Kitty Goes to Washington

Chapter 9

He wanted the easiest prey in the area. I must have looked good. Small enough to be an easy target with enough meat to make it worthwhile.

That described me in so many ways I didn't want to think about.

He was pale, almost white, which made him glow in the moonlight. He was also big, one of the stockier wolves I'd ever seen: massive through the chest and shoulders, legs working, head low, like a battering ram. He'd plow into me and knock me over like I was nothing, then rip into me without a second thought.

But I'd survive the first few cuts. I already had lycanthropy, unlike Jeffrey and Roger. I was tough; I could take it.

Holy crap.

I dodged. At the very last possible moment I dodged and grabbed the wolf's tail. I was stronger than I looked. I kept hold of it long enough to change his momentum, to make him hesitate and look back, to pause before he adjusted the vector of his attack to where his prey had slipped.

His jaws were open, aimed at my shoulder, once again to try to shove me to the ground and hold me with his teeth. Swinging my body, I deflected his face away. Instead of locking a firm grip on my shoulder, his canines scraped down my arm. A couple of deep gouges on the bicep was better than losing a shoulder, right?

I couldn't slow down to think about how much it hurt. Jeffrey and Roger should have had enough time to get back to the car. Time to run away. I kicked the wolf's face before he could gather himself for the next attack. I had to convince him I wasn't as easy a catch as he first thought. This was a time I had to let a little bit of the Wolf into my mind. She was better at fighting than I was. Kick him, snarl at him, scare him off.

Do all that, and stay anchored to my human body as well. I didn't want to lose control of that part of myself. I didn't want to leave myself vulnerable while I shifted. And I wanted to be able to talk about this when it was finished. Assuming I was still conscious when it was finished.

The wolf hesitated. He was thinking about it. Probably because other, potentially easier prey attracted him.

"Kitty! Kitty!" A kid ran up the hill toward me—the young man I'd talked to before everything hit the fan, the one who'd just tried to join the church. "Help, I don't know what to do, you have to help me—"

"Come on." I grabbed the guy's shirt, shoved him so he was behind me, and shouted at the pale wolf. "Get out of here! Go on, get away!"

I backpedaled up the hill. "Run!" I said to the guy. "Get to the car."

I turned and followed him. I didn't dare look behind me.

We hopped the fence, first the kid, then me. Jeffrey stood by the car, holding open the passenger side door. He also held a Club—the attached to the steering wheel so the car doesn't get stolen kind of Club—in his right hand, ready to swing it like it was, well, a club. Just in case something was following.

I shoved the kid into the back and piled in immediately after him. Jeffrey jumped in the front seat and slammed shut the door.

The pale wolf crashed into the door, jaws open, slobbering on the window.

Stockton was filming it.

"Roger, would you put down that camera and drive?" I shouted.

The second time the wolf charged us, causing the whole car to rock on its wheels, Stockton put the camera down and started the engine. We pulled out onto the road a second later.

My straggler curled up in his seat. Hugging himself, he shook, sweat breaking out on his face. He mumbled, "Stop it… stop it…"

He was starting to Change. It began inside, a feeling like an animal clawing its way out. It hurt more when you tried to keep it from happening. When you couldn't stop the Change from happening.

I grabbed him, taking hold of his face and making him look at me. "Keep it together, okay? Take a deep breath. Slow breath. Good, that's good. Nice and easy, keep it together." His breathing slowed; he stopped trembling. After another moment, he even relaxed a little. Some of the tension left his arms.

He closed his eyes. He wouldn't look at me.

"What's your name?"

He needed a moment to catch his breath. "Ty. It's Ty."

"Nice to meet you, Ty." He nodded quickly, nervously, keeping his head down. I moved a hand to his shoulder—a light touch to keep him anchored in his body—and sat back.

Now maybe I could catch my breath.

I didn't want to think about the can of worms we'd opened. In the long run, Smith being gone could only be a good thing. But all those people were homeless now, and confused. And monsters. At least we were in the middle of nowhere. They could only hurt each other. Which was bad enough.

"Kitty, you're bleeding." Jeffrey stared at me between the two front seats.

Blood covered my right arm. Just looking at it sent waves of pain riding through my shoulder.

"It's okay," I said, gritting my teeth. "It'll be fine by morning."

"The rapid healing, that's true?" Stockton said. The reporter turned his camera onto me, holding it between the front seats with one hand while steering with the other and only half watching the road. "Can I watch?"

"No." I glared until he set the thing down. I took the charm off and handed it to the front seat. Roger accepted it, pulling the chain over his head. "Roger, your grandmother got you into this, didn't she? The fairy charms, the supernatural. Working for Uncharted World?"

He smiled wryly. "Some people think I'm on that show because I'm a crappy reporter. I could be on CNN if I wanted. Except I believe. No, I don't believe. I know. The supernatural—it's like any other mystery. You find enough evidence, you can prove the truth. This gig gets me closer to that." Just like Flemming. The search for truth. Stockton was just traveling a different road. "So—you sure you won't let me film you next full moon?"

"No."

"How about you, kid?"

"What?" Ty looked woozy.

"No," I said.

Stockton chuckled, entirely too amused. "Hey—where are we going?"

I found my phone in my pocket, turned it on, and hesitated, because I didn't know who I could call for help. I hated to say that my first impulse was to call Cormac. He'd know what to do with a couple dozen rogue vampires and werewolves rampaging the countryside. Unfortunately, his solution would involve lots of silver bullets and stakes, and we'd end up with a bunch of corpses. I was trying to avoid that.

My next idea was to call Ahmed. I didn't have a phone number for the Crescent, so I called information. They were able to get me through to the restaurant side. A cheery-sounding hostess whose voice I didn't recognize answered the phone.

"Good evening, this is the Crescent. May I help you?"

"Hi, yeah—is Ahmed there?"

"Who?"

A sinking feeling attacked my stomach. "Ahmed. The guy who owns the place."

"Oh! Just a moment. May I tell him who's calling?"

"It's Kitty."

She set the phone aside. I could hear the murmur of generic restaurant noises—voice talking, tableware clinking—in the background. The moment stretched on. I started tapping my foot. I didn't have a lot of time here.

A familiar, robust voice picked up the line. "Kitty! How are you?"

Situations like this made it so hard to answer that question. "I need some help, Ahmed. What would you do with a couple dozen vampires and lycanthropes who'd lost it and you wanted to get them under control so they didn't get hurt?"

I grit my teeth. When I said it out loud like that, this mess sounded ridiculous.

He hesitated for a long time, so that I had to listen to the restaurant white noise again. Then he said, "I would leave the area, and wait until morning to return to see what was left."

"But the vampires will die without shelter."

"That would not be my concern."

No, it wouldn't, would it? "Then what about the lycanthropes? I know you'd want to help the lycanthropes."

"If you can bring them here, to the club, I can shelter them."

"But I have no way of getting them there."

"Kitty, what have you gotten yourself into?"

I sighed. He wasn't going to be any help. He probably never even left the Crescent, his little domain. "It's a long story. I'll have to talk to you later. Bye."

"Goodbye?" He sounded confused. I hung up anyway.

That left one other option.

I called Alette to ask her if she could help. Bradley answered the phone, put me on hold, and returned to say that she could. She'd meet me at Smith's caravan in an hour.

An hour later, we drove back by the site. The police had already arrived in squad cars, along with a sedan I recognized as the one Bradley drove, and a large, windowless van.

Stockton pulled onto the shoulder. A cop came forward and tried to wave him away. I rolled down the back window. "I'm with Alette," I called. The cop hesitated, then let Stockton park.

While a trio of cops moved alongside the road setting out flares and obviously standing guard, Alette and Leo stood at the edge of the grassy field. A group of people approached them from the caravan. Leo held something out to them, and they moved slowly, cautiously toward him.

"Stay here, lock the doors," I said as I climbed out of the car. I didn't stick around to see if they listened to me. I didn't get too close. I had my limits. The people drawn to Leo were thin, wan, cold—vampires. Leo held a jar of blood, open to the air, so that the smell drew them.

The vampires in Smith's caravan hadn't eaten in months, some of them. As they approached, Leo spoke softly to them. He touched their chins, their hair, and they bowed their heads and followed docilely. He led them to the van and guided them inside. Tom waited by the back door.

Bradley approached me, clearly on an intercept course to keep me from interrupting Alette and Leo.

"What's happening?" I asked, before he could chastise me or start issuing orders. "It looks like some kind of vampire hypnotism."

He said, "The ones who joined Smith aren't very old, only a few decades. Easy to control. Older vampires aren't going to go looking for a cure. If they've made it to a hundred without getting killed, it usually means they like it. But these—they're looking for guidance."

"What'll happen to them?"

"They'll stay with Alette until she can find out where they're from and send them home." He glanced back at Stockton's car. Of course the reporter had his camera pressed against the windshield, glaring out. He even leaned half on top of Jeffrey to get a better angle. "Your friends should leave."

His tone didn't allow argument. Besides, I pretty much agreed with him. This was like an accident scene, and Stockton didn't need to be broadcasting it on his show.

"I'll ask them, but Stockton's got the keys. Good luck getting him out of here." Then I had a brilliant idea. Stockton reported on the paranormal. He'd absolutely love this. I told Bradley, "Let me get the kid out and back in his own car. Then could you maybe pull the Man In Black routine on Stockton? It might just scare the crap out of him." I couldn't help it—I grinned.

"Man In Black?" Bradley's brow furrowed with distaste.

"Just be yourself when you tell him to get the hell out of here. It'll be fun." I trotted off to check on Ty.

Jeffrey unlocked the car for me. I opened the back door. Ty was sitting up, looking around, aware of his surroundings.

"Hey, Ty, you ready to go home? Can you drive?" I said.

He ran a hand through his floppy hair and nodded. "But can't I stay with you?"

I absolutely did not need that kind of responsibility. I'd run away from that kind of responsibility. I tried to let him down gently. "Walk with me, 'kay?"

I held out my hand. He took it and let me pull him from the car. Staying close to him, I walked him to his car. "There's a club in D.C. for people like us. A guy named Ahmed runs it. He can help you, there's lots of people there who'd be happy to help you cope with this. You should go there."

He scrounged a pen and piece of paper from his glove box, and I wrote down directions to the Crescent for him. I also gave him my number.

"No more quack cures after this, right?"

"Right."

"You going to be okay?"

He nodded, a little more decisively than he had before. "Yeah. I'll check this place out. Thanks, Kitty. Thanks a lot."

I sent him on his way.

I turned around just in time to see Stockton's car back up a few feet in order to zoom a U-turn onto the road, engine revving. Arms crossed, a looming monolith of a man, Bradley stood at the edge of the pavement and watched him go.

When Stockton's car was out of sight, Bradley turned around. He wore a big grin. He said, "You're right. That was fun."

I was so sorry I'd missed it.

Leo, supervised by Alette, was still herding vampires. The scene was surreal and vaguely appalling.

"Does it bother you?" I said to Bradley. "Working for a vampire? Emma said her family has worked for her for centuries. What about yours? Or are you related to Emma?"

"Distant cousins." His smile was amused, wry. He nodded to the cops. "One of the officers there is another cousin. I never really thought about it, to tell you the truth. It's just how it's always been. If you don't grow up thinking any of this is weird, then it isn't weird. When I was a kid, my parents would take me to her place to visit. It was like having another aunt."

The lycanthropes wouldn't fry when the sun rose, but I was worried about what they might do in the meantime. Alette wasn't. She and Leo set out raw meat as bait and armed the police with silver bullets.

Wasn't exactly what I had in mind. But it turns out the silver bullets were weapons of last resort. The vampire mojo worked on the weres as well. The two vampires lulled them to sleep, let them slip back to human, then let the police take over. Many of the people had missing person files on them. Eventually, they'd make it back home.

The two vampires cleaned up the whole mess. That was why lycanthropes needed large numbers to defeat vampires in a head-to-head confrontation.

We explored the caravan while Alette's police friends put up yellow tape and marked the whole thing off as an investigation site. Under the tent, a temporary stage made of plywood and milk crates stood toward the rear, and a string of bare lightbulbs hung from tent poles, across the top. It looked harmless enough. The rest of the camp, though, was a disaster. None of the trailers had sewer hook-ups. The few available camp and chemical toilets were overused. Immortality and rapid healing didn't preclude the necessity of other bodily functions. Nothing had been cleaned, piles of trash lay discarded in the corners of RVs, in the beds of pickups. Some signs of food remained: empty cans of soup and beans, along with dirty dishes, were stacked in sinks and on counters. Mold and slime spotted them, and dozens of flies rose and scattered when we opened doors.

I could hardly breathe, the smell was so strong. I kept my hand in front of my face.

We found a few people, both lycanthropes and vampires, hiding in the closets of campers, on the floorboards in trucks and cars. They hugged themselves, shaking, crying—symptoms of withdrawal. They looked pale and thin, their hair was dull and limp. I didn't think anyone with lycanthropy could die of malnutrition, their bodies were so hardy and resistant to damage. But they didn't look good. The vampires—their bodies might not break down. But they might lose their minds. Smith was sustaining them, that was how they had survived.

I tried to draw them out, talking to them, reassuring them, but they didn't like me. My scent was unfamiliar, and they cowered, more animal than human. Some of them followed me into the open. Some of them, Leo had to come and whisper to them, work some of his vampire charm on them, until their eyelids drooped and they followed on command.

These people had been living a dozen to a trailer, no food, no showers. Smith had turned them into zombies.

Alette joined us as we finished our tour of the camp.

"This is a rather impressive coup you've accomplished, for someone who claims to have no authority," she said, frowning.

She asked me what happened, exactly what we had seen and what we had done to banish Smith. She nodded and seemed unsurprised, like she recognized what he was and had expected as much.

"I never thought it could be this bad," I said. "I thought Smith was duping people. But he was sucking them dry. Keeping them alive so he could continue using them."

"It's what his kind do," Alette said. "What they've done for centuries, in one guise or another. The sidhe, the fairies, have always fed on the lives of mortal human beings. In the old days they stole infants and replaced them with changelings; they seduced young men and women; they kept mortal servants for decades. It's as if they aren't really alive themselves, so they need life nearby to sustain them. Vampires and lycanthropes have something more. They started as mortal, and became something powerful. Whatever the sidhe draw from living humans, they draw more of it from us. Smith created a situation where he could surround himself with their power. Because the sidhe have power over perception, especially over perceptions of space and time, he could make his followers believe anything. He could show them the world he wanted them to see. The stories say that food of the fairies would appear to be a feast, but turn to dust in your mouth." She gazed over the abandoned caravan with a look of sadness.

We returned to Alette's townhome near dawn. Bradley gave some excuse about finishing arrangements during daylight hours—Alette needed to rent a whole separate townhome where the vampire refugees could stay—and left me facing her in the foyer alone.

She stood, arms crossed, wearing a rust-colored dress with a tailored, silk top and flowing skirt, not at all rumpled after the evening's outing. How did she do it?

"Well. You're rather a mess," she said, regarding my singed clothing, dirt-smeared face, wounded arm, and bloodstained shirt. The observation sounded even more depressing in her neat British accent.

"Yeah," I said weakly. What else could I say?

"I do wish you had told me what you had planned. We might have been more prepared."

I really wanted to sit down, but I didn't dare use any of the antique furniture in the room in my grubby state. "There wasn't really a plan involved. We just sort of seized the moment. Look, I know I had no right to ask for your help and no reason to think that you'd give it—"

"Oh? You're saying I haven't given you any reason to believe that I would give aid in a crisis? That you believe I have no interest in what happens outside the boundaries of my personal domain? That my resources are for my own selfish use and haven't been developed precisely so that I might lend assistance in any situation where it might be needed?"

Alette was the vampire Mistress of Washington, D.C., and that probably wasn't an accident. From here, she could oversee goings-on around the world. She could make worldwide contacts. And she'd been humble enough to offer hospitality to a wandering werewolf. Hospitality, and the loan of a diamond pendant.

"I'm sorry." I looked away, smiling tiredly and feeling like a heel. Any rebellion had been completely wrung out of me tonight, and my arm still hurt.

She continued, softer in tone, kinder. "I happen to believe that immortality ought to make one more sensitive to the plight of the downtrodden, and more apt to work toward the betterment of humanity. Not less. We have the luxury of taking the long view. I know the behavior of some of my kind leaves much to be desired, but please do not judge me by their example."

Never again. "All right. I just… I keep wondering, asking myself…"

"Did you do the right thing?" I nodded. Destroying the church so abruptly might have caused more problems than it had solved. We might have found another way, if we could have lured people away instead of removing Smith all at once…

Alette said, "Elijah Smith drew people to him under false pretenses, removed their wills to decide whether or not to stay with him, and forced them to live in conditions that I consider to be criminal. Human law could not have remedied the problem. You did. Perhaps someone else might have done the job a bit more neatly. But as you say, you seized the moment. You shouldn't worry."

Would there ever come a time when human law could handle situations like this? I couldn't imagine the local sheriff's office with a copy of procedures on how to arrest and hold in custody an Unseelie fairy. Or a rogue werewolf, or a rampaging vampire. We kept having to police ourselves. We had to be vigilantes, and I didn't like it. I kept claiming we could be a part of the "normal" world, of everyday society. Then shit like this happened to prove me wrong.

"Thanks. Again," I said.

"Ma'am? Shouldn't we be off?"

Leo spoke and I jumped, startled. He'd appeared in the doorway behind me, and I hadn't heard him. He grinned wickedly; he'd known exactly what he was doing.

"All right, Leo. Thank you." She passed me on her way to follow him, pausing a moment to look kindly on me. Like someone might look at a dog who'd had a run-in with a skunk. "Do try to get some sleep," she said.

She'd turned down the hall, out of my sight, when Leo took the opportunity to lean in and say, "Might also try a shower there, luv." He turned on his heel and followed his mistress.

The perfect end to the day, really.

So much for turning this trip into a working vacation. I wasn't getting any sleep. I'd need a week off to recover from all this. Preferably some place with a hot tub and room service. At least my arm had healed quickly.

I got to the Senate office building early, despite the lack of sleep. It meant I was able to catch Duke before the session started.

He was walking down the corridor, conferring with an aide, who was holding a folder open in front of him. I stood against the wall, waiting quietly and out of sight until they reached me. Then I hurried to keep pace with them. Both him and his aide looked over at me, startled.

"Senator Duke? Could I talk to you for just a minute?"

The aide turned to shield the senator, blocking my access to him. He said, "I'm sorry, the senator is much too busy right now. If you'd like to make an appointment—"

"Really, just a couple of questions, we don't even have to stop walking." I hopped to try to catch sight of Duke around his aide. "Senator? How about it?"

He looked straight ahead and didn't slow. "One question, if we can keep walking."

"Of course. Thanks." The aide glared at me, but shifted so I could walk next to Duke. "Why did you bring Elijah Smith here?"

"Because he understands my mission: to see these… diseases… eradicated. I'm sure you understand. And he's a man of the cloth, which brings a respect that these hearings are sorely in need of, wouldn't you agree?"

"A man of the cloth? Really? Of what denomination? Have you seen any kind of identification for him?"

He frowned. "I'm sure he's a good Christian preacher who teaches that faith saves."

"He wasn't what you think. He wasn't helping anyone."

"Was?" he said. He stopped and looked at me. "What do you mean, was?"

"He, uh, had to leave town suddenly."

Glaring, I thought he might start a fight with me right there. His aide's eyes widened, like he was worried, too. "What have you done?"

I stood my ground. I wasn't going to let him cow me. I had authority, didn't I? Yeah, right.

"You believe, Senator. I know you believe: ghosts, devils, angels, good and evil, the whole nine yards. Elijah Smith was a demon, preying on the weak and helpless. I hope you'll believe me."

His expression was cold, but his eyes held a light—a kind of fevered intensity. "If he was preying on anything, it was your kind. Vampires and werewolves—monsters. Hardly the weak and helpless." He gave a short laugh.

"We're all just people at heart, Senator. I wish I could make you understand that."

"That'll be for the committee to decide." He gestured to his aide and stalked down the corridor. His aide scurried to keep up with him.

I met Ben outside the Senate office building. He seemed surprised to see me coming out the door instead of arriving via the sidewalk.

"You're up early," he said, raising an inquiring brow.

"Um, yeah. By the way, we don't have to do anything about Smith. You don't have to look into it."

He studied me closely. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I said far too quickly. "Well, I mean, we did a spell."

"A spell?"

"We just threw some herbs and stuff around. That's all."

"It's not something you're going to end up in court over, is it?"

Not human court, at any rate. "No, I don't think so."

He sighed. "Just for you, I think I'm going to raise my rates. To pay for the hair loss treatments."

He was such a kidder.

We entered the meeting room and found our usual seats. Cormac hadn't shown up since Duke fired him, but Ben said he was still in town. Just in case, Ben said, but wouldn't say in case of what.

Today's session was late in starting. Time dragged. Reporters fidgeted, Senate aides hovered in the background, wringing their hands. The senators themselves shuffled papers and wouldn't raise their gazes. Testimony that should have taken just a few days had been dragged out to the end of the week. I quivered, waiting for something to break.

The audience was dwindling. Most of the reporters had drifted off to cover more interesting stories, and maybe a dozen general spectators remained. Even some of the senators on the committee hadn't bothered showing up. As expected, Roger Stockton was there, ready to stick it out to the very end. He looked like he'd been able to sleep. He invited himself into the seat next to mine. After last night he must have thought we were some kind of buddies.

Maybe we were.

He leaned close and immediately launched into questions. "So where are the aliens and what do they have to do with the vampires? Are vampires aliens?"

"Aliens?" Ben, overhearing, asked.

"A couple of really bad movies have covered that plot," I said. "Where did you come up with it?"

"Last night, the Man In Black with the vampires, the one keeping people away like it was some kind of UFO cover-up. You seemed pretty tight with all them—what aren't you telling me?"

I tried to smile mysteriously, which was hard to do when I really wanted to laugh. "It's not really my place to give away secrets. Honestly, though. The 'Man In Black' was just a guy. There aren't any aliens."

"That's what they all say," he said, glaring. "'It was Venus,' my ass."

Ben gave me a look that said, What the hell are you talking about? I gave him one back that said, Later.

Finally, the session started. I still hadn't been called. We listened to half an hour of testimony from Robert Carr, a B-grade filmmaker who'd been praised for the frightening werewolf shape-shifting effects in his movies—had he used real werewolves, by any chance? He claimed no, he had a talented CGI artist who used a morphing technique to shift images of people into images of wolves, and if his effects were more successful this was because he pictured actual wolves, instead of the unlikely broad-chested, fake-fur-covered mutant grotesques that most werewolf movies used.

I'd seen a couple of his films, and I was sure he was telling the truth and didn't use real werewolves. Though his effects were impressive and awfully realistic. He might have seen a real werewolf shape-shift. I'd have to tackle—er, approach—him after the hearings and get him to come on the show. We could talk about werewolves as metaphor in film.

I was a little put-out, though, that the committee decided to talk to the werewolf filmmaker before the actual werewolf. Okay, we were still in the entertainment industry portion of the testimony, and maybe some of the committee members didn't believe I was a werewolf. But I'd been on the schedule for three days now. Impatient didn't begin to describe it. I hadn't been able to eat more than half an English muffin for breakfast, I was so anxious.

"Thank you, Mr. Carr, that will be all." Duke straightened the papers on the table infront of him with an air of finality. "I'm afraid that's all the time we have for testimony today. We'll recess for the weekend and resume on Monday to hear from those witnesses we haven't called yet. Thank you very much."

The place burst into activity, people talking among themselves, getting up to leave, aides rushing to attend to the committee members. The other senators looked as confused as I felt; they hadn't been expecting this, either. The tension that had been there from the start didn't dissipate.

"This is weird," Stockton said. "Weren't you supposed to be up there today?"

"Yeah." I crossed my arms and pouted.

"I don't believe it." Ben flopped back against his chair with a sigh. "You see somebody's name on the docket, you expect them to get called. This isn't just annoying, it's unprofessional. They expect us to be on time, the least they could do is run an extra hour to hear everybody."

Maybe there was a reason. Was there anyone else due to be called after me? Or did Duke just want to postpone my testimony?

I counted forward, checking off days on the calendar I kept in my mind, confirming the day with the inner tide that felt the pull of it even if I didn't know exactly what day the full moon fell on. I stared across the room to the table where the senators were cleaning up, heading out, conversing with each other or aides. Duke glanced up and caught my eye. He set his jaw and turned away.

Alette was right. She'd called it.

"The bastard," I said. "He planned it. He planned it this way all along. He needs to drag the hearings out until Monday."

"What's Monday?"

"Full moon. He wants to make me testify the day of the full moon."

Stockton gave a low whistle. "Sneaky," he said with something like admiration. I glared at him. He may have thought we were great friends after our adventure last night, but he was doing a lousy job staying in my good graces. He was less like a war buddy and more like an annoying younger brother.

Ben said, "You make it sound like that's not good."

I shook my head, trying to call up some reserve of righteous outrage. Mostly I felt tired. "I'll be at my worst, that's all. Edgy, nervous. Itchy. He knows enough to know this. Maybe he thinks I'll lose my temper and Change right in front of them all." This put me in a foul mood.

"Can you handle it?" Ben said. "Should we put in a request to delay testimony for a day?"

The day after would be even worse than the day before. It felt like having a hangover, and I seemed to spend too much energy mentally holding the door to the Wolf's cage shut. I'd be distracted and no good.

"No, no," I said. "I mean, yeah. I can handle it. I think." I hoped. No caffeine for me that day.

I had to talk to Fritz, but it was getting late; I didn't know if I'd get to the Crescent in time to see him.

I ran from the Metro station to the club, jumped down the stairs, and grabbed the doorway to stop myself as I looked around in a panic.

I wasn't too late. He sat at his usual table, hunched over his tumbler, staring at nothing and wrapped up in his own world.

Pulling up a chair, I sat near him, close enough to whisper but far enough away to dodge if he decided to take a swing at me. I had no idea how this would play out.

He blinked at me, startled.

"What can you tell me about Dr. Paul Flemming?" I asked.

He stared, his gaze narrowing. "I do not know this name."

He could say that, but his expression told me otherwise. His lip twitched, his eyes were accusing. He looked like someone who had decided to lie.

"I saw your name on a list in his laboratory."

"I know nothing," he said, shaking his head. Quickly he drained his glass, slammed it on the table, and pushed his chair away.

"Please don't go. I just want to talk." This strange, lurking figure raised so many questions. At this point I didn't even care what he told me, just as long as he said something. A flash from the past, a story, an anecdote. The sweeping words of advice and judgment the old often seemed to have ready for the young. I didn't care. I wanted to find a crack in that wall.

He turned to me, looming over my chair, his lips curling. "I don't talk to anyone."

I met his gaze, my own anger rising. "If you don't want to talk to anyone, why do you even come here? Why not drink yourself to death in private?"

He straightened, even taking a step back, as if I had snarled at him, or took a swipe at him. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Here, it smells safe. For a little while each day, I feel safe."

I resisted an urge to grab his arm, to keep him here. To try to comfort him through touch, the way I would have if we'd been part of the same pack. But we weren't a pack. He was a stranger, behind this wall he'd built to keep the world out, and I didn't know why I thought he'd talk to me. Just because I was cute or something.

"Why would you be afraid of anything?"

Slowly, a smile grew on his ragged features, pursed and sardonic. "You are young and do not understand. But if you keep on like this, you might." He brushed his fingers across the top of my head, a fleeting touch that was gone as soon as I'd felt it, as if a bird had landed on me and instantly taken flight again.

"You are young," he said, and walked away, settling his coat more firmly over his shoulders.

His touch tingled across my scalp long after he'd disappeared out the door.

I had a show to put on tonight, like I did every Friday. I asked Jack for a cup of coffee. Something to keep me awake for the next ten hours. I took out my notepad on the pretense of planning tonight's show—though really, the day of the show was far too late to be planning it. Good thing I'd been cornering hearing participants like Jeffrey Miles and Robert Carr and convincing them to appear on the show. The rest of it I'd have to wing. Not too different than usual, come to think of it.

"He's right, you know." Ahmed appeared. He slipped into the chair across from me. I hadn't heard him, and the whole place smelled like werewolf so my nose hadn't sensed him. He'd stalked quietly, like he was hunting. Today, he wore a woven vest over his shirt and trousers. The vest gave him that same man-of-two-worlds air that the robe had.

I didn't want to talk to him. He might not have had any obligation to help me with the mess at Smith's caravan, but he hadn't even made an effort, and I wasn't in the mood to be lectured by him now.

I just stared at him.

"There is much to fear in the world. Trouble finds you when you get too involved. That is why the Nazi keeps to himself."

"Fritz," I said. "His name's Fritz."

Ahmed had said that this was a safe place, a place with no alphas, no rivalries, and no need to fight among ourselves. But that didn't mean he wasn't in charge, watching. Or that he didn't have clear ideas of how things should be run. And according to him, you stayed safe by keeping to yourself and not getting involved.

I'd stuck my neck out too many times to take that attitude. I tried to keep from tensing up defensively. He wasn't challenging me. There was nothing wrong with what I was doing.

"He is little more than a crazy old man. He has his rituals, his drinking, because they fend off his memories. But everyone else remembers for him, and do not speak to him because of it. I tolerate him here because he is harmless. He is to be pitied for the ghosts he carries with him."

I was about ready to scream with all the double-talk and hints of what people weren't telling me. "What did he do? He won't tell me. You call him the Nazi, which implies so much. But I want to know, exactly what did he do?"

He shrugged. "The time and place he comes from say much, do they not?"

"You say you remember. That everyone remembers. Do you really, or have you just made something up and figured it's close enough?"

He was a German soldier from World War II. Everyone else just filled in the blanks. But did that really make him a war criminal? I'd probably never find out for sure.

Ahmed's brow furrowed in a way that was admonishing. Here it came, the I'm older and wiser than you so sit down and shut up speech. It was like having a pack alpha all over again.

"Kitty." He spread his hands in a gesture of offering. "I don't want to see you get in trouble."

"Neither do I! But I'm getting tired of everyone hiding things from me."

"Perhaps they do not hide things from you—they hide things out of habit. Many of us would prefer to keep this world hidden. We owe nothing to anyone. That is the secret to a contented life. Don't become indebted to anyone."

"So you build an oasis and lock out the world, is that it? It means you don't have to go out of your way to help anyone." I had to get out of here before I said something I would regret later. "I'm sorry, I'd really like to talk more, but I have to get going. I've got the show tonight."

"I'm sure I do not have to tell you to be careful." I'd been hearing that a lot lately. If it weren't for all the people telling me how much trouble I was potentially getting into, this trip would be a breeze.

"I'm being careful. There's some hell of a tale behind Fritz, and I'm just trying to find out what it is."

As I reached the door, he called out, "Hey, tonight, I'll listen to your show. I'll turn on the radio in the bar so everyone can listen."

No pressure or anything. "Thanks. That'd be cool."

Jack gave me a thumbs-up on my way out.