Kitty Goes to Washington

Chapter 3

Alette wanted me to tell her if I planned on going out. Well, of course I planned on going out. But by the time I woke up, it was full daylight, which meant she probably wasn't around.

So I left a note. I scribbled it on a piece of notebook paper and lay it on the coffee table in the parlor.

It wasn't completely honest of me. Tom and Bradley were probably on call. Alette probably meant for me to tell one of them. I could have gotten a private chauffeured tour of the city—nice, protected, safe.

I'd put my hand on the knob of the front door when I heard footsteps trotting down the stairs behind me.

"Miss Norville!" It was Emma, her brown hair pinned up in a sloppy bun, wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. The clothes made her look young. "Are you leaving?"

I took a guilty step away from the door. "Call me Kitty. I, ah, just wanted to look outside to see what the weather was like." She wasn't going to buy that. I had my backpack hitched over my shoulder. "Alette puts you to work on Sunday, does she?"

"Oh, no. She lets me use the library upstairs to study. It's my last day to catch up on homework before class tomorrow. I was just heading to the kitchen for a snack."

Wow, she really was working her way through college.

"You go to Georgetown?"

"George Washington," she said. She stayed there, leaning on the base of the banister, smiling helpfully. "Have you had breakfast? You want me to fix you something?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine." I wanted to leave. No offense or anything. I fidgeted.

The awkward pause continued. I wasn't fooling anyone. I'd even convinced myself that if I left my car in the driveway out back and used public transportation, they'd just think I was sleeping in late or something.

Finally, she sighed and said, "I can't stop you from leaving. But Alette won't be happy about it when she finds out you went out alone."

Now that didn't make me feel guilty at all. "Are you going to get in trouble if I run off?"

"No. Alette doesn't get angry, not like that. But she'll be disappointed."

And no one liked to disappoint Alette.

"It won't be long. I just want to look around. I'll be back before she even wakes up for the evening."

"Have a good time," Emma said. The statement was perfunctory rather than sincere. She swung around the corner, disappearing through the door to the kitchen in the back of the house.

I felt like a heel. I went out anyway.

D.C.'s famous Metro subway didn't run this far out, but a shuttle bus made stops between Georgetown and the nearest Metro stations. In half an hour I was in the middle of the Mall.

Then I totally, unabashedly played tourist. I couldn't see it all in a day. I probably couldn't see it all in a week, if I factored in museums. Fortunately, there were plenty of companies willing to take my money to drive me around on their tour buses and give me the spiel. The buses even dropped me off in front of just about every museum I could hope to visit. I saw the White House!

All morning and part of the afternoon, I ran around like a maniac seeing the highlights. As I did, I kept my eyes open, looking at the faces around me, wondering. But they were all tourists, round-eyed and cranky. I wasn't going to find any lycanthropes among them. Not that I could scent one across the Mall anyway. They had to be somewhere, though, and I would have liked to have spotted a friendly-looking one to buy a cup of coffee for and ask what was really going on.

I was leaving the American History Museum when my cell phone rang. I just about jumped out of my skin. I'd shoved the thing in my jeans pocket and forgotten about it.

I answered it.

"Kitty?"

"Ben? Where are you?"

"I'm at the hotel. Where are you?" The lawyer had flown into town this morning on a red-eye. We'd reserved rooms at the same hotel—the place I hadn't checked into yesterday.

"It's a long story. We should get together."

"I'm having a late lunch in my room. Can you get over here? I'll order you a steak."

"Make it rare. Thanks. See you in a few minutes."

After a few of hours of walking, I fancied I knew my way around well enough that I could find the hotel by myself, and I was pleased to no end by proving myself right.

It pays to have all the escape routes mapped out ahead of time.

The hotel was a few blocks from the Capitol, within easy reach of the office complex where the committee hearing was scheduled to take place. Ben had given me his room number, so I went right up and knocked on the door. He opened it and went back to the table, where he had a room-service tray spread out, and sat to finish his own steak.

"I suppose that's going on the expense account," I said, closing the door behind me. He just smiled.

The thing about Ben was he didn't stand much on ceremony. He wore a dress shirt, untucked and unbuttoned to expose the white undershirt. He was in his thirties, rough around the edges, weathered maybe. His dirtyish blond hair was ruffled, the hairline receding. On the bed, a briefcase sat open, a storm of papers and legal publications strewn around it. He didn't look like much, but he worked hard.

"Nice flight?" I said.

"Yeah. Great. You look like you've been running all over town."

I probably didn't look too fresh, blond hair plastered to my face with sweat. It wasn't summer, but the city was having a balmy fall. A sticky humidity dampened the autumn air.

I hadn't even thought about the distances involved. Most tourists would probably think it was crazy, trying to cram as much as I had into that little time. But I wasn't even tired. It was one of those times when being a werewolf had its advantages. I could run for miles.

"This place is incredible," I said. "I ran to the Air and Space Museum to see the Wright Flyer, the Natural History Museum to see the Hope Diamond and the dinosaurs, and the American History Museum to see the Star Spangled Banner. They also have Mr. Roger's sweater, did you know that? One of them, at least, the guy must have had like a hundred. This has got to be the most culturally valuable square mile in the U.S." I'd hit the highlights in the big museums, making a sprint out of it. I didn't know when I was going to get another chance to sightsee this week.

He stared at me, wearing a mocking smirk.

"What?" I said with a whine, a little put-out.

"You actually got teary-eyed when you saw the Star Spangled Banner, didn't you? You been to Arlington Cemetery yet? You see Kennedy's grave?"

I had teared up. I wasn't going to admit it. "Not yet. I was going to do that tomorrow after the hearings."

"That'll push you over the edge, I bet. Bring Kleenex."

I pouted. "You don't have to make fun of me."

"Why not? You're a sentimentalist. I didn't know that before."

"So I'm a sentimentalist. So what? What does that make you?"

"A lawyer." He didn't even have to think about it. He continued straight to business. "You know who's chairing this committee you're testifying for?"

I didn't. I'd been busy with the show, the chance to interview Flemming, and traveling. I had Ben to worry about the rest, right? "No."

"You aren't going to like it."

How bad could it be? "Who is it?"

"Joseph Duke."

I groaned. Senator Joseph Duke was a witch-hunting reactionary. Literally. As in, in a world when such things were still mostly considered myth and fairy tale, Duke ardently believed in witches, vampires, werewolves, all of it, and felt it was his God-given duty to warn the world of their dangers. An earnestly religious constituency kept him in office. I'd had him on the show a few weeks ago. He'd promised to pray for my soul. It shouldn't have surprised me. He probably saw these hearings as vindication, his chance to declare to the world that he was right. "It could be worse," I said hopefully. "Yeah. You could be a communist werewolf." He gestured to the opposite chair. In front of it, as requested, was a mostly red steak on a plate. I sat and didn't feel much like eating.

"What's your story?" he said.

I told him. I tried to make it sound not quite so dangerous. But he gave me that frowning, are you crazy? look anyway.

He huffed. "The Master vampire of the city decided to make you her personal houseguest? I don't have to tell you that's creepy, do I?"

"I know. But she isn't all that bad."

"Kitty. She's a vampire."

"Yeah, and I'm a slavering werewolf. I get it."

"Listen, they've cobbled these hearings together at the last minute. I couldn't get the staff to give me a schedule of when witnesses are testifying. They're probably not going to call you tomorrow. I'm thinking they'll spend a couple days grilling Flemming. We should go and sit in, to see what kind of tone they set. Get a feel for the room, that sort of thing."

And it wouldn't hurt hearing what Flemming had to say. See if his answers to the senators were any less evasive than the ones he gave me.

"What do we know about Flemming?" I asked Ben.

"Whatever's been in the news. He's a doctor, he's been on the fringes of some pretty whacked-out research. You probably know more than I do."

"I know about his research, about his work with the Center. But I don't know anything about him. He said he did a residency in New York. Think you could track down a little history on him?"

"I'll see what I can do." He reached over to one of the piles of paper on the bed, scooped it up, and handed it to me. "Here's your mail from the last couple weeks. There's a couple of local invitations you might look at. Word seems to have got out that you were coming. You apparently got put on some media-related mailing lists."

That was it. Everybody knew I was here. Even people I didn't know about knew I was here. I supposed I ought to enjoy the attention.

"Why would people send me invitations?"

"Apparently, you have cachet," he said dryly. "You're hip."

Gah. That was almost worse than being an authority.

The invitations he mentioned were three pieces of mail that came in thick, stationery-type envelopes, cream-colored and pearl-gray. I cracked them open while I ate. One was an invitation for a cocktail party at the Washington town house of the Colorado representative from my district. Vote-pandering. I set it aside. The second was for the next installment of a lecture series sponsored by the League of Women Voters. Latent college feminist tendencies almost got the better of me on that one.

The third was a reception for the opening of a new exhibit at the Hirshhorn, the museum of modern art that was part of the Smithsonian. Attire: formal. Cultural, flashy. Swanky. An interesting crowd showed up to these things, I bet. It would sure beat hanging out at Alette's for the evening. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to a real party.

I was going to have to buy a dress. And shoes. And I only had a couple of hours to do it in.

"I gotta run." I stuffed the mail in my backpack and headed for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Kitty." He stopped me, caught my gaze. He'd looked mostly at his plate until then, finishing off the last of his meal. He startled me into staring back. "I don't have to tell you to be careful, do I?"

I was a little dumbstruck. "Wow. I might start to think you really care."

"Have to protect the revenue stream," he said, quirking a smile.

I rolled my eyes and got out of there, thinking, what could possibly go wrong?

I'd never owned a little black cocktail dress. But every girl should own a little black cocktail dress before she's thirty. Now I had mine.

I returned to Alette's place just after dark, with an hour to spare before the reception. Alette met me in the foyer, like she'd been watching for me. My assurances to Emma that Alette wouldn't know I'd been gone scattered like dust.

She crossed her hands before her, "I would have preferred that you take Bradley or Tom on your outing."

Despite my best efforts, I stood there like a guilty teenager out past curfew, my backpack over one shoulder and the plastic garment bag from the department store over the other.

I shrugged, trying to turn a wince into a smile. "I didn't want to bother anyone."

Her glare told me what a poor excuse that was for flouting her hospitality.

"You've been shopping?" she said, indicating the bag.

She wasn't going to want me to go to the museum reception. She'd want me to stay all tucked up and safe, with her. But I'd been all over town today. I hadn't sensed any lycanthropes. What was more, no super-territorial werewolves had found me. That whole explanation was becoming increasingly lame.

Sneaking out while she was up and about would be a lot harder than sneaking out during daylight hours.

I wasn't going to make excuses. "Yeah. I got a dress. I have an invitation for a reception at the Hirshhorn." Earnestly, I dug in my backpack, found the invitation, and handed it to her. As if I had to prove something like that. "It sounds like fun, and it starts in an hour, and I'd really like to go."

This was ridiculous. I hadn't had to beg to go out since high school. Well, that wasn't true. I'd had to beg Carl, the alpha male of my old pack, to go out. He liked keeping his cubs under his paw, and he especially didn't want me having any fun without him. I thought I'd finished with all that when I left. When he kicked me out. I squared my shoulders and tried to seem a little bit dignified.

She examined the invitation, then me. "This dress. May I see it?"

I peeled off the plastic and held the hanger up to my shoulders. It was black silk with spaghetti straps, clingy in all the right places. The skirt was short without being trashy. I had to be able to sit down and stand up without embarrassing myself. And I found these killer strappy high heels on sale.

Alette rubbed the fabric between her fingers, stepping back to take in the whole garment. "Hm. Understated. Good lines. It will do, I suppose."

Like I needed her permission. "I'm going to get changed," I said, creeping toward the stairs.

She didn't stop me. After the first couple of steps, I ran the rest of the way.

I'd just closed the door to my room when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket, read the display—it was my mother. I'd forgotten, today was Sunday. She called every Sunday.

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Kitty. Where are you this week?" Her tone was laden with unspoken reprimands. She'd asked me to call her when I stopped in a new place, to let her know where I was. Since I was someplace different nearly every week, and on the road most of the time in between, it seemed kind of, well, futile to try to keep her updated on my whereabouts. I forgot, usually.

"Washington, D.C."

Her tone changed to sounding genuinely interested. "Really? That's exciting. Have you done any sightseeing?"

Thankfully, I was able to tell her yes, and we could talk about that for a minute or two. She sounded put out when I told her I hadn't been taking pictures.

"I'll send you a postcard," I said. "Look, Mom? I'm really sorry to cut you off, but I don't have time to talk right now. I've got someplace I have to be."

"Oh?" That unmistakable Mom question.

I relented. I felt bad for ditching her so quickly. "There's a reception at one of the art museums here. It sounded like fun."

"Are you going by yourself?"

I had no idea how she managed it, how she could ask one question and convince me she meant something entirely different. It scared me a little that we knew each other well enough that I knew exactly what she was really asking.

"Yes, by myself," I said with a sigh. "I haven't been here long enough to get asked out on any dates."

"Well, you know so many people all over the place, I can't keep track of it unless I ask. I worry about you, traveling alone."

This wouldn't be a good time to tell her that I was staying with a vampire. "I'm doing fine, Mom. I promise."

"All right, I believe you. Call me before you leave town, okay?"

Mental note, mental note. "I'll try to remember."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

Finally, I was showered and dressed. I spent five minutes practicing walking in the new shoes and was ready to head downstairs.

Alette waited in the foyer at the base of the stairs. She might not have moved since I last saw her, except someone was with her now. She finished saying something to him and turned to watch me.

The one she'd been talking to, a man in a dark gray suit, stood behind her, leaning against the doorway to the parlor, his arms crossed. Not Bradley or Tom. In his mid-twenties, he was shorter, cleft-jawed, with spiky brown hair and a wry expression. He studied me slowly, pointedly dragging his gaze up my body, starting at the ankles and lingering over the interesting bits. His smile got wryer when he caught my gaze.

He smelled cold-blooded and no heartbeat sounded in his chest. Not just a vampire, but a smarmy one.

When I reached the foyer, I asked in a low voice, "Who's he?"

Alette lifted a hand to introduce him. "This is Leo. He will accompany you to the reception."

A chaperone. Great. A vampire chaperone? Double great.

"You know, I'm sure I'll be fine."

She gave me an arched-eyebrow look, the parental you stay in my house you abide by my rules kind of look.

She reached for him. Smiling, he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it lightly. Their gazes met and exchanged some long-practiced message of conspiracy. She said, "He's one of mine. You can trust him."

But I didn't trust her. I was about to suggest that I pack my bags and get a room in the hotel after all, that this wasn't going to work out. She looked me over, stepping to one side and the other to take in several angles.

Finally she said, "You really can't go out looking like that. Wait here a moment." All business, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor, she marched out of the foyer, into the back of the house.

I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Everything fit, everything was straight—I thought. I craned my head over my shoulder to try to see my backside. Did I have toilet paper stuck somewhere?

Leo regarded me, openly amused. "So you're the infamous Kitty Norville." Like Alette, he had a British accent, but his was lighter, a bit more drawling.

"Infamous? I don't know about that."

"You should be flattered. Alette doesn't bother with everyone who crosses into her territory."

"I am flattered, really," I said, scowling.

Alette returned, holding something in her hand. "It's typical," she said. "You lot spend so much time running about in the woods, you forget how to properly accessorize. Hold this."

She carried a velvet jewelry box, which she opened and handed to me. While I held it, she carefully removed the necklace within, a diamond teardrop on a gold chain. At least it looked like a diamond. Not that I knew anything about them, my trip to see the Hope Diamond that afternoon notwithstanding. It was as large as my fingernail.

I'd left my blond hair loose. It lay in waves to my shoulders. It would start to look tangled and ratty as soon as I stepped outside, but I didn't know what else to do with it. Standing behind me, she took my hair in hand and lay it to the side, then clasped the necklace around my neck. The diamond lay an inch below the hollow of my throat, halfway between chin and neckline. Perfect.

"Now, you may be seen in public," she said, stepping around to survey me from the front.

"Not silver."

"I should think not."

I smoothed my hair back into place. "My hair, is my hair okay?"

She grasped my hands and smiled. "It looks fine, my dear."

Suddenly, I liked her. I worried a little that she was working some wily vampire trick on me. But this didn't seem like a vampire trick. This was about loaning someone a piece of jewelry. It was such an unexpectedly girly thing for a centuries-old vampire to do.

Leo offered his arm, and I stared at it like I didn't know what to do with it. I stood there long enough to feel impolite and embarrassed that I was impolite. By way of apology, I put my hand in the crook of his elbow. He smiled like a laugh was on the verge of bursting forth. I squared my shoulders and tried to muster some dignity. His arm was stiff, and I kept thinking there should have been a pulse under the skin.

Alette saw us off at the door like we were a couple of kids going to the prom. Bradley chauffeured us in the sedan, which was waiting at the curb. He stood by the open door to the backseat, and this was all getting ridiculous. Continuing with his formal actions like it was some kind of game, Leo assisted me to my seat and made a little bow before walking around to the other side of the car.

I was torn between feeling like an actress on her way to the Oscars, and the butt of someone's joke, so I kept quiet.

The Hirshhorn's main focus was modern art and sculpture. The gallery where the reception took place was stark, with white walls and a gleaming floor, lit by strategically placed track lighting. Sculptures and the odd multimedia installments stood here and there throughout the wide space, while paintings hung in scattered isolation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How long have you been with Alette?"

"Isn't that the same question?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're never going to find out."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smile turned playful. "Jaguar."

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

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

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

His brow creased. "Who said this?"

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

"Alette," I told him.

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

I winced. "It's a long story."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Here we are."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All of them were lycanthropes.

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

"Is something wrong?" Luis said.

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

"You have always been alone, then?"

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

He said, "Can I get you a drink?"

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

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

"Ahmed! You are here."

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

"I've been busy."

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

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

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

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

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

"Who might you be?"

"Kitty."

"Kitty. Kitty Norville? The Midnight Hour?"

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

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

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

Ahmed shrugged noncommittally and Luis ducked his gaze.

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

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

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

"Excellent idea!" Ahmed said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you all right?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugged, noncommittal. "Yes, in a way. But not how you think. You see, Daniel saved himself. He spoke to the lions and asked them to spare him. He knew their language because he was one of them—were-lion."

My eyes widened. "The Bible doesn't say anything about that."

"Of course not—not explicitly. But it's there, if you look. This was thousands of years ago, remember. Humankind and animal kind were closer then—our years in the Garden together were not so long ago. And our kind, the lycanthropes, we were the bridge between the two. Daniel was very wise, and what he learned was his purpose. That there was a reason for him to be part lion, that God had a reason to make him that way. This is what we learn from Daniel. That we have purpose for being who we are, and what we are, though we may not always know it. Daniel is a saint to us. It's one of our greatest stories."

"I've never heard it that way before."

Ahmed sighed. "It saddens me that the tribes in this country do not tell the old tales to one another. If we gathered to tell stories and drink more, there would not be so much fighting, yes?"

"Hear hear." I raised my near-empty glass in a toast, drained it, and said, "Tell another one."

I lost track of time, lounging there on satin cushions, in Luis's arms, while Ahmed spoke of stories I knew, but had never heard like this, through the filter of my own experience: a werewolf who looked at the world through two sets of eyes, human and animal, and constantly had to bridge the gap between them. Enkidu, from the Epic of Gilgamesh, was a wild man who lived like a beast until he was tamed by a woman's touch. And what if he didn't just live like a beast, but was one, and yet found a reason to embrace civilization? There were tales that sounded like Aesop's Fables, about the kindnesses shown between humans and animals, thorns plucked from the paws of lions and the like, and Greek and Roman myths about gods and goddesses who could change form at will.

The way Ahmed told it, this wasn't a curse or a disease I'd been suffering with for the last four years. It was a gift that made me part of a long tradition of saints and heroes who slipped easily between one shape and another and made it a strength.

I wasn't ready to go so far as to feel grateful about what had happened to me. It had been an accident, a violent, bloody accident, and I didn't feel blessed. Except if I wasn't a werewolf, I wouldn't have my show and all the success it had brought me.

I was confused.

"Wait, Marian, you can't leave without saying goodbye!" Ahmed called to the dancer, who had just reached the door. "Excuse me," he said to us, then leapt to his feet and rushed over to sweep her up in a bear hug. Wolf hug. Whatever.

Luis took the opportunity to move his hand to my hip, where he settled it in an unmistakable invitation. When I tipped my face up to look at him, he was right there, looking back at me. I could feel his breath on my cheek. I craned my neck, leaned forward just a little—his lips pressed mine lightly, then drew away.

I must have flushed from scalp to toe, the way a sudden heat rose around me.

"My apartment is nearby," he said, whispering in my ear.

I felt his body stretched out behind me, the solidity of it, his warm scent, and I wanted it. I wanted him.

I pressed his hand and smiled.

We met Ahmed by the door to say goodbye, though I was self-conscious because I felt like I was glowing. Luis stood very close to me.

"Thanks for the stories," I said. "For everything." I meant the place, this shelter, the company.

"Kitty, it's a pleasure. The doors here are never locked. You're welcome anytime."

The air outside was cool; Luis and I walked arm in arm.

He had a sexy studio apartment with hardwood floors and exposed brick walls, sparse furniture and floor-length drapes. The kitchen had an island counter and looked well stocked, against expectation of the usual bachelor pad. As if he wasn't attractive enough already, he probably knew how to cook as well.

Not that I had that good a look at the place, because just like in a movie we were kissing before the door closed. He pushed me against the wall, and I wrapped one leg around his, pulling myself close to him. We couldn't get into each other fast enough. My skin was tingling, inside and out.

I suddenly realized, it wasn't enough to think back to the last time I had sex, which was long enough ago. But when was the last time I had good sex? That was a pathetically long time ago.

As his hand was climbing up my thigh, under my skirt, I stopped its progress, pressed it against me. I made him slow down, tasting his lips, drawing the weight and solidity of him closer. He smelled spicy, excited, simmering with sweat and hormones. I pressed my face against his neck and took a deep breath of him. He pulled the strap of my dress off my shoulder, bent his head over my bare skin, and did the same, breathing in my scent. I giggled, because I wasn't even supporting myself anymore; I was leaning into him, he was holding me, and we were breathing together.

I was going to enjoy this.

Much later, we rested together in bed, naked and glowing.

I dozed in a happy, languid haze when I noticed the mattress was vibrating with a soft, rumbling noise. I didn't think Luis was snoring; the sound was constant. It felt like one of those coin-operated massage beds in a cheap hotel. I looked up, glanced around, befuddled. The sound was coming from behind me. Right behind me.

I rolled over without displacing Luis's arm draped over my hip.

"Luis? Are you purring?"

The rumbling stopped and he sleepily mumbled, "Hmm?"