Kitty Goes to Washington

Chapter 10

"Welcome back. If you just tuned in you're listening to The Midnight Hour. I'm Kitty Norville. For the last hour I have a new topic of discussion, something I'd love to get a little perspective on. I want to learn something new, and I want to be surprised. I'm going to open the line for calls, and I hope someone will shock me. The subject: the military and the supernatural. Does the military have a use for vampires, lycanthropes, any of the usual haunted folk? Are you a werewolf in the army? I want to hear from you. Know the secret behind remote sensing? Give me a call."

Considering how little time I'd spent on it, the show came together nicely. I'd taken advantage of the collection of interesting folk who'd gathered for the Senate hearings and spent the first hour of the show doing interview after interview. The trio from the Crescent played music, and Robert Carr came in and chatted about werewolves.

But for the last hour I opened the floodgates. I was sure someone out in radioland had some good stories to tell.

"Ray from Baltimore, thanks for calling."

"I can think of plenty of military jobs that are just perfect for vampires. Like submarine duty. I mean, you stick somebody on a sub for three months, cooped up in a tiny space with no sun. That's, like, perfect for vampires, you know? Or those guys who are locked up in the missile silos, the ones who get to push the button and start World War III."

That "get to" was mildly worrying to say the least. "There's still that food supply to contend with," I said. "It's always been a big limitation on anything vampires accomplish in the real world. I can't picture any navy seaman being really anxious to volunteer for the duty of 'blood supply.' Though it may be a step up from latrine duty."

"Awe, freeze a few pints, they'll be fine."

"All right, next call, please. Peter, you're on the air."

"Hi. Uh, yeah. When I joined the army, I knew this guy who washed out of basic training. We were all surprised, 'cause he was doing really well. Aced all the physicals, obstacle courses, hand-to-hand, nothing held this guy down. The drill sergeant said 'drop and give me a hundred,' and he seemed happy to do it. Never broke a sweat. But he turned up missing on a surprise inspection of the barracks one night. Then it happened again. They kicked him out for going AWOL."

"Let me guess: these were nights of the full moon."

"I don't really remember. I didn't notice at the time. But they were about a month apart. So I'm thinking, yeah."

"Do you think he would have made a good soldier, if he'd been allowed to take a leave of absence for those nights? If the army had made concessions?"

"Yeah—yeah, I think so."

"What about in the field? If his unit happens to be deployed in the middle of nowhere, during a full moon, what's he going to do?"

"Well, I don't know."

"I think it would take some advanced planning. A 'don't ask don't tell' policy probably isn't going to work. Thanks for calling, Peter. Moving on."

I checked the monitor. Then I double-checked it. Line four: Fritz from D.C. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

I punched it. "Hello, Fritz?"

"Yes. Kitty? Am I speaking with Kitty?" He spoke with a German accent, tired and grizzled. It was him. My Fritz.

"Yes you are, Fritz. It's me."

"Good, good. I almost did not wait, when the boy put me on hold." His conversational tone made me wonder if he realized that he was on the radio. How refreshing, though, to talk to someone like we were just two people on the phone, rather than being subjected to an attention-seeking crackpot.

"I'm glad you did wait. What would you like to talk about?" I held my breath.

His sigh carried over the line. "I have been thinking of what you said. All day I think to myself, 'Finally, here is someone who wants to listen to you, and you run away from her like a frightened boy.' Now, I think that was a mistake. So I call you. I will die soon. Think, to die of old age. Is rare for ones like us, eh? But someone should know. This story—someone should know of it."

"All right." I didn't dare say more. Let him talk, let him say what he wanted without leading him on.

"You must understand, it was war. People did things they would not have thought possible before. Terrible things. But we were patriots, so we did them. On both sides, all of us patriots. I was very young then, and it was easy to take orders.

"The S.S. found us, people like us. I also heard rumors, that they created more, throwing recruits into the cage so the wolves would bite them. This I do not know. I was already wolf when they took me. They made us intelligence gatherers. Spies. Assassins, sometimes. As beasts, we could go anywhere, cross enemy lines with no one the wiser. Then we change back to human, do what we were sent to do, and return again. They trained us, drilled us, so we would remember what to do when we were wolves. Like trained dogs. I carried a sack in my mouth, with papers, maps, photographic film. I still remember."

"Fritz, just so I'm clear, you're talking about World War II. The S.S., the Nazi Secret Service—"

"Bah. They call me the Nazi, though they think I do not know. I am no Nazi. We had no choice, don't you see? It was a madness that took all of Germany. Now days, you do not blame the madman who commits a crime. No, you say he was insane. That was Germany."

If I stopped to think about it, my throat would go dry. I would fall speechless. I let the momentum of his story carry me forward. "Something I don't understand: you say you had no choice. But werewolves are stronger than normal humans. Even in human form, they can overpower just about anyone they come up against. Why didn't you? Why didn't you and the others rebel? It sounds like they recruited you against your will, but why did you let them take you instead of fighting them?"

"Besides the fact that it was war? You do not question your countrymen in uniform in time of war. It isn't done. But more than that, they had silver bullets. The cages were made of silver."

My heart thudded. Flemming had a cage made of silver. "Fritz, is there any documentation of this? I've been doing some research. The Nazi resistance to Allied occupation after World War II were called the Werewolves. Were you involved in that? You're not telling me the members of that group were literally werewolves, are you?"

"I do not remember. It was a long time ago." It didn't matter. With the story in hand, I had to be able to find the evidence somewhere. There had to be someone else with stories like this. Flemming, for instance.

"Have you told Dr. Flemming this story? Did he ask you to tell him what you did in the war?"

"Yes, he did."

I closed my eyes and felt the air go out of me. "Did he tell you why?"

Fritz gave a snort. "He works for government, yes? It seems obvious."

"You know, I'd give quite a bit to get Flemming back on the show right about now. Fritz—how do you feel?"

"I'm not sure what you mean. I feel old. Tired. Shape-shifting with arthritis in the hands, the shoulders, it's very bad."

"I mean about what happened. What was it like? How old were you? You don't like talking about it, but do you feel better? Does it feel better to talk about it?"

"I think I should go now. I told the story you wanted. The only story anybody cares about."

"Fritz, no! What did you do after the war? Where did you go? When did you come to America? Fritz!"

"Goodbye, Kitty."

"Fritz!"

The line went dead.

Damn. Now what did I do with that? Tiredly, I spoke at the mike. "Dr. Flemming, if you're listening to this, I'd love it if you called in. I have a few questions for you."

Again, I checked the monitor, dreading what I'd find. I wasn't sure I really wanted Flemming to call. This wasn't likely to inspire him to a sudden bout of openness and sharing.

But Flemming didn't call in. None of the calls listed looked remotely interesting. Anything I said next would be the height of anticlimax.

"Right. It looks like we need to move on to the next call. Lisa from Philly, hello."

"Hi, Kitty. Do you know anything about rumors that there's a version of Gulf War Syndrome that causes vampirism? I'm asking because my brother, he's a veteran, and—"

Sometimes, I had absolutely no idea how I got myself into these discussions.

"You have a lot on your mind," Luis said. He was driving me around Saturday morning in a cute, jet-black Miata convertible he'd rented for the occasion. He looked dashing, elbow propped on his door, driving one-handed, with his handsome Latin features and aviator sunglasses.

God, did he know how to romance a girl. How could I possibly be distracted with him sitting not a foot away from me? A hot Brazilian lycanthrope at my beck and call, looking like something out of a car commercial, and I was frowning. I shook my head, because I had no idea how to answer him.

He'd taken me to Arlington National Cemetery because I'd wanted to see it, but it had been depressing. It wasn't just the acres and acres of headstones, of graves, most of them belonging to people who had died too young, or the Kennedy graves, which were like temples, silent and beautiful. JFK's flickering eternal flame seemed a monument to crushed idealism. The graves were peaceful. But the ceremonies: the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier; a full military honors burial, with the horse-drawn caisson and twenty-one-gun salute. All these rituals of death. They seemed so desperate. Did honoring the dead comfort us, really? Did it really do anything to fill the hole our loved ones left behind.

T.J. didn't have a grave to visit. If he did, would I feel better? Less forlorn? If he had a grave, it would be in Denver, where I couldn't go, so it was all moot.

I'm sorry, T.J.

Stop it.

After the cemetery, we drove out of town to the state park where Luis spent full moon nights. He wanted me to be comfortable there. It was nice, getting out of town, leaving the smog and asphalt for a little while, smelling trees and fresh air instead.

We even had a picnic. Another car commercial moment: strawberries and white wine, types of cheeses I'd never heard of, French bread, undercooked roast beef, all spread on a checkerboard tablecloth laid on a grassy hillside.

Luis was trying to distract me. He was doing all this to take my mind off everything I was worried about. The least I could do was pretend like it was working.

"Thanks," I said. "This is wonderful."

"Good. I had hoped you'd smile at least once today."

"I bet you're sorry you found me at the museum."

"No, of course not. I'm glad to have met you. I might wish you were not quite so busy."

He wasn't the only one.

I moved to sit closer to him, inviting him to put his arm around me, which he did. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

He chuckled and shifted his arm lower, so his hand rested suggestively on my hip. "After this week, I should hope so."

I smiled, settling comfortably in his embrace. "How did you get it? The lycanthropy."

He hesitated. His gaze looked out over my head, over the hillside. "It's complicated."

I waited, thinking he'd continue. His expression pursed, like he was trying to figure out what to say, and not succeeding. I didn't know him well enough to know if he was the kind of person who'd wanted to become a lycanthrope, who'd wanted to be bitten and transformed, or if he'd been attacked. We'd had a week of lust and little else, which meant we might as well have just met.

"Too complicated to explain?" I said.

"No," he said. "But it isn't a story I tell often."

"It was bad?" I said. "Hard to talk about? Because if you don't want to—"

"No, it wasn't, really. But as I said—it's complicated."

Now I had to hear it. I squirmed until I could look at his eyes. "What happened?"

"I forgot how much you like stories," he said. "I caught it from my sister. I thought she was hurt, I was trying to help her. She shifted in my arms. I didn't know about her, until then. Even when she bit me, I hardly knew what was happening. It was an accident, she didn't mean it. But she panicked, and I was in the way."

"Wow. That's rough. She must have felt terrible."

"Actually, when she shifted back to human and woke up, she yelled at me. Wanted to know why I couldn't mind my own business and leave her alone. By then I was sick, so she yelled about making her take care of me."

"Let me guess, older sister?"

"Yes," he said with a laugh.

"It sounds familiar."

"She was angry, but she was sorry, too, I think. She took care of me and helped me learn to live with this. Now we help each other keep our parents from finding out about it."

At least I didn't have that problem anymore. I'd never have to come up with another excuse about why I was missing a family gathering on a full moon night. "Your sister's in Brazil?"

"Yes. You know what she does? She spies on companies doing illegal logging in the rain forest and reports to the environmental groups. Sometimes I think she's a bit of a terrorist. Frightened loggers come out of the forest with stories about giant jaguars with glowing green eyes."

"She sounds like an interesting person."

"She is."

We'd been there maybe an hour when I glanced at my watch. I shouldn't even have brought it. But I did.

"Could we get back to town by four, do you think?" I said.

He put his hand on my knee. "Is there nothing I can do to you convince you to stay a little longer?"

Oh, the agony. I put my hand on his and shook my head. "I'm sorry. Here you are, doing everything you can to sweep me off my feet, and I'm refusing to cooperate. I'm lucky you're still trying."

He grinned. "I love a challenge."

He leaned over to me, putting his hands on either side of me, trapping me with his arms, and moving closer—slowly, giving me plenty of time to argue and escape before he kissed me.

I didn't argue. Or escape.

I barreled into the Crescent at a quarter after four, convinced I was too late to find Fritz. Not that he'd ever speak to me again. I should have been happy with what he'd revealed last night on the show, but enough never was, was it?

My vision adjusted to the dimness of indoors. I watched Fritz's usual table, expecting his hulking form to be there, once I'd differentiated it from the shadow. I focused, squinting hard, but the table was empty.

Jack stood, elbows propped on the bar, reading a magazine. I leaned on the bar in front of him, and he looked up and broke a wide smile. "Hey! I heard your show last night. That was cool!"

"Thanks," I said, distracted and not sounding terribly sincere. "I missed him, didn't I? Fritz already left."

"He didn't show today."

"But it's past four. He's never late. Does he not do weekends?"

"He never misses a day."

A weight settled into my gut. "Do you think he's okay? Do you have a phone number for him? Should I go check on him?"

"I don't have a clue where he lives."

This was my fault. Fritz was in trouble and it was my fault. He'd talked, he'd spilled the beans, and someone didn't like it. "Are you even a little bit worried?"

He shrugged. "Wouldn't do any good if I was."

Great, another disinterested isolationist. "Is Ahmed here?"

"I don't think so. I can call upstairs if you want, maybe he's there."

"Sure."

He hit a line on the phone behind the bar, stood there with the handset to his ear for what must have been five minutes, then shook his head. "Nothing."

"Do you think he knows where Fritz lives?"

"He might."

I asked for a pen and wrote my cell phone number on a napkin. "If he does, have him call me."

Jack tucked the napkin by the cash register. "You're really worried about him."

I smiled wryly. "Remember, it's not paranoia if they really are out to get you."

I called Flemming. Please, no voice mail, no voice mail—

"Yes?"

"Dr. Flemming? It's Kitty."

The pause was loaded with frustration. "I really don't have time—"

"Where's Fritz?"

"Who?"

"Don't give me that. He's an old werewolf, German. He said you talked to him. Where is he?"

"How should I know—"

"He always comes to… to this one place to have a drink. Four o'clock, every day. He didn't show up today, and I don't think it's a coincidence. He talked on my show, and someone isn't happy—"

"Why should I be that someone?"

"I don't know. But you're my only lead. You must have some idea where he might be."

"Look—yes, I know Fritz. I've spoken with him. If he called your show that's his own business, and I don't know why anyone would have had a problem with it. Not enough of a problem to take drastic action."

I wasn't thinking straight. If I didn't get anywhere with Flemming, I had nowhere else to go, no one else to ask. "I'm worried about him."

"He's a tough old man, he can take care of himself." His voice had changed; it had stopped being flat. I was getting to him.

"He's old. He's falling apart. Werewolves don't get sick, but they do get old. He doesn't have anyone looking after him, does he?"

He sighed. "I have his home address. If you'd like, I'll check on him."

"Can I meet you there?"

"Fine." He gave me the address.

I got the "Thanks" out about the same time I clicked off and ran out to the curb.

Luis was still waiting in the Miata. "Now where are we going?"

I told him the address.

He raised his brows. "You want me to take this car into that neighborhood?"

I smiled brightly. "You paid for damage coverage, didn't you?"

Long-suffering Luis rolled his eyes and put the car into gear.

I bit my lip. I was really going to have to do something nice to thank him later on tonight.

The address turned out to be a tenement building, about forty years old, in dire need of a coat of paint. Or maybe a wrecking ball. Flemming was waiting by the front door, arms crossed, looking around nervously.

His frown turned surly when we pulled up.

"I'm sure there's no need for this," he said as I hopped out of the car. Luis left the engine running.

"You're worried, too, or you wouldn't be here," I said.

"He's on the third floor."

The elevator didn't work, of course. I ran, quickly getting a full flight of stairs ahead of Flemming.

"What room?" I shouted behind me.

"Three-oh-six."

The door was unlocked. I pushed it open. The place smelled like it hadn't been cleaned in a long time: close, sweaty, dank. Too warm, like the heat was turned up too high. The door opened into a main room. Another door led to what must have been a bedroom; a kitchen counter was visible beyond that.

Stacks of newspapers lined all the walls, folded haphazardly, as if Fritz had read them all, front page to back, and had meant to throw them out but never gotten around to it. Some of the piles leaned precariously. In the middle of the room, an old sofa sat in front of a TV set that must have been thirty years old, complete with rabbit ears wrapped in tin foil. It sat in a corner, on a beat-up end table. A static-laden evening news program was playing.

Something was wrong. Something in the air smelled very wrong—coldness, illness.

Dr. Flemming entered the room behind me, then pushed past me. I'd stopped, unable to cross the last few feet to the sofa. Flemming rushed to it, knelt by it, and felt the pulse of the man lying there.

Fritz lay slumped against one arm of the sofa, staring at the television, perfectly relaxed. His face was expressionless, his eyes blank.

Flemming sat back on his heels and sighed. "If I had to make a guess, I'd say it was a heart attack."

"So he's—he's dead."

Flemming nodded. I closed my eyes and sighed. "It couldn't be something else, something someone did to him?"

"You said it yourself. He's old. Something like this was going to happen sooner or later."

"It's just when he called last night, he almost sounded like he knew something was going to happen to him."

The phone—a rotary, for crying out loud—sat on the table next to the TV. He'd hung up and put it back before this happened.

"Maybe he did." Flemming stared at Fritz's body, like he was trying to discover something, or memorize him. "I've seen stranger things happen in medicine."

I bet he had. He claimed he wanted his research to be public, but he sure wasn't sharing. My anger, the shock of finding Fritz, was too much. Words bubbled over.

"Which is it, Flemming? Medical applications or military applications? Do you have dreams of building a werewolf army like the Nazis did?"

"No—no. That isn't what I wanted, but—"

"But what? What are you doing in that lab?"

He turned away. "I'll call the coroner."

He went to the phone by the TV and made the call. That didn't mean he wasn't going to get a shot at his own autopsy as part of his research. I didn't like the idea of Fritz falling out of official channels into some classified research hole of Flemming's devising, embalmed and pickled in a jar. Fritz had spent most of his life outside official channels. It left him in this lonely apartment, surrounded by newspapers and television, with a glass of schnapps at four P.M. for entertainment. How long would it have taken someone to find him if we hadn't come?

We returned to the street. Flemming said he'd wait for the coroner's van. There wasn't anything left for me to do, and Luis convinced me to leave with him.

As the car pulled away, I started crying.

Sunday morning, I was at Luis's apartment. I'd woken up before him, and lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to think. Had Fritz really known his heart was about to give out?

I'd run into a wall. I didn't know what else I could learn about Flemming's research. Maybe there was nothing to learn, nothing but what Flemming had already said in the hearings. I was all worked up over nothing.

My cell phone rang. Luis shifted and mumbled, "Is that mine?"

"No." I retrieved my jeans and pulled the phone out of the pocket.

Caller ID said Mom. Her weekly Sunday call, but hours early. I sat up and pulled the blanket around me. Couldn't be naked, talking to Mom.

I answered the phone. "Hi."

"Hi, Kitty. We're having lunch at Cheryl's, so I wanted to make sure we talked before then. Is this a good time?"

As good as any. As in, not really. "It's okay, Mom."

"How is Washington? Dad's been taping the hearings—C-SPAN's been showing the whole thing, I think. I still haven't seen you in the audience, but he said he did, and he said that's not why he's taping them anyway. He thought you might want to have copies."

I had to smile. "That's cool. Thanks. I'm supposed to testify tomorrow, so tell him to have the VCR ready."

"Oh—good luck! I'm sure you'll do great."

"I just have to answer questions. It'll be fine."

Luis had propped himself on his elbow and was smirking at me.

"Have you had time to do much sightseeing? I visited there when I was in college, we got to see a session of Congress, but it was the House, I think, not the Senate, and—"

Her conversation was so ordinary. It was kind of nice. I made encouraging noises, and avoided saying anything that might make me sound frustrated or depressed. I didn't want her to worry.

Then again, she always knew when I was frustrated and depressed because I didn't say anything.

She actually brought the call to a close herself, almost before I was ready to hear her go. "We should get going. I think Cheryl's nervous about having us over, they've got the new house and I don't think she's got drapes up yet, and Jeffy's teething."

"Tell everyone I said hello."

"I will. Take care, Kitty."

"You, too, Mom. Bye."

"That sounded very suburban. Very American," Luis said, grinning unapologetically.

And there but for the… something… of lycanthropy went I. "Heard the whole thing, did you?"

"I assume Cheryl is your sister? Which means you have a nephew named Jeffy?"

"And a three-year-old niece named Nicky." He was still smirking. As if I could help it that my sister had picked names straight out of a 1950s sitcom. "Are you making fun of my normal family?"

"Not at all. Not at all." He considered thoughtfully, then added, "Jeffy?"

I threw a pillow at him.

After spending all weekend with Luis, I found getting myself to the Senate office building Monday morning almost impossible. I called Ben.

"Hi, Ben? What would happen if I just didn't show up today?"

"When you're scheduled to testify?"

"Yeah."

"They might send federal marshals after you."

Oh. Well then.

I had to stop by Alette's for a change of clothes before heading to the hearings. I thought I might get there before dawn, in time to see Alette, but no such luck. The sun was up when I pulled into the driveway. Tom, the other driver/ MIB, was in the kitchen. He told me that she'd just retired for the day. Briefly, I wondered what exactly that meant. Coffins in the basement?

For once, I didn't ask.

Tom offered me a cup of coffee and said, "We spent the night checking on the vampires you saved from Smith."

"Saved? That's giving me too much credit," I said, muttering into my cup.

He shrugged the comment off. "Some of them want to stay with Alette. They've never had a real place of their own—either they were by themselves or they had abusive Masters. That's why they went with Smith. It must have seemed better."

It probably had seemed better. Some frying pans made the fire look good.

"Is she going to let them? Will she take care of them?"

"Oh, probably. She likes taking care of people." His smile turned wry.

Turns out today was Tom's day off, but he offered to give me a ride to the Senate building anyway. I accepted, finished the coffee, and went to get dressed.

At the Senate building, Ben had something for me—he'd performed some legal wizardry and gotten a copy of Fritz's autopsy report. Flemming was right: heart attack. They were still waiting on some lab tests, but they were calling it a natural death. No conspiracy involved. He was just an old man who'd sensed his own end approaching and wanted to tell his story.

Maybe he'd just given up.

On Ben's advice, I dressed well for the day's session—a suit even, dark blue, with a cream blouse, conservative. He said, don't give them a chance to label me, or classify me as something different or alien. I was an expert witness, nothing more or less.

Not a spokesperson for the entire subject the hearing had been skirting around for the last week.

I'd never advertised what I looked like. I'd never done any publicity stills. When my appearance at the hearings was made public—the panel of witnesses was always made public—at least part of the reason some people were here was to check me out, maybe snap a few pictures for their audiences. I had no idea if I matched their expectations. I was probably younger than they thought I was: mid-twenties, on the thin side, blond hair done up in a prim bun. Wide-eyed and a little scared. Absolutely not what one would expect a werewolf to look like: some sultry, monstrous seductress, no doubt. Someone who exuded sex and danger. I'd never exuded either. More like, "Go ahead, bully me, I'm weak and vulnerable." I wasn't up to explaining to anyone, much less a Senate committee, the subtleties of werewolf pack dynamics, how for every scary dangerous werewolf that fit the stereotype, there were a dozen who would just as soon grovel on their bellies. People who imagined "monster" when they thought "werewolf" might be surprised to see me.

My problem was, I may have been a monster, but all the other monsters were so much bigger and scarier than I was.

I had a short prepared statement that Ben and I had worked on. I carried the folder with the typewritten page with me to the front of the room. The week's anxiety hadn't prepared me for this. I felt like I was walking to my execution.

Ben sat in the first row, right behind me, ready to bail me out if I needed it. I'd realized, over the last couple of months of being alone, that even though I didn't have a pack anymore, I didn't have to be alone. I couldn't be entirely alone. I'd built my own little pack: Ozzie and Matt at my old radio station, Ben, even my mom. I couldn't be afraid to rely on them.

Ben gave me his predator's smile, the one that I was sure made opposing attorneys cringe in the courtroom. A wolf in lawyer's clothing, if that wasn't redundant. I felt a little better.

I settled at the table facing the committee members. They were like vultures, perched behind their desks, staring down at me. I rested my hands on the table and willed them to remain still.

"Ms. Katherine Norville," Duke said. He didn't look at me, but at the papers in front of him, as if searching for an important piece of information. He took his time. "Welcome to this hearing. You have a statement you wish entered into the record?"

There was a microphone in front of me, which was comforting. Hell, it'd be no different than how I made my living week after week. I was just talking to an audience, no different than any other, laying out what I thought and not pulling punches.

"Yes, sir. Senator Duke, I'd like to thank you and the rest of the committee for inviting me here to testify. This is a rare opportunity, and a rare time, to have so much of what is held as scientific fact challenged and reevaluated. I'm privileged to be a part of the process.

"I am what Dr. Flemming would call Homo sapiens lupus. That is, I'm a werewolf. I'm allergic to silver, and once a month, during the night of the full moon, I suffer a temporary physical transformation. What this means for me personally: I make adjustments to my life, as anyone with a chronic, nonfatal illness must. And like most people with a chronic, nonfatal illness, I continue to live, to pursue a career, to gain emotional support from my family. It's a decent life, if I do say so myself.

"These phenomena merit discussion for the purpose of bringing them out of the shadows of folktales and nightmares, and into the light of day, so to speak. So that we might confront fear with knowledge."

And just like in an episode of the show, I waited for people to ask questions.

The first came not from Duke—I was bracing for one of the grillings he'd been giving everyone else all week—but from Senator Mary Dreschler.

"Ms. Norville, you'll pardon me for expressing a little skepticism. It's one thing to have so-called experts talk to me about this subject in the abstract. But to have someone sit here and claim to be a werewolf is a bit much to take. What proof can you give us?"

I could have shape-shifted right then and there, I supposed. But I didn't trust my other half to behave herself in this setting—cornered and surrounded by screaming would-be victims. No way.

She wore a flower pendant on a long chain over her cashmere sweater and tailored jacket.

"There's a blood test Dr. Flemming could probably perform. But for right now—Senator, is your necklace silver?"

She frowned quizzically. "Yes."

"May I see it?" I eyed the security goon off to the side. "May I approach?"

No one said anything, and Dreschler slipped the chain over her head, so I went to her place on the risers. She offered me the piece of jewelry.

I took it in my left hand, curling the chain around my fingers for maximum skin contact. My hand started itching immediately, and within seconds the itching turned into burning, like the metal was hot, right out of the furnace hot. I couldn't take it for much longer; my face bunched up into a wince, and I hissed a breath between clenched teeth.

"Here," I said, handing it back to her. I shook it away quickly, more inelegantly than I meant to, in my hurry to get it away from me. I stretched my hand, which still throbbed.

A red rash traced lines around my fingers and left a splotch on my palm, all the places where the necklace had made contact. I held it out, so all the committee members could see it.

"A silver allergy," Dreschler said. "It might happen to anyone. My sister can't wear earrings that don't have surgical steel posts."

"Trust me, this didn't happen before I was infected. I had to give up some killer jewelry because of this."

She showed a thin smile, almost in spite of herself. I went back to my seat; she didn't put the necklace back on.

Next to her, Senator Deke Henderson spoke. "What else? What other changes does this… condition bring on?"

"Dr. Flemming mentioned a lot of it in his testimony. It affects the senses. Smell becomes more sensitive, night vision is better. I'd have to say in my own experience it effects mood as well, things like temper and depression. I've heard some jokes about how women make better werewolves since they're used to turning into monsters once a month." That got a few nervous chuckles. "Although I can't say how much of any depression is caused by the condition, or stems from the frustration of dealing with it."

Henderson, the rancher who'd probably spoken out on the debate about reintroducing wild wolves to ranch country, said, "You just called yourself a monster, Ms. Norville. These conditions, as you call them: do they pose a threat to society?"

I had thought long and hard about how I would answer this question. I'd written out a dozen versions of my answer, practiced it, slept on it. Or didn't sleep on it. People on both sides of the issue might not be happy with what I wanted to say.

"No, sir. I don't believe they do. I could mention a dozen issues that better merit your attention if you're worried about dangers to society—highway safety and cancer research, for instance. If they—werewolves, vampires, all of it—were a danger, you'd have had to confront them long before now. For centuries, these groups have lived under a veil of secrecy. They haven't revealed themselves to the public, and they have taken great care to monitor themselves, to ensure that they don't become a danger to society at large, and thereby threaten that secrecy. Like any other citizen, it's in their best interests to live by society's laws. Individuals may pose a threat to other individuals—but no more so than any other person. Domestic violence, for example, poses a much greater danger to more people, I think."

The veil of secrecy was gone, now. The centuries of cultural conditioning that we lived by, as governed by the packs and the vampire Families, by gathering places like the Crescent and patriarchs like Ahmed, all of it swept away. A lot of people weren't going to like it. I didn't know what would happen next, what would come of all this. I felt like I was in the middle of the show, with no other choice but to plunge forward. I clung to the familiarity of that fatalism.

Senator Duke pointedly adjusted his microphone to draw attention to himself. My heartbeat quickened. He had not been kind to witnesses this week. I suspected he had saved the bulk of his ire for me.

He said, "Ms. Norville. As a werewolf, have you ever killed anyone?"

He'd done his research, I was sure. He had to know the answer to that.

The whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Yes, sir. I have."

The murmur of the audience sounded like the distant crash of waves. I heard pens scratching on paper. How nice, that some people still used pen and paper.

"Care to explain?" Duke drawled.

"The Denver police have a report of the incident. The situation was self-defense. He—the man I killed—was also a werewolf, and he had murdered several women. When he attacked me, I defended myself the best way I could." It may not have been the whole truth…

"Did you enjoy it? Killing him?"

"I hope I never have to do anything like that again."

"What about your other half? That demon inside of you? How did it feel?"

He was determined to turn this into a good ol' witch hunt, wasn't he? "There is no demon, sir. Just me."

"That's what you'd like us to think, with your fancy suit and lipstick—"

"Senator, I'm not wearing lipstick."

"—and the Good Book says, 'When he speaketh fair, believe him not for there is abomination in his heart'!"

"Does this mean we're moving away from the 'scientific discourse' part of the testimony?"

"Senator!" That was Henderson. Duke shut up, finally. I sighed. Henderson continued. "May we please return to the subject at hand? You're in danger of harassing the witness."

"Well past, I'd think," Ben muttered behind me.

Duke glared at Henderson, and I caught a glimpse of a long-standing rivalry, acrimonious and far beyond compromise.

"Senator Duke, do you have any further questions?"

Duke meaninglessly shuffled the papers before him. "I do. Ms. Norville, you host a weekly radio show called The Midnight Hour, is this correct?"

Yay, an easy one. "Yes."

"What is the purpose of this show?"

"Entertainment, primarily. Also education. On good days."

"Not conversion?"

I could hear Ben fidgeting, straightening, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He whispered, "Objection…" This wasn't a courtroom. He couldn't stand up and yell it.

"I'm not sure I understand you. Conversion to what?"

"You don't use your show to recruit?"

My jaw opened and it took me a second to close it and formulate a coherent sentence. "On the contrary, sir. I want to shatter any romantic illusions about these conditions that people might have picked up from late-night movies. I mean, just listen to the show."

"Ms. Norville, how many werewolves do you think are living in the United States today?"

"I have no idea."

"None at all?"

"No. There isn't exactly a space for it on the census form."

"Maybe we'll change that. If you had to make a guess, what would you say?"

I took at least a couple calls every week from people claiming to be werewolves or some other variety of lycanthrope. Sometimes more, if the topic was werewolf-specific. I didn't believe all the claims. Assuming I was only getting a small percentage of the total—

"Really, sir, I hesitate to even make a guess," I said. I wasn't going to stick my neck out on a question like that.

"What about vampires?"

"Look at the numbers for any rare disease. They're probably comparable."

He made a show of holding one of his pages up, staring at it down his nose like he was trying to focus on something, like maybe he'd found the one question he'd almost forgotten to ask. He made a long buildup, which meant it was going to be the bombshell. Even worse than are you recruiting!

"On your show, you've met a lot of your kind, haven't you? You've said that most of you have packs, that you tend to congregate. So, let's say there's another werewolf in this room. You could tell us who it is?"

"I suppose."

"If, in the name of security, I needed you to tell me how to find other werewolves, could you do that?"

Um, I didn't like where this was going.

"How many werewolves do you personally know?"

I glared. "I couldn't say."

"Could you give us names? In the interests of security."

"Right now?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "In the future, maybe."

I leaned toward the mike. "I think the next thing you're supposed to say is 'I have here a list of known werewolves working inside the U.S. government.' Isn't it?"

He frowned. "I was rather hoping you could help me make up that list."

"Oh, no. No way. You guys—I mean you, the Senate as an institution—you've been down this road before. I won't have anything to do with it."

"Ms. Norville, are you refusing to answer my question?"

"I don't think it's a reasonable question. It's an invasion of privacy, it's—"

"I could hold you in contempt of Congress."

The world had suddenly shifted to an old black and white newsreel. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen anymore.

Ben leaned forward to say in a low voice, "The phrase you want is 'Fifth Amendment.'"

Duke pointed at him. "Who are you? Are you influencing the witness?"

Ben stood. "I'm Benjamin O'Farrell, Your Honor. The witness's attorney. Under the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution my client refuses to answer your question on the grounds that it may be self-incriminating."

There. That showed him. I sat a little straighter.

"That's nonsense! It's not an unreasonable question! I can hold you in contempt, I can throw you in jail if I want. The moral and spiritual sanctity of this nation is at stake, and right here in the nation's capital we have the spawn of Satan himself lobbying for equal consideration! The Constitution does not apply to you!"

Everyone started talking at once. Well, not everyone. But it seemed like it. I was stunned, glaring bullets at Duke, and I managed to sputter something about showing him my birth certificate proving I was a natural-born citizen and the Constitution in fact did apply to me. Ben was on his feet, talking about suing in federal court for civil rights violations. Dreschler seemed to be in a mild panic, speaking with one of the committee staffers behind her. Henderson was yelling at Duke; Duke was still shouting quasi-religious bigoted inanities at me.

If I'd been a spectator it would have all been very exciting, I was sure.

Amid the chaos, that deeply buried part of myself was rising to the surface, clawing at the bars of the cage I kept her in, wanting to escape, wanting to run, on all her four legs. She knew that in a few hours she'd get to do just that, and she didn't want to wait.

I stayed seated and breathed very calmly, because that was the only way I'd keep her, the Wolf, locked away.

Dreschler reached over and unplugged Duke's microphone, right from the back. That didn't stop Duke from continuing to rant, but now his voice was faded and lost in the back of the room. At last, he realized he'd been had. It took him a surprisingly long time. He glared at Dreschler, eyes bugging and face turning scarlet.

"The committee withdraws the question," Dreschler said coolly into her own mike. "And with all due respect, Chairman, another outburst like that and the committee will vote to censure you."

Ben, moving in slow motion, returned to his seat. Someone in the back clapped a few beats that echoed in the chamber. I dared to look over my shoulder to see who it was. Roger Stockton, camera tucked under his arm.

Dreschler sighed, sounding as tired as I felt. "One last question, Ms. Norville. This committee was convened to determine if the work of the Center for the Study of Para-natural Biology warrants greater attention from the United States Congress, and if the information made public by Dr. Flemming and the Center requires action by the federal government, or poses a threat to the American public. You've been here all week, you've heard the testimony that we have, and you have an insight that none of us understand. If you were sitting up here, what would be your conclusions?"

Was she asking me to do their job for them? Was this my chance to steer policy for the whole government? I spent a moment wishing I would sink through the floor. I hosted a cult radio show, that was all. I wasn't an expert. And a U.S. senator was expecting me to give her advice? Was treating me like some kind of authority? Once again, Alette had called it.

If I blew them off, refused to give them some advice they could use, no one would ever take me seriously again. I'd come too far to deny what I'd become.

"I suppose if I were going to turn activist, this would be my chance. Rally members of the supernatural underworld into some kind of new minority that can lobby the government for recognition and protection. But typically, such people are more interested in anonymity than activism. They just want to be left alone. And oppression hasn't been much of an issue when most people don't believe that the supernatural exists. What Dr. Flemming has done is brought these conditions out of the realm of mysticism and into the area of scientific examination. This is good, presuming that it is done for the right purposes. I worry about the Center's research precisely because its motives are unclear. And I worry that with these conditions now brought into the public eye, such oppression will start.

"I think it's too early to make sweeping decisions. But I would ask the members of the committee to keep their minds open. I would hope that whatever publicity comes out of this, people remember that these are diseases, and the Americans who have them are still Americans."

"Thank you, Ms. Norville. That closes hearings for today. The committee has a long deliberation ahead of it. We'll hope to reconvene in the near future with our concluding statements."

Henderson and Dreschler stood and booked it out of there like they couldn't wait to be somewhere else. Duke took a moment to glare at me vindictively, like it was my fault he'd lost control of his own committee.

Whatever.

Ben put his hand on my shoulder. "You did okay. Let's get out of here."

"Norville! Kitty Norville! Can I ask you a few questions? How long have you had this condition? Tell us how it happened—did you survive an attack? Do you recommend people arm themselves with silver bullets?"

"We have no comment at this time. Thank you," Ben said.

Ben tried to hustle me out of there. We looked like a hundred scenes aired on news programs, of people leaving courtrooms or hearings. I kept my head up, trying to salvage some dignity, but my gaze was down, avoiding eye contact. Ben stayed close, partially shielding me from the cameras and reporters. He wasn't a werewolf, but right now he was my pack, and I was grateful for the protection.

"Kitty!"

I looked up at the familiar voice. Jeffrey Miles was trying to push toward me through the crowd. He must have been sitting in the back of the room. I paused to let him catch up to us.

He wasn't smiling. His normally easygoing demeanor was gone. He looked tense.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It's Roger. He left in a hurry right before the session ended. He seemed really anxious."

Sure enough, Roger Stockton wasn't among the throng that followed me. I'd have expected him to jump out in front of me with that damned camera.

I couldn't help it; his absence made me nervous. I shrugged to cover it up. "Maybe he had someplace to be."

"I think he's up to something," Jeffrey said. "Be careful, Kitty."

I nodded, uncertain. Why would Roger be up to something? We were buddies now, right? Someone shoved between us, and the crowd carried me away. Ben kept his hand on my elbow until we made it outside.

Bradley waited at the curb with Alette's car.

"You should let him give you a ride back to your hotel," I said.

Ben looked over his shoulder at the reporters and agreed.

The car doors finally shut out the chaos.

"You're off to go all furry now, I assume," Ben said.

I couldn't think of a snide reply. "Yup."

"Be careful. I'm sure that Miles guy is right. Stockton knows what night it is. He'll probably try to follow you."

"We won't let that happen, sir," Bradley said, glancing at us in the rearview mirror.

Ben scowled. "Pardon me if I don't entirely trust a minion of the dark."

I shushed him. Fortunately, the hotel wasn't far away. We arrived before the discussion could degenerate further.

Ben got out, then leaned in before closing the door. "Just be careful. Call me when you get back."

I nodded, bewildered at his vehemence. He didn't look at all happy. I couldn't do anything about that.

"Thanks, Ben."

He closed the door, and we returned to Alette's. I needed to change into something scruffy.

Just after dusk, Bradley and Leo prepared to drive me to the Crescent. I'd meet Luis there. I didn't know why Leo had to come along. He said he wanted the air. Alette said she wanted him to make sure we weren't followed and that Luis would take good care of me. Like they'd turned into my parents who insisted on vetting the boys I dated. I was an adult, for God's sake. I tried to ignore him.

I couldn't wait. Before we even left the driveway, my foot was tapping a rapid beat on the carpeted floorboard in the backseat of the sedan. In moments, I'd be at the Crescent, with Luis and the others, away from Leo and politics and all of it. I was back in jeans and a T-shirt, my hair loose, feeling a weird and not unpleasant charge in the air. On these nights, when I could feel the full moon rising, even though it wasn't visible yet, the Wolf leapt inside of me. She turned into a kid at Christmas, giddy with anticipation, knowing her big moment was close.

I had to stay human a little while longer. I had to keep her locked in, and that was the hard part, because slowly, bit by bit, sliver by sliver, I was losing control. By midnight, I wouldn't be able to hold her in any longer.

"Lovely evening," Leo said conversationally, over the backseat. "I have to admit, I'm a little jealous. The chance to run around with a bunch of animals. I get chills just thinking about it."

It was a perfect night for running. Clear and crisp, with a touch of a breeze. Scents and sounds would carry. Morning would be cool enough to make me grateful to have others nearby, bodies contributing warmth. I rolled my shoulders, stretching, knowing what would come soon.

"You know," Leo continued in his mock-amiable tone. "I imagine you make a lovely little wolf. I'd very much like to see that."

I couldn't bring myself to care enough to tell him to shut up.

Bradley glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Him, I smiled at. "I've done this before, you know."

"Yeah, but it's a new place. New people. I just thought I'd ask."

"Thanks." I was sick of people asking if I was going to be okay. I'd made it this far, hadn't I?

I was going to be a little late. Just a few minutes. I hoped Luis would wait for me. But really, I didn't doubt that he would wait for me. Just nerves.

Leo said, "Bradley, would you mind pulling over here for just a moment? I'd like to take a look at something."

"Here?" Bradley pursed his lips, looking confused, but came to a stop at the corner, as Leo requested. "What is it?"

I wondered as well. The Crescent was only a few blocks away. I could walk there at this point.

"Don't worry, it won't take long." Leo flashed his grin at me, then lunged at Bradley.

It happened so fast the driver didn't have a chance to flinch. Leo grabbed his head and wrenched, twisting it sharply until it crunched. As a man, Leo didn't look like much. Didn't look strong enough to break a man's neck. But he was a vampire, with a strength and speed that were blinding. Bradley probably didn't even know what was happening.

I didn't even have a chance to scream.

Leo didn't pause before launching over the backseat. It should have been awkward, but he seemed to fly, leaping at me arms outstretched, pinning me. He grabbed my hands, slipped something out of his pocket, wrenched my arms back, and a second later I was locked in handcuffs, my hands behind my back. The cuffs burned, searing against my wrists like they were hot from an oven. When I pulled against them, the pain flared.

Who the hell had silver alloy handcuffs?

Leo rolled me faceup and straddled me, pinning my legs with his body, squeezing his hand on my throat. "Be a good little kitten and this will all be over soon. If you start shape-shifting, I will kill you. Understand?"

He wasn't actually wanting to rape me, was he?

I squirmed, the handcuffs seared my skin, and I whimpered.

"Oh, you poor dear." He leaned close, breathing against my cheek. I shut my eyes and turned away. I could get through this. Whatever he planned, I could get through it.

His teeth rubbed against my jawline just before a fang dug in. It felt like a pinch.

I screamed, arching my back to thrash away, not caring about him or the silver, just wanting to get away.

He held me too well, pinned against the length of the backseat, my arms immobile under me. I wasn't getting away. He licked the wound he'd made. Then, laughing, he straightened.

"My, you are high-strung, aren't you? Don't worry, as much fun as it might be, this isn't what the evening has in store for you."

Howl, claw, bite, Change, run away…

No. Couldn't let Wolf out, couldn't let her panic overwhelm me. Keep it together, stay in my body, my human body. I didn't doubt that Leo would kill me if I Changed.

That took all my strength. I didn't have enough left over to even tell him to fuck off.

From his jacket pocket he took out a couple of handkerchiefs. I was breathing hard, whining with every breath, frozen with panic. Bradley's face leaned against the seat, toward me, dead eyes staring at me. Dead, blank, gone. I should have seen it coming, he should have seen it coming, this shouldn't be happening—

Leo jammed one scarf into my mouth, tying it behind my head. Another went around my eyes.

Breathe, steady, stay anchored. Keep it together, that was what T.J. always said. Good girl.

T.J. wasn't around to rescue me this time.