Priestess Aishisu: Five reviews. My life reeks.

Raven A. Star: Creepy! yet really cool. I like! Please continue! :)

Priestess Aishisu: Thanks.

samuraistar: Hey, I LIKE this girl! She's cool for a villainess! I like how you made her! Please, keep at it!

Priestess Aishisu: Well, that's because she's going to become a good guy. Eventually...

BlackShield: Well, you can make her a good guy if you wish. One of the things I like best about fanfiction - that you doubtless already have learnt - is that the author chooses. You can ask for opinions, but if you don't like 'em, you needn't use them. It's so... omnipotent feeling, no? Hehehehehe.
"Look what the cat dragged in..."
What's Trigon want, anyway? What did Catwoman DO? TELLMETELLMETELLMETELLMETELLMETELLME please?
Lmao.
Keep writing, Lord knows it's among your strengths.
Scelus,
BlackShield
PS: yes I have

Priestess Aishisu: You'll see...

CyborgAndRaven4Ever: lol, I know what it's like to get a small number of reviewers. You can count on me to review your stories though. The action was good, so was the interaction with the Titans. Can't wait to see what happens next.

Priestess Aishisu: Yeah, you're one of the few I can count on. One of the people who would always review hasn't yet...

Raven-Fieryblack: Very nicely writen... since it would be fun, I think you should make her a Heroine, for fun. Although it would be hard to imagine how she IS a hero, if Raven's Father sent her. Well thats your problem.

Priestess Aishisu: Finally! Somebody votes for her to be a heroine!

Priestess Aishisu: That's 2.5 votes for her as a villainess, one as a heroine.

Chapter Synopsis: The Titans follow Andrea to a nightclub, only to find that this new Catwoman's first attack may have affected Raven more than they realized.

"Now, this was a very nice piece..." The manager of the most expensive jewelry shop in the country sat at a long table, ruefully flipping through a book of photographs—the shop's entire inventory, carefully filed for insurance purposes. His finger stabbed at an onyx brooch shaped like a leaping panther, with emeralds for eyes.

"There's a new Catwoman in town. An unarmed female, working alone, takes out three armed pros and walks away with the jewels. In Manolo Blahnik footwear. She has claws, she calls the perps 'mice' while she beats them senseless...and she purrs." Robin shut the file. "We know who she is."

"Really? Thank god!" the man cried in pure relief. "Will you be able to bring this...this Catwoman to justice?"

The Titans sighed deeply. They couldn't answer him because this was one of the rare times they weren't sure if they could, but they certainly hoped so...

"Well," murmured Andrea with grim delight. "There certainly is more than one way to skin a cat..."

She was in her apartment, and the floor around her gleamed and glittered as if it were on fire. But the blaze was of winking jewels—emeralds, pearls, lapis lazuli, tourmaline, topaz, rubies, opals, diamonds, you name it. In front of her, the table was littered with scraps of leather. She picked up the scissors and made another adjustment to her wardrobe.

The leather jacket was now a midriff-baring halter. Its sleeves served as gauntlets covering her lithe forearms but baring her graceful hands. A strip of leather crossed from the right edge of the cut midriff to her left hip, like a bandolier. She shoved her chair away from the desk, admiring her legs in their skintight leather pants. Swift as a striking cobra, she tore at them and hissed with a mixture of pleasure and pain.

She stretched, admiring the interplay of snug black leather against warm flesh. The pattern resembled jagged tiger stripes. She picked up a jar of carmine pigment and a box of pastels, sashaying to the bathroom.

Andrea opened the jar and dug her fingers through her hair, carefully working in deep rich red highlights. She made jagged tiger stripes on her arms and cheeks with what remained on her claws, and reached for the pastels. The sticks were soft and friable, rich black, ultramarine blue, saffron yellow.

Andrea leaned forward until her nose nearly touched the mirror, with her sure, practiced artist's hand she outlined each eye with black. Real shame I don't have normal make-up, she mused as she drew a second line above each of the first two in aquamarine. Or not. She made a yellow circle next to each eye, dotting aquamarine inside. Then she leaned back to admire her work.

The exaggerated Egyptian make-up didn't mask her beauty, it enhanced it. Almost as an afterthought, she applied the carmine pigment to her lips. It was cold and stung slightly, but a little pain made her feel awake. She picked up a diamond ring and put it on her left hand, then right, then changed her mind and returned it to the right. Finished at last, Andrea returned to the mirror.

She studied herself approvingly. "When the cat's away, the mice will dance," Andrea sang to herself. "Have to make sure that I can keep up with them."

The deafening sound of techno surrounded her, the vast dim space ignited by intermittent lightning as strobes flashed. Mirrored balls hung from the ceiling and there were more mirrors on the walls. She darted between dancers and drunks, nimbly avoiding contact with all of them. No one had noticed Andrea slink into the club, but they did do double takes as she strutted past them.

She was an extraordinary figure, striking and even sinister. She ignored them, her hips swaying to the music, until she reached a bar. The bartender lifted his head and blinked.

"Whoa! What can I do for you?"

Andrea tapped her claws against the zinc bar. She cocked her head, seeming to consider the question. "White Russian, no ice. Hold the vodka and Kahlúa."

The bartender blinked again. Andrea's piercing eyes with their Pharaohic make-up and elliptical pupils stared at him, and he suddenly remembered himself and hurried to fill her order. "I'm buying," a man at the end of the bar said, sidling up alongside Andrea.

"Suit yourself," she replied without glancing at him.

He continued to stare at Andrea, even as his girlfriend materialized beside him. She was a blonde wielding a martini the color of the sky over the Bikini Atoll, swirls of eye shadow shimmering at her hairline. "Earth to slut," she snapped, laying a proprietary hand on her boyfriend's shoulder. "He's taken."

Andrea didn't glance at her, either. "Slut to bimbo—you can have him."

The bartender reappeared, bearing a shot glass brimming with white liquid. "Cream, strait up," he announced, and set it before her. Andrea's taloned fingers curled around the class and she raised it to her lips, finishing it off in a single long gulp and setting it back onto the bar.

She licked a stray droplet of cream from her crimson upper lip. "Can I help you with that?" the man asked, still not giving up. His girlfriend scowled at Andrea.

"How did trash like you get into a club like this?" she sneered. Andrea smirked at her, running her clawed fingers though her streaked curls. The diamond on her ring twinkled in a miniature starburst of prismatic hues.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure." As she returned to the dance floor, the man at the bar reached after her and brushed a deliberate hand over the back of her ripped leather pants.

With a hiss, Andrea whirled. Her talons a scant inch from his face, she snarled, "Not for touching."

The man made a strangled, terrified sound and sat back down. His girlfriend gave him a frigid stare. "She's way outtu your league," she remarked disdainfully, and watched with a mixture of anxiety and begrudging admiration as Andrea stalked onto the dance floor. "Outtu the whole human league, maybe..."

"Are you sure she's here?" Raven asked, too aware of the people staring at her. She had never before cared what people thought about her, and her black strapless minidress wasn't as revealing as the long-sleeved leotard, but it felt as if somebody was sucking away her barriers.

"You're the psychic," Robin reminded her.

"Oh, right," she murmured, trying unsuccessfully to think. Her head was aching badly—in fact it had been pounding since they fought Andrea two days ago, and she was beginning to feel as if she could barely remember her own name.

Andrea edged between the dancers, the music seeming to grow louder and more intense as she reached the center. Her body reacted, but she didn't seem to perceive the stares or even her own abandon as she danced to the propulsive beat. Her sinuous form was a black flame barely contained by her supple catsuit.

She slipped in and out of the audience, seemingly unaware of the hungry gazes she received from captivated men as she swung up and landed on the dancing platform.

"Your dance card full?" she asked slyly. The dancer froze in mid-gyration. Andrea tilted her head. "So where'd you get the outfit? Frederick's of Halloween?"

Her outfit was like a bad imitation of Andrea's—chunky platform boots, ripped fishnet stockings, shiny black bustier supporting pneumatically enhanced breasts, thick make-up that couldn't hide the dark circles under her eyes. The dancer pursed her lips and struck a defiant pose, but it was useless. She was seriously outclassed, and she knew it.

Shaking her head, Andrea jabbed a clawed thumb in the direction of her outfit. "Leatherette, Hun? It just looks so cheap. You should always splurge for the real thing"—she ran her supple hands against her curves while the audience cheered and applauded, egging her on—"leather moves when you do, it breathes with you. Makes all the difference in the world..."

Then a hush fell over the audience, and Andrea smirked. She knew what was coming as when turned to see the sleek dark shape which had materialized, and didn't bat an eye when it shifted into Raven. "Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," Raven sneered.

Andrea pretended to pout. "Aw, you stole my line!" But her lips curved back into the smirk, revealing arctic white fangs. "Honey, that dress makes you sizzle."

"Shut it," Raven snarled, and Andrea's smirk only widened when she saw she was surrounded.

"This old tactic," she purred. "It does get old." Then she lunged forward, slashing Raven's lovely face. But Raven was a goddess, and Andrea's claws didn't leave a mark. Raven was strangely unmoving, her eyes empty, and Andrea's smirk seemed too big for her face. Before the other Titans noticed what was happening to their friend, she whirled around and pounced.

She kicked Cyborg's feet from under him, but the man-machine recovered quickly and he planted a kick in her midsection. She hissed in pain. "Somebody likes playing rough."

Robin flung his birdarang from behind, but she jumped and grabbed an overhead cable to swing out of reach while Cyborg was struck. Starfire flew up and tried to blast her, but Andrea snapped the cable and struck her with it. The alien princess couldn't absorb all that energy at once, and she fell limp.

Andrea held the spitting table overhead like a torch, and it send out showers of sparks. "Anybody want to challenge me?" she sneered, cracking it like a whip.

"Raven, do something!" yelled Beast Boy, and Andrea laughed wildly as everybody turned to the empath. She was staring at nothing, her eyes empty and blank.

"She can't!" Andrea crowed gleefully, and glanced at a circuit breaker next to her. "Show of hands!" she shouted. "Who can see in the dark?" She glanced around at the Titans—Beast Boy was watching her warily, Cyborg trying to rouse Raven, and Robin trying to rouse Starfire—then daintily raised her own clawed hand and swung the cable into the circuit breaker.

"Oops!"

There was a blinding flash, coupled with a thunderous bang! Sparks cascaded onto the stage as the club was plunged into darkness. Panicked screams echoed through the vast darkness, and Andrea took a mocking bow. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The pleasure was all mine."

Then she turned and vanished into the night.