“Since always, rulers in Avurn are decided by magical aptitude. Just like it was during the Achart.” Percy explained to Misty patiently, still keeping his voice low about such a dicey topic. “But unlike the Achart, we’re not actually powerful enough to hold the throne.”

“You did some impressive work out there.” Misty said, recalling how Percy threw a room full of people like they were toys.

“Child’s play compared to an Achart. But the Achart are all murdered now cuz of potion cats. Remember?” Percy said frankly, unaware that Misty could not remember something that she was never taught in the first place.

"If the strength of magic tends to go down genetic lines, then the death of the Achart was the death of that type of magic." Pookie mentioned, "That's why people say strays don't have magic. It's not in your lineage. Something is off about you, though."

Achart had been mentioned a few times to Misty since coming here, and she wasn’t even certain until now if they were even cats. It seemed like they were treated like some sort of terrible ancestor, and some sort of benevolent god at the same time. From Percy’s voice she could hear that he also felt as ambivalent about them as everyone else did.

“Since it's passed down through families, we can predict who will rule. Usually passing on the baton is not a big deal. We might get a kid who’s strong enough every 10 years or so to take up ranks in the hierarchy...which gives time for that kid to grow up and learn what it takes to be in the 9 Chosen.” He explained, illustrating this with this fingers as if you were climbing a pyramid.

“So your ruling class is still based on magic?” She wondered, “And not...a vote or anything.”

“Just like always.” Percy said. “Some things are done by a vote, but the only ones voting are the 9 chosen.”

“So it’s not a vote.” She said firmly. He ignored her.

“...Something...weird happened.” He said, folding his arms against his chest and leaning towards her. Puss did the same, and in such a close huddle Misty felt like she was learning dangerous secrets.

“Miranda and Patrick refused to take the throne. And if they don’t do that, then the throne won’t kill them, and they won’t die. And if they don’t die, then no one else will take the throne and die. So, then when our generation shows up with more magic than they have, they get to live long enough to see us steal their rank.” Pookie whispered, her eyes golden, reflecting off the far lights although their own light had been snuffed out.

“So we replaced nearly all of the 9 Chosen who were adults.” Percy continued, “A bunch of kids took their rank with magic we can barely use and they’ll do whatever it takes to get it back.”

(enjoy this concept art pic of the throne room)

The riot in the station started to make sense. At the time, Misty wasn’t sure why the insurrectionists would bother to kill a child instead of imprisoning Percy as a bargaining chip or forcing Percy to be a figurehead of their own movement.

Back when she was Fang, these were choices she had to sometimes make with sparring packs. It was almost unheard of for one stray pack to outright kill the other. Murder was a waste of lives and war would leave the survivors more injured than it their pride was worth. Compromise was always the most wise decision.

But, if it’s magic alone that decides who rules, then there would be no alternative to getting rid of Percy than to see him dead, innocent or not.

“Then you need to start making friends, Percy Vlidel.” Misty sniffed.

“I can’t!” He insisted, backing off from their huddle.

“He falls in love with them!” Pookie said, with her tongue out.

“I fall in love with them!” He laughed in return.

“That’s not funny!” Misty hissed. Her voice was so loud, the restaurant went quiet for a bit. She hadn’t meant to tap into the voice behind her eyes, but it happened anyway. 

For some reason, ever since Misty entered Avurn, it was harder for her to keep control of herself. She felt ashamed for reacting like a child, especially after trying so hard to prove she was an adult, at least in her mind.

Percy and Pookie were not sure how they upset her, and were not sure if she would react with her very long claws.

“Woooooah.” Pookie said.

“Sorry, I snapped. I’m...I’m a little bitter.” Misty admitted.

“Super bitter! Way to ruin tea-time vibes.” Pookie was clearly trying to deescalate the situation with her smile, and Misty felt a little embarrassed that it was working.

“Your tea-time vibes had a riot in it!” Misty reminded her.

“That not normal?” Pookie giggled.

“Look I’m sorry. I lost a lot of people in my life today, yesterday? God, when was it?”

Misty remembered the fire, the silhouette of the beast that took the lives of everyone she loved. She remembered scrambling to try and save Brinkley and screaming into an alley to beg if anyone was still left alive.

“I’ve been looking for any way to go back to a home that doesn’t exist anymore.” Misty told them, feeling a weight drift off her chest as she did. “To make sense of a horrible thing that doesn’t make any sense. That will never, ever make any sense.”

“You’re looking for a way out of Avurn?” Percy realized. “You a reincarnated revenge ghost or something?”

“Can you get me a train ticket? You’re a prince.” Misty asked, stepping onto the table to match his eye level. She made sure not to step on the little bits of glass still left from the shattered lightbulb. “It would be lying if I didn’t tell you I had a little bit of an ulterior motive to saving your life.”

Percy’s eyes already told her that this was an outrageous proposal. “I’m a minor, sorry. They’re really stingy about Earth tickets. You can’t even sneak aboard.”

“No?” Misty sighed, remembering how at one time those sliding doors seemed like an easy solution. Of course, it would never be that easy.

“Well...I see.” She turned her eyes in a little feline thank you that Percy did not know how to read because he never grew up in an alley. When she noticed his illiteracy, she switched back to English.

“Thanks for the meal. But if you’re really that close to Miranda, then I’d better go before she or Ahzila can find me. Don’t tell either of them you saw me today, I don’t want you guys to get wrapped up in it.” Misty walked to the other end of the table as Pookie firmly saluted to her.

“Got it.” Pookie said, zipping her mouth shut with a motion. “The less heat we get from Miranda, the better!”

“Hey. Stop, stop, I see what’s happening.” Percy said, getting up from his seat to follow after her. His eyes were suddenly full of compassion in a way she hadn’t expected from him. A deep well of sadness lay there under his layers of sarcasm and blasé acceptance.

“What do you mean?” Misty asked. She wasn’t aware there was anything more to say.

“You think I can’t tell?” Percy played with the top latch of his coat. “My dad’s been dead for years but I’m still not over it. That’s why I invented you, huh? Mrrow fft...I’ve created a grief monster!”

“You didn’t invent me.” Misty reminded him, “I’m not a...a grief monster.”

“You’re not running from Miranda or Ahzila. You’re running from my Father’s funeral.” Percy whined, leaning on his haunches to be closer to her on the carpeted floor covered in rose print.

“No, that’s not what I’m running from. His name was Brinkley. He was my friend.” She said.

Brinkley winced where he was sitting, wishing more than anything that he hadn’t chosen the most secluded spot in that crowded restaurant. He wished more than anything he could drink a potion to make him fall through the floorboards.

“I’ve been running for years but I’ve never run fast enough.” Said Percy firmly in a fatherly tone. “You won’t either.”

“I’m in love with him. I...I’m in love with him?” She paused.

Brinkley shivered in his seat.

“I’ve never said that before.” She gasped, “It’s a secret. I didn’t even know...but...I love him so much...and now he’s gone! He’s just gone! Everything I had is gone!”

“Hey hey, I’m sorry, I’ll stop talking.” Said Percy, realizing they had already made a scene. “Really though, you’re my nightmare given flesh and you need to go before my therapist sees this. Or Miranda.”

“Good luck, Vlidel.” Said Misty, truly glad that she had saved his life. “Don’t die.

“Same to you Misty. Avi.” Percy said, giving the feline goodbye, “Don’t run.”

“Avi, Misty! Lets tea again soon!” Pookie piped as Misty’s tail disappeared around the door.

***

Misty wasn’t sure of the time since there wasn’t any sky. She also did not know how to read a clock, but, had gathered it was some time in the afternoon. Her legs were starting to feel tired, and Misty realized that it must have been the evening when she first arrived, and that wandering in the outskirts took all night.

She should have taken the opportunity to sleep in the safety of the restaurant. However, talking to Percy did identify one important detail, and it was that she couldn’t simply walk on a train, or the engineers who steered her away last time would be sure to do it again. Or worse, someone employed by Miranda would simply scoop her up with magic and there would be nothing Misty could do about it.

But, she was bothered by another thing they were talking about.

Although Misty thought Chalene was a very stupid and manipulative woman, she also recognized that her relationship with Clovis was eerily familiar. So, when Misty caught sight of a deep blue cat pushing around a large crate on a dolly near the station, she followed him down the corridor.

“I should just mind my own business.” She thought to herself, “but…”

As much as she didn’t like Chalene, they were women in arms, in a way. Both of them had been saddled with a man that was too much, and Misty recognized that look in her eyes, that shame of how the man she chose was utterly humiliating her.

“Why am I bothering to help her like this?” She mused, hiding behind corners, sneaking with the senses of a stray.

McFleur, the cat with hair as blue as water, occasionally looked behind him with suspicious glances, so Misty stayed out of his eyeline. She was sure he would pick up her scent eventually, but oddly, he didn’t seem to pick up on it at all. Something about the robe seemed to dull their smell a bit, and in the case of Mcfleur, it dulled his smell an awful lot.

Sometimes however, he would glance at a spot she was standing behind and cover his eyes, almost as if a flashlight were pointed at his face. Cautiously, he’d try and pretend like that hadn’t happened, as if someone were watching him, although she knew he was all alone.

Misty felt afraid, a fear she welcomed. She had long since learned to let the instinct roar in her ears. Years in an alley taught her that her instincts were usually right. And, if what they said was true, this was a potion cat, and potion cats were powerful enough to murder even the Achart.