predictably at the description of their missing cat. All told, his giddiness was the only thing keeping Pilot from being swept up in the oddity of it all. Cats, by nature, were secretive creatures prone to getting tangled up with the occult, the mystic, and otherwise more troublesome aspects of the world.

One of them must have some sense, she thought. Just a little. Please?

Pilot knew better than to get her hopes up. She steeled her nerves for the worst as they prowled through a row of houses, each painted more brightly than the last until they happened upon one of a particularly faded blue. The gardens were well kept and the picket fences were so tall that they had to use the front drive for access.

Her ear twitched at the passing of a squirrel above, and she made a mental note to return later to teach the chattering beast a lesson. In the meantime, no amount of impish insult could distract her from her destination.

Around the back and into the garden they found flowering shrubs broken up by a trio of palmettos not far from the fence. Little birds darted in and out, hunting the nectars and the insects that hovered around the aromatic flowers.

Braced against the house was an enclosure of stained wood and hard shimmering wires. Inside, plush carpets and winding planks led to shelves on which a cat could sprawl and watch the world outside while safe from harm.

Prince gawped, sticking his nose between the bars to take a whiff. “It looks like a palace!"

“More like a rabbit hutch," Pilot muttered.

“You just have no sense of taste," Prince shot back. He stood on his hind legs, trying to peer in the window on the other side of the wires. “Miss Collector! Are you in?"

“Won't do you much good yelling," said Pilot. “She can't hear you. We'll just have to wait until she feels like making an appearance."

Prince, his curiosity undeterred, kept sticking his muzzle in various gaps. There were several boxes and little containers disguised as platforms, some of which still held various cat scents and others that held the tantalizing phantom of treats. Pilot managed to keep her hunger in check.

At least her companion ceased scrabbling at the bars once the Collector arrived. The flap opened on the window, and a long-haired Birman stepped out. Her silvery fur fell in wisps down around her paw pads, her mane rippling like a wind-tossed mantle. She blinked her bright blue eyes in greeting, seeming unsurprised at the appearance of her guests, and hopped up onto one of the nearby ledges. Her face, masked with black fur, remained peaceful as she raised her claws and twisted them into various shapes and gestures.

Pilot recognized the meaning of the motions. Welcome to my home. You're the one who looks for things, aren't you?

“Claw-sign!" Prince exclaimed, resting on his haunches so he could respond in kind. Hello.

The Collector trembled with a muted purr at Prince but returned her gaze to Pilot.

She raised her paws, extending her claws slowly. Th ough she had taught what she knew to Prince, she still wasn't the swiftest in tying her words together. We're told you might be able to help us find a missing friend.

A friend. The Collector repeated the words and then laughed silently into the back of a paw. I know he's quick to make friends, but before he even meets you? That's some kind of record.

Pilot sighed. Why was it that everyone in this town seemed to know what she was doing before she did? She squeezed her toes together and then signed again. Next, you're going to tell me you know where he is.

The Collector shook her head. I'm sorry, I don't know. Her motions faltered, and she looked to the fuzzy green edge of the shelf. She scratched at the carpeting, pulling it back until she revealed a tiny compartment. From it, she pulled out an orange tassel and began to shuffle it between her paws.

Pilot and Prince watched the fluff bounce from side to side for a few moments.

But you have seen him? Pilot signed at last.

Seen him? Yes. The Collector paused her treatment of the tassel to reply. Asked about shiny things. Stones.

First, she pulled out a thin chrome rod, and then a smooth white stone. Soon a small collection of knicknacks, some cat toys but most ephemera that drifted in from the town. The cat then looked to the other platforms, mounds, and no doubt many other hiding places for the things that she had accumulated.

Saffron took a stone , she signed at last. Night. Black. Six sides. It must be returned.

She leaned forward until the fur of her masked muzzle bristled around the bars, eyes wide with intent.

Pilot folded back her ears. Are you asking me to bring it back to you?

It must be returned, insisted the collector. Do this, and you will find your friend.

So the Collector had seen him – but Pilot couldn't help but feel that all she'd gotten for her trouble was another chore to finish before all these cats would let her be.

“We're already looking for him, right? So it's no big deal if we're looking for this treasure, too," said Prince.

The tom had already decided that this item was 'treasure,' and Pilot was in no mood to argue with him. It seemed like every cat had seen Saffron just recently enough to not be of any use. At the least, she knew he was here not too long ago, though the Collector would have lost his bearing as soon as he left the yard.

Pilot was preparing to say her goodbyes when an oily scent wafted around the corner. The bristles on her neck stood stiff, and Prince backed against the enclosure.

“Pilot?" he whispered. “Is that--"

Prince yelped and slid out his claws as a fat brown cat dropped onto him like a ripe watermelon, claws first. He barely managed to pin Prince down before Pilot bit hard on his neck and tugged, sending him reeling to the side.

Two more cats struck the ground as another trio, led by a lush-furred brown tom emerged from around the house.

“Keep behind me," hissed Pilot, dropping into a crouch. The contours of her body seemed to melt into the shadows of the enclosure until only the furious amber of her eyes remained.

Six of them, thought Pilot. This is going to be messy. But they're alley cats… just the threat of blood should be enough to put them in line.

The tom in the lead studied the sureness of her paws and the curve of her back. His eyes widened as if he couldn't see the seams of where Pilot ended and the shadows began.

“Easy, now," coaxed the tom in the lead. “We come in peace. Chestnut, apologize to the boy for your poor landing, will you?"

“Uh?" The cat named Chestnut swung his head to the side. “But you said--"

“Now, Chestnut!"

Chestnut, chastised, hung his head towards Prince. “Sorry about falling on you."

“It's… fine?" Prince blinked, dazed from the impact.

Of course, he wouldn't bear a grudge , thought Pilot, narrowing her eyes at the leader. Fool still hasn't learned. Some cats won't give you respect until you take it from them.

“I must apologize as well. I've been curious about the rumors regarding your past exploits."

“Oh, she's killed before!" Prince chimed in, his usual cheer taking on a sharp lilt. “Was supposed to kill me, too."

“I still might," Pilot muttered back over her shoulder. She did not like to dwell on the days she served as her colony's hidden fangs.

“I believe you," said the cat, raising a paw.

“Then why don't we get to your name?" said Pilot, her ears still flat. “And what it is you want with us?"

“Mmhm. You can call me the Second."

“But I thought your name was Elvis?" chirped Chestnut.

The Second--or Elvis'--pelt spiked and he bared his teeth. “Chestnut!"

Pilot cleared her throat. She had no particular care what the cat wanted to be called. “Second. All right. You still haven't answered my other question."

The Second shook off his anger, returning to the just-warm flick of his tail. “That orange gentleman you're looking for? We've got good reason to want him found, and we want you to bring him to us."

“Oh, and why's that?" Pilot tried to force her pelt smooth. No way I'm giving him up to you, but there's no reason I shouldn't let you give me the story for free.

The Second tilted his head to the side, as if expecting to change her mind with his next revelation. “Because he took out one of my boys, and he's going to pay with his blood."