“You don’t like me, but you do like Ahzila, don’t you?” Miranda said to Peters, twirling her whisker around her finger.

Peters sneered, but his warm blue eyes that contrasted his striped coat betrayed his feelings. They were the same blue as Ahzila’s.

“Again, I despise you.” Peters warned her. “You were the mastermind behind Ahzila’s pathetic excuse for a fair trail, I voted for my niece to be absolved—but you voted to keep her your little underling.”

“She’s under my supervision.” Miranda corrected him. “Because otherwise she would have been exiled. Ahzila was found guilty.” She insisted, “This is at least one step above house arrest.”

“Of white collar crime!” He hissed. “That she took the fall for, but you know she doesn’t have the brains to collapse a bank!” He slapped the table, and a few neon squares of paper fluttered to the floor.

Peters had only a moment to think before his desk erupted with fire.

Miranda may not have been raised by assassins, but she was enough of a survivor to know when an emotional outburst meant she had gained an upper hand. Now Peters was not only blind, but had lost his first strike.

The fire alarm blared through the publishing house and ceiling sprinklers watered down the entire room. Ink streaked down the walls as the papers were soaked, the neons bleeding into eachother, until they turned into muddy red rivers.

“Typical of a Vlumane to think they’re immune from consequences. But people want a scapegoat.” Miranda replied sternly. “It had to be done. You have to come to your senses eventually, Peters!”

At his spell, a rain of daggers fell with the sprinkler system, but Miranda caught each adeptly without even the use of magic. Just her thin fingers handling the knives like a master chef.

Peters dodged as each knife she threw sunk into the wall behind him until his entire back reached into an arc. He quickly flipped to the other side of the room, his light frame well adapted to catlike agility.

“You didn’t take in Ahzila to save her life, you tyrant!” He roared

“I’m not a tyrant!” Miranda insisted. “You had already decided to assassinate me the moment that trial ended!” 

She waved an arm and with the spell on her lips, the force from her magic pulled him and all the other objects in the room directly into the far wall. Peters absorbed the impact with his legs, reaching up with his own magic to divert the motion of the heavy desk to fall into her side instead of his own.

“And we could have done this somewhere better than my OFFICE!” He screamed. Without any alarm on her face, Miranda rolled over the wooden desk and landed on her feet. The heavy cedar rammed into the wall, leaving a crack that smashed up to the ceiling.

“Your office is filthy! Admit that it needed a wash!” She sneered, throwing one last knife.

“You don’t want to help anyone, you just wanted a way to control me and this paper!” Peters said as he caught the knife uttering the spell “Adnrolia Avu!” before it hit his throat. He was using all his energy to push it away, but all he could do was keep it from barreling through his spine.

Miranda was the uncrowned queen, after all. For years the only other cat who could reach her magnitude was Patrick, and now that he was emotionally gone, she was going absolutely feral.

While Peters was left pinned to the wall, Miranda stepped across the ink puddles on his floor, her white feet taking on the colors of his neon notes. But she was used to that. She was used to being stained by his front page gossip, and she was used to stepping over his words.

“So tell me, What do you have to threaten me with today, Hanshicock?” Peters asked her, his breath shaking under the weight of the knife.

He felt a brush of her whiskers as she looked into his face, her elbow resting on the wall above his head so she could leer down at him.

“I need you to hide your niece from the paper.”

She took the knife away, throwing it behind her shoulder where it disappeared into air with a snap.

Peters was absolutely bewildered.

“I’m always doing that.” He scoffed, “If I can keep it from my partner that is, he doesn’t really...like Ahzila.” Peters scratched at his hot ears that were still dry under his cap.

“I imagine that makes things awkward between you two.”

“When is it not? Keeps things interesting.” Peters sniffed, pushing her back a few feet with his hands. “And just because I stopped fighting for a few seconds does not mean I have forgiven you!”

Like Ahzila, he wore black gloves. Most Vlumanes did. Their family was filled with seething vipers, and the moment you took off your gloves would be the moment you were poisoned by a handshake.

“But, tell me, what did she do this time that could pull you all the way into my office?” He asked, curious. “What horrible thing did my niece do this time? Or do you want to wait until it’s rolled out in front of another judge?”

“Ahzila’s adopting.” Said Miranda. “She’s adopting a four year old girl.”

The anger Peters had felt ever since Miranda entered the door was enough to cook a steak, but with only a few words, it melted through his feet. Miranda turned her back to pace across the ruined floor as he tried to understand her words.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.” He shuddered.

“And if you want to keep your new niece from getting exiled as well, you better keep the fact that a train was hijacked with us on it out of your paper or any other paper.”

“Well well…” Peters said, snapping his fingers so that a pad of paper magically fell on his hands. “That’s going to need a lot of post-its! What color do I make this one!?”

“Do I have your word?” She demanded firmly.

Peters laughed at the situation despite himself. As his head leaned back, the water that had collected along his hat brim trickled down the back of his coat.

He didn’t have much in the way of family anymore, because the Vlumane household had long since crossed him out and no amount of repentance could ever change that. There was no practical reason to let this story go. Every word of the sentence Miranda had just said piqued his curiosity, and it would sell enough tabloids that they could run with the headline for half a year or more.

Peters Vlumane hesitated as his pen hovered over some citrus scented post-its.

“When was the last time Ahzila wrote you back?” Miranda asked him pointedly.

This brought Peters more fear than when she had set his desk on fire.

The mechanical sounds of the printing press filled the silence. They both could smell the intoxicating blend of paper and ink, the potential of secrets yet to be revealed.

Hell, the interns were probably writing a brilliant article about this fire Miranda set in his office at this very moment. (Or at least, he hoped they would be. Sometimes his interns couldn’t smell a story if it slapped them in the face.)

But, ever since the verdict, when the Vlumane family cut Ahzila out, she was utterly alone. It was only her estranged Uncle Peters that reached out.

He knew it was selfish, that he only wanted to repair an injustice from his youth. Vlumanes didn’t have hearts, they didn’t care about their family, truly, because he never knew how...but, he still had to try.

He scratched at the white fur that lined his eyes like the pith of a tangerine. Peters didn’t expect that Miranda would have found out about the letters, he honestly didn’t expect Ahzila to even open a single one.

But despite all reason and business incentives, he couldn’t just leave his niece at the edge of exile all alone like he had once been. Ahzila was the his last hope for some sort of redemption after a lifetime of being as selfish as he possibly could. His one chance to leave one good mark on the world, one person who would be sad when he was gone.

Even if it did cost a few arguments with his partner...it wasn’t like they hadn’t argued before.

“Fine.” He relented, feeling dirty water slosh between his toes and the carpet. “But, why do you need any more children? Did you not abduct enough of them already!?”

“It’s out of our control.” Said Miranda. “And that is why I’m having Ahzila adopt her for me.”

“Mrow fft it is.” He snarled. “You’re trying to save face.”

“I wanted to keep the little girl from publicity. All eyes are on me right now. Ahzila can keep her safe until the girl is grown.” Miranda insisted, absently flattening out the waist tie on her jacket.

“She cannot.” Peters said honestly. “Ahzila couldn’t save herself.”

“She can if you help her.”

Peters growled as he put the pen down on the desk. The hum of the printing press had stopped, replaced by the sound of stacking and sorting.

“This is pretty desperate, Miranda.” Said Peters. “If the Laquems catch wind of this…”

“Yes, They will eventually…” She answered, placing her hand on his shoulder. “but this girl is special.”

“Special? What’s her name? My niece once-removed?” He cocked his head curiously as he brushed her hand off of him. “Is she cute?”

“God no. Covered in fleas. Missing an entire ear. Feral.” Miranda frowned.

“Good.” he smiled wide and flopped back into his chair. It made a wet splort sound. “Good, good! A proper Vlumane.”

“And one more thing. She had a boy with her named Brinkley. Remove any rumor that has to do with him or how he died.” Miranda placed her card on the remains of the office table, finally ready to leave. Peters picked it up, although he already had her contact information on file.

Miranda didn’t turn from the door as she dropped one more line that suddenly made a little rumor so incredibly real.

“And her name: it’s Misty.”

While he tried to hide it, Peters chuckled as the door shut behind her. He pulled at a drawer on his desk that was hanging from a hinge after their battle. Inside was a dark bottle that he uncorked, toasting to the ceiling.

“Misty Vlumane!”