Kitty Goes to Washington kn-2 Read online

  The art was, for the most part, incomprehensible without referring to the notes. Whitewashed papier-mache-looking objects projecting from the wall, spindly bits of found material built into the shape of a chair, that sort of thing. The reception was being held in honor of one of the artists, an unassuming middle-aged woman standing in a far corner of the room, surrounded by admirers. I hadn't figured out which pieces were hers, yet. Wasn't sure I wanted to, in case I was called upon to speak intelligently about them. I was more likely to say something monosyllabic like "Neat," or "Whoa," which probably wouldn't go over well.

  I parked by a Jackson Pollack painting, because I recognized it. Or recognized that this particular set of splatters was by Jackson Pollack.

  I looked at the art. Leo looked at everything else. His behavior was oppressively bodyguardish, though with his indifferently amused grin no one but me noticed. He appeared to be a laid-back guy whose girlfriend had dragged him along to see Culture.

  "So, Leo," I said, "where you from?"

  "To start? Leeds," he said. "Haven't been back in ages."

  Which could have meant anything to a vampire. "A few decades? A century? Two?"

  "I wouldn't want to deprive you of the mystery."

  "How long have you been with Alette?"

  "Isn't that the same question?"

  Well, couldn't fool him, could I? "Do you miss it?"

  "What? Why would I want to be there when I'm lucky enough to be here playing nanny to you?"

  Sue me for trying. I turned back to the wall and pretended he wasn't there. I couldn't, very well. His presence was like a rock in a stream, a cold solid place that all the life and movement in the room flowed around, avoiding. Without any overt gesture, he managed to keep himself apart from the crowd. I caught him staring at a woman across the room. She was young, dressed in slacks and a green blouse with a plunging neckline. She held a wineglass and absentmindedly ran a finger around the rim. She laughed at something the woman next to her said; her chin tipped up, exposing a slim, clean throat.

  Leo's stance was watchful, focused, and his gaze was hungry.

  Vampires hunted by seduction. Youth and beauty attracted them; they in turn made themselves attractive to youth and beauty. Leo was handsome, in a rakish, English way, dressed conservatively but smartly, and more importantly richly, and he'd most likely had decades to practice his pickup lines. She'd think she was being swept off her feet, and wouldn't know what really hit her.

  "You take a step in her direction, I'll run right over there and let her know that while they couldn't prove anything at the rape trial, she ought to keep her distance."

  He tried to keep his smirk in place, but his glare wasn't at all amused. "No one ever accuses you of being the life of the party, do they?"

  "You're never going to find out."

  He stepped closer and spoke so his breath touched my bare shoulder. "Werewolf blood is quite the delicacy. You might think of giving me a try. The experience isn't as one-sided as you might imagine."

  A shudder charged up my spine and my heart rate doubled. I took a step back, almost stumbling over my own feet. It was pure instinct, wolf backing into a corner and preparing for an attack, bracing for a chance to run.

  Leo laughed. He'd known exactly what button to push. I closed my eyes and straightened, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. Embarrassing, certainly. This was also proof at just how close to the edge I really was, how fine the line was between the two parts of my being. A little nudge like that, and I slid right over. If he'd pushed it, I might have started Changing right there, in self-defense.

  "Jerk," I muttered. "I need to use the ladies' room. I'll be back in a minute."

  "Take your time, take your time," he said and pointedly turned to continue visually menacing the woman across the room. I marched away.

  I didn't really have to use the bathroom. I leaned on the tile wall and pressed my hands to my cheeks, which were flushed and burning. I'd let him get to me, and I was more angry at myself than him for it. I liked to think I was better than that.

  I waited until my heartbeat had slowed and I felt calm again. Checking myself in the mirror, I smoothed out my dress and nodded, satisfied. I'd just ignore him.

  On the way out the door, I ran into a man exiting the men's room. I'd had my head down, not paying attention—not as calm and collected as I'd thought. I stumbled, and he grabbed my arm to steady me.

  I started to pull away and apologize, but I caught his scent, and it was wild. Fur and wilderness, open country under a full moon—not quite human. My eyes widened and my back tightened, like hackles rising.

  He stared back at me, eyes also wide, his nose flaring to take in my scent. He'd sensed me just as strongly as I'd sensed him. He was tall, with a strong face, brown eyes, and dark hair.

  For a moment, I tensed, ready to run, to flee what might have been a challenge; our wary gazes locked on each other. I didn't want to fight. I took a step back, but then his lips grew into a wondering smile. The expression said welcome. He didn't want to fight either.

  "I don't know you. Who are you?" He had an unidentifiable accent, though his English was crisp and clear.

  "Kitty," I said. "I've been looking for you. I mean, not you specifically, but—" He was a lycanthrope, but not a wolf. I couldn't identify the odd edge to his scent. "You're not wolf. What are you?"

  The smile turned playful. "Jaguar."

  "Really?" Awe filled my voice. That was so cool. "I had no idea."

  "That's clear. My name is Luis. I work at the Brazilian embassy. You—are you visiting Washington?"

  "Yes." We were just around the corner from the party. From Leo. I glanced nervously in that direction, expecting the vampire to walk in on us at any moment. I pulled Luis closer to the wall, as if that would hide us. "Luis, I was given to understand that the lycanthrope situation here is sort of unstable. Dangerous for strangers just passing through."

  His brow creased. "Who said this?"

  My hands wanted to clench, I was so nervous. I had so many questions, and I didn't know him at all, didn't know how he'd react, didn't know what I was getting myself into. But I was desperate for another source of information.

  "Alette," I told him.

  He shook his head and chuckled, but the gesture was humorless. "Alette, yes. She thinks we are rabble. Why have you spoken with her?"

  I winced. "It's a long story."

  "You should meet others of your kind, hear their side. I will take you there. No matter what she has told you, you will be safe."

  I'd just met him. I shouldn't have trusted him, but my curiosity quickly overcame any sense of caution. And I felt something else—a warm shiver that had nothing to do with our lycanthropy. I hadn't let go of his arm. His body was close to mine, and he was cute.

  "There's a problem. Alette sent Leo along to look after me. I don't think he'd be happy about this."

  He pursed his lips, serious for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder. "It isn't a problem. Come."

  He held my hand—his was warm and dry—and guided me away from the exhibit, around another corner to the service door where the catering staff passed back and forth with their trays of food and drink.

  Luis said, "Some vampires have lived like nobility for so long, they forget about the servants. He won't be watching this door."

  Sure enough, we traveled down a plain concrete corridor to a fire door and emerged onto the nighttime street. No one followed us.

  We walked along the Mall, which even at night hosted joggers, dog walkers, people strolling before or after a dinner out. After ten minutes or so I took off my heels and carried them. My feet tingled on the concrete sidewalk. Nighttime, and I felt like running. Full moon wasn't for another week, though. Luis glanced at me, gaze narrowed, lips in a wry smile, like he understood.

  Next we rode the Metro for a few stops, ending up a mile or so north from where we started. Luis led me on for a couple more blocks before stopping.

  "Her
e we are."

  A subtle shopfront sign, silver lettering on a blue background, lit by a small exterior light, announced the Crescent. Tinted windows didn't offer much of a view of the interior.

  "Upstairs is a Moroccan restaurant. Decent, a little pricey, but don't tell Ahmed I said that. We're going downstairs."

  Sure enough, we bypassed the brick stairs leading up and took the set winding down to a garden-level door. "Ahmed?"

  "He owns the place. You'll meet him if he's here tonight."

  I heard the music before Luis opened the door. Once he did, the sound opened up with all its richness and rhythm. Live music, not a recording. A Middle Eastern drum, a string instrument of some kind, and a flute. They weren't playing an identifiable song, but rather jamming on a traditional-sounding riff. It was fast, joyous, danceable.

  Once inside, I saw the trio of musicians seated on chairs near the bar: one was white, one black, the other Arabic-looking. The whole place had an international feel to it, and I heard conversations in a few different languages. Cloth hangings decorated the walls, and while the area inside the door looked like any other bar, farther inside there weren't any chairs, but large cushions and pillows surrounding low tables. Oil lamps and candles provided light. I smelled curry and wine in the air.

  A guy who couldn't possibly have been old enough to serve drinks was behind the bar, drying glasses. A few patrons sat nearby on bar stools, tapping their feet or nodding along to the music. A woman in a full skirt and peasant blouse danced—I supposed it was belly dancing, but my image of belly dancing was totally different. She was all about grace and joy of movement, not the I Dream of Jeannie fantasy. Her dark hair trailed in a braid that swung as she turned, and she wore a distant smile.

  Another dozen people sat at the tables, watching the dancer or the musicians, talking among themselves, reclining on cushions, eating, and drinking. It was a calm, leisurely party, a nightclub of sorts, drawing people for conversation and atmosphere.

  All of them were lycanthropes.

  I stopped, shocked into immobility. I hadn't sensed this many lycanthropes in one place since I was with the pack. I had never seen this many in one place without them glaring at each other, stalking, picking fights, jockeying for position within the pack hierarchy. At the very least, if they weren't fighting they were cowering before the leader who kept them in line, who made peace by force. There was no leader here, not that I could see.

  "Is something wrong?" Luis said.

  "No, it's just—I wasn't expecting this. All of them in one place. It's overwhelming."

  "You have always been alone, then?"

  "I used to have a pack. But it was nothing like this."

  He said, "Can I get you a drink?"

  I probably needed one. "Wine. White. I think."

  Two filled wineglasses in hand, Luis led me to the back half of the club, where we could sit in relative quiet. His face lit when he came to a small group gathered in a corner.

  "Ahmed! You are here."

  "Luis!" A large man rose to his feet more gracefully than I would have given him credit for. He displaced his friends to one side, who amiably continued their conversation without him. He managed to clap Luis on the shoulders without making him spill a drop of wine. He had a faint accent, thoroughly Americanized. "Good to see you, I was beginning to think you'd abandoned us at last."

  "I've been busy."

  Ahmed turned to me. He had olive features, black hair and dark stubble, a good deal of paunch without the impression of softness. It made him seem round and jovial. Over his shirt and trousers, he wore a flowing, pale-colored robe, which made him fit perfectly with the atmosphere of the place.

  He was wolf. I pictured a great, grizzled old hulk of a wolf standing in his place. The image made me want to whine in terror and be on my best behavior. I suppressed an urge to inch closer to Luis and take shelter behind him.

  Ahmed's gaze flashed, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on other werewolves.

  "Luis, you seem to have gotten lucky tonight. Welcome, welcome!"

  He offered his hand. Gratefully, I took it. I clung to normalcy when I could. He covered my hand with both of his and smiled warmly.

  "Who might you be?"

  "Kitty."

  "Kitty. Kitty Norville? The Midnight Hour?"

  Heaven forbid there should be more than one werewolf named Kitty loose in the world. I grinned, stupidly pleased at the recognition. "That's right."

  Luis stared at me. "You're that Kitty? You didn't say anything."

  "It didn't come up. You guys listen to the show?"

  Ahmed shrugged noncommittally and Luis ducked his gaze.

  "Of course I've heard it," Ahmed said. "A couple of times. But I have friends who are great fans, trust me."

  I wrapped my arm around Luis's and took a glass of wine from him. The evening was looking much less bleak than it had a couple of hours ago. In fact, it was looking positively glorious.

  "It's okay. I'm used to people not admitting they listen to it. Let's sit, you guys have to tell me about all this." I looked around at the room, the musicians, and the lycanthropes gathered together.

  "Excellent idea!" Ahmed said.

  Becoming a lycanthrope usually happened by accident, and it often didn't change the ambitions a person may have had before. The need to travel for a career, the desire to see the world, these things didn't just vanish. Lycanthropy often made them problematic, but people learned to deal with it. It was easier for some than others. Many of the other lycanthrope varieties weren't tied to packs, like werewolves typically were. But even solitary beasts had the problem of territory. Our animal instincts sometimes got the better of us, and travel meant the possibility of infringing on someone else's space, especially during full moon nights, when those instincts were most powerful. As I had quickly learned myself, the one thing a traveling lycanthrope needed more than anything was a safe place to Change and run during the full moon.

  As home to the federal government, a bunch of embassies, and a couple of major universities, Washington, D.C., had a vibrant international community, and the lycanthropes were part of it. The Crescent gave them a safe place to gather.

  Ahmed explained all this. "We who travel know there is no time for fighting. Death comes to us all and it is a tragedy to hasten it. We have much better things to do than continually fight over who among us is strongest. So, here we are. There are places like this in many large cities: New York, San Francisco, London, Istanbul."

  If T.J. had had a place like this, if Carl had been more like Ahmed, if we could have all acted a little more civilized—too many ifs. I needed too many it's to keep T.J. alive.

  Ahmed pointed out a few of the patrons: Marian, the dancer, was a were-jackal from Egypt who had immigrated and was working to bring her sister over. Yutaka, near the bar, was a history student from Japan and a were-fox. The musicians: two wolves and a tiger. Ahmed also mentioned a friend of his who wasn't here tonight, a professor who had defected from Russia in the seventies, who was a bear. I couldn't even picture what a were-bear would be like. The place was a zoo.

  It was also a paradise, a Utopia, at least to my admittedly inexperienced eyes. I heard a lot of stories from doing the show—but then, people only called me with their problems. I'd only ever heard, and lived, the worst of it. I never heard about how things worked when they were going well.

  The wine made me weepy. I wiped my eyes before tears could fall. Luis handed me a clean napkin from the next table over.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Yeah. This is so different from anything I've known. I never thought it could be like this. Everybody's getting along. You're all so friendly."

  "I'm happy we could make you welcome here."

  Ahmed said, "Your experience. What's it like?"

  I shook my head absently. I wasn't sure I could put it into words. "Power. Jealousy. There was an alpha, and he protected us. But he controlled us as well. I had to fight for any kin
d of respect, but I refused in the end. It was all fighting and death. I had to leave. Then I get here, and Alette feeds me this line about the local lycanthropes being chaotic and dangerous, that they'd try to hurt me, and it was so easy to believe her. But she lied to me."

  Ahmed shook his head. "Perhaps not from her point of view. Alette mistrusts us all because there is no alpha, no one she can negotiate with or control. That is why she says we are dangerous."

  "You'd give her the benefit of the doubt?"

  "I've encountered many of her kind, and I think she means well, in her own way. Her worst fault is arrogance."

  I had to chuckle at that, but the sound turned bitter. I wondered if it was too late to refuse Alette's hospitality. I could stay here the whole time.

  The woman had stopped dancing. The musicians played slower songs now, gentle background music as they experimented with each other's sounds and harmonies. The evening seemed to be winding down; a few people were leaving, waving at friends as they left. I wasn't ready for the night to be over. I wasn't ready to leave this place.

  Luis put his arm around my shoulders, a warm, comforting contact. I leaned back and nestled against him. With him on one side, and Ahmed on the other, gazing serenely over his domain, I felt like I'd rediscovered the very best part of having a pack of my own: the safety, the protection. Friends all around me who wanted to keep me warm and safe. It was how I'd felt before T.J. was killed. I didn't think I'd ever find that again.

  Ahmed looked at me, his lips pursed studiously. "You know the story of Daniel, yes?"

  I searched my groggy mind. I felt like a puppy napping in a friendly lap. I didn't want to have to think. "Daniel?"

  "The story of Daniel and the lion's den."

  "That Daniel? Sure," I said. It was a Bible story. In ancient Persia, Daniel was persecuted for his belief in God and tossed into a den of lions to be eaten. In the story, God sent angels to hold the lions' mouths closed, and he emerged from the den unscathed.

  "Yes," Ahmed said. "Do you know why Daniel survived?"

  "It's a story about faith. God was supposed to have protected him."