The sky was pale now. Take care of him, Cormac had said. Keep him out of trouble. How would I ever be able to face him again? What would I say? I'd gotten Ben killed. I wiped tears from my face.
How was I going to keep going without Ben?
No time for that. I am a hunter. I can already taste their blood. My mouth waters for it. I let that part of Wolf edge into my mind. Our territory, our mate, they can't do this to us.
We've learned to fight. We'll show them. Or die trying.
They lived at the edge of town, near the foothills, on a chunk of land with a backyard that opened to wilderness. This was the heart of their territory. The pack came here to run on full moon nights. Even if they weren't at their house, they'd be around here. I was betting Dack knew exactly where. Ben and Dack would have gone here to find Carl and Meg, and Carl and Meg would draw Ben here to kill him. I knew this as if I had smelled their trail the whole way.
Carl's truck was in the driveway, but the house was dark, like no one was home. But it was also the crack of dawn, so who knew. An unmarked sedan sat half a block away; someone in the front seat was sipping coffee and looking bored—Hardin's stakeout. I drove another couple of blocks. There, on the street outside a state park trail-head, Ben's car was parked.
My heart lurched and a new wave of nausea struck me. Like morning sickness, like a miscarriage. Impending death, settling in my gut.
I passed Ben's car and drove a few yards farther, peering through the cottonwoods to the open field beyond, hoping to spot something, looking for signs that they were near. Couldn't see anything. I'd have to go looking for them. I stopped, shut off the car, and reached for my bag.
If you need to kill someone, make sure the thing's loaded. That was what he'd said. I remembered all his instructions, like he was standing behind my shoulder, whispering to me. I could feel his arms around me, guiding my own.
I popped the clip. Full up, bullets gleaming silver. Slid it back into place and chambered a round.
Sure didn't take long to get into this gun thing, did it? I wished it were over so I could curl up and be sick. But the Wolf whispered, I am a hunter.
The world wavered to gray again. It was the dawn, it was the Wolf's sight. It drove me on. Steadied me. Could only think of one thing now: them, and death.
"Rick? Rick, what are you doing here?" Dack came through the stand of cottonwoods, walking toward the street. He saw the BMW, recognized it, assumed.
My first catch.
I stepped out of the car. Thank God the BMW was low to the ground—I could actually look over it without appearing ridiculous.
"Rick's not a morning person. You know that," I said.
Dack froze, and his eyes grew round. He hadn't expected to see me. Absolutely hadn't expected to see me.
"Where's Rick?" he said carefully.
"The basement of Obsidian."
"What—"
"Arturo's gone. Rick's ordered Mercedes out of town. And we know all about you." I rested the gun on the roof of the car. "You should have sided with the strongest vampire."
He ran. Didn't even hesitate. Flat out sprinted toward Ben's car. Quickly—belatedly—I raised the gun and fired. Squeezed the trigger, and again, and both times the weapon jumped in my hand. Forgot Ben's whispering voice, everything he taught me. Didn't hit Dack—one of the trees shredded splinters, where I accidentally shot it instead. By then Dack had safely climbed into Ben's car and had lurched it around in a U-turn to drive away.
Son of a bitch had stolen Ben's keys.
Ben.
I let Dack go and ran to the trees. Did some quick math—fired twice, fifteen rounds, thirteen left. Should be enough. If I could keep my aim straight, I only needed two. I followed my nose.
There they stood, in a field on the other side of the cottonwoods, out of view of the street. All three of them. Ben was on his feet—but Carl was holding him there, standing behind him, wrenching both his arms back and pinning him immobile so Meg could torture him. Blood covered her, spattering her face and soaking her clothing. She was letting her wolf slide to the fore, and her hands had turned to claws. She had been slashing at Ben. I was twenty paces away, but I could make out wounds. He had cuts, parallel lines across his cheeks and across his neck as if someone with claws had grabbed him there and squeezed. His shirt was shredded, dripping with blood.
She had been taking him apart, piece by piece, while Carl held him still.
I painted this scene by inference, because they had paused. Meg had taken a few steps away from Ben— probably drawn by the sound of gunfire, trying to decide whether to go see what was wrong.
I wanted to watch Ben, find some sign that he was moving, that he was going to be all right, that they hadn't gone too far and that his injuries wouldn't kill him. We were less than a mile from where T. J. had died, after Carl ripped out his heart. I couldn't watch that again. I couldn't take that happening again. It was all I could do not to scream in agony.
Meg saw me and snarled. Beyond words.
Dack had delivered him, and they were dealing with him. Then, Ben's keys in hand, Dack was probably leaving to go get me, lure me out here on some pretense. Maybe he'd say he'd help me rescue Ben. That had probably been part of their deal with Arturo—Carl and Meg could keep the pack, but they had to get rid of me and Ben. Or maybe it had been Mercedes's idea. Like Rick, we were too independent, too much trouble. She sent her minion to get rid of us.
They'd planned on killing the three of us—me, Ben, and Rick—the same night we planned on killing them. It had all come down to who got there first.
I had a flash: all the things I could say to Meg, all the mercy I could show her—stop, get away from him, don't make me do this. Get out of Denver, you get the same deal Carl gave me, go away and never return.
She moved toward me, her bloodied hands clenched, shoulders tight like hackles, and I sensed the attack she was about to make—the tensing muscles, the quickening stride. I stood my ground. She was so fixated, so high on adrenaline and victory, she didn't see the gun I held at my side, behind my thigh, out of sight.
She thought she had the power here, but she didn't. That knowledge gave me strength.
This time, I was calm, and Ben's instructions whispered at me. Take a breath. Hold the gun in both hands. Aim. Exhale slowly. It only took a second. Her eyes registered a moment of surprise. She hadn't expected to see a weapon.
I aimed for her head. Fired. Fired again.
One bullet hit her shoulder, another her chest, sending out sprays of blood. She spun back and fell. Didn't even cry out.
Carl ducked, flattening himself on the ground. Released, Ben fell beside him—not moving. I choked on a cry.
Meg writhed on the ground. I kept my distance. The gun was warm in my hand. I held it straight before me, sighting down the barrel. The wounds hadn't killed her. I'd have to finish it. I didn't want to have to do this, please, God, don't make me do this…
Then, she wailed. Seized by pain, she arced her back, flung out her arms, clutching at the grass. Her head tipped back, and her mouth opened wide, screaming. I smelled something—ill and rotten, it came from her, growing until it vied with her normal human-wolf scents. The wounds didn't smell just of blood. Sickness oozed there, too, something sour and burning, growing to be overpowering.
I stepped closer.
Meg didn't notice. All her muscles clenched, pulling her body into a trembling, fetal form. The wounds, marked by bloody splatters, had blackened. The veins in her neck had blackened, showing the trail of poison carried from the wounds by her bloodstream. In another moment the searing trails of silver poisoning traced down both her arms, into her face. Under her clothing, they would soon mark out her whole body.
She stopped shaking. Her eyes and mouth had frozen open, and her fingers remained tensed in the shape of claws. They were only fingers now, harmless, and covered with blood.
"Oh, my God," breathed Carl. I turned to look at him, and he scuttled away from me. Afraid of me. I wasn't even pointing the gun at him.
Oh, this moment was a long time coming.
Moving toward him, I raised the gun, aimed it. I forced myself to step slowly, exhibiting calm, exhibiting power, when all I really wanted to do was throw myself to the ground at Ben's side. Or let Wolf come out and rip into Carl. I could almost feel his blood on my tongue.
Ben moved, starting to sit up—alive. He was alive. He clenched his jaw, grit his teeth, bent over in the wracked pose that meant he was fighting his wolf, trying to keep from shifting. All that pain and anger called his wolf up, and he was fighting it. I couldn't go help him yet.
On his feet now, Carl was still backing away.
"Kitty," he said, his voice sounding different than I'd ever heard it. Tighter. Higher. Fearful. Close to panic. "Don't…don't do this. I know you don't want to do this. Kitty."
Behind him, something moved in the scrub, where trees started growing at the base of the hills. A wolf, moving in from the wild, trotted toward us. Then another. These were large—too big to be wild wolves. These were wolves that conserved the mass of their human halves—a hundred fifty, two hundred pounds maybe. Big, but still lithe, trotting smoothly and with purpose.
Behind them came a person—a woman, naked, flexing her muscles, her arms and hands, in a familiar gesture. She was about to shift.
I took a deep breath, trying to scent a nonexistent breeze, catching what odors the morning air carried. The pack. This place always smelled like pack—this is where they gathered, where they made their home. But this smell was alive, not a passive scent left behind on a place. The pack was here, now.
I ventured a look around. On all sides of us, people approached. I counted four, then six, then nine, and more. Shaun was one of them, coming from the street. He gave me a nod of acknowledgment. They weren't all dead. They'd found us.
Carl saw them, then. For just a moment, a hairsbreadth of a moment, he smiled, almost relaxed—he thought he was saved, that his pack would rescue him.
But they weren't his pack anymore, and they all moved toward him. Their glares held malice. In return for the abuse he'd handed out, on behalf of the ones he had killed, they wanted blood.
Carl's expression turned to panic.
He raised his hands in a pleading gesture. "Kitty, no, no, please! I'll leave. I'll leave Denver, I won't come back. It'll be yours, it'll all be yours."
"It's already mine," I said.
His face went slack, as if the muscles gave out. The wolves, on two and four feet, came closer.
"Please let me go, Kitty." He sounded like a little boy. "I'll never bother you again."
My mouth was dry. But I had to see this through. I couldn't turn away. "You'll leave Denver, never come back?" I said. "Same deal you gave me?"
He nodded quickly. "Yes, yes!"
A dozen monsters wanted his blood.
"I'm sorry, Carl. That's not for me to decide."
The pack closed the circle around him. A wolf clamped teeth around his waist, another raked claws down his back.
Carl screamed and started to Change. His wolf had sensed the danger and had clawed its way to the surface. His face stretched, growing a snout. His reaching arms bore claws, his skin shone with fur. But it was too late. The others were too many and too strong. They overwhelmed him, swallowed him in their crowd. I lost sight of him, but still heard him. His screams came fast and desperate, turning high-pitched and squealing, like the wailing of a dog, then gurgled to silence. They tore him apart.
I dropped the gun and ran to Ben.
"Ben! Ben, hold on, please—"
"Kitty!"
Already sitting up, he fell into my arms. We clung to each other, as if afraid of drowning.
My arms tight around him, his blood soaking into my clothes, smearing on my face, I kept saying, sobbing, over and over, "Don't die, don't leave me, don't ever leave me."
For all his injuries, he squeezed back just as tight. I couldn't breathe, and that was okay.
"I'm all right," he said, his voice weak. "I'll be all right. I won't go."
"I love you. I love you, Ben."
He kissed me. He could only find my ear because I pressed myself so tightly to him, my face against his neck. I responded, turning so my lips met his. He held my head, his fingers digging in my hair, and we kissed. I could taste the blood on his lips and face. I didn't want to come up for air.
Ben slumped against me, and I had a moment of panic. Maybe he wasn't all right after all, maybe he was dying, maybe—
He rested his head on my shoulder. He'd let himself relax, settling into my embrace. He wasn't going to shift, he wasn't going to die.
He murmured, "She kept saying, 'We'll give you back to her in pieces. We'll show you to her in pieces, before we take her apart.' And all I could think was, ‘Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her.’"
Together, we sighed. The world had paused for a moment, and we took advantage of it.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I tried to get a look at him, at his injuries. But I didn't want to move. I wanted to keep him close.
"I feel like shit," he said, and chuckled. "Dack's with them, he's one of the bad guys."
"I know. He's gone, he went away."
"Did we win? Did the good guys win?"
"Yeah, the good guys won. Let's take a look at you."
He winced as he straightened, and we surveyed the damage: bruises everywhere, cuts on his arms. His shirt was so torn it practically fell off him. Slash marks covered most of his body. Face, neck, chest, stomach. They looked deep and oozed red. The skin around the wounds separated when he breathed. She'd wanted to make it slow, which I supposed I ought to be grateful for. It kept him alive for me.
"Oh my God," I whispered, wincing in sympathy.
He shook his head. "It's already better. Now that she's stopped, it's better."
"You should lie still for a while."
"As long as you keep me company."
I smiled. "Okay."
The noise from the pack—ugly, wet noises—had stopped. The wolves remained. Most had Changed to their four-legged selves, pushed over the edge by the blood and violence. But they were all calm now, lying down, licking their paws, or each other's muzzles. A couple of human forms sat among them, watching them. Their arms were bloody.
There was no sign of Carl.
The wolves gathered around me and Ben. The whole crowd of them, over a dozen, formed a circle around us. When they noticed me looking at them, they glanced away, bowed their heads, laid back their ears, lowered their tails. All signs of submission. All body language that said, You are the leader now.
"I'm not ready for this," I whispered into Ben's neck.
"Didn't you say you wanted kids?"
Not like this. One kid, maybe. A child of my own flesh and blood. Not…not a dozen killers. Still, I giggled, high-pitched and nervous.
"O alpha, my alpha," Ben said, and I punched his arm—very gently. He kissed my forehead.
Shaun hadn't joined the others in the kill. He'd stayed back, near me. Watching over us.
"You okay, Ben?" he asked.
"Getting there." He showed no inclination to try the next step of struggling to his feet, but that was fine. We could stay here awhile. We were safe now.
"What are you doing here?" I said, choking on the lump in my throat. "All of you." A couple of the wolves had perked up their ears, listening to us.
"Mick was watching the house, but when the cop got there he went into the hills. Lost phone reception, so Becky and Wes came looking for him. They caught Carl and Meg's scent and followed them. Then Rick called me about Ben and Dack. He said he sent the cops here as well. They should be here any minute."
I let out a bitter laugh. Rick probably thought calling the cavalry made up for sending Ben into danger in the first place.
"Thank you," I said, instead of swearing a blue streak.
"You looked like you were doing just fine," Shaun said.
I shrugged. To be honest, I was glad to not have to shoot Carl in the end. I didn't regret not being the one to pull the trigger on him.
"Wolves hunt in packs," I said, and left it at that.
Police sirens howled, far at first, but quickly growing closer. Sounded like three or four cars.
I sighed, resigned. I didn't know how I was going to explain all this.
"Wes!" Shaun called out to one of the pack who was still human. The man stood, displacing a couple of wolves who'd settled in near him. Wes trotted over. "Help me clean up."
Before moving off to where Meg lay, Shaun said to me, "We'll take care of it."
The two men pulled Meg's body off the ground, hoisting its arms over their shoulders. Meg's long, dark hair fell forward, masking her face. Quickly they dragged her into the hills, out of sight. There were places they could make bodies disappear. The pack cleaned up its messes. I watched her go, surprised at the hate still welling in me at the sight of her. Gone, she was gone, I had to remind myself. She couldn't hurt us anymore.
Ben brought me back to earth.
"Nice of them to give us some warning," Ben said. "It's Detective Hardin, isn't it?"
"Oh, probably."
"Should we go meet her? Where'd you put the gun? Ergh—" He tried to get to his feet, then slumped back, halted by pain.
"I dropped it. I'll look for it in a minute. Hardin’ll take care of herself."
Sure enough, five minutes later, Hardin and a half-dozen officers came from the street, emerging around the cottonwoods. They fanned out, like they expected resistance in force, and they all had weapons drawn.
The wolves, the pack, had gone, fading into the hills. Only Ben and I remained, covered in drying blood, sitting in the dry summer grass, drenched in the morning light.
I put my hands harmlessly in the air and tried not to look like a target. "Hi, Detective."
"Kitty? What's going on here? Is everything okay? Oh, my God!"
She'd gotten her first look at us. We were a mess.
"It's over. It's all over," I said.
She hesitated, clearly at a loss for words. Not that I could blame her. Frankly, I didn't much care what she made of all this anymore. She could figure it out on her own.
"Do you need to go to a hospital?" she said finally, picking what seemed to be the most immediate problem.
Ben wore a punchy grin. Either he was feeling better or he'd completely lost it. "Naw. I just need to spend a day in bed with my girlfriend taking care of me."
Aww, he was so cute. A day in bed…sounded great. I wondered—was he too hurt to cuddle?
I asked, "Do you need us for statements or anything or can we go?"
"I ought to lock you both up," she said.
I batted my eyelashes innocently. Please, no more, just let me sleep…
She sighed. "Go. But I'll call you later."
"Thanks. Oh—and Dack's still loose," I said.
Hardin shook her head and smiled. "My guy staking out the house caught him speeding in a car I suspect is stolen. We've taken him into custody."
"Silver-painted cell?"
"You got it."
"And everyone lived happily ever after," Ben said, smiling vacantly.
Wow, I needed to get him home before he really did lose it. "Come on, Prince Charming." He had to lean on me and move very slowly, but he managed to stand. He was creaking like an old man.
"Don't forget the gun," Ben said.
Hardin looked at me. Watched me the whole time while I hunted around in the grass. I finally found it by the smell of spent powder.
"Do you have a permit for that?" she demanded.
"Yes, I do," I said quickly, returning to Ben's side.
She opened her mouth, pointed at me like she was going to say one thing. Then she shook her head. "You stay out of trouble. Try to stay out of trouble."
I smiled. "Thanks, Detective." I pulled Ben's arm around my shoulder and encouraged him to lean on me as we walked.
I couldn't guess what Hardin and her people would make of this. They'd find a lot of blood on the ground. A few shell casings. But no bodies. Nothing else to pursue. It ended here. Maybe, finally, it ended here.
Ben and I traveled to the street by the trailhead, and I walked him toward the BMW.
"Wow. You upgraded," Ben said.
"It's a loan."
"I hate to get blood all over that nice leather seat."
Too late. I'd already opened the door and lowered him into the passenger seat. "It's Rick's car. He'll appreciate it."
As we pulled out to the road and headed for home, Ben murmured, "The world looks better in the light, doesn't it?"
Morning was progressing nicely. In the east, the sun had risen fully, and the sky had finally turned blue. I glanced at him—he'd closed his eyes, and his breathing had turned deep and regular. He'd fallen asleep.
I smiled. "Yeah, it does."
Epilogue
About a week later, at twilight, I went to Carl and Meg's house. The place had an empty, haunted air to it. I wasn't sure what would happen to it. Ben said the bank would probably foreclose when the next couple of payments didn't come in. They'd discover it was abandoned. Maybe Carl and Meg would be reported as missing, if they hadn't already, and if they had a will or next of kin the house would go to them. If not, everything would go up for sale, and that would be that.
I had decided to move the pack to a different den. I wasn't sure where, yet. A few days ago we'd spent the last full moon—our first under the new management—in national forest land due west of Denver, along I-70. New territory for us. Untainted, I thought of it. The night went smoothly. The pack fed well on deer, slept and woke calmly. I was still getting used to the way they all slouched and ducked their gazes around me.
I was relieved that I'd managed to keep everyone safe. That was my job now. keeping them safe, keeping the peace.
I wasn't sure I wanted to do what Carl and Meg had— buy a house and make the place home for both halves of my being. Or if I wanted to find an even wilder place and save it for the wolves. For the pack. Maybe I'd put it to a vote.
In the meantime, I had to come here one last time. I'd picked up some flowers on the way over—a mixed bouquet, not too big. Lilies, daisies, baby's breath. Happy, colorful flowers.
T. J. hadn't had a funeral. He didn't have a grave. But I remembered the spot where he'd died, thirty yards or so from the house, toward the hills, among the prairie grass and a smattering of pine trees. At least, I thought I remembered the exact spot. I wanted desperately to remember where that was, but I hadn't been thinking clearly that evening.
Walking out, I found the place where the shape of the ground looked right, along with the placement of the trees, the distance from the house, and the line of the hills. T. J.'s blood and scent had been washed away by a winter full of snow and spring full of rain. I smelled the pack, all the other werewolves running and breathing. But not him.
I sat on the ground and lay the flowers on the spot.
"Hi, T.J."
It hadn't even been a year since he died, but sometimes it felt like forever. He felt like a distant memory. Then, suddenly, I'd feel a stab through my heart all over again. I'd hear a sad song, drink bad coffee in an all-night diner like T. J. and I used to do after I got off my shift at KNOB, and all over again I'd be so angry that he wasn't still here.
It was a beautiful summer evening, the sky darkening to a deep shade of blue, a cool wind washing away the day's heat. The scent of the hills swept over me.
I kept talking. Explaining. "Well. We got them for you. Revenge and all that. I feel bad because I didn't mean to. I didn't want to shoot her, I—"
I stopped, swallowed, shut my eyes. I'd killed her. And those two vampires, couldn't forget them, however easy it would be to call them monsters, inhuman, inconsequential. They'd been people, too. This wasn't the first time I'd killed someone, but the first time it had been Wolf who did it, out of instinct and self-defense, and he'd been a wolf and deranged to boot. It had seemed like a dream. And Arturo's two vampires had been to save myself and Hardin. It had happened so fast, it hardly seemed real. But Meg had been all me, wide awake, pulling the trigger. As much as I hated her, it still left a hollow spot inside me. I'd done something a normal, civilized person wasn't supposed to be able to do. I could still see the look on her face.
I wondered if I was ever going to have to do this again. The thought left me drained.
I tried again. I had to talk to T. J. "I didn't come back here wanting revenge. But maybe I should have. Maybe I should have been trying to get back at them all along, and—" I wiped my eyes. I'd never stop crying, would I? "So here I am. Back where I started. I just wish you were here, too. I don't think I can do this. Even with Ben, I'm just not sure."
Then, the wind stopped for a moment, and the world became very still. Quiet, like the pause before a sigh. A while back, a medium—a channeler, the real deal, not a fraud—told me that T. J. was looking out for me. That some part of him was watching—not a ghost, not an angel, nothing like that. Just…a presence. A voice. It sounded like my own conscience reminding me. Straightening out my path a little. I heard it now.
I'm proud of you, Kitty. You'll do fine.
Or maybe I imagined it. Not that it mattered. It sounded like what he'd have said, if he'd been here.
I smiled. "Thanks."
I returned to the street, to my car, and drove away.
Detective Hardin took me out to lunch. Nothing fancy, just a hamburger place near the police station. But it made me nervous. I wondered what she wanted.
After we ordered and the server moved out of earshot, she pulled a manila folder out of her attachй case. I knew it. Please, no bodies, no blood, no mauling, no death. I didn't want to help on any more cases.
"There's been another robbery," she said.
I needed a minute to think about that. I was expecting death and mayhem and she was talking a robbery? Oh, yeah—last month, the case she was working on before all the other crap happened.
"Any new leads?"
"Oh, I think so." She handed me the folder.
I opened it and found a couple of photos. They had the familiar, low-res, black and white appearance of security footage. The setting was your average, soda and cigarettes stuffed convenience store. The site of Hardin's robberies maybe? Instead of a blur at the counter this time, a very clear, very familiar figure stood collecting the goods. Male, dark hair, sunglasses. His partner, a woman with a big ponytail, looked straight at the camera and waved. Charlie and Violet.
I couldn't help it. I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh. All a trick of the light.
Hardin jabbed her finger at the picture. "I knew I recognized them. We never got a clear shot before, but I just knew. I'm gonna get those two. Do you know I'm about to write a memo recommending that twenty-four-hour convenience stores put garlic and crosses in their doorways? I can't believe I'm going to do that."
"If it makes you feel better, robbery is beneath most vampires. I think those two do it because it's fun. For them," I quickly added. Actually, the more I thought about it, the funnier the whole thing got. Vampire crooks? Perfect. Just perfect.
"I'm still going to get them." She put away the folder. "I don't know how, but I'm going to do it."
That was next on her list—she'd gotten werewolves into custody. Now she had to figure out vampires. And if anyone could do it…
That made me wonder. "Last full moon. What happened with those werewolves you arrested?"
She blew out a sigh. "I commandeered a whole row of cells at county. Put silver paint in them, put each one in a separate cell. Got all my people out and watched the whole thing on closed circuit TV. Never seen anything like it." She shook her head, and her gaze turned vague, sliding to a different place, like she was recalling a nightmare. I supposed she was. "One of them kept throwing himself against the bars. I thought he was going to kill himself. In the morning he had welts all over his body—from the silver, not from bruising. The others snarled at each other for twenty minutes, then paced back and forth all night. We had our own zoo. But it worked. I think we can hold them as long as we need to."
"Give them something to eat next time. Raw meat. It might settle them down."
"Okay. Thanks."
I was curious. "What did you think of Dack?"
"I had to look in an encyclopedia to figure out what he even was. African wild dog? Where do they come up with this shit?"
I shrugged. Who knew? It only demonstrated that just when you thought you'd come to the end of what could possibly surprise you, something did.
"I'm in over my head," Hardin said. "I keep wondering which one of these things is going to get me. I keep going like this, something is going to get me."
I couldn't argue. She was like me. When this happened to me, I'd started reading. Delving. And that only touched the surface of what might be out there.
"Do you remember Cormac?" I said.
"The assassin? The one that went after you? Yeah."
"You should talk to him. He's in Canon City, in prison—"
She snorted, interrupting. "About time. That guy's a menace."
Yeah, well…"His family's been doing this sort of thing for generations. He knows things that aren't in the books. He can help you. Give you some advice, maybe."
"So, I go talk to him, pick up some pointers, maybe get a few months shaved off his sentence for helping out?"
I perked up. "Can you do that?"
Now she sounded frustrated. "I'll consider it."
Which was something. For once, I felt better after a meeting with Hardin, rather than worse.
And this seemed as good a time as any to ask the big question. "Do you want to come on the show? I'd love to interview you. One of the first paranatural cops in the country—"
"No," she said, glaring and stabbing into her newly arrived plate of french fries with her fork.
Ah well. I couldn't have it all.
Mercedes Cook resumed her concert tour. The fallout from the public announcement of her vampirism was mixed. She was taken off the cast of the Anything Goes revival. The producers were fairly blunt about not wanting to be a party to the potential irony of having a vampire play the role of evangelizing chanteuse Reno Sweeney.
But her concerts sold out for the remainder of her tour. She added another dozen shows, and those sold out. She was in demand.
I had a feeling the whole performance gig was a sideline for her, and she didn't much care about getting kicked off the musical, or that her concert popularity was skyrocketing. For her, it was all a means to an end.
I wondered: In how many of those cities on her tour did she inspire mayhem? How many revolutions did she leave in her wake?
And how many others like her moved from place to place for the purpose of manipulating the players on their own personal game boards?
And finally, at long last, the book came out.
Check another one off the "dream come true" list. I got to sign books at the Tattered Cover Bookstore. Awesome.
The late-evening event was totally last minute. I hadn't planned on it—because I hadn't planned on being in Denver when we were setting up all the publicity. But, as they often do, the plans changed. And there was the book, in hardcover, with the title blazoned across it: Underneath the Skin. With a cheesy subtitle, "Life and Lycanthropy," which explained it all, really. The picture was from my trip to D.C. last fall, me walking through the crowd on the last day of the Senate hearings, my face looking up, determined, ready for the battles ahead. I hadn't felt like that when the picture was taken. I'd felt like I was drowning. Ben in his polished lawyer guise was at my side, calm and ready for anything. He'd helped me get through it.
Better yet, people even showed up. A whole line of them. How cool was that? The line even stretched to the end of the room. A really interesting mix of people made up the gathering. Some of them I expected: a couple of clusters of folks dressed all in black, with stripy stockings, corsets, dyed hair, eyebrow rings, the whole nine yards. They stood right next to people who would have been at home at my parents' country club. And everyone in between.
I even smelled a couple of vampires and lycanthropes.
Because of that, I wasn't surprised when the line moved forward and Rick appeared in front of me.
We regarded each other for a long moment.
I spoke first. "Did you get the car back okay?"
"Yes. I even refrained from sending you the cleaning bill for the interior."
"You mean you didn't just—"
"Ah, no. I have some dignity left."
I grinned at him. I had to appreciate a vampire with a sense of humor.
"I wanted to thank you," he said. "I couldn't have done it without your help. I'm glad everything worked out." Meaning: he was glad he didn't get Ben killed. Me, too.
"So you owe me big-time, right?" He only smiled. "Can I ask you a question?"
"You can ask."
"What's the Long Game?"
He considered a moment, glancing briefly around at the line of people waiting to get their books signed, at others who might be listening. I didn't expect him to actually speak. But he did, his voice low.
"Vampires have long lives. Long memories. Their strategies aren't planned in terms of years or decades, but in centuries. From the start, they've asked the question, how much power can they get? How much can they control—how many lives, how many cities? Can anyone control it all? What would happen if one person—one being—could control it all? That's the Long Game."
"Control it all," I said, baffled at the concept of trying to plan anything past next week. And here we were talking about centuries. "Why? Who'd want to?"
"That is a question I hope I never learn the answer to." He seemed tired. Sad, maybe. The smile hid pain. "Some of us refuse to be a party to it. We keep our pockets of chaos operating."
"This isn't over, is it?"
He shook his head. "We'll always have to watch."
For usurpers, for invaders, for the ultimate evil descending upon us and stealing our souls. All of the above. I didn't want to know.
I changed the subject. "Someday you have to tell me about Coronado. I want you to tell me where you came from and how you got here. The whole story. No dodging."
"All right. I will, someday."
Then he produced a copy of the book, which he'd been hiding behind his back. He gave me a gotcha look. "Can I get mine signed, too?"
Happily I took it and wrote with the most flourishing handwriting I could manage: To Rick: Always look on the sunny side of life. Love, Kitty.
Then Ben and I got this great idea. Well, I had the idea— borrowed it from Ahmed, the werewolf I'd met in Washington, D.C., who didn't hold with packs and fighting. But Ben made it happen. Found the place and did the paperwork to set up the business.
He let me tell Shaun about it.
I picked up Shaun after he got off work and took him to the storefront on the east side of downtown. It had been a bar and grill until a few months ago, and would be again, or something like it, maybe, with luck. Shaun knew the place. He gave me a startled look when I pulled out the keys for the front door.
"It's yours?" Shaun asked.
"Ben and I picked up the lease." I led Shaun inside.
The fixtures had been gutted, which was fine, because I hoped we could redo it all. The bar and shelves behind it were intact, but everything else was a wide open expanse of hardwood floor. Potential incarnate.
I told him about D.C. "There's this place run by a wolf named Ahmed. It isn't anybody's territory. Anyone's welcome there, as long as they keep the peace. Wolves, foxes, jaguars, lions, anybody. People come there to talk, visit, drink, play music, relax. No pressure, no danger. You understand?" He nodded, donning a slow smile. "Rick's Cafй."
I shook my head. "No, it's got nothing to do—"
His grin broke full force. "Not that Rick. Casablanca."
Oh, that Rick. "Yes. Exactly. Ahmed subsidized his place with a restaurant, but this has to be a real business. It has to support itself, and there aren't enough lycanthropes around here to do that. So it has to be real, open to the public, everything, and still be a haven for people like us. And we need someone to run it. Do you think you can handle it?"
"Totally," he said, not even a spot of hesitation, which gave me confidence. "Absolutely. There—that's where the stage goes, for live music." He marched to a corner and turned, sweeping a circle with his arms. His eyes lit up with plans. "And no TVs. I hate TVs in bars. And maybe we can have a private room in back for the pack."
His enthusiasm was infectious. This was going to be good, I could feel it. He said, "You know what you want to call the place?"
"I've had some ideas. Do you have any suggestions?" He was still looking around, gazing in every corner, studying every wall. "New Moon," he said.
I could already hear Billie Holiday playing on the sound system. I could smell beer and fresh appetizers, hear an espresso machine hissing away in the corner. Sense the press of bodies around me, all of them smiling. Nobody fighting.
"I like it," I said.
"We'll stay open all night," he continued. "Feed the nightclub crowd on weekends. We'll need a liquor license, and—"
He kept going, spinning out plans, and I happily basked in the knowledge that I had chosen my minion well.
In the end, Mom was right. She'd been right the whole time, every single phone call she made to me when I was on the road, asking me when I was going to come home, making all those pleas. She knew, and I should have known, that I'd come back eventually.
For Mom's birthday, we had a big party at their house. The spirit of celebration was headier than usual. After facing the possibility that one of these birthdays we wouldn't have her anymore, we were determined to make a production of it Cheryl had decorated the living room with streamers and balloons—which the kids couldn't keep their hands off. Then Jeffy started crying when Nicky popped one in his face, and well…Cheryl stuffed all the balloons in a closet after that, and Dad distracted the kids with wrapping paper and boxes, the best toys ever. I'd brought a huge ice cream cake. The whole family was there, relatives I hadn't seen in years stopped by, and with all the cake, snacks, and sodas, the whole place smelled like too much sugar.
The medical gurus decided Mom's cancer was Stage II. The prognosis was still good, as she kept saying. She was recovering from her second chemotherapy treatment. We'd tried to schedule the party so she'd be mostly over the effects, and the plan seemed to have worked. She was up, well, and smiling. She still had her hair, but not her appetite. We'd filled the house with her favorite foods, and she couldn't eat any of it. But she didn't complain. She was determined to put on a good show for our guests.
I felt a shadow over her, from what Arturo had said at the hospital. That she was still sick, the cancer was still there, waiting to strike. I thought about telling her, with the idea that she could do something about it, we could attack it, really stop it. But I didn't tell her. No matter what we did, we couldn't know if the cancer was all gone. And Arturo could have been lying about it. All we could do was wait, which we'd have had to do anyway.
Cheryl and I were friends again. Not that we'd ever stopped being friends. But we were sisters, and sometimes that was different. We could take each other for granted.
We sat on the sofa together, kvetching.
"It was cool having a DJ for a sister," Cheryl said, pouting a little. "I miss you just playing music all the time. You used to dig up the best stuff."
"Like you ever listened," I said. "I always did graveyards."
"What do you think I listened to when I was up with the babies at midnight?"
She had a point. I let the warm glow of the compliment settle over me. My sister, my big sister, listened to my shift. "I used to think you had the best stuff. I think you're the one who got me started on the whole music thing."
She narrowed her gaze. "Did you ever give me back that Smiths tape?"
"Oh no, we are not starting that again—"
Mom, as usual, intervened. "What about you, Ben— what kind of music do you listen to?"
"He doesn't like music," I said, glaring.
Ben occupied a nearby armchair, nibbling at a piece of cake and trying to be unobtrusive. He looked at me, feigning shock and hurt. At least I thought he was feigning.
"I never said that," he said. "I grew up watching MTV just like everyone else."
Cheryl said, "And he's old enough to remember when MTV played music."
I rolled my eyes. "Ah yes, the battle cry of Generation X." Now I had them both glaring at me. I gave up. I stood and headed toward the kitchen. "Anyone else want a soda?"
Mom watched all this, beaming, queen of all she surveyed. I stopped to hug her as I passed her chair. She was still sore, but her returning hug was strong. She'd make it, I knew she would, no matter what Arturo had said.
When I closed the fridge, I looked up to find that Ben had followed me into the kitchen.
"Can I talk to you a minute?" he said.
"What is it?" Something serious, I thought. Had to be. He had this look on his face, this too-somber and intent expression, like he was getting ready to do something difficult. To defend a client he knew was guilty. To break up with a girlfriend.
We stood for a moment, regarding each other, leaning side by side against the counter. My arms were crossed, his hands were shoved in his pockets. He was working up to saying something, and I wished he would just come out with it. I was starting to get nervous.
"Can I ask you a question?" he said.
"I think I already said yes, didn't I?"
He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to me. It was cupping a box. One of those little black velvet boxes from jewelry stores. I stopped breathing. Honest to God, I stopped breathing.
"I thought since we seem to have gotten the wolf side all straightened out, if maybe you'd want to make it official on the human side." He opened the box, which was good, since all I could do was stare at it, completely dumbstruck. Sure enough, there it was. A diamond ring.
I looked at him. "You—you're joking."
"Oh, come on, even I'm not that big of a jerk. No, I'm not joking. Kitty—marry me."
And I still couldn't breathe. My eyes were stinging. I knew what to say. A shrill, obnoxious voice inside me— the DJ voice, I'd always thought of it—was screaming, Say yes, you idiot! Yes!
This was the most surreal thing that had ever happened to me. Then I realized—it was also one of the coolest things that had ever happened to me. I was about to burst, and that was why I couldn't speak.
But something was wrong. I swallowed, thinking there must be some kind of mistake. "It's silver."
"Ah, no. White gold. I thought it'd be funny." He shrugged and gave me the most sheepish, adorable grin I'd ever seen.
And it was funny, and I laughed, and threw myself at him, clinging to him, and he held me tight enough to break ribs, and I said it, "Yes, yes, yes."
"What the hell's going on in here?"
Ben and I pulled apart. My sister stood in the doorway. I was surprised to notice I didn't feel at all like she'd caught me at something, like I usually did. No, I felt very, very smug.
Cheryl continued giving us her demanding big sister glare. Ben regarded her a moment. Then, with an obvious and dramatic flourish, he took the ring from the box, held it up to show her, lifted my left hand, and slipped on the ring. He looked back at her with a smug glare. I was grinning like an idiot.
She shrieked loud enough to crack glass. Ben cringed.
"Oh my God!" Then she ran to the next room and shrieked again. "Oh my God! Guess what guess what guess what—"
At least she'd left Ben and me alone again. I pressed myself close to him and nestled happily in his arms. He held me like he wasn't going to let go anytime soon, which was just fine.
I felt him breathe out a long sigh. I could almost guess what he was thinking: That's going to be my sister-in-law? He said, "You have too much family, you know that?"
"Impossible," I said. "You can never have too much family."