Kitty Goes to War

Epilogue

KNOB’S LAWYER successfully bucked Franklin’s lawsuit. She would have done a fine enough job of it without my help, but I helped anyway. I wrote up a report of everything we’d discovered about Franklin, his thunder-god cult, the spells he used and power he wielded, about the storm that had threatened the Denver area and what we’d done to stop it. Ben still muttered about the possibility of us facing charges for vandalism, but I avoided the word. Ben, Cormac, Shaun, and Tyler all agreed to testify that everything I reported was true, no matter how crazy it sounded. I left out suspicions that Franklin was working with or for someone else. As Ben said, I didn’t want to inadvertently paint targets on my friends. In response, the lawyer wrote me a very nice note, saying something along the lines that while such evidence might not be admissible in court, she certainly appreciated my perspective on the situation, given my profession as an entertainer specializing in supernatural topics. It didn’t quite sound like a brush-off.

It turned out that Franklin had enough wacky stuff going on that my claims about him on the show, while extreme, were not in fact outright lies. There were statements from former employees indicating that Franklin would only conduct meetings under certain circumstances—specific times of day, the chairs arranged around the table in a certain way—that could be perceived as ritualistic. He was an enthusiastic collector of archaeological artifacts and would lose his temper if his collection was shifted out of place in the slightest. He’d once fired a custodian for failing to replace each artifact in the correct spot after dusting. I had to ask—were the artifacts connected to thunder or weather gods from various cultures? Why yes, the lawyer answered.

And the final bit of information: Franklin had been known to place good-luck charms at various Speedy Mart franchises. He personally visited each new building at least once during construction, and the lawyer had a signed statement from the foreman on one project saying he’d seen Franklin placing strange items in the foundation. He didn’t know what. The specifics weren’t important at this point. Franklin really was doing freaky magical stuff at Speedy Marts all over the country. It wasn’t libel. Franklin’s lawyers tried pressing the case. The judge threw it out.

Franklin himself sold his company and retired, citing health concerns. By all accounts, he returned home from Denver a broken man, physically damaged by hypothermia, mentally wracked by vague nightmares. I never got Cormac to say exactly what he—and Amelia—had done to him. Probably just as well.

A MONTH after the storm, Tyler got his medical discharge and even qualified for disability benefits. He’d done enough, sacrificed enough, it was decided. Ben and I took him home to Seattle.

Werewolves are territorial. Tyler couldn’t just fly home and set up shop without ruffling a lot of fur with the local wolves. With his intimidating stature, he would set the locals on edge. They might see him as a threat, someone who was powerful and who might try taking over. We all knew that wasn’t what Tyler wanted, but the Seattle pack would need convincing. He’d have to tread carefully and give plenty of warning.

I knew a little bit about the Seattle pack. It was supposed to be one of the safe havens, one of the packs that was willing to take in runaways and refugees, to take care of wolves who needed a little extra help. I hoped they wouldn’t look at Tyler and decide that he was too much of a threat to help. Instead of making Tyler navigate the situation on his own, I decided to act as an intermediary.

I called my contact, Ahmed, the werewolf in Washington, D.C., who ran the local lycanthrope scene there. He passed along the contact information for Christopher, the alpha of the Seattle werewolves, and I called him to explain the situation. As I’d feared, he was wary about taking on Tyler, a Special Forces veteran. I couldn’t really blame him; this was uncharted territory for all of us. “Just meet him,” I’d said, trying to sound confident and reassuring rather than pleading. He agreed to a meeting, and I liked to think it was my incredible powers of persuasion that convinced him. The fact that Christopher turned out to be one of the good guys and willing to take the chance probably had more to do with it.

Ben, Tyler, and I drove straight through to Seattle a week after his discharge. Ben and I took turns driving; Tyler spent most of the drive napping or looking out the window, face right up to the glass, taking in the world. He’d spent most of the last month or so locked up in a hospital room, with occasional excursions. Driving the interstate with the scenery sliding past had to feel as much like freedom as anything.

We reached Christopher’s meeting place, a regional park northeast of Seattle, at dusk. I’d called a couple hours out to let him know our ETA. He’d directed us to a parking lot and picnic area, against a backdrop of a thick pine forest. Even in the middle of winter the place was green, and I could smell the rich scent of evergreens touched with icy snow. He and a number of his pack were already there, waiting for us. I’d have done the same thing if our positions had been reversed. Stake out your territory, show your strength, take the high ground, and so on.

I didn’t know all that much about werewolf packs. I’d heard a lot of stories through the radio show, and through rumor and hearsay. My own experience was mixed—my pack was part of the best of times and the worst of times, as they say. Some cities didn’t have packs at all, just loose confederations of likeminded lycanthropes. I’d been warned away from some areas entirely because a chaotic, warlike environment dominated. There were almost as many different kinds of werewolf packs as there were individual werewolves.

I’d never really met another werewolf pack with a solid alpha male and his followers lined up behind him. This was going to be educational. I was nervous but tried not to show it. Confident, suave, hip—that was me.

The three of us got out of the car. “Wait here a minute,” I said to Ben and Tyler. “Let me talk to them first.”

“I should be with you,” Ben said. He was looking at the leader, standing out in the grass, and at the men and women arrayed in a semicircle behind him like an entourage. “You can’t face that all by yourself.”

Tyler tipped his chin up a little and took a deep breath. “I can smell them. This whole place smells weird. Different.”

Alien. Another pack’s territory. I could sense it, too.

“They can see you,” I told Ben. “Let ’em think I don’t need backup, right?” I grinned. Ben looked like he was biting his tongue.

Christopher was a handsome man, older, close to fifty, maybe, with thick graying hair swept back from his face. Really fit. He had his arms crossed, showing off sculpted muscles. He wore jeans and a short-sleeved, button-up shirt. Among his entourage, a woman stood at the end, red hair twisted up in a braid, laugh lines creasing her eyes. She looked at Christopher rather than at me, watching for his reaction, his cues. His alpha female, then. Everyone else was young, tough, glaring, their shoulders tense, on the verge of bristling like hackles. He’d brought his fighters with him, rather than any older, wiser wolves that might be part of his pack. They smelled like pine trees and salt air, as well as musk and wild.

I stopped about a dozen feet in front of Christopher and stayed relaxed, loose. Tried not to feel small and vulnerable. They were trying to intimidate me, because that was just what werewolves did.

“Hi!” I said, way too cheerful, as if I was about to offer them Girl Scout cookies.

Christopher gave a huff, like a silent chuckle. “So you’re the notorious Kitty Norville.”

“Hey,” I said. “I thought it was more like infamous.”

Then he did chuckle, amused. “Kitty. It’s very nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, likewise.” I glanced at the rest of the pack, watching to see if they relaxed. They seemed to, nominally. But if I breathed on Christopher wrong they’d be on me in a second. I wondered: would my pack look like that, if our places were reversed? Hm.

The alpha female stepped forward to join her mate. “This is Sarah,” he said.

“Hi,” I said simply. She smiled a wry greeting, as if she was saying, Nice to meet you, but I could totally take you. I wasn’t going to argue. If all this went well I’d be gone by morning and the point would be moot.

None of us shook hands, which wouldn’t have been normal werewolf behavior. When you approached a werewolf with your hand outstretched, you looked like someone getting ready to take a swipe with claws. This was more natural for us: we looked each other up and down, took in each other’s scents, and didn’t stare into each other’s gazes, which would have been a sign of challenge.

This wasn’t so bad after all.

“And your friends?” Christopher said, nodding toward my two companions.

“This is Ben, my mate.” I looked back, and Ben came forward at the cue, until his shoulder touched mine. He kept his head up and looked over Christopher and all his wolves, meeting each gaze before moving to the next. All he had to do was get across the message that he wasn’t worried and he wasn’t weak. He might have been channeling his inner lawyer as much as his inner wolf. Christopher nodded at him in acknowledgment.

“And this is Joseph Tyler,” I said, looking to the soldier. Christopher waved Tyler over.

In contrast to Ben, Tyler slouched as he walked to join us, and he kept his gaze down. Showing as much deference as a six-three guy who’d just gotten out of the army could show. He came to stand at my other shoulder, and I brushed my hand against his arm, a brief touch of comfort. The anxiety was transmitting. The wolves around us watched him, waiting to see what he’d do.

I glanced at Christopher for his reaction. Did Tyler make him nervous? Would he have to struggle to hide it?

No to both. If he was nervous, he hid it really well. He seemed relaxed—not a hint of hackles rising. But then that was how he got to be alpha of one of the country’s more stable packs. He gazed at Tyler calmly, appraisingly, without a hint of challenge. His stance made me relax—Tyler would be okay here.

“Joseph?” Christopher said. “What is it you want here?” The question had a tone of formality, of ritual to it. He wanted to put Tyler on the spot, to see how he would react.

“My family lives here. My mom, sister. They don’t—they don’t know what I am, what I turned into. They don’t have to know. But I want to be close. I want them to know I’m okay.”

It was a true answer. Christopher nodded.

“If you’re going to live in my territory, you need to live by my rules. We can give you a safe place to spend your full moons. We can help you cope. But you have to do your part to keep the peace. You must help when I call on you. Don’t cause trouble.”

“I don’t want any trouble,” Tyler said. “I . . . I just want to come home.”

“I know. Sometimes it doesn’t always work out that way.”

“I need help,” he said. “Can you help?” His voice was bleak, tight with sadness, like he expected Christopher to say no and send him away. I would take him back to Denver, I would let him into my pack, he had to know that. But this was home to him, before he’d gone away and traveled through hell.

Sarah looked up at Christopher, her lips pressed into a line, as if she wanted to say something but was waiting for him. We were all looking at him, waiting for a response. His expression was thoughtful.

“I think we can,” Christopher said. Tyler bowed his head and sighed. I let out my breath, too.

Ben took my hand and squeezed. “I think it’s time we go.”

He was right. We’d done what we came here to do, delivered our charge to his new home, and done it peacefully. And now we were invading someone else’s territory. Christopher and Sarah probably would have let us stay for a visit, maybe even given us the tour of Seattle if we’d asked. But making a clean break seemed like the thing to do. Let Tyler join his new pack without us around to divide his loyalties.

When Tyler looked at me, he had an expression I’d never seen on him—the tension was gone and he smiled. He was relieved. “Kitty. Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I did all that much. I think you’d have been okay eventually.”

“But it’s been nice having a cheerleader around telling me that,” he said.

We hugged tight, cheeks to ears. And I let him go. After shaking hands with Ben, he moved forward to his new pack. Sarah took his arm, held his hand, and led him to the others. One at a time, they touched him, putting their scent on him, adding his scent to theirs. I heard names, introductions, and Tyler smiled through it all.

I turned back to Christopher. “Be careful with him. He’s had a rough time.”

“Is that a warning?”

“No. I don’t know. I just don’t know what your next step is, and he’s not really ready to be on his own.” I didn’t want Tyler to ever think he was alone, to fall into that hopeless place again.

Christopher shrugged. “A bunch of us will probably head to my place, grill some steaks, sit around and talk.”

I brightened. “Hey, that’s how I’d handle it.”

Ben put his hand on my back. “She’s always worried that she’s doing the pack alpha thing wrong.”

“The way I look at it, if no one’s flying off the handle and getting killed, you’re doing it right,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, call me any time. If you want to check up on Joseph, or just to talk.”

“Thanks.” And my network got a little bigger, which made me feel a little better. I turned to Ben. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Christopher offered his hand then, and we both shook it in turn, like normal human beings. We could pretend to be regular people.

Ben and I drove south and east for a couple of hundred miles, until the knots in our shoulders faded, and we could step outside the car and not smell foreign wolves. We got a room at a motel near Boise, to sleep for a few hours.

Ben and I lay on top of the bed, leaning against each other, still in our clothes, too tired to move, too wired to sleep. I was at that stage of exhaustion where closing my eyes hurt. My body still vibrated from the road. Ben must have felt the same; he stared at the TV, flipping channels slowly, rhythmically, without seeming to comprehend what he was looking at.

I was thinking too much to really take in what was on TV. Settling more firmly against Ben’s shoulder, I started rambling.

“I’ve been thinking about history,” I said. “Werewolf soldiers aren’t a new thing. So I’m wondering where else they’ve shown up. What other wars. If we peeled back the veneer, what else would we find?”

“I sense a research project coming on,” Ben said. Flip, news show. Flip, sports channel. Flip, a twenty-year-old movie I couldn’t remember the name of.

How would I even begin such a project? The evidence would be circumstantial: military units or individuals with a reputation for aggression, viciousness, and for possessing supernatural abilities. Bloody battles happening on nights of the full moon. How intriguing. There had to be a way to find out.

“Do you think Tyler’s going to be okay?” I asked after another five minutes.

“Eventually,” Ben said. “I think he’s going to be living one day at a time for a while.”

Yeah. I knew how that went. I sighed. “I wonder if this is what it’s like to send a kid to college.”

Not that I was ever going to find out what that was like for real. But I could imagine: a mix of pride and sadness. Was Tyler going to be all right? Would he write?

I couldn’t have children—no female lycanthrope could because embryos didn’t survive shape-shifting. Some days, I thought I had no business even thinking of having kids, the way my life went. The late hours, the supernatural politics, the death-defying, injury-producing escapes. I could hear the phone call now: “Hi, Mom? Could you look after Junior while I chase a rogue werewolf across half the state?” And who would look after a baby on full-moon nights? So maybe it was just as well.

It still made me sad. I could find a way. I could adopt, I could hire a baby-sitter. I’d made the rest of my life work pretty well, hadn’t I? I wiped my eyes before the tears could start.

“Hey,” Ben said. “You okay?”

I felt stupid. Whiney, needy, and stupid. I ought to be able to cope without dumping all this on Ben. And I knew what he’d say to that: who else could I talk to, if not him?

“Do you think I’d be a good mother?” I said.

He glanced at me. Then he shut off the TV and set the remote aside. “That’s a bigger question than you’re making it sound.” I must have frowned, because he put his arms around me. “I think you’d be an excellent mother. You’d drive your kids crazy, but you’d do it excellently.”

“Really?” I said.

He grabbed me, one hand lacing into my hair, the other settling on my hip, and pulled me into a long, startling kiss. And then some. And then some more, before we both came up gasping for air. I had on a silly grin.

“Really,” he said.

Suddenly, being too wired to sleep seemed like a good thing.