Disclaimer: I do not own Coraline or the Nightmare Before Christmas.

Betaed by: Zim'smostloyalservant and Trackula.

The Price

Chapter 1

Unwanted Inheritance

Coraline Jones knew she was dreaming as she walked down a chalky path through the white void. But she was also certain it wasn't 'just' a dream.

"Ghost kids?!" she called out. It had been months since everything had happened, and she had locked away the Other Mother and Wybie had smashed her hand. The blue-haired girl had thought she was past all the spooky stuff, even able to enjoy Halloween last week.

So why was she here, feeling compelled to follow this path?

Then, with stunning speed, she found herself at the end, the path ending with as little explanation as its start, the pure white of the void yawning before the edge Coraline brought herself up short from, wearing her pajamas.

Hanging from some unseeable point, a fraying white bag of scrap metal bigger than her dangled at eye height. Coraline frowned at the strange sight of rusted and broken metal piercing at odd angles from the sack.

Then the sack spoke like an ancient door hing long un-oiled.

"Coraliiiine."

Coraline gasped and tried with all her might to step back. But it seemed the thought refused to budge from her head to her knees, much less her feet.

"Beldam," Coraline gasped. She would not call this monster mother, even with the word "other" in front of it.

"See what you have done to me, child? Have you no pity for your Other Mother?" the monster asked, the bag spinning slowly. The outline of the angular, eyeless face pressed against the bundle of thread-web, but didn't move or even twitch.

"No. Not after what you did to everyone," Coraline answered firmly, courage and righteous anger both pressing fear down into a jar. Beldam laughed like an arthritic gear running itself flat, snickering horribly as she rotated on her thread. Coraline still couldn't turn away.

"What is wrong with you?" Coraline bit.

"Wrong? It's like I told you, without you I'm dying. Starved to death by your selfishness," Beldam declared. There was no anger, only resignation. Coraline couldn't even get angry at the absurd accusation.

"Still not sorry. You killed them," Coraline reminded Beldam.

"They'd have died eventually anyway. I gave them the perfect childhood. And in exchange, I feasted on what they could have been. The sweet potential, the sour possibilities. The love they could have given. It was fair, Coraline. They were selfish, wanting something for nothing. Like you, thinking you could kill me without consequences."

"…You're crazy and evil. Are you trying to curse me or something?" Coraline demanded, stomping her foot.

"Heh, would that I could. But I paid a high price for my desires, too. Unlike a child, I can accept the price for getting what I wanted. But you, you have killed me, Coraline. And you can't escape that fact, or the price of it. Like a mortal grasping the red hot metal, it's not a curse when your flesh burns. It's just the result. The scales balanced. You will… pay… the pr…ice. Brat," Beldam whispered, her face passing and going again.

Her voice gave a final croaking insult, then was silent. Coraline felt a chill go up her spine, feeling something change in the air.

With a final whisper, the thread snapped and the bundle of threads and scrap that had been the Beldam fell through the void. Coraline could not resist leaning over on hands and knees, watching it fall into the nothingness. A blot, a dot, then a speck. And finally, gone.

Her eyes snapped open to a familiar ceiling.

Coraline's body jerked in bed as if she had been dropped. Looking around while sitting up, holding her covers close, she scanned the room.

Everything seemed as it should.

And if that was real? Well, it could only be good that Beldam was gone. She had won, they had beaten the monster beyond the walls of the world, and apparently she'd never harm anyone ever again.

Price? Beldam had been the one owing the world something, hadn't she? Besides, she was a liar. Why wouldn't she lie with her last breath?

She laid down, determined to go back to sleep.

Coraline would not succeed, or notice the golden eyes watching thoughtfully from the other side of her window.

X X X

'So, that one is finally gone for good. About time,' Cat thought as he skillfully descended the outside of the Pink Palace. Others might have spared some pity or sorrow even for one such as that at the end, but not Cat.

Cat had not fully given up the possibility of redemption. Nor had he forgotten when the Beldam was a promising student of his. But redemption was no longer possible with death, and she had never again come close to the creature he had once had hopes for. In the end, the Beldam died as the loathsome, dangerous wretch she had chosen to become. Any other possibility was just silly to consider now. There was a lesson in someone who dug their own grave.

Unfortunately, Cat thought as he reached the ground, unpleasantly wet from morning dew, the Beldam had not literally been her own end. Starvation was not typical for this kind of thing…

Hmm, a swift passage from one spot to another confirmed that with her death he was freed from his bond as guard.

There was a strong temptation to go and give the so-called King a piece of his mind. Not once had he come to check on the prisoner. Such as to see if she had found a loophole with lethal consequences. Or checked to see if his wards had actually trapped Cat here so he could not inform him of the situation.

Hmm, he had considered maybe the latter was no accident. But no, the boy was foolish, but not so vindictive as to imprison his old tutor out of spite.

Stalking the trail of a field mouse, Cat decided that a homecoming could wait. Travel was never a certain thing, so it was better to ensure he knew enough before doing so.

The girl… he was rather certain of her fate. But as he reminded his students, when chances were nine parts of ten, there was nothing stopping this time from being a ten.

So as usual, he would wait and watch. Perhaps even hope? Yes, after all, he had not cared much for Coraline's chances before. But she had succeeded where others had failed.

His mind made up as much as a cat's could be, Cat pushed any worries of the future away for now to focus on life at paw.

X X X

Morning found Coraline awake, but she was quick to get out of bed regardless. The sun was up, and looking out the window it was much easier to dismiss the vision as a dream. Autumn had a strong grip on the countryside, but the garden still had a beauty, and the trees were wearing their leaves proudly in the multitude of reds, golds, and browns.

It'd be a lie to say she was eager for school. But she was eager to get moving. Away from the bed where the task of failing to sleep had been a poor distraction from dark thoughts, to a world demanding her attention.

"Well, good morning," her mother remarked with a small smile as Coraline entered the kitchen. Coraline frowned, taking her seat at the table, wondering what the smile was about.

Her father was reading the paper, already dressed for a day of outdoor autumn work. It suited him much better than the days he spent hunched over a computer indoors.

Then Coraline realized breakfast was not laid out yet. Her mother had not had to call her down or her dad more gently rap on the door making sure she was on track. She felt a bit like a failure getting ready for school early, as her mother placed the plate down in front of her.

"Hey there kiddo, it's not going to run away," her father remarked, looking over his paper at her.

"It was good, what was different?" Coraline asked her mother, having polished off her breakfast quickly.

"Oh, so the normal is bad?" her mother teased with that tone that made it hard to tell if she was serious or not.

"Now you've done it," her father chuckled.

"Er, well, it's even better than usual," Coraline offered as a defense.

"Mhm. Well, it must be you feeling like getting up in the morning; that was the same old same old. Now brush your teeth. Being early doesn't matter if you dilly-dally later," her mother remarked, picking up the plate.

Charlie couldn't help but chuckle more at his daughter's stunned face at her liking her mother's cooking that much.

X X X

It was the same at lunch at school, and supper. Coraline just couldn't get enough; even regardless of what they were having, she looked forward to it and was bummed when it was gone. Her mother chided her for snacking, warning she'd get fat. Her father was thinking a growth spurt was coming, which trailed off into how his little girl was growing up.

It was odd, but not too odd, so she just accepted it and moved on.

Things went okay. Then an incident occurred.

"In my defense, no one could see that coming," Wybie said. His tone said he knew it was his fault, while his words made it clear he did not want to admit it.

Coraline rolled her eyes at him and glared at the bicycle. It was the true culprit, she decided.

"Why do I let you talk me into weird stuff?" Coraline asked, brushing nonexistent dust off her pants.

They were in the hills around the Pink Palace, about between there and Wybie's house. School meant less time to spend out here, which to Wybie meant making it more interesting. Well, the latest bright idea from some magazine or other had seen the bicycle try to eat her pants before they crashed.

"Well, the important thing is we're alright!" Wybie declared, holding up a gloved finger. Coraline sighed, not acknowledging that as she fingered the back of her left pants leg. It wasn't torn, too small a word. There was a gash running down the back of it, nearly the whole length.

She blushed, realizing it could probably expose her panties.

What's worse, these were new, bought since the move. Her mom would not only kill her for this, but kill her twice, maybe three times, if she wrangled out what they had been doing.

"This is your fault," she declared flatly, her left hand behind her, firmly trying to hold her pants together.

"…Yeah, probably, okay? Look, my grandma sews, so maybe she can fix it? Your mom won't get too mad if you get it fixed yourself, right?" Wybie said. Coraline made to object, but frowned instead, twisting to try and look at the damage. It felt like a pretty clean tear, so sewing it up should be doable.

"Fine," she agreed, eyes hooded, hoping to convey that she remained annoyed with him.

X X X

"Are you kidding me?" Coraline demanded of Wybie's parlor table.

'Wybourne, went to get another can of beets. Be washed up for supper. -Grandma' read the note on the top page of the notepad next to the fancy beaded lamp sharing the table.

"Well, maybe you could blame me?" Wybie suggested. Coraline groaned and pressed her fingers into her forehead. While that was a nice offer, it could only lead to further questions, and their attempted stunt being revealed would only make things worse.

"Where is her sewing room, anyway?" Coraline asked, looking around. She had hardly been in Wybie's house, it occurred to her; they mostly met up in the hills, the Palace yard, or hung out around school. Even after all these months, it was more lived-in looking than her place. Her parents weren't exactly the interior decorator type. Her aunt had been the original mastermind back in Michigan, she had heard. It wasn't bare anymore, but it just didn't have that imprint of the family Coraline wanted. More rented than home, she'd say if she thought long enough.

Wybie shrugged and showed her there, clearly feeling she was in one of her unstoppable moods. Or he just felt her head was on the block and she deserved a last request honored.

Coraline was surprised at the sewing room hidden behind a normal door. It was more chaotic than the rest of the well-ordered house she had seen. It was fairly cramped, for one. A large table was covered in some cardboard foldout, with measuring lines and curves of varying degrees and angles laid on it. Half the tabletop was taken up by bolts of cloth and bundles of ribbon in clay bowls. Next to the table was a sewing cabinet that she assumed had not been folded up in years, an old black sewing machine standing ready, its company name displayed in proud but simple gold print. The door of the cabinet was holding rows of rods adorned with spools of thread, string, and twine of all sorts and colors. A closet door hung open, revealing more bolts of cloth and two shelves stuffed to bursting with magazines and envelopes she guessed held designs and patterns. And finally an overstuffed chair piled high with scraps and oddities.

It was a mess, but a sensible mess, Coraline found herself thinking. While a bit bedecked and overloaded, everything was where it was supposed to be, if not presented most efficiently. As proof, she opened a drawer in the cabinet, finding needles, knitting needles, seam rippers, and other tools.

Looking over the thread, she selected a shade of blue that looked a good match.

"I'm going to try and fix them myself," Coraline said, picking up a sewing needle.

"Oh, really?" Wybie asked, sounding skeptical.

"No, just joking. Of course I'm going to try!"

"I'd like to see you try," Wybie laughed.

"Well you're not."

"Huh?"

"I'll have to take my pants off to do this, idiot," Coraline snapped.

"Oh," Wybie realized.

"So get out," Coraline said, making a turning gesture with her index finger.

"Fine, order a guy around in his own house. Great attitude, Jonsie," he muttered, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.

X X X

"Coraline Jones, what happened to your pants?" Mel Jones calmly demanded. Coraline paused her video game, and put on a smile as she turned to look at her mother. Who was holding the pair of jeans. She supposed it was too much to hope her mom didn't notice as she washed them. Offering to do the laundry would have definitely been suspicious.

"I ripped them after school?" Coraline said. Her mother gave her a look that said she did not like it being phrased as a question. Neither woman would want to be told they both were masters of that unimpressed expression.

"Ripped, that looks to be an understatement," Mel said, tracing the new seam on the pants she was holding up.

"Well, I fixed it at least," Coraline offered.

"You did this?" Mel said, surprised. When her daughter nodded, she seemed to see honesty, because rather than press the subject she held the pants to look at the needlework again.

"Well, your Home Ec teacher certainly is doing her job. These are no longer school-worthy, or town for that matter. But I'll overlook it this time, as you did a good job taking responsibility."

And that was that… except for Coraline. She was left realizing her Home Economics class hadn't covered sewing yet. Where had she learned that?

And unseen by either woman, yellow eyes watched from around a corner before turning away with a proud swish, leaving a tail to slip away silently.

X X X

Thanksgiving was back to Michigan. Not her old hometown. Close, but not close enough to visit. It was her aunt's place, closer than most family members to others, and big enough to gather for the feast.

It was there her health was fussed over.

"She's so pale. Has she been sick?"

"No, healthy as an ox, our Coraline."

"Well, you should get her outside more. When I was a kid, it was a chore to keep us inside, now you have to practically toss them out into the sunshine."

"No, she's a regular pioneer, nothing but a deluge or blizzard keeps her from a bit of the outdoors."

And so t went. And Coraline wasn't alone in her noticing how pale she had gotten. Even her parents seemed uncomfortable, her dad trying to make light with stupid little jokes and her mother looking at her like a paragraph that just refused to flow well.

Nothing bad was said. Though again, her appetite came up, and she only stopped when feeling she'd had enough. Not because she was full; she never felt full anymore, it seemed.

She got praise from the elders for her new hobby of sewing. It was nothing much, just bits of rags the craft store had for a song, making little animals of them. She wasn't even sure why.

They wished she had brought some. Outdoors and a fine old skill being honed. If Thanksgiving was a contest, she'd have won some kind of prize, she was sure. As it was, she was glad it was over.

Though returning home seemed a signal, the growth spurt her father had predicted deciding it was time to start.

X X X

Growth spurts weren't supposed to start with your hands, Coraline was certain of that.

Her fingers, most of all, were longer now, scratching in her sleeves and aching a bit at the joints. And her palm was also bigger, her wrist and arms seeming to follow, but at a slower pace. Her fingers did not seem to quite fit into a fist now.

Her parents just laughed it off, saying everyone is different. Her mother in particular implied she would laugh at this being a problem with the ephemeral other things to come.

The ladies in the basement were even less helpful, quickly going off on stories of their own youth. Better than their stage stories — those could be fun, but Coraline had heard them quite a bit. They echoed her mother, but with the twist of good things to come.

Bobinski had a different take, the tall Russian asking to see her hands. She pulled them out of her pockets, standing there on his doorway as he hung upside down like some strange bat.

He felt the length and watched her try and form a fist and squinted into her face. With a word, he excused himself and slammed the door shut. He whispered loud enough inside to be heard but no words understood.

The door swung back open to show him on his feet, looking down at her with a grave expression.

"Cherish these days," he said.

He never spoke further in the matter, and she couldn't bring up the courage to ask.

Her legs started growing next, which meant new clothes, distracting her further.

X X X

The new clothes were mostly welcome to her. Mother instead on some nice clothes, that were just boring for Coraline. It wasn't like she was wanting to dress up like a clown or something, but did more mature clothes have to mean dull?

And her balance had been so off! Her parents laughed it off as just part of the change, warning of bigger things to come. Her mother talked about the feeling of becoming a woman. Apparently stiff joints and dry skin were feminine, Coraline had thought, trying to get her shoulders to pop.

Her father had sighed, saying he'd probably have to save up for a shotgun, as his little girl was sure to be a beauty. Coraline had rolled her eyes at the lame joke.

Then it turned out to be a far worse joke than she could have imagined.

X X X

What happened to her face as her stiffness got worse and her balance refused to get better ended any delusion of normalcy.

She wasn't sure if there had been signs, but it was December 12th that her face began to… run. Maybe it started in the morning and she hadn't noticed it, but it became clear when she used the bathroom, hoping to wash a gunky feeling off her face.

No one else seemed to quite see her face, really. They didn't see her features running like paint, they saw her as badly blotched or rashed; she was torn between being grateful and horrified, because it could only be magic, even if everyone wasn't panicking.

The teacher was having none of it anyway, and sent her to the nurse. And the nurse sent Coraline home, calling it some allergic reaction. And her parents, assured she was in no immediate danger, made an appointment to get an allergy test done. Which of course would do no good, because other than Wybie and maybe Mr. B, no one could frigging see her real problem.

Grinding her teeth, Coraline paced her room. She had been told to take it easy, not aggravate her "condition". But who was going to make her? Her parents were off to an important meeting, which in fairness they expected her to be at school today, anyway.

She decided to eat something. The hunger wasn't as bad, lately. In fact, she wasn't feeling it now, she realized, leaving her room for the kitchen. Maybe she was just used to it, she thought? Maybe she'd get used to this?

Turning into a doll or something? No, not likely, she snorted spitefully.

As there was no one here to say otherwise, she went for the freezer. It was disturbingly easy to open and look inside. It occurred to her she could reach everything her mom could now, cabinet-wise. She pushed the thought aside, not comfortable with it, and instead focused on the icy treats awaiting.

And found nothing but a rack of ice cubes and a pair of frozen veggie packs. Blinking, Coraline lifted the veggies as if the ice cream might be cleverly hiding. Then she checked the fridge proper, just as thoroughly. And then tore off the lid of the kitchen trashcan, to find the very empty ice cream bucket wasting away there with lesser food's remains.

Her jaw clenched, and she slammed the lid down.

Coraline Jones did the only reasonable thing she could think of. She opened her jaw wide, screaming at the utter unfairness of EVERYTHING.

Had she been thinking, she may have thought doing this would relieve some pressure and she could then go on with her day less stressed. Or she might have thought what would the neighbors think as they were think hearing that scream? But there was no thinking, only rage poured out in a misdirection at lack of ice cream.

Not that deep thinking would have helped matters in what came next.

Really, there are situations where it would be just unfair to expect a person to remain calm. This became one of those situations, when a series of audible cracks undercut the scream, which then was cut off, muddling as a sort of popping crack was made, and ceramic shattered on the kitchen floor.

Coraline's looked down seeing a hunk of broken ceramic, with teeth stuck in it. Then realized she wasn't screaming anymore. Her numb fingers touched her nose and checks with cracking tips, and slid down. Past her upper lip they dipped in and audibly tapped against something.

There were more cackling sounds. Coraline practically leap to the sink, the motion eliciting a large crack in her left leg, making her stagger. Looking into the window over the sink as a poor mirror, she saw her face. Or what was left, with her bottom jaw gone, revealing shiny brass with white powder flashing off it where her mouth was supposed to be, and the rest of her face cracking like ice under pressure.

She watched as her teeth fell out of her jaw, reflexively trying to catch them, her legs buckling under her.

Coraline caught herself, grabbing the sink with her elbows. Her arms crumpled where they hit the metal, and the teeth she caught clattered into the sink as her hands opened.

It didn't hurt, but she was trying to scream. Trying, she had no mouth after all.

Black cracks spread across her vision, and as she hauled herself up by her arms, Coraline through the cracks saw her face dried up, saw her face gone below the eyes, leaving only the smooth brass, and the eyes dried and cracked as the sockets crumbled around them.

Tre left eye wobbled and her vision shook; her arms slipped and she felt the countertop striking the bottom of what remained of her face, breaking it clear away and reducing it to powder.

She thrashed on the floor, hitting the table and the counter, pounding the floor as if desperate for purchase. Each blow cracking, until some brought forth a dull ring.

Her hands fell away from blows and flexing, leaving needle-fingers and shear scissor thumbs. Her legs seemed to lose their shape as chunks of ceramic and trails of powder shot out of her pant legs and waist as she thrashed. Then sharp brass cut through the jeans by prongs, and the pants exploded. The shining brass spikes darted about, tearing gouges in the floor and cabinets and reducing her shirt to ribbons too.

Then her left hand swiped out and caught a chair, sending it down on her head. The impact… hurt. Not a flashing hurt, more like a hard tap. And that acute sensation, after so long in growing numbness, doused the panic like a bucket of sand.

Coraline laid on the floor, blind. But she felt, feeling the chair on top of her, the air moving over her, and the floor under her. And parts of her were felt that made no sense.

The panic wasn't gone, it was lingering on the edge. Coraline put a mental hand on it. And a literal hand on her face. It had a vague shape like a mannequin, her tapping fingertips practically letting her see it with a near musical sound from the tapping. But it wasn't smooth — she discovered something where her eyes should be. Holes. Thread holes, she realized, inspecting them more.

That she felt more irritation than dread as she recalled the Beldam was likely a sign how emotionally exhausted she was.

Unwilling to try standing with the chaotic mass she felt below her legs, Coraline pushed the chair off with puzzling ease, and flipped onto her stock, getting more cracking sounds for her trouble. Panting her hands on the floor, she dragged herself, and was shocked when her fingers bit into the floor easily, and with similar ease she pulled her mass onward.

Fearing thoughts would bring another panic attack, she just accepted the bit of good fortune and hauled herself to the coatrack. She knew right where it was, she could fee it through the floor. Reaching it, she reached up and carefully felt the coats there, the texture telling its tales oddly, until she found her own.

She snipped two buttons off with ease and pulled her sewing kit box from the coat pocket.

"Well, Beldam, at least YOU didn't get to sew button eyes on me," Coraline thought bitterly.

The task was the simplest she had ever done, as if buttons and thread were so eager they practically did it themselves.

Nothing, the black void still stretched before her. Then she realized the button eyes were closed. So she opened them.

Her vision was blurry at first, and even as it came into focus, the far side of the room blurred.

"Buttons don't make the best of eyes, gee who'd have thought?" Coraline snarked. Her voice sounded the same, she noted with relief. A lock of hair fell into her face and she reached to brush it away, seeing her hand clearly.

Except it wasn't a hand anymore. It was a… thing of brass, the four fingers interlocking plates over rods, with the last joints coming to sharp points. Feeling something, she slid the tips out on reflex, revealing sewing needles, which then slid back just as easily. The thumb was a shear, with handles on a joint. The thumb sheer opened and closed as she watched.

Looking down at herself, she shuddered. Getting to her feet was unnervingly easy.

Coraline decided she needed to see everything, now. Her parents had a full-length mirror in their bedroom, so she rushed there heedless of what her sharp "feet" were doing to the floor.

What faced her back from the reflective surface was a surreal horror of metal and porcelain. A nightmare vision of modern art, shifting unnaturally before her.

The revealed metal once concealed underneath her, was hardly what she'd have called a skeleton. It was a frame, pure and simple. Large screws and even visible welding lines ran up and down the impossibly thin body. Each visible joint held together by nuts and bolts. Her torso, such as it was, was merely a fence-work of wires that stopped around where her ribs would have been. Large chunks of porcelain still clung there, vaguely sculpted the way her own body had been before this… change… had occurred. But even that was barely holding on, and even now fragments rained down, leaving a trail of white powder.

Her arms were now little more than rods fixed to simple joints, leading down to the monstrous revealed hands she'd inherited from the Beldam. Bits of white ceramic clung all along these lengths too, but her thrashing had shaken most of it off.

Her legs were wholly unrecognizable, if legs was still the proper term. The were more a terrible metal mix of delicately-jointed insect limbs and mechanical support struts. There were six, thin and crooked, ending in sharp hooked points which seemed to dig into the floor beneath her. How her old legs had managed to conceal such awful shapes and still manage to function Coraline couldn't fathom. They came up fixed to a flat metal panel that seemed to serve as a crude waist.

Another metal frame seemed to hang out the back, shaped by wire fencing just like her torso. It seemed to her somewhat like an insect's abdomen, but she didn't recall the Beldam having had one in their final confrontation.

Finally, she turned her gaze up towards her face. Or she would have, had she a face to gaze upon. What stared back from two black buttons was nothing more than a curved oblong brass surface, reminding her of a mannequin or one of those little posable art figurines. It gleamed in the artificial lighting, blank and inanimate. Yarn fell down and framed it, attached to doll-like uniform hair follicles. Aside from her face, the whole rest of her skullcap was still porcelain, or she suspected she'd be bald now.

She had to leave. Coraline couldn't stay, she knew that clearer than she was seeing, the thought wrapping tight around her mind as her legs and arms folded close on her.

The poor girl skittered back the way she had come, back to the kitchen. Her eyes locked on the back door, but she paused, her eyes falling on the shredded remains of her outfit. That could be useful, she wasn't sure how just now, but she was certain it was true.

Looking at her hands, which lacked proper palms even and such thin sharp fingers, she was puzzled how she could pick up and hold anything. Blinking her button eyes jogged her mind, and she grabbed her coat from the rack. Rather than slipping it on she laid it out and with quick precision picked up the scraps of cloth, laying them on the inside lining of the jacket.

Her clever sharp fingers snapped up every piece without so much as a single unintended cut. Then with the same swift delicacy, they tied the jacket up into a bundle, which she hugged to her strange chest.

Cradling the cloth close, Coraline slipped out the door and scampered as close to the ground as she dared. Through the garden with little regard to its obstacles, unto the grass and rocks. Up the hill and into the trees. Out of sight, leaving only ceramic that had all finished crumbling to dust and a mess of gouges and scrapes as proof anything had happened on the ground floor of the Pink Palace.

No one was there to witness this silent, terrified flight. No one but the owner of a pair of golden eyes. With a sigh, Cat hauled himself from the shadowed nook he had been luxuriating in.

There was no doubt now. He considered trying to assure the girl. But she had not fled to comfort but refuge, so company may not be welcome, he mused. And besides, he felt it would be better to come with some manner of solution, at least in the works.

Despite his resolve, he directed a silent apology to Coraline. He was as close as she had gotten to a guide in these matters, and being a cat he was hardly the most considerate guide, he knew. But that was no excuse for negligence, so without delay he slipped out of sight in one world, and into another.

The Black Cat was making his way back to where he was from for the first time in a great while.

X X X

Coraline had found a place in the woods. Why this spot, she couldn't say for certain, but the old large tree had caught her eye, and fatigue was pressing down on her like am anvil.

Thoughts threatened to push through her turmoil, and she pushed them back reflexively. A notion blaring in her head that if her mind startled, it would break.

But she needed rest. And a desire for safety harped somewhere in her.

With terrifying ease, she climbed the tree trunks, her legs not just stabbing into the wood but seeming to find the best spots to support her weight for those seconds. Some of the tension eased when she was amongst the branches, out of sight.

But it wasn't enough. Grabbing a branch, she pulled it to another, and after some concentration adjusted the alignment, and with one hand easily tied the branches together with their own extensions and a bit of well-tied cloth.

It seemed to take too long, but she had to redo some that came loose or redo a section that proved poorly placed. Raindrops falling anew spurred onward, making her hiss and click as her metal parts danced to their tasks.

Finally, amidst the branches of the old tree was a round mass of branches, pulled together or broken off and lashed into place. It took nearly all of her fabric, but Coraline settled on the base built around a spot of thick branches just large enough to curl herself on.

Finally in the nest she had made, Coraline Jones laid down her bundled raincoat, which still holding the last of her scraps of clothes served as a pillow of sorts to lay her head on. With nothing else to do she let herself fall into an exhausted sleep, shielded from the rain as it began to fall with greater intensity outside.

X X X

In a short time or a long time, Cat emerged in a place very unlike the Pink Palace. The day was sunny here, but it did not quite make the scenery cheery. Rather, it was a certain macabre look over the town. Because things meant to be seen in darkness and shadow were on clear display. While some of the typical menace might have been lost, like an empty theme park the sight was just unnerving to the uninitiated.

Cat would never admit to the relief at the sight, pausing on a stone garden wall to take it in. He'd be quick to say cats were not as fixated on the notion of home as humans and other creatures. But this was the place where he had begun his life, and the site of so many if not the majority of the major events that had shaped it and countless tiny moments that had come together to shape him.

Yes, a lesser attachment, did not mean he was detached.

The locals, which some might call his people, were about their leisure, those not sleeping the day away or sequestered otherwise from the sun. Day here was oft treated as night was elsewhere. Not a forbidden time, but a time of rest or liberty while the night was a time for wakeful duty and more wholesome activity. In short, traffic was sparse and thus easy to pass through unnoticed.

He was not about to waste time catching up when he knew exactly who he needed to see and give a piece of his mind to. Though he did not know where that someone was, exactly.

A clap of thunder crossed with an immense coughing sound shook the town, and even made Cat scramble for a moment to hold his feet. He spotted the source, a tower where red smoke was pouring out of every window and chimney.

Well, that was as good a place to start as any, Cat supposed.

Shortly:

Cat sat in the rafters, looking down on the strange room and feeling very satisfied with himself. He had found his goal in grand time; truly, he was a fine hunter.

The young king was trying to get a word in edgewise with the tower's owner, who was fawning over a bizarre machine that seemed composed of nearly every brass instrument known, and a third figure dressed in stained white and green gloves was waving a broom, trying to shoo the lingering fumes out the tall windows that had been opened to the sky.

"Yes, that must be it! The design is not flawed, something must have come loose below!" the pale figure with a steel-capped head said, rounding on the other two in his wheelchair.

"My boy, assist my assistant. Let us hoist the machine and reveal what component has proven lacking in its role!" the disabled one declared, his duck-like bill sneering at the machine as if it had offered him insult.

The assistant was eager, his one large eye gleaming as he seized a chain. The young king looked as if he would roll his eyes if he had any, but apparently done trying to get a word in, he seized the chain and added his own strength to hoisting the contraption into the air.

The very moment it was clear enough, the master of the tower rolled under it, muttering and brandishing a wrench. The assistant seemed to know when to stop, and his temporary helper followed suit. Between the two of them, the device seemed to offer no challenge even as the doctor cursed it, metal clanking on metal out of sight.

Deciding it was time to be about business, Cat descended with the ease typical of his kind. Taking a spot atop a stack of books next to the two hoisters, Cat smiled in his cat way.

"Jack Skellington, it's been awhile," Cat greeted.

The skeleton in the black and white suit lost his grip in surprise. As the device crashed and the doctor roared with rage, the Pumpkin King looked down on the cat in surprise while Igor rushed to aid his master.

"Black Cat? You came back?" Jack asked, stunned.

"What, did you think I was a goner? I've been right where you left me all this time, boy. But we can table that mistake for now. We need to talk, and sooner rather than later. Come along," Cat commanded, jumping down to the floor, making a beeline for the door. Jack glared after the cat, straightening his tie.

"Not a minute back and he's already acting like old times. Don't worry, Igor, I will send help!" Jack called as he opened the door for Cat.

"HAHA! This is it! The trombone was not properly tuned!" the doctor called out from within the wreck.

Author's Note:

Yes yes, another story. After years of tickling the back of my mind I tripped on this during my latest block on my ongoing stories. Scenes have come sporadically for months, and recently enough came together to get this first chapter up.

It was also nice to work with Trackula again on a transformation sequence.

So hopefully I will see you soon on another story. But I do hope you enjoyed this latest odd idea.

Long days and pleasant nights to you all.