Most ’mon associate theft with poverty, with cardboard homes and dark alleys littered with trash and old needles. It’s a fair conception; little exists by way of law enforcement on the outskirts of the larger towns, where there’s all the incentive to steal.
But there’s not enough to take in the slums—at least, not if you want to feed two mouths. And I didn’t have Rose’s knack for hunting and trapping, nor her instincts on wild herbs and berries. She had tried to teach me a few times, walking me along the mountain’s sun-baked stone that matched the color of her tailtips, gesturing casually with her tails at little weeds and shrubs with indistinguishable leaves. Plant identification was never in my blood, but I had tried to learn. I wish I’d tried harder.
Now, instead of walking beside my beloved, I found myself crouched under a thick ornamental hedge, staring down a marble mansion with harsh corners and windows that gleamed in the moonlight like sharpened steel. Shrubs lined the path to the front door, all trimmed into neat little cubes, and I heard water bubbling from the fountain behind them.
What I didn’t hear, though, were chimes. I had been casing this joint for the past three weeks, off and on between other chores, and if I waited long enough I could always just hear the hourly chime of the grandfather clock inside. This time I was sure I had waited for more than an hour, but still I heard nothing, and I hadn’t seen anyone go in or out.
I thought of the things I would buy. Jerky, certainly. Salt, tinctures. Maybe I could get something special for Vix. She really liked those candied chesto berries I stole last month; there must have been a stand around that sold them.
I crept out from under the hedges and looked around, even though I’d been doing that for the past hour and a half or so. No one cried out. Nothing moved. I slinked across tidy mulch and soon reached the shrubs that lined the path. I squeezed between two of them, catlike, and emerged onto a stretch of smooth tile. I walked carefully so my claws wouldn’t click against the stone.
Going in the front door wasn’t my usual approach, but I had a key, courtesy of one of the servants I had tracked into town and pickpocketed, and it would have been a shame to let it go to waste. I fished it out of one of the four bags around my torso as I approached the front steps. Rounded glass panes with lacy designs punctured the door; a childish impulse told me to shatter them, but I ignored it. Instead I stood up on my hindlegs, looked around once more for good measure, and then used the key. Then I got back down and silently eased the door open.
I swiveled my head as I stepped inside. Two staircases on opposite sides of the foyer curved out and back toward the center as they ascended, forming a shape like a gaping maw. To the left, a living room with sofas, a TV, and brocade carpet. To the right, a study with a large oak desk and chair, books shelved along the wall, and a tall window facing me. I headed there first, took a quick glance at the books—some of them were valuable, I was sure, but hell if I knew which ones. I turned instead to the desk and searched the drawers. Pens, office supplies, little of note—except the last cabinet, which contained a nearly-full bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigars. I put these into one of my bags and searched the rest of the room before backing out into the foyer again.
Rare stones or jewlery would be ideal, in theory, but those tended to be kept under lock and key, and I didn’t feel like pushing my luck. Alcohol, on the other hand, was almost as valuable, and a lot easier to acquire. Besides that, I knew who I’d sell it to.
I stepped between the two staircases, into the reception hall, and raised my nose into the air as I did. I couldn’t smell the alcohol itself, but there was the faint, dusty scent of dried grains, which I followed forward, then to the left through a relatively modest lobby, and then into the kitchen. I wasn’t especially tall, even for a quadruped, but I could just see the tapered glass of bottlenecks in the cabinets along the walls, above dark granite countertops. I leaped on top of one, set down my bags, and opened the cabinet.
I knew liquor better than I knew books, and I grinned when I realized what I was looking at. Starlight wine and milagro brew, both unopened. Nearly worth their weight in silver. Behind these was some sailor’s vodka—cheap filler—and then sitrus-and-razz brew and hondew berry sangria that were probably worth five figures together. My mouth watered at the heady scents as I laid them down in my bags.
A soft crunch like a wet branch snapping broke the silence, and I froze. Without moving my head I glanced to the left, through the window. Moonlight glimmered off the pool in the backyard, providing ample illumination. I didn’t see anyone, but nonetheless I put on my bags and leapt off the counter. The bottles clinked as I hit the ground, and I cursed silently at the noise. There was an island in the center of the kitchen, and I kept it between me and the windows as I retraced my steps.
I didn’t like that someone had come in through the backyard. Briefly I entertained the idea that it was another thief, but that would have been too fortunate. More likely I had tripped some alarm, and law enforcement had warped in to surround the place.
I slinked through the lobby and peeked out into the foyer, head tilted down so that my eyes came before my snout. Ghostly blue light and spindly shadows crept toward toward me through the front door’s glass like a spreading stain. I bolted across the foyer before they could reach me, and this time I couldn’t stop the click of my claws. I had to hurry. Escaping to the west was my best shot—it would take me farther from the enforcers’ station and closer to home. My heart roiled with contempt for the enforcers—the bastards couldn’t be satisfied with simply scaring me out of the house or demanding surrender. Oh no. They had to surround me, capture me, like it was some kind of sting operation. They probably thought they were real hot shit.
There were two doors in front of me; I entered the one that was open. It led to a gallery with eggshell walls and paintings I didn’t look at. My eyes fixed on the window at the end, straining for any hint of blue light but seeing none—yet.
I leaped and turned the sash lock on the window before I had even settled on the sill. Then I grabbed the rail in my mouth and lifted. The dusty sound of wood against wood. The enforcers might have heard it, if they knew to listen.
I slipped onto the grass like water and trotted toward the hedges that surrounded the yard. If I could make it past those I could make it to the river, and it would carry me to town. There, I could become a face in the crowd.
Blue light filled my vision, and my right eye teared up. I turned my head and faced a massive zangoose and his luminous orb.
“Over here!” The zangoose gestured and took off after me.
I knew I could outrun my pursuer—his arms pumped wildly as he ran, like he’d learned from cartoons—but still I felt a sting of shame, a bitterness like burnt jacoba. A good thief didn’t rely on speed, because he didn’t need to outrun someone. Even now I still didn’t know what had tipped these guys off.
I slipped between the hedges and changed direction right away. I had a few precious seconds before I’d have eyes on me again, and I needed to make them count. There was a rock wall around the yard, so I leaped over that and then followed it north a ways; swept around a stack of firewood; darted between stray shrubs. Footsteps thumped behind me, and thankfully they hesitated for a moment before heading my way. The enforcers were probably going by scent, now; a dark type at night was hard to see at even just a few meters away, and there were pockets of shadow across the uneven terrain that their lights didn’t illuminate.
I paced myself so that I didn’t have to slow down as I neared the river. The current was quiet but swift and shredded the moonlight on its surface. I slowed down a little as I neared the water, sneaked behind a shrub, and took a few deep breaths to slow my heart.
It did occur to me, in a fleeting moment of lucidity, that this might be a dangerous idea. But by now I was committed. I sucked air into my lungs until it hurt, then slipped, serpentlike, into the water. The current hit me like a tauros; I lost sense of where I was as I tumbled and flipped and fought against the weight of the booze. I couldn’t think about curling up, or looking around, or turning away from the rock that was rushing toward me.
The stone of the mountains was fractured like a misassembled puzzle; my paws had been bloodied by its jagged edges, blistered by its heat. I cursed my dark fur, which by now was so hot that even the insects didn’t want to touch it. I ought to give it up for the day, I thought.
But then a breeze picked up, and I caught something. I jerked my nose up and sniffed. The scent was smoky and spicy, like roasting ginger. My ears and tail pricked up, and I turned my head slowly as I sniffed again. The scent was coming from the east, uphill. I resisted the urge to break out into a run as I went after it; the bleeding paws helped with that. My head swam as I thought of what would happen when I found Rose. How would I explain myself? Would she understand? Would she resent me?
I followed the scent until I reached a narrow cave, a gash in the mountain’s hide. My legs trembled as I stopped before the opening. “Rose?”
The pokemon that emerged was small and thin, and her fur was bedraggled. She walked stiffly, as though in pain. She wasn’t Rose, but she had the same scent and the same sharp snout. Her gaze was as hard as the stone beneath my paws, even with the bags under her eyes. Her voice was quiet but sharp.
“Rose is gone.”
When I woke up it felt like my head was split in two, and with the blood all over my snout, I figured maybe it was. I groaned as I opened my eyes; the sunlight burned. My lower half was wet, though, still submerged in the river. I had been caught between two rocks by the bank on my way downstream, such that my back paws just barely touched the silty riverbed. I wiggled my way free and waded awkwardly to shore.
The first thing I did was check my bags, and I thanked god above when I saw the bottles were still intact (even if their labels were too soaked to recognize). Bottlers tended to use thick glass for the more expensive brews, so it was a good thing I had been greedy.
I lost a lot of my food in the current, however, and all of my poke. And given the heat I was sure to have on me right about now, heading to the nearest town was a bad option, anyway. My best bet for now was to head home and recuperate.
I didn’t look forward to the walk.
“Hey, lllitttle viixen,” I slurred as I stumbled past Vix and into the den. I collapsed halfway in.
Vix shot me a look. “The hell have you been up to? Getting drunk?”
She had a sharp nose; she could smell what I was carrying. I nodded. “Nnot on the booze, though. Onn head traauma.”
“Right, sure,” she sighed, and from the bluntness of her voice I could tell her sarcasm was feigned. She grabbed an earthenware bowl from the back of the den and walked past me. “Stay here a moment,” she said. As though I could be bothered to move.
Vix returned a minute later and set her bowl down carefully. The steam that rose from inside smelled citrusy and bitter. “Drink that, once it’s cooled.”
“Thhank you. Hoow you been holdin’ up, kiid?”
Vix shrugged. “Better than you, I guess. We should be well stocked on herbs now. I’m hungry as hell, though—I was hoping you’d come back sooner. I barely caught anything yesterday.” As though to make up for the bitterness in her voice, she began to groom my head. Her tongue was hot, and she used firm strokes like Rose used to.
“Sorrry. Had a lot to do. I’ll be around more the next few daays, once I sell the boooze.”
“Oh, so you weren’t going to drink it?”
I grumbled. “How’d yoou even know whaat alcohool smells like, anyway?”
“…Learned from someone I used to know,” she said, and then she licked my muzzle sharply as though to cut off any response. She was talking about Rose—I should have known.
The tea was cooled by the time Vix had cleaned all the blood off my fur, so I went and lapped it up. The leaves were kind of frilly, like cilantro, but they didn’t taste like it at all. It was some medicinal herb. Hell if I knew which one.
“You feel any better?” Vix asked once I had finished.
“Nooot yet. I gotta sleep it off.”
Vix gave a long sigh. “I suppose you’d like me to shut up, then.”
“Do as you pleease. It’s your home tooo…”
She continued to groom me in silence. I felt a little guilty.
That joke I had made about being drunk wasn’t too far off; I was nauseous when I woke up, and my mouth was dry like a hangover. Despite that, my head was clearer than yesterday. It took a few seconds before I noticed the warmth at my side, and I didn’t need to look to know what it was. I did anyway. Vix slept just like Rose, curled tight with her face tucked under her tails. It had only been a few months since I had met her, but despite that, I felt like I had known her for a long time.
The sun slowly burned away the morning mist outside our den, and it grew hot. I kept still for as long as I could bear, but eventually my head started to ache from thirst. I got up as carefully as I could, but Vix stirred anyway. I wondered if she hadn’t been awake, after all.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“It’s fine…” Vix stood up and yawned loudly. “You gonna get some food today, or what?”
I really just wanted to drink some water and go back to sleep, but instead I shambled toward the den’s exit. “I will. I’ll be back this evening.”
Vix followed me. “Hold on just a minute—you never told me what happened yesterday!”
I picked up my pace. “Too much.”
Zorro was leaned crookedly against the jamb of the front door. “You look like hell,” came the zoroark’s husky voice. His smile was contagious, an invitation to laught at my own misfortune.
Instead of doing that, I slipped past him and sighed. “That how you greet everyone?”
“Just the folks I like.”
“Charming.”
We walked into the living room. Satin curtains were drawn over the windows of the left wall, and I sat down in front of the coffee table so that they were just behind me. I didn’t fear Zorro, but I still felt better being close to an exit. Old habits die hard.
I took the booze out of my bags and put it on the coffee table. Zorro laid down on a maroon-colored chaise lounge on the opposite side and eyed the bottles with interest. “My my, what have we here?”
“You’d know better than I do. Figured you’d want the wines, at least.”
“You figured correct.” He smiled. “What’s your price?”
“20,000 for both. I like round numbers.”
The arch of Zorro’s eyebrows spoke to a mild amusement. “You can take less than that, can’t you?”
“I can do a lot of things. I can walk away.”
Zorro’s laugh was deep and thick. “That you can, Enzo, that you can.” He composed himself, then leaned over his crossed arms and looked pointedly at me. “You have to admit you’re highballing a little, though.”
I sighed. “19,000, then. That’s about three quarters of retail.”
“Mm, roughly, yes. I suppose I could do that.” Zorro’s tone of voice was that of someone who was granting a favor.
Zorro stood up and walked through the doorway in the back of the room. He returned with a coin purse in one hand and two curvy glasses in the other. He set the latter down on the counter, then started counting coins from inside the former. “You don’t want all of it now, do you?”
I hesitated for a moment. “I’ll take it all.” In case I wound up having to leave Vix soon, I wanted to at least leave some cash behind.
Zorro shrugged. “As you wish.”
Zorro put a stack of coins on the counter and slid it over to me like a casino dealer. I counted the coins up. “Appreciate it,” I said.
“Sure thing.” Zorro opened the milagro brew and started pouring it into one of the glasses. “Now, it would be rude to indulge by myself. You want to try a little?”
I laid down. “Thanks, but I’m in no shape for it now. Wouldn’t do my head any favors.”
He tilted his head. “Yes, I should ask about that. You wouldn’t mind telling me what happened, would you? I’m curious.”
I was silent for a moment, the sun hot on my back through the sliver in the curtains. “…I’m fucked.”
Zorro sputtered silently on his wine—I almost didn’t notice. “What makes you say that, friend?”
“Got that booze from Lucio, but I must have triggered some alarm. I had to run from the enforcers. They saw my face. And with that fucking polywrath on my ass…”
“The enforcers might not catch you, but he will. He’s bound to find out, and he’ll put two and two together.”
I nodded weakly. Zorro’s expression softened with pity, but it was a distant sort of pity. The kind someone might feel watching a sad movie. “Sorry, buddy. You really should have retired, huh?”
“Long since been too late for that.”
“Pity.” He took another sip of his wine, then regarded me again with renewed composure. “You know, you look about ready to fall asleep.”
I stood up unsteadily. “Right. Probably will if I stay any longer.”
“Hm. I’d let you stay, but it could get me in trouble, you know. Harboring a criminal.”
“It’s fine, I have to go anyway. Vix is hungry.” I walked past the coffee table, past the lounge, and up to the front door. I paused for a moment before the harsh sun outside. “Thanks for your patronage.”
Zorro spoke softly. “Just try and stay out of prison.”
Vix stood at the entrance to the cave, eying me sharply. “You stock up?”
“Sure did.” I headed inside the cave with her and dumped my bags on the ground. “I got jerky, chesto berries, oran, crackers—”
Vix opened the flap of one of the bags and stuck her nose inside. She tore open the cardboard packaging of the jerky, and then ripped off a strip. She chewed loudly, with her teeth showing, like a feral.
“Easy, little vixen,” I scolded. “Don’t eat too fast. You’ll throw up again.”
She slowed down a little, and I watched her worriedly. Her eyes were unfocused as she ate, trancelike. Within a minute she finished a strip of the jerky about the size of one of her tails, and only then did she stop to rest. She was panting as though she had run for miles.
“Little vixen—”
“I know, Enzo. I’ll stop.”
“Just for a little bit. It’ll last longer that way.”
Vix nodded and then laid down. It’s good she was a fire type; it would have killed me to be in the sun like that. I approached and groomed the fur on her head like she had done to me.
“I can groom myself just fine, you know.”
“Not the top of your head, you can’t.”
“Still looks better than yours.”
“That’s not the point.”
Vix closed her eyes and exhaled resignedly. “You never talk about yourself,” she said at length.
“Because I don’t like to.” Because there’s nothing good to say.
“Well, it’s boring. Couldn’t you at least tell me what happened yesterday?”
“…I got into a fight,” I said. It was almost true.
Vix’s ears perked up. “What pokemon? Did you win?”
“Zangoose. He was tough; I hung onto his back for a long time before he went down. Used thunder fang to stop him thrashing.”
“Wooow,” Vix said, her voice arcing. “That’s really cool. Maybe—”
My heart warmed at her admiration, like it hadn’t in a long time—but I kept my head on straight. “It’s not cool. Fighting is something to avoid—it’s risky and wastes energy. If you find yourself in a situation like that, it’s better to run if you can.”
Vix snorted. “That’s lame. I’ll get stronger someday, even stronger than you—then I won’t need to run.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that she was being foolish, but hesitated. “…Just be careful in the meantime,” I said. “You can’t get strong if you die.”
“I know that!” she snapped, and then recoiled as though surprised by her own outburst. She cleared her throat, and her face turned sheepish. “Sorry, Enzo. You’re right. Thanks for the advice.”
I hadn’t expected that reaction, but I continued grooming her without comment. Once done, I shambled to the mouth of our den and collapsed as soon as I entered the shade.
“You good?”
“Yes. Just tired.”
Vix walked over and curled up beside me. My dreams were full of blue light and raging water, and going by her tossing and turning when I woke up, Vix’s weren’t any better. I thought of comforting her, but I didn’t want her to start relying on me any more than she did already. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to stick around.
The answer, as it happened, was “not long.”
That I smelled something unfamiliar on my way home wasn’t unusual; what bothered me was that the same unfamiliar scent kept hanging around. It was piscine, though not as musky as an oshawott, and it came from the stream to my right. I ventured toward it, swiveling my head, but all I saw were the pale red rocks and sparse vegetation. Not exactly a ton of places to hide; even the streambanks weren’t very deep.
I peered into the water and scanned for movement—and then glimmering blue burst in the corner of my eye. I turned to face a jet of frothing water as large as I was, and the shadow ball was only partly formed in my mouth by the time it reached me.
Sharp rocks jabbed into my back as I tumbled head over tail, toward a bend in the stream behind me. My head splashed into the water as I came to a stop and wound up half-submerged. The rushing wetness and pain reminded me of my impromptu swim just last week.
I raised my aching head and glimpsed my attacker through blurry eyes. Three fins on its head, one ringed around its neck. It slithered back underwater, and I knew it would close the distance quickly.
I took a breath and focused. I hadn’t actually tried thunder fang in a long time, but I didn’t like any of my other options. I channeled electricity into my mouth, and my teeth sparked yellow as I submerged them.
The water lit up and crackled like a sparkler, bright enough to burn afterimages into my eyes. A sharp trill rang out as the vaporeon arced out of the water, and its legs buckled underneath it when it hit the ground. Its muscles were rigid, the bulge of its shoulder pronounced and trembling—I had been lucky enough to paralyze it.
I nearly lost my own feet as I stood on the slippery bank, but I found purchase on a piece of jagged stone. I hopped out of the water, and darkness swirled around my mouth as I prepared a shadow ball.
But then a flash of blue shot out from the water beside my target, and I growled in frustration. Same fins, same long tail. Another vaporeon. I redirected my attack toward it, and water hissed as it opened its mouth to parry—but it wasn’t enough. The shadow ball struck, and the vaporeon tumbled backward much like I had just moments ago—but unlike me, it landed on its feet and regained its balance quickly. And by now its friend had regained control of its limbs and was slowly standing up.
Two against one wasn’t my kind of odds, and for all I knew there were a dozen more vaporeon dissolved in the water. I turned around, leapt over the stream, and booked it. My head and shoulders ached from the attack that had hit me, and I bled in places where rocks had pierced my skin, but I still had faith in my legs. If I was good at anything, it was running.
By now I was somewhat used to the mountain’s terrain, so my paws were only bleeding a little by the time I stopped. I hid myself away beneath a crack in the mountain’s stone, by a branch of the stream that was too small for a vaporeon to occupy.
I had led the two vaporeon a good few miles away from my den, away from Vix, before picking up the pace and losing them. By the typing and lack of enforcement badges, I was sure they were polywrath’s henchmen—sure enough to move out, anyway. To ditch Vix.
The thought hit me hard now that I had the time to think it. I considered backtracking to the den under the cover of night, but what was the point? I had enough supplies for now, and I wanted to leave the money with Vix anyway. It wasn’t worth going back and endangering her just to say goodbye.
I laid in the darkness, nose full of damp, stale air. The dusk sky was colorless and too cloudy for stars, and the sound of the wind as it whooshed through cracks in stone was low and desolate. I found myself listening for Vix’s breathing and wondering why I didn’t feel her warmth beside me.
I’ll come back for her, I resolved. I’ll track her down once it’s safe—or I’ll die trying.