Kitty Raises Hell Read online

  “Because this isn’t about the TV show anymore—this thing is dangerous. I thought I could help. That I might be able to do some good.” She crossed her arms and looked away. I wondered if she regretted revealing herself.

  Jules sat back, rubbing his face and staring into space. “God. God.” I worried that something in his brain might have snapped.

  “Jules? You okay?” I said.

  His smile was sad. He spoke to Tina. “You know, I’m not surprised. I’ve worked so hard, searching for evidence. I’ve tried to be so thorough. But you’ve always seemed to have this talent. That’s why the show works, not because of my methodology, but because of your talent. Things just happen when you’re around. What I wouldn’t give for an ounce, a microgram, of what you have. To be able to touch it, just a little bit. I’ve been looking for it my whole life, and I’m as far away from it as ever.”

  “Try walking into an old church, and the whole thing just presses on you like a weight because there’s so much there,” Tina said. “I hate it, Jules. I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

  And that was how we all grew closer and learned to share in a very special episode of Paradox PI.

  “I hate to interrupt,” I said. “But we’re still not any closer to figuring out what it is that’s after me. Did you get anything out of that séance?”

  “Besides the fact that there’s some seriously pissed-off mojo floating around you?” Tina said.

  “That’s obvious and not helpful,” I said. “Did you sense anything?”

  “Yes. No.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “Well, we know a few things about it,” Jules said. “It’s violent, destructive, and associated with fire. I could do some research. I’d need to get back to some of my books, contact some people I know in the SPR.”

  Tina smiled the smile that had probably helped get her the job on the show. “See, we need you!”

  “Huh?” Jules said.

  “You were worried that we didn’t need you because you aren’t psychic, but you know way more than the rest of us. I could never do that kind of research.”

  Jules smirked. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  I said, “Tina. You felt this thing, or whatever it is that psychics do. What’s it like?”

  Tina shrugged. “Probably nothing you don’t already know about it. Heat. Malice. Fire. Destruction. It’s what ties all this together, isn’t it?”

  My head ached, I was so exhausted. I seemed to remember eating something today, but I couldn’t remember what. And I was scared to go home. Scared to stay here. Just scared.

  “Maybe we should get some sleep,” I said. “Maybe this will seem clearer in the morning.” And maybe pigs would fly.

  “It’s noon in Britain,” Jules said. “I’ll make some calls and see if some of my contacts have any information.”

  “I’ll go check on Gary,” Tina said.

  We parted reluctantly, even though we all needed to sleep, even though no amount of hashing it out over coffee would solve the problem. But there was safety in numbers. Comfort in the shared experience. We could look each other in the eyes and know that it really happened, that we weren’t going crazy. We promised to leave our cell phones on and call the minute, the second, anything weird happened.

  When we arrived home, I half expected to see the condo spewing flames and surrounded by fire trucks. But it was quiet.

  The best part about having Ben around—rather, one of the best parts—was finding myself in his arms at the end of a really rough day. Assuming, of course, that arguing with him hadn’t been part of what made the day rough. Usually, though, I could count on him to hold me and tell me everything was going to be fine. Even if the tone in his voice wasn’t convincing. That night, he was cold and clinging to me as much as I was clinging to him. Neither of us fell asleep easily, and we woke up far earlier than we wanted to.

  Not able to fight my way back to sleep, I left Ben in bed, pulled on an oversize T-shirt, and wandered to the living room.

  My head pounded, and my eyes were caked with grime. My hair smelled like soot and fire. Fire. No wonder I felt boiled and limp. I didn’t want to see what New Moon looked like in the daylight. Seeing the damage in detail would probably break my heart.

  I checked my phone. It hadn’t rung, which I took as a good sign.

  The first person I called was Shaun. I needed to tell him what had happened before the lunch crew showed up for its shift and saw the damage firsthand. We needed a plan to get the place repaired and functional.

  As the phone rang, I squeezed my eyes shut really tight. I still didn’t want to tell him. Like if I didn’t say the words “New Moon almost burned down,” I didn’t have to believe it.

  Shaun picked up. “Kitty.”

  “Hi, Shaun. How are you?”

  “I don’t know—how are you?” His voice was coy.

  Deep breath. Had to get it out. “Not good. There was an accident at the restaurant last night—”

  “I know,” he said. “It was in the paper this morning.”

  “What?” I was relieved and chagrined. I didn’t have to explain, but—he was going to yell at me for not calling him last night, wasn’t he?

  But he didn’t. “Is everyone okay?”

  “One person’s in the hospital,” I said.

  “Shit,” he said. “What are we going to do?”

  “Make repairs. Reopen as soon as we can.” We had to continue, onward and upward. What choice did we have?

  “Does the fire have anything to do with that thing that went after us the other night?” His voice was numb, like he didn’t want to believe it had really happened, either, and didn’t want to give voice to the truth.

  “Probably,” I said, wincing. “It had the same smell.”

  “When’s it going to stop? How are we going to stop it?”

  Saying I don’t know would have been the truth. But it would also be a sign of weakness. It would be admitting that I was floundering. And I couldn’t show that kind of weakness and still keep the pack together. I had to be the strong one. If the others lost confidence in me . . . well, I didn’t want to go there. It didn’t matter if I had any confidence in myself. I just had to convince them I did.

  “I’m working on it, Shaun. I’m sorry I don’t have a better answer than that.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I will. Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye. I’d make it up to him, I promised myself. I’d make this right.

  Next I called Tina for an update on Gary. Jules answered her phone.

  “We’re still at the hospital,” he said. “Tina finally conked out, so I’m letting her sleep.”

  “How’s Gary?”

  “Awake, but groggy. He doesn’t really remember what happened. But he’s going to be okay.”

  I repeated my promise to myself: No one was going to die. We’d figure this thing out.

  “Any other news on your end?” I said.

  “Not yet. I’m waiting to get replies to some of my e-mails and calls. We still need to talk about what we’re doing next. We could meet this afternoon, if you like.”

  “Sounds good.” We agreed on a time and place—the hospital cafeteria—and said our farewells.

  I made another call. Grant picked up on the first ring.

  “You’re probably getting sick of hearing from me,” I said.

  The barest hint of a smile touched his voice. “If I were, I wouldn’t answer the phone.”

  Ah, the magic of caller ID. What did we ever do without it? Strangely enough, I was comforted.

  “What’s happened?” he said.

  “There was a fire.”

  I told him, starting with the incident with the van, even including the part about the Ouija board, even though that was a little embarrassing. I didn’t want to leave anything out in case it turned out to be important. But we�
�d had enough attacks now to discern a pattern: heat and fire. Something invisible that struck suddenly and left no trace.

  “It’s rare finding someone who can read anything through a Ouija board. It’s not the most efficient tool.”

  And I’d been worried that he’d make fun of me for going along with it. Grant seemed to take everything seriously.

  “What is an efficient tool?” I said.

  “Oh, this and that.”

  The trouble with the real-deal psychics and magicians is they didn’t like to talk about what they could do. Like Tina covering it up because she wanted her colleagues to take her seriously.

  “What does something like this?”

  “I’m starting to get some ideas,” he said.

  “What are we supposed to do in the meantime? This thing is getting more violent. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “What do you know about protective magic?”

  “You can crush St. John’s Wort pills and scatter them with breadcrumbs to get rid of a fairy,” I said.

  After a pause, he said, “I didn’t know that. Interesting.”

  Hey, my side gets a point on supernatural Jeopardy. That was a switch.

  “But that’s probably not going to be useful here,” Grant said.

  Oh well.

  “Try this instead.” Grant gave me directions: “Take the dust from a ruin—”

  “Ruin? Like old temple, Roman aqueduct? How am I going to get—”

  “You live in a city—what’s been knocked down recently? An abandoned shed going to weed will work just as well. Mix it with blood—”

  “How much blood? Human blood? I’m trying not to kill people here—”

  “Cow, sheep, pig, chicken. Special order it from a butcher shop. Not human.”

  Grant was being very patient with me. “Oh. That makes sense.”

  “Mix the dust and blood, then sprinkle the mixture around whatever you need protected. Probably the homes of everyone who’s involved. Any other structures. You can even carry a jar of it with you, to use in a pinch.”

  Kind of gross. But I wasn’t going to question it. “What kind of spell is that?”

  “I adapted it from an old Egyptian potion. Ideally, it’ll form a protective barrier.”

  “And it works?”

  “In at least one case it did, yes.”

  Now, there was a story I needed to get. But later, when this was over and we were all still alive.

  “Thanks. We’ll give it a try.”

  “This still won’t stop it,” he said. “This isn’t an ideal solution. I’ll try to come up with something better.”

  “I appreciate the help.”

  “I took it upon myself to keep that group from causing trouble. Much of this is my responsibility.”

  Grant was usually calm, emotionless, a good guy to have at your back. But he was sounding downright frustrated.

  “There’s only one of you and like a dozen of them. Just think how much damage they’d be doing if you weren’t there.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so.”

  I tried to sound cheerful. “Let me know when you come up with anything else. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Until then.”

  We clicked off and I felt better, because now I had something I could do. I started thinking about taking a shower.

  By this time Ben had gotten up and was making phone calls of his own, in bed, a pen and notepad beside him.

  I said, “Grant has this protection spell I want to try, but I have to get ingredients. Do you want to come?”

  He glanced up. “Do you need me to?”

  “No, I guess not.” We were married, after all. Not attached at the hip.

  “I still have to call the insurance company and try to figure out what we’re going to do about New Moon. I called the fire department a little while ago. They’re going to inspect the building for structural and gas-line damage, but if it checks out we should be able to make repairs and open back up in a couple of weeks.”

  Which was good news. We were still in the game.

  “Call me if anything happens,” I said.

  “You too. Be careful.”

  Which, when Ben said it, also sounded like “I love you.”

  Chapter 8

  It turned out you really could go to the butcher shop and get blood. It wasn’t easy—I had to call all over town to find one that could special order it from their slaughterhouse. But I found one that was willing—and they were certainly willing to charge me for it. I also got a couple of steaks to go along with the blood. Any excuse.

  For the ruin, I went to where a set of 1920s townhouses was being—tragically, in my opinion—torn down to make way for high-priced lofts. I had always wondered what made a place a loft rather than an apartment or condo. I figured it had to be the outrageous price. Around back, the crews weren’t watching, so I was able to get to the roofless, half-knocked-in building and scoop up a bucketful of dirt and debris.

  When I mixed the two ingredients, I ended up with a dark, sticky, smelly paste. Plaster of Paris from hell. The stuff reeked. I separated it out into a dozen mason jars, hoping it would be enough. I hadn’t realized how much I had to protect.

  The first place I anointed was New Moon. The building was still intact, after all, even though the doors had yellow tape sealing them off and a sign from the fire department declaring that the building was awaiting inspection. I stared at the facade a long time. From the outside, no damage was visible. Lycanthropic vision was pretty good for seeing in the dark, so I peered through the window of the front door, searching the shadows. Tables and chairs were scattered. Puddles spotted the floor. Scorch marks streaked from the kitchen. I could smell soot, sulfur, brimstone. The Ouija board still lay there, abandoned.

  I didn’t want to think about it any more than that.

  I walked around the building clockwise, because for some reason these things were always done clockwise, using a spoon to dribble out spots of Egyptian blood potion. If this didn’t work, I’d look really silly. And if it did, how would I know? What if the thing didn’t attack us here again? Would the potion have protected us, or would it be a coincidence? I could begin to see how superstitions like this got started. If you got a hot date the one day you happened to be carrying a rabbit’s foot—well, why not?

  But at least I was doing something.

  Ben pulled up in his car just as I was finishing the bloody circle. He wore his “threw it on as I was leaving the house” look: rumpled trousers, rumpled shirt, brown jacket, hair brushed back from his face, obviously with his fingers. He smelled clean and showered.

  “Hey!” I grinned at him as he came to meet me.

  “Hey—oh, my God, what is that? Did you put that around the whole building?” His nose wrinkled, and he glared with disgust at the jar of bloody goo.

  “It’s the dust of a ruin mixed with blood. Odysseus Grant’s protection spell. It’s supposed to keep nasty spirits away,” I said.

  “I can see why—it’ll keep anything away. Gah!”

  Sensitive werewolf noses. By this time, I’d gotten used to the reek.

  “What brings you out here?” I said.

  “I’m supposed to meet the investigator and insurance adjuster in half an hour. I have a feeling the insurance company is going to want to call it arson and fraud.”

  “Arson! Are they kidding?”

  He shrugged. “We were there when the fire started. And in a way, ‘weird-ass supernatural attack’ might be classified as arson.”

  I groaned. “Great. That’s just great.”

  “Don’t worry, I think we have the investigator on our side. He’s talking something about a gas leak igniting particulate matter in the air. A big whoosh with no outright boom. If the insurance company buys the explanation, we’re set.”

  Another car, an old, small-size pickup, pulled up to the curb and parked behind Ben’s. My poor little burned-out building sure had a lot of visitors.
r />   “Is that your investigator?” I said, even as I knew I was wrong, because I recognized the truck. It was Mick’s. Sure enough, Mick and Shaun got out. Both were frowning, walking with their shoulders bunched up, surly.

  “Oh, this can’t be good,” I murmured. These were two of the pack’s strongest wolves, apart from me and Ben. In fact, in a straight-up fight, they were probably stronger. We were the alphas because they let us be. Because they trusted us.

  “Hi, Shaun,” I said. “You’re in time to walk through with Ben and the investigator. You can see exactly what the damage is.”

  He pressed his lips, nodded. Peered in through the front door like I had, searching, and I hoped the fact that not much was visible from here made him feel better. Shaun loved the place as much as I did. He’d picked out the name.

  Mick didn’t stop staring at me. When Ben edged up to me, he stared at both of us. He had to know what that stare meant to our wolf sides.

  “Is something wrong?” I said, my voice steady. I rounded my shoulders and stood straight. I didn’t want to have to do something as gauche as growl at him.

  He shrugged, offhand, like nothing was wrong. “I just want to find out what you’re going to do to take care of this.”

  I held up the jar of blood goo. “Protective spell. I’ve got extras in the car. I’ll give you some to take home with you.”

  He and Shaun regarded it with the same disgusted, puckered expressions Ben had. The stuff did smell pretty vile. But once it was spread around the place, it wasn’t noticeable. Much.

  “Are you kidding me?” Mick said, obviously not impressed. “I’m not smearing that crap anywhere near me.”

  “I’m open to other suggestions,” I said.

  Mick and Shaun glanced at each other, which made me even more nervous, because it meant they’d been talking about this beforehand. I was way too new at this alpha thing to be facing dissension in the ranks already. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I’d have to handle this the way I handled most everything in my life: brazen it out and act like I knew what I was doing.

  I crossed my arms and waited for an answer.

  “We go to Vegas,” Shaun said. He was fidgeting, just a little. Hands picking at the seams on his jeans, eyes darting, unable to look right at me. It made me think this was all Mick’s idea. “Go to the source. Take care of that pack directly.”