In the beginning she tried using secondhand costumes from theatrical supply houses. She’d even tried making one herself. Nothing stood up to the punishment her alter ego gave it. Then one day a clumsily written letter slid under the door. The outside hall was eerily empty. The paper bore a sketch, a price, and an address where the transaction could be completed. It scared Selina witless, but she was ready to try anything. She assembled the asking price in gold and other specified substances, left it on a bench in a deserted courtyard, and found the leather costume laid across her bed one evening two weeks later.
As she smoothed the costume over her arms and legs, Selina Kyle vanished. The simpler Catwoman stood in her place.
“I’ll be back before dawn,” she whispered to the assembled pairs of glowing eyes. “Don’t wait up.” She eased along the ledge, around the corner, and was gone.
Between the tuna fish and the costume, Selina had considered other ways of resolving her curiosity. She briefly pictured herself at the mission. The doors of the mission were never closed, but the nuns weren’t foolish enough to stay downstairs after dark. If Selina went there now, she’d have to explain herself to the brawny ex-addicts who ran the night shelter like a marine boot camp. Not likely. She thought of telephoning Mother Joseph directly, but Old MoJo wouldn’t be in her office taking calls at this hour. Besides, Selina’s phone wasn’t working . . . again. One of the cats—she didn’t know which—had developed a taste for plastic wire insulation. It probably wasn’t good for the cat, but it was fatal for the phone.