Valentine stared down at a sheet of paper on her desk. Her hands were clenched tightly against either side of her head, and her tail lashed intensely behind her. Her office was dark—the sun had long since set, and the nightlife outside only illuminated it a faint blue.

Of course, Valentine didn't have any regard for the darkness. She could see the sheet perfectly fine, save for the patchiness of the black-and-white photo. Even then, she had observed it so intently in the daylight, that she could still make out its details perfectly.

Olive had referred to the image as "crunchy." Valentine was inclined to agree. It was a copy of a recent WTTV broadcast wherein Underdog stopped the little white dog who robbed the Kennel Bank. It was zoomed in on the white dog, and though she was harder to recognize on such an image, Valentine had recognized her perfectly when she rechecked the tape.

Sammy Snuff.

Valentine's claws clutched tighter as she was reminded. Sammy Snuff was a wannabe bank-robber and horror movie aficionado, and more importantly, was Olive Hǎbagǒu's girlfriend. A growl trilled in Valentine's throat. Whether Olive had told Sammy to rob the bank or not, Valentine knew one thing for certain—one wrong move, and Olive might have destroyed her entire operation.

Her paw shot out quickly, a white streak
like lightning,
to
ward
the receiver of her telephone. She carefully
raised
the receiver to her face and turned the dial as quickly as it would move.
The receiver droned in her ear twice.

"Hello?"
came Olive's voice,
hollow and fried as it often was with her.

"Olive," Valentine snarled, feeling the fur on the back of her neck begin to bristle.

"What?"
Olive snarled back.

"I just wanted to tell you," Valentine informed her calmly, despite the rage threatening to pour out of every appendage in her body. "That Polly didn't come to the studio today. Neither did you."

"So?"
Olive answered,
"Your little starlet played hooky."

Valentine's claws unsheathed on her desk with a screech. They left little white lines in the dark wood.

"Stop playing so innocent!" she exploded, lurching forward. Had she been any larger, one of the drawers in her desk would have struck her in the stomach. "You said you were tired of my plan, you said you would get what you wanted one way or another! And now she stays home? You think I'm stupid!"

The phone crackled with static as Olive remained silent. Valentine heard her hot blood rushing through her ears.

"So what?"
Olive finally answered,
"You got what you wanted. She wrote that report for you, she thinks you're a fine boss."

Valentine hissed. "And how do I know what you told her about me?"

She heard Olive rumble lightly with a growl. "She won't say anything against her boss. It's not like you can't stop her anyway."

Valentine seethed, cutting more ruts through her desk. Then, suddenly, she took in a deep breath. She sat up straight and ceased her twirling tail. "You betrayed me," she said coolly.

"I am my mother's daughter."

Valentine scoffed playfully at her arrogance. A small smile turned her mouth upward, whiskers twitching. "Right," she nearly purred. "Well, consider her debt to me relieved. But this isn't the last you'll hear from me, Olive. When I call on you again, I expect you to answer. And Snuff as well."

Olive's line was silent. After a moment, Valentine's sensitive ears picked up the sound of someone faintly blowing a raspberry. She could only imagine that it was Sammy listening in.

"Whatever,"
Olive answered dryly,
"How could I refuse an order from my future ruler?"

Valentine ground her teeth as her smile only got larger. Her fangs pressed into eachother, sending a faint shot of pain through her gums. "You're very funny, dear."

"I don't want the world,"
Olive answered,
"But I'll take this city."

Valentine heard Sammy mutter something on the other line, but she was too far away or spoke too quietly for her to make it out. She drummed her claws on her desk, once more starting to twirl her tail. "Don't fail me again, and I shall arrange it."

"Whatever,"
Olive repeated. Within a moment, the line droned—not the silence of an apartment's ambiance, but the sound of a line disconnected.

Valentine slammed the receiver back onto its switch hook. She took in another deep breath, pressing her teeth tighter together in an attempt to dispel her anger. Olive was young, she told herself as she closed her lips. How could she possibly understand the patience required for a plan she had such little part in? Kids these days could hardly wait the minute it took for their silly hand-held phones to "load" a video.

Valentine reached her little paw toward the receiver again. This time, she dialed a house number, the kind she was used to:

EA 3-1964.

It rang four times. Valentine counted each with a twitch of her tail. She heard the opposite receiver click as it was picked up, and an oily voice on the other line purred a greeting.

Valentine smiled, clutching her receiver tighter. She felt her fingers quiver with anticipation.

"Hello, Dr. Barsinister."