Kitty Rocks the House Page 2

  “No, I don’t believe that. I’ve got a couple of leads,” I said.

  I had my own networks, my own resources to tap when a supernatural problem presented itself. Tina McCannon, resident psychic for the TV show Paradox PI, hadn’t known anything about the coins offhand, but offered to scry for information. She’d handle the coins herself the next time she was in Denver. Odysseus Grant, a magician hiding in plain sight with his own Vegas stage show, knew about the Long Game and what it meant. He offered to research the coins as well, but hadn’t found anything yet. Then there was Cormac, right here in Denver.

  Nasser furrowed a skeptical brow, and who could blame him? If a thousand-year-old vampire couldn’t find a powerful wizard, could a loudmouth nearly-thirty werewolf do it?

  “Even if we can’t find a way to use them,” Nasser said, “they are proof that Roman can be defeated. His followers can be defeated. There are many more like us, who do not wish to trade our autonomy for power, to sacrifice ourselves to some arcane war. No matter what great reward was promised to us.”

  “What great reward is that?” I asked.

  “Dominion over humanity,” he said matter-of-factly. “We emerge from the shadows, not to live as equals among the mortals, but to rule over them as a shepherd does his flock.”

  I’d heard vague gossip along those lines for years. The rumors were easy to dismiss because they sounded like something out of a bad thriller. But having met Roman, having fought him and his followers, I could well believe that this was their goal.

  It would be easy to sit back and scoff that this could never happen, that vampires would never accomplish such an outrageous objective. Mortal humans outnumbered them. But Roman’s vampires had a plan. They were slowly coming into the public eye. Broadway star Mercedes Cook had publicly declared herself a vampire—she was one of Roman’s. A respected historian had published a book of interviews with vampires giving their eyewitness accounts of great events in history—the defeat of the Spanish Armada, the Battle of Agincourt, the army of Genghis Khan. That one infuriated me—I’d have given any of those vampires an interview slot on my show. But I had a feeling they were all followers of Roman, which meant they’d never talk to me. They were building public trust—promoting themselves, promoting vampires in general. Getting on the good side of public opinion, inserting themselves into pop culture—probably exerting influence over the politicians of a dozen countries as well. If … when … if vampires managed to take over, they’d probably convince us it was humanity’s idea to let them do so all along.

  If they succeeded, vampires like Roman and his followers would make werewolves their slaves, their enforcers in this new world order. I couldn’t let that happen; I had a pack to protect.

  So we gathered allies of our own. As Nasser said, many vampires didn’t want to trade their autonomy for some future, nebulous power. They didn’t want to be in Roman’s debt, or wear his coins.

  “Can it really happen?” I asked. “How close is it to happening?”

  “I don’t know,” Nasser said, which wasn’t comforting. “He has been traveling across Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and North Africa for two thousand years. The Americas and Australia, he does not have such a firm hold on. He’s sent followers and has come here himself only recently. Only a few cities in South America have Families—I hesitate to guess how many of them owe their allegiance to Dux Bellorum. I’m also not certain of Australia. As far as I know, no vampires live in Antarctica.”

  “I’d have thought the long winter nights would be just the thing for you guys,” I said.

  “Perhaps. But the food supply is a bit wanting.”

  I didn’t want to think about that too hard.

  Nasser went on, “For centuries, the few of us who knew of him, who knew of his plans, have worked in secret. We couldn’t investigate him and his followers, or we’d risk retribution. Roman is ruthless, and he strikes from afar, sending his followers. But now—I hardly know what to think. We are moving into the open. We have some initiative. We have you to thank for that.”

  “Don’t thank me,” I said. “I may have just blown our cover. Given them a target.”

  His smile was thin. “Oh no. They have chosen to battle in the arena of public discourse, that is where we will face them.”

  “Organized resistance exists, then,” Rick said. “What can we do to help?”

  “For now, we need aid and support for those of us who travel, who move from city to city in an effort to identify his followers. Often, we can inspire the followers of a city’s Master to rebel, to free their Family from Dux Bellorum’s influence.”

  “Anastasia worked on this,” I said.

  “Yes. There are a few others, like her. Have you heard from her? I haven’t had word of her in years.”

  Now, that was a story. “She’s … not with us anymore.”

  “That’s … that’s terrible news. How was she destroyed?”

  “She wasn’t. I mean, she’s not dead. Dead dead. She … there was this goddess, see, and … and I prefer to think of her as battling evil in another dimension.” I blinked hopefully; he regarded me blankly, nonplussed. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. She’s fine, really. She’s just not here.”

  The perplexed lilt to his brow indicated that my explanation hadn’t helped at all.

  “That’s unfortunate,” he said. “She was a good ally.”

  “I think she still is.” We just didn’t know where she was, or how to contact her, or what she could do …

  Rick said, “How do we proceed, then?”

  Nasser said, “If those we must persuade to our cause believe that we’re the stronger side, we have a chance. Kitty, you may be the most important ally of all—you can do this more easily than any of us, through your show and in your writings.”

  I was afraid he was going to say that. “I’m getting in a little bit of trouble for that.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way to persevere.”

  If we didn’t come up with a specific plan of action, we at least had an agenda. A mission, of sorts. If enough of us out there were holding the line, maybe we could stop Roman.

  Rick and Nasser started trading gossip about acquaintances, more centuries-old beings and shadow histories. I had the feeling of being a fly on the wall, listening to two immortals speak of years as if they were hours. I couldn’t comprehend. But I tried.

  Then Nasser turned to me. “Did Marid really call you a Regina Luporum?”

  Rick raised an eyebrow, waiting for my answer, and I blushed. Regina Luporum, queen of the wolves. Marid—a twenty-eight-hundred-year-old vampire who I’d met in London, easily the oldest vampire I’d ever encountered—suggested the idea originated with the wolf who’d fostered Romulus and Remus, and who’d helped found Rome. He said he’d called me that because I stood up for werewolves when few others did. It wasn’t an official title, it didn’t mean I was queen of anything. It was more like … a hope. I was still trying to decide how I felt about the label.

  “Maybe,” I said, noncommittal. “Not that it means anything.”

  “I think it means I shouldn’t underestimate you.” He smiled like it was a joke, which was a bit how I’d regarded it when Marid called me it the first time. Nasser turned back to Rick. “You meet with who, next? Mistress of Buenos Aires, yes?”

  “Her representative, I think,” Rick said. “You’re the only one bold enough to leave your city in the hands of your followers.”

  “Ironic, as I’m the one advocating rebellion among others. But I trust my Family. As do you, I’m sure, Ricardo? As Kitty trusts her pack.”

  I looked at Rick, interested, because I didn’t know his answer to the question. He’d taken over this Family by force. Did any of the previous Master’s followers resent him?

  “I believe my Family is satisfied with the current management,” Rick said.

  Nasser laughed. “Spoken like an American! You truly are of this country and no
t of the old Families.” Rick tipped his head in agreement. “She will be a good ally, I think. Her city has not been home to vampires for long—she has been its only Mistress. She’ll not want to give up her place to Roman. I must confess that I worry about the two of you. You have made targets of yourselves, and you’re both so young. I could send you help—extra foot soldiers, perhaps. Guardians to keep watch over you and yours.”

  I had a hard time thinking of Rick as young. To Nasser, everyone must seem young. He meant well, I was sure, but I bristled. I didn’t appreciate the suggestion that I was weak. I’d worked so hard not to appear so.

  “Thanks, but we’ve done okay so far.”

  “Your offer is generous,” Rick added, more politely. “But I think we’ll be all right.”

  Sometime after midnight, we stood from the sofa and chairs, made our farewells, as if this were an ordinary dinner party in an ordinary house.

  “How long will you be staying in Denver?” I asked Nasser.

  “Tomorrow night I leave for Washington, D.C., to visit with Alette. But tonight, Rick has offered me the hospitality of Denver.” The two vampires shared a sly smile between old friends.

  I decided I didn’t want to know. Rick had his ways and means, and as long as they didn’t involve dead bodies, I wasn’t going to ask.

  “Well then. I suppose I’ll leave you to it.”

  “It was very good to meet you, Katherine,” Nasser said.

  My throat tightened, thinking of my grandmother. But the moment passed. “Nice to meet you, too. Keep in touch.”

  “Assuredly.”

  Nasser went ahead to speak with his entourage, and I hung back with Rick.

  “You have an opinion,” he said.

  I shrugged. “He seems to know a lot. I definitely like the idea of getting more information, of organizing. I just…”

  “Seems a bit like putting your finger in the hole in the dike and hoping.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  * * *

  BEN WAS working when I got home. His briefcase was open on the floor beside him, papers spread out on his desk in the corner of the living room. He was a law firm of one, a criminal defense attorney, and a few of his clients were prone to calling him from jail late at night.

  “Well?” Ben said, turning away from his desk when I shut the door behind me.

  “That was interesting,” I said. He raised a brow. I supposed I could have been a little more specific. “I like Nasser. He’s creepy, but he seems sensible. For a vampire.”

  “I suppose that’s encouraging,” Ben said, his tone neutral.

  “You could have gone to meet him.”

  He nodded at the briefcase. “I think I’d rather spend all night springing clients from the drunk tank. So, is there a plan? Does this guy have a way of getting at Roman?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a plan. But he has his network, we have ours, and the more allies we have the stronger we are. At least that’s the theory.”

  “It certainly can’t hurt. By any chance did he call you Regina Luporum?”

  “I’m never going to live that down,” I said.

  “I think you should embrace it. It has a nice ring to it.” He was grinning.

  “In fact, Nasser implied that I was too young and inexperienced to get much of anything done. He offered to send bodyguards. Of course, he implied the same about Rick so I’m thinking he treats everyone like that.”

  “And that’s another reason it’s a good thing I didn’t go.” He reached out a hand, and I moved forward to take it, letting him pull me close, wrapping his arms around me. His warmth, the pressure of his embrace, chased away some of the night’s tension. Better to leave Nasser, Roman, the Long Game, Regina Luporum, and all of it, outside.

  “Please tell me you’re done working for the night,” I said, leaning in to kiss his scalp.

  “I am now,” he said.

  “Good.”

  Chapter 3

  FRIDAY NIGHT saw me where most Friday nights saw me: at the KNOB main studio, in front of the monitor and microphone, watching for the next entertaining morsel.

  “Welcome back to The Midnight Hour. I’m going to take the next call, now. Diane from Eugene, you’re on the air.”

  She came on breathless, exhausted. “Hi, Kitty, thanks so much for taking my call, you have no idea how much it means.”

  “You’re welcome, Diane. What’s your problem?”

  “It’s my husband. I think—I think he’s a zombie.”

  I smiled. “Believe it or not, I get this one a lot. Can you describe his behavior? Why do you think he’s a zombie?”

  She huffed. “He doesn’t do anything! He sits on the sofa all day watching TV and that’s it.”

  Leaning into the mike, I said, “I’m not sure that makes him a zombie. Lazy, but not zombie, you know?”

  “But he doesn’t even get up for meals. If I put a sandwich in his hand he’ll eat it. He shuffles to the bathroom a couple of times a day. But ask him to come to the table? Take out the trash? Wash the car? It’s like I’m not even here.”

  Oh, to have a secret video feed into her world. Radio was a challenge, because the only information I had to go on was what she told me and the tone and quality of her voice. She sounded desperate, and the details could have meant anything. I had to dig.

  “How long has this been going on? Did you notice anything strange about him around the time it started? Did he have contact with anyone you don’t know?”

  “He works in construction. Or he used to. He could have been in contact with anyone. He just came home one day, sat down on the sofa, and that was it. That was a month ago. He’s lost his job, and I can’t go on like this.”

  “What exactly are his symptoms? Can he move? Do his eyes focus? Does he say anything or just make noises, or nothing at all?”

  “His skin’s kind of clammy. He smells kind of rank. And he doesn’t do anything. That’s why I figured he must be a zombie.”

  “Or he hasn’t taken a shower in a month. The reason I’m asking all this is because I encountered a zombie once, and it’s … well, it’s a form of poisoning, may be the best way to describe it. It damages neurological function. If he really is a zombie, I think it would be more obvious.”

  “What do you mean if?”

  “Because zombies don’t just sit there. They’re enslaved to someone, and they’re compelled to follow that person, or search for the supernatural element that binds them to their captor. So I’m thinking something else is going on—not that it’s not a problem, mind you. But this may be more … how do I put this? Psychological rather than supernatural.” I tried to find a way to soften how this sounded. “Has your husband ever been diagnosed with depression? Have you considered that he may need help? I mean, more help than a late-night radio talk show can offer.”

  “Wait a minute—you think he may just be depressed?”

  I winced. “I don’t think there’s any just about it. I tell you what—either way, this is a medical issue. You should really call a doctor.” I didn’t wait for her response, because I wasn’t qualified to diagnose a case of depression over the radio or anywhere else, and I didn’t want her trying to argue with me about whether or not he needed real help. I hoped she listened to me. Really, though, all I could do was switch to a different line. “Next caller, you’re on the air.”

  Ozzie, station manager and producer of the show, sat in a corner of the studio beaming at me. He was an aging hippy, complete with thin gray ponytail and a lot of attitude. I tried to ignore him, forcing the frown off my face. He’d decided to sit in on the show tonight, to “observe” as he’d put it. He’d done that a lot over the last few months, in an effort to keep me in line. Making sure I didn’t climb on any conspiracy soapbox regarding vampires taking over the world. I’d tried that, and had lost some credibility—and market share. Ozzie wanted that market share back. Stick to what I knew, he insisted: human interest, fluffy features, sensationalist advice. “That’s always be
en the meat of your show. Your bread and butter,” he’d say. I’d tell him to stop mixing metaphors because it was giving me a headache.

  But he was right. My ratings stopped falling when I stopped talking about vampire conspiracies. So much for getting the word out.

  “Hi, Kitty. Thanks for taking my call. I have a really serious question.” He was male, soft-spoken, grim.

  “They’re all serious, as far as I’m concerned.” You wouldn’t necessarily know that by listening to me.

  “Yes, but, this is really serious.”

  “Okay, lay it on me.”

  “Do you believe in interspecies dating?”

  I’d even gotten this one before, though maybe not in such blunt terms. “What, you mean dogs and cats, living together?”

  “I mean do you think a relationship between, oh, like a vampire and a werewolf, or a were-lion and a normal human could ever work?”

  “You call that interspecies dating, do you?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  I double-checked the name on the monitor. “Well, Ted, I believe we’re all human beings. A relationship between any of them has about as much chance of working out as a relationship between any other combination of people. Nothing interspecies about it.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  I decided to be difficult. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Care to explain it to me?”

  “They may have started out human, but they’re nothing alike. How are they supposed to have relationships when they have nothing in common?”

  “Except that they’re all human, at the core,” I said, insistent.

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “Did you call in to argue with me about it?”

  “No, I just wanted to ask, and I think you’re wrong. It’s been proven over and over again.”

  This was where I was supposed to say, Some of my best friends are vampires … “Proven by whom?” I said instead, and didn’t give him a chance to answer. “While I do think it’s difficult for an uninfected human being or mortal lycanthrope and a vampire to carry on a relationship, because they age and the vampire doesn’t, I know it can work because I’ve seen it happen. As cliché as it sounds there really are cases where love conquers … if not all, then a lot.”