Kitty Rocks the House

chapter 5




THE DAYS I wasn’t doing the show, I spent preparing for the show, promoting the show—or dealing with fallout from the show. I tracked down interviews, filed hate mail, and Googled myself to see what people were saying about me. I’d end these afternoons feeling like I had a desk job. Downright respectable, even. I even had a 401(k) these days. I loved my job—that I could define my job and do exactly what I wanted to most of the time. But some days, I liked nothing better than to leave the KNOB offices and head home, to some peace and quiet and Ben. Not think about vampires, conspiracies, mysteries, or anything.

One of those days, late in the afternoon, I was halfway to my car when I caught a familiar scent, a person crossing KNOB’s parking lot. Female, human, tension and tobacco smoke. Detective Jessi Hardin. Her unmarked police sedan was parked in a far corner of the lot, giving me a chance to see her coming. I had an urge to run, but as Ben was fond of saying, running from the cops never did anyone any good. Standing my ground, I tried to smile in a way that was friendly and not challenging.

“Detective, what can I do for you?” I said, sounding far from innocent. Detective Hardin headed up the Denver PD’s Paranatural Unit—one of the first in the country. Mostly in spite of herself, she’d become an expert on the supernatural and crime. Mostly, she got that way by talking to me, because I knew all the dirt.

“Ms. Norville, how are you?” she said, also sounding not very innocent. She definitely hadn’t just happened to be walking across the parking lot and didn’t just want to say hello. She wore a white blouse, unbuttoned at the collar, and dark slacks, and her dark hair was in a short ponytail. Her badge hung on her belt, along with her semiautomatic.

“Oh, I’m fine. How are you?” This felt like theater. I wished she’d get to the point.

“I have a few questions for you,” she said.

“Of course you do.” The last couple of weeks had been a little crazy, but I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. I tried to remember if I’d done anything the least bit suspicious. I hadn’t even staked out any haunted houses. “Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”

“You seem a little jumpy. There something I should know about?”

“Standard cop reaction. I think you enjoy doing this to people.”

“Can’t deny it,” she said. “Seriously, though, you have a couple of minutes?”

I slung my bag into the backseat of my car and leaned against the hood.

She said, “I have reports of strange vampires visiting town.”

“Strange vampires—are there any other kind?”

She smirked. “You know what I mean. Foreign vampires. Powerful. You know anything about that?”

I wasn’t a great liar. “Maybe Denver’s tourism campaign is paying off. Maybe they’re taking Warren Zevon seriously.” Between “Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead” and “Werewolves of London,” I had begun to wonder about Mr. Zevon.

“You’re keeping secrets,” she said.

“Yeah, well, not by choice,” I grumbled.

“What can you tell me?”

“Can you trust me when I say that no one’s causing any trouble?”

“Rick’s in on this, too, isn’t he? Should I talk to him?”

“If you can find him.”

“I’ll give him a call.”

I didn’t know that she had Rick’s number. I wondered when that had happened.

She drew out a manila folder she’d kept tucked under her arm. “How about a more specific question. Have you seen him?” She opened the folder to show me a sketch artist’s drawing of a man’s face, round and stout, frowning, short-cropped pale hair. It was Columban.

Vampires couldn’t make themselves invisible, precisely. But they could influence the way light did or didn’t strike them. They could appear on camera, if they wanted to. Or they could hide in shadows and leave no trace of their passing—keep their reflection from appearing in mirrors, that sort of thing. Security camera footage would never catch the vampire priest. But someone had witnessed something, to get this sketch.

“You’ve seen this guy,” Hardin said, because I couldn’t hide my shock.

“Where’d you get that? What’s he done?”

“Got it from my counterpart at Interpol, and he’s wanted for arson and homicide in Hungary.”

So many questions, I hardly knew where to start. “Homicide?”

“Two workers were killed in a fire he’s suspected of setting in a warehouse.”

I may have been suspicious of Columban, but he didn’t strike me as being criminal; arson and homicide didn’t jive very well with the serene priestly image he’d presented to us the other night. Just went to show, I didn’t know anything about him at all. Neither did Rick. I needed to call him. In light of this new information, I felt confused more than anything. Hardin had startled me on a couple of fronts.

“You have a counterpart at Interpol?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me this? Why didn’t you tell me this before I went to London? Can you imagine the interview I could have gotten—”

“Wait a minute, slow down. Yes, I have a counterpart, and to be snide about it, you never asked. We were all sick of being embarrassed in our local departments, so we started talking to each other. Amazing what we’re finding out.”

“What? What are you finding out?”

She pointed at the sketch. “Tell me about him, first.”

If I gave away anything about this guy to Hardin, Rick would never forgive me. I gave her a very bland smile. “You’ll have to talk to Rick.”

“Is this some kind of supernatural territory thing?” she said. “Vampire versus werewolf, not stepping on toes, all that?”

“More like a not stabbing friends in the back thing,” I said. “I’m sorry. Rick really is the guy you want to talk to. He knows more than I do anyway.”

“This guy’s here in Denver, isn’t he?” she said. “If he really did commit those crimes, aren’t you worried about him pulling the same shit here?”

Which was why I wanted to get out of here so I could call Rick before Hardin did. “Yeah, actually. And I’ll call you if I hear about anything that urgent. I promise.”

She frowned, arching her brow. I looked back at her, wearing my best innocent face. We probably could have stared at each other like that for the rest of the afternoon. But I didn’t have the time.

I gestured over my shoulder to the car. “I’m going to go now.”

She slipped the picture and folder back under her arm. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Nice talking to you,” I said, waving. Then I jumped in my car and started the engine. She watched me drive off. Pure intimidation.

After driving around the corner, I pulled over and called Rick. Half a dozen rings later, the call went to voice mail. Of course it did—the sun was still up. I’d have to wait until after dusk to talk to him. I had to comfort myself with the knowledge that Hardin wasn’t getting through to him, either.

I did the only thing I could—left a message and waited for his return call.

* * *

NIGHT FELL, and Rick didn’t return my call. We had a couple of weeks until our meeting with the vampire delegate from Buenos Aires, which seemed simultaneously too long to wait and too little time to prepare. And always, always, I had the sense that a timer was ticking down to something, and that some malevolence was waiting for me just around the corner.

Usually, I could trust Rick to return calls, but this time I wanted to get to him before Hardin did, and he could decide whether or not to warn—or even trust—Columban. I went looking for him.

Cormac hadn’t called, either, which meant he hadn’t learned anything about where the priest was staying. I had no other leads.

I parked my car behind Obsidian, but never made it to the stairs leading down to Rick’s lair. The spring air was still, sharp with the last cold of winter. My nose flared, awakened by a scent, thick and intrusive, both familiar and alien. Lupine, fur and musk overlaid with human skin, civilizing soap. Male. Werewolf, but not one of ours. Another stranger. Hardin was right, too many weird people had been coming through Denver.

A strange werewolf was downtown, and he hadn’t asked for permission to be here. Just showed up without any warning. He probably had a perfectly good reason for it that would elicit my sympathy, and we would become great friends as soon as I got the explanation. In the meantime, Wolf bristled. She wanted to hunt him down. One more thing to worry about. Ticked me off.

I pulled my phone out of my jeans pocket and called Ben.

He answered, “Hey.”

“Hey, I’m downtown. Can you get down here?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s in our territory. I don’t recognize the scent.”

“Give me ten minutes. Meet at New Moon?”

“Yeah.” We hung up.

The strange werewolf had been through here recently. Last full moon had been three weeks ago, and our territory had been safe then. He could have arrived in town anytime since then and kept to ground, or he could have just gotten here. So was he announcing his arrival, or was he too stupid to cover his trail?

I tracked him west. He was on foot, following sidewalks. Just a guy out for a stroll. He wasn’t traveling in a straight line, though. His path veered north, toward Civic Center Park, then circled the block back toward the art museum. Like the guy was sightseeing or something. I checked my phone—I needed to get to New Moon to meet Ben. Oddly, the stranger’s trail bent toward the same path. He’d headed to the restaurant, too, and recently.

Who was this guy? I called Ben again.

“Hey, Ben? You at New Moon yet, because I think he’s headed in your direction.” My voice was tense.

“Um, yeah,” he said. “The guy’s already here.”

I started jogging. “Who is he? What’s happening?”

“We’re outside. We’re waiting.” He sounded calm. Not relaxed, but not panicked, either. Guy was there, but not threatening.

“Yeah?” I said, wanting to know more, not knowing what to ask.

“Just get over here.”

I made myself slow down, so I could have the last couple of blocks to catch my breath and not be gasping when I faced the stranger. This was going to be some stupid misunderstanding. I was going to have to play self-help guru face-to-face to some adoring fan who didn’t know any better, wasn’t I? I ought to be grateful something like this hadn’t happened before now.

Within sight of New Moon’s brick façade, his scent became crystal clear. My nose gave me a picture before I actually saw him. He was a werewolf, but a civilized one, with clean clothes and washed hair, comfortable with being human. Ben caught my gaze first. He was standing at the outside edge of the sidewalk, arms loosely crossed. His shoulders were stiff, though, his back straight as a rod and his chin up in a show of dominance. After a second he turned away from me to glare again at the man leaning on the wall of the building.

He was the kind of werewolf who you could look at and imagine that he really was a werewolf, a monster, under the human skin. Muscular, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. No doubt he worked out and knew how to fight. Slouching, he was as tall as Ben, and would tower above us both if he straightened. But he was carefully keeping himself small. He was smiling, seeming way too casual for the situation he was in—facing an alpha pair whose territory he’d intruded on. He wasn’t making a challenge—his gaze was downcast. But he didn’t seem at all worried. So maybe everything was okay and he had a good reason for being here.

Wolf didn’t like him. She stirred in my gut, sent shocks down my limbs, and I imagined her claws curling into him. No reason for it. Just something about the way he smiled, looking at Ben like he wasn’t a threat. He thought he knew us, and I was pretty sure he didn’t, not really.

Shaun was waiting inside the glass doorway, looking out, hands clenched at his sides. He glanced at me for a cue, and I shook my head once, telling him to wait.

I approached, hoping the pause in my stride wasn’t too noticeable.

“You must be Kitty Norville,” the stranger said in a steady tenor, forthcoming and friendly, just as I was opening my mouth to speak.

He’d gotten in the first word, throwing me completely off my stride. My radio DJ aversion to dead air saved me from too much of a pause. “Right,” I said, putting a leash on Wolf so we could keep this as human as possible. We were all civilized here. “And who are you?”

“It’s an honor to meet you, finally,” he said, reaching out a hand for shaking. I did so, and he turned to Ben, who had to uncurl his arms before he could shake. “And you must be Ben. Good to meet you.” Ben raised a brow at me.

I blinked the unanswered question back at the stranger.

“Oh! I’m Darren. I wanted to know—do you have room in your pack for me?”