Author's note: I've also uploaded this story to Archive of Our Own. I recommend you read it there instead because I was able to include illustrations.
Ms. de Vil sat grumbling in the parlor of her London suite, sneering down at the stitchwork on her latest coat. Blasted children just couldn't do anything right, she thought to herself. Whether it be the brats she had working in her sweatshops or the whimpering little nephew she'd been saddled with years ago.
Useless boy. To think she'd once thought the child could be utilized in some way. Pah!
Thanks to a certain... incident sixty years ago, she wasn't legally allowed to set foot back in London. Any visit she made had to be brief and done in secret, lest she have the wretched police breathing down her neck. But those confounded dogs were still here, she just knew it. So in all her wisdom, she planted her nephew there in her stead. There, in one of the many luxurious office buildings she had scattered throughout all of Europe.
The tower was far from what one would call 'fitting' for a child. There were no toys. No warmth. Only black and red minimalist furniture with a tasteful portrait or twelve of her lining the walls. But as far as Cruella was concerned, it was far more than the boy deserved.
And yet, even after graciously providing him with such a beautiful home, he'd yet to find even the smallest trace of Roger and Anita's mongrels.
Speak of the devil, in came the boy carrying a tray of tea. He hastily placed it on the table before her, giving her a proud, weaselly little smile. He ran a hand through his hair, preening a bit to make himself more presentable to the woman sitting before him. Cruella merely crinkled her nose at this.
"What are you just standing there for?" she demanded. "Pour it."
Hunter jumped slightly, then quickly did as told and poured her a glass. He grinned sheepishly as he extended the cup to her, which she ruthlessly snatched out of his hand, causing him to flinch. She could easily have a butler do this menial task, but she was never one to miss the opportunity to put the boy in line.
She also had a habit of never announcing when she'd be popping in. Sometimes her visits would be back to back of each other, while other times she wouldn't check in on the brat for an entire year. She liked to keep him on his toes that way.
Her nephew cleared his throat and forced the anxious smile back on. "How are you, great auntie?"
"Miserable, darling, as usual. Perfectly wretched."
"Oh." Hunter's expression faltered a little. "I'm so sorry, auntie. B-but thank you for coming anyway. It's so cool that you came to see me for my birthday."
Cruella nearly spat out her tea. "Your what?"
"My birthday," the boy said with a twinge of excitement. "It's next week, and I'm so psyched for it!" Honestly, he couldn't even remember the last birthday he'd spent with someone other than Cuddles. Just the thought of having company this year had him beaming from ear to ear, much to Cruella's absolute disgust.
"Birthdays are for little boys who earn them," she spat. "Everyone's born, boy. It doesn't make you SPECIAL. You want me to throw you a parade every time you breath too?"
And just like that, the joy in her nephew's eyes faded. "N-no, great auntie," he said sullenly. "I-I'm sorry."
She only offered him a cold sneer in response before raising the cup back to her lips. "The only thing that brought me here was your incompetence. Another year and still absolutely NOTHING."
"I-I'm sorry," he said again, voice trembling. "I swear, I-I'll find those pups for you soon. It's just—"
His aunt slammed her cup onto the table before he could finish. "SPARE ME YOUR EXCUSES!"
Hunter's hands instinctively flew up to shield himself, startled by both the noise of the glass and her sudden outburst. "I'm sorry!" he cried, taking a shaky step backwards.
"SORRY ISN'T GOING TO GET ME THAT COAT, NOW IS IT?!"
He clenched his eyes shut, bracing for the worst. But just as quickly as her anger rose, it petered back out. Instead, she simply let out a sigh. The sickly sound of her bones cracking filled his ears as she adjusted her sitting position on the couch. The boy, meanwhile, continued to stand petrified, still covering his face and quivering, to which she gave an eyeroll.
As always, her temper would flare up without warning. Hunter could never predict it, even after eleven long years. He could only hope for the best whenever she exploded. Which was often. Multiple times within a single conversation, even.
She snatched the kettle off the table and began refilling her cup herself while he scrambled to compose himself. "I give you one job," she continued. "One job, and you've barely made any progress at all. Apparently it's just far too much for that weak little brain of yours to handle."
Hunter lowered his hands, pleading. "That's not fair!" he desperately tried to defend himself. "How am I supposed to find this one family of dogs in all of London? It's virtually impossible!"
He winced when she shot him another glare. Taking a nervous gulp, he attempted to start again. "I-I mean... I just... C-can't I just go after any old dalmatian? The coat will still be the same, won't it?"
The boy let out a scream when she suddenly threw her cup, it just barely missing his head and shattering loudly against the wall. "NO IT WON'T, YOU SNIVILING LITTLE IDIOT!"
It took every ounce of willpower in him not to drop down to his knees and curl up into a frightened ball. But he stood his ground somehow, albeit on trembling legs. He felt tears threatening to slip out, but he clenched his fists and forced them back. Crying only ever made her angrier, after all.
"Look at me. LOOK AT ME, BOY."
He shivered, but did as he was told, keeping his gaze locked onto her.
"How much longer do you think your dear old auntie has, hm? I've lived for over a century now, boy."
Her skeletal form slowly rose up from the couch. Within seconds she was at her full height, towering over him. "After a lifetime of achievement and success, all I want—" she continued to rant. "—ALL I WANT before I go to that great runway in the sky is One. Blasted. Coat."
A bony hand reached toward him. His brain told him to run, but past experience had showed him that it only ever made things worse.
She cupped his face, digging her nails into his skin. Not deep enough to draw blood, but certainly deep enough to hurt. The look of misery in his eyes was almost enough to put her back into a good mood. But no, not now. There was a lesson that needed to be taught first and foremost.
"Tell me, Hunter." Her voice lowered into a threatening whisper. "Is that an unreasonable request?"
There was no stopping the tears now. "N-no... g-great auntie," he managed to whimper.
The tips of her lips crinkled up into a smile. Or at least Hunter thought it was a smile. It was often difficult to tell. "That's what I thought." With that, she released him and casually sauntered back to the couch.
All the shouting had caused a hideous number of cracks to appear on her aging face. She promptly began reapplying her "perfume," making them instantly vanish, followed by an unearthly... crackling. Hunter had grown used to the unsettling noise by now, as well as the smell. Though it still burned his nose whenever he stood too close.
The shaken boy dried his eyes with a sleeve, then scurried off to fetch a broom and dustbin to clean up the mess. All the while quietly scolding himself for questioning her. Once the broken cup was taken care of, he raced back to stand where he'd been, again at full attention. He rubbed his cheek, trying to numb the throbbing pain that still briefly lingered, then took a deep breath and tried approaching things from a different angle this time.
"I... I have everything prepared for when we do finally find them."
He whipped out his phone, presenting a carefully compiled list of online orders just waiting to be clicked. "Carriers, kibble, toys, the works! And—and oh, you're gonna LOVE this!" His hands clasped excitedly upon recalling his plan, a devious little grin daring to make its way upon his face. "I've got this idea for this vacuum and—"
Cruella raised a hand, immediately silencing him. "Spare me. I don't care how you do it. Just. DO IT."
He stiffened back up, grin disappearing. "Yes, auntie." She had him well trained, almost as though he were a dog himself.
She placed the vial of seedy liquid back into her bag. "—and be sure to have that container set and ready to optimize their fur," she added coldly.
"Of course! Their fur will be shampooed and conditioned into a glossy shine— perfect for the shaving!"
For the briefest of moments, Cruella was taken off guard. She raised a thinly drawn eyebrow up at the boy in amusement. 'Shave?' Is that what the little wretch had said? ...oh ho, that's right. He was still completely in the dark, wasn't he? How delicious, she thought.
After daring to come back empty handed so many times, what better way to teach the little snowflake a lesson than to toy with him? It always made for such tremendous entertainment. And having a butler slip the boy a handy little 'forget me pill' afterwards ensured he wouldn't remember a thing anyway. Oh ho, yes. She was going to have some fun.
The old woman rolled her head back and let forth a bout of mad laughter. "That's the one good thing about you children— you're just so hilariously naïve!" she cackled. "So pitifully stupid! So wretchedly dumb!"
She was practically howling. Hunter could only stand there quietly as a sense of dread and unease welled up inside him.
Ever so dramatically, Cruella reached for her purse again. She placed it on her lap and rummaged around inside, all the while never taking her smirk off of Hunter. From within she produced a long pair of fur lined gloves.
They were quite exquisite. The light brown trimming complimented the black of the opera gloves nicely, in a garish sort of way. She made a great show of pulling them onto her lengthy, spider-like arms. Once on, she posed proudly, letting her nephew take in the sight. "They're beautiful, aren't they, boy?"
He feigned another weak smile. "For sure. They are."
"Mmm hmm..." she cooed, running a hand down one arm, relishing in the feel. "And so familiar too. Wouldn't you say?"
He did indeed recognize the fur. It had once covered his cat, Cuddles.
Hunter was eight years old or so when he stumbled across a lost kitten in his search for that elusive dalmatian family. And the little guy ended up becoming such a comfort to the lonely boy. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a friend. That was, until his dear old auntie dropped in for one of her unexpected visits.
Cruella was practically salivating the moment she laid eyes on that light brown coat. Cuddles, on the other hand, the poor thing, had hissed at the woman in terror before fleeing underneath Hunter's bed. Very soon afterwards, she "borrowed" the kitten, and returned him a week later completely shaven.
Strangely, Cuddles was never quite the same after that. He'd gone from loving and playful, actually befitting of his name, to a full time sourpuss. You would think he'd become an entirely different creature.
Cruella's grin darkened. Almost as though she could read Hunter's thoughts.
"Let me ask you something, dear," she said in a dangerously sugar coated tone. "Do you know what a sphynx is?"
Hunter looked downright perplexed. "Um... those big statues in Egypt?"
"THEY'RE A TYPE OF CAT, YOU IMBECILE!"
For the third time or so today, he jumped. It made Cruella let out another cackle. "Yes, boy. A hideous type of cat. One born with no fur. None at all! ...much like that hairless rat of yours."
Hunter still hadn't a clue what she was getting at. "But... but Cuddles did used to have fur."
Once more Cruella rose up from the couch and began to advance. "Did he?" she snickered. "Or perhaps your auntie told you a little white lie?" She stretched out her arms, wiggling her gloved fingers at the child with a look of sadistic glee in her twisted eyes.
"And perhaps, dear boy, the process of fur removal might be just a touch more... lethal to the beast than simply taking a shaver to it?"
A tiny trickle of sweat ran down Hunter's neck. There was no possible way his auntie was implying what he thought she was. No possible way.
His great aunt could be cruel, but she wasn't a monster. ...was she?
A giggle began to take hold of her, making her shoulders rise and fall. Soon it grew louder, erupting into wild, deafening laughter that wracked her entire frail body. She struck one last pose, sneering down at her terrified nephew, ready to go in for the kill.
"Say helloooo," she crooned. "—to your first little kitty cat."
Hunter's eyes widened.
He paled, a silent scream caught in his throat. He tried to let it out, but could only croak out a small, breathless gasp.
His aunt, meanwhile, continued to tower over him, still holding out her fur covered hands and laughing her wicked laugh. It shook him to his very core. She cackled madly, relishing in the look of unbridled horror on the young boy's face. The child swayed slightly before dropping to the ground in a dead faint, much to Cruella's inhuman delight.
He awoke several hours later in his bed.
His great aunt was long gone by then, already on a private jet back to Switzerland, leaving him in the care of one of many apathetic butlers. The large man regarded the boy's awakening with an indifferent grunt and nothing more, before continuing with his work.
From the large windows, Hunter could see the peaceful night time sky above London. From there, his disoriented gaze fell to Cuddles, who was curled up quietly on his computer chair. The cat, it seemed, was also quite indifferent to his master's bout of recent unconsciousness.
Wait. Cuddles?
The boy's eyes narrowed as he thought back on what had happed earlier that afternoon. For some strange reason, his memory was blurry. His auntie's rather intimidating visit was still fresh in his mind, but he could only vaguely remember a good portion of it. He couldn't quite recall her parting at all. Not in the slightest.
"Cuddles...?" his voice slurred, still feeling rather dazed. The cat's ears perked up at this. The furless creature let forth an irritated growl as he uncurled himself and approached his master. And yet, Hunter had no idea what he had even intended to ask. It felt as though there had been a thought in the very back of his mind, similar to that of a dream you immediately forget upon waking. Something he could have sworn had been important, but was gone now.
Cuddles shot him an annoyed glare when he failed to speak further. "Uh..." the boy gave a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Never mind."
The feline bristled and slunk back to the chair, grumbling.
Hunter raised a hand to his head, still unable to shake the feeling that he'd forgotten something truly important.
Wait. The dalmatians. Yes— the dalmatians, of course! What in the world was he thinking, sleeping in the middle of the day? He had a coat to deliver! And his auntie was only going to grow more and more impatient the longer he kept her waiting.
Leaping out of bed, he made a mad dash for the hall. Cuddles followed closely on his master's heels. He raced down to his planning room, practically kicking the door down in his desperate fervor, like a madman possessed. A flip of a switch made the pitch black room light up instantly, illuminating a large wall with a pegboard and a map of London upon it.
Several locales on the map had already been crossed out with red sharpie. Various pictures of dogs and places were pinned and connected via strings, making for a chaotic sight. Some of the pictures were quite old. Black and white and faded, showing a family of dogs dated all the way back to the 1960s, while others were new, freshly snapped of cute little puppies who could be possible leads.
Hunter glared at the board, hands balling into fists at his sides.
Those dogs had to be somewhere in this city. He'd already searched so many places. He had to be getting close by now, he just HAD to be. And once he did find them… why, just the thought filled him with deadly determination.
A twisted smile formed along his face, darkly mirroring that of his dear auntie Cruella. "All right," he muttered, snatching up his sharpie and circling an unmarked district on the board. "Next on our list... Camden."