She heard the shots as she hit the water, but she couldn't be concerned with Simon now. Sorry, Flash-lover, she thought to him as she dived downward. You're on your own ... Just like I am.

The shifting white mass became visible below her. God, I hate mice, she thought and immediately followed the thought with a plea. I don't mean I hate your mice, Mouse. It wouldn't be safe to offend Mouse here. Mouse was a strong spirit, sacred to the werewolves of New York and specificallly to those who lived and worked in Central Park.

Cait tumbled down through the water, beginning to lose a sense of which way was up and found herself tumbling right into the mass of scurrying, scrambling ghost mice at the bottom of Turtle Pond.

She screamed. It's just not wise to scream underwater.

The shadowy blackness broken only by the ghostly forms of helter-skelter mice became an inky blackness. Even the feel of the water faded.