Opening scene – White Tiger

Sally eased her way between two yellow cabs blocking the intersection and scampered across the road with the rest of the New York commuters. Who worried about red lights? You took your chance when it came. She stepped aside to avoid a woman pushing a pram and found herself face to face with yet another tee-shirt vendor’s cart. A row of white shirts emblazoned with ‘I ♥ NY’ hung along a rail. Her lips lifting in a sneer, she strolled on. Yes, she could imagine a lot of people did love the Big Apple but she wasn’t one of them. Too much traffic, too many people, too many buildings crowding in close, leaning over her. She could taste the air, car exhausts, cooking odors from the roadside vendors’ carts, the stink of an unwashed body, perfume, cologne. That was one of the downsides of cohabiting your mind and body with a weretiger. Her sense of smell was heightened, even when she didn’t deliberately employ the cat’s sensitive nose.

“I don’t like it here,” the weretiger grumbled in her mind.

“Too bad. Ash has to do business, so we’re stuck.” Sally wondered how his negotiations were going. It was hard to imagine her husband would like this city any more than she did. She maneuvered around the scaffolding set over the sidewalk, sidling sideways to allow a vastly overweight man to pass her.

“Can we go to that open place? Where they had the trees and the lake?” the weretiger pleaded.

Central Park. Yes, it was her favorite part of New York, too. “Aysha, we’ve been there three times already.”

“There is grass. And animals.” Aysha licked her lips. So did Sally.

Sally felt that tingle of predator that Ash had explained came with the territory. She had learned to avoid zoos, including the one in Central Park, but it was impossible to avoid the carriage horses. “I don’t think they’d be too impressed with you bringing down one of the horses, my dear. But okay, we’ll go to Central Park.” If the weather stayed reasonable. Clouds had thickened over the city and a cold breeze probed at her light jacket.

The rain fell as Sally waited at an intersection, not heavy, but persistent. Damn. She searched for a patch of blue somewhere. Anywhere. But the cloud cover was uniform. What now? Sally gazed around her. She didn’t fancy wandering under dripping trees. Maybe she could kill some time in the Natural History Museum? If the weather fined up, she could go to the park later.

Scampering with her collar turned up, Sally ran for the nearest subway entrance.

“Huh. So where do we go now?”

“A museum.”

Ignoring the cat’s exasperated huff, Sally clattered down the stairs into the subway, found the right line and bought a day ticket. The platform was crowded. Of course. But at least the trains came often. Soon enough the wind that preceded an oncoming train ruffled her hair. Aiming for a not too overcrowded carriage, she surged forward with everybody else and managed to snare a seat beside an older black woman. Twice the train stopped, people poured out, more people flowed in, almost like a tide. Groups gathered around the doors. Hands grasped the backs of seats. She glanced up at the line map. Next station, West 81st, under the Natural History Museum. Some garbled announcement floated through the station, then the doors soughed shut and the train shot forward. Faster and faster.

Sally straightened up. Shit. What was happening?

Unconcerned passengers swayed with the carriage’s motion. The woman next to her grinned. “Dis an express, honey. Next stop, Harlem.”

“Harlem?” Sally gulped. She’d heard about Harlem. Black street gangs, violence, rotting houses. “I suppose I can get a train back.”

“Sure. Just cross over to d’udder line. No problem.” The woman settled back into her seat, her bag clutched tightly in her lap.

The train slowed. People rose from seats, edged closer to the doors, like greyhounds at a starting gate. The woman beside Sally stirred, making it clear she wanted to stand. Sally obliged, shifting into the line of strap-hangers and leaning forward with the rest as the train rolled to a halt. Rustling, shuffling movement accompanied the press to the platform.

Sally got out of the way of hurrying commuters who knew what they were doing. It was amazing how they seemed to disappear, like ants boiling out of a kicked nest. The second platform was reached via an overhead walkway. Up the stairs, over the bridge and down. She’d clearly not been the only one who’d made the mistake of catching an express. She was sure she’d seen the fellow in the business suit just crossing the walkway now, on the train. He rattled down the stairs to the other platform, where he stopped to check the board for the schedules.

She’d never been to Harlem. This was a different side to New York, away from Broadway, Fifth Avenue and Times Square, beyond the high rises of the business district. And it wasn’t as though she had any fear of being mugged. The worst part would be not to hurt anybody. She flexed her fingers and let a little part of the weretiger press. Talons.

Aysha brightened. “We hunt?”

“No, just checking we can fight back if we have to,” Sally said, following the exit signs out to the street. Aysha snorted.

Her backpack slung off one shoulder, Sally stepped into a street lined with New York’s famous brownstones, the metal emergency exit stairs criss-crossing their facades. The rain clouds still hung low and threatening, but here, at least, the rain had stopped. Water dripped from the trees, trailed down the gutters and gathered in pools. Harlem didn’t look like such a bad place. Much better than Mumbai or Kolkata. Sure, the paint was peeling here and there, but late model cars lined both sides of the street. Instead of beggars or urchins, a young black woman in denims and trainers almost jogged behind a Labrador on a leash. A few youths slouched outside a convenience store near the station’s entrance.

Harlem was being gentrified, she’d guess. Like her mother’s little house in working class Melbourne. No garage, tiny rooms, but very close to the city centre, a Mecca for young, single people wanting the urban lifestyle. She strolled along, taking in the apartment blocks, half a dozen stories high. A car rolled down the street, the doof doof of rap music loud, despite the vehicle’s closed windows. Give it a few years and those kids would be complaining of tinnitus. Sally brushed a raindrop from her cheek. Time to get back to the station and catch a nice, dry train. She crossed the road.

Aysha growled. “Wait.”

Sally stopped. “What?”

“I smell tiger.”

“Don’t be silly. This is a city. The world’s citiest city.”

“I smell tiger.”

Sally felt her lips curl. In her own dimension, Aysha was doing the same thing, curling back her lips, her fangs exposed, her nose snuffling the air. Cautiously, Sally opened her senses to the great cat. She wasn’t all that good at control, yet. If Aysha wanted to take charge… Her muscles tingled. It was so damned addictive. She and Ash had run through the jungle together several times. There was nothing like the adrenalin of being a powerful animal with a thirty-foot stride, seeing through her cat’s eyes, smelling a kaleidoscope of scents. She still marveled at how she could not only know what the smell meant, but also know when it was made. Almost like a time machine.

“Yes. Tiger. Not far.” Aysha was decisive. And she was right. Sally’s heart thudded. She smelled it, too. A mix of the seductive odor of male tiger and the urine the cat had used to mark its territory. A full-grown male. Sally turned on the spot to find the source, seeking the strongest scent, while the rain came down harder, drizzling down her neck and under her clothes, a cold trickle on too-warm skin.

There. Over the road. In an ordinary apartment block? Surely not. A tiger?

“There,” Aysha rumbled.

Sally crossed over and went up the steps into a gloomy foyer. At least it wasn’t raining in here, but that was about the only positive. Peeling, water-stained wallpaper hung on the walls, and the wooden floor was scuffed and dirty. The place had an elevator, the buttons scratched from years of use. She wondered if it worked. The smell of tiger was stronger. Somewhere here. There was a door in the corner, probably the stairs. The knob turned and she pushed the door open to reveal a dark, dusty stairwell, flights leading up and down. The smell of tiger rose from below, rank and dangerous. Sally’s heart hammered.