We entered the meeting room and found our usual seats. Cormac hadn't shown up since Duke fired him, but Ben said he was still in town. Just in case, Ben said, but wouldn't say in case of what.
Today's session was late in starting. Time dragged. Reporters fidgeted, Senate aides hovered in the background, wringing their hands. The senators themselves shuffled papers and wouldn't raise their gazes. Testimony that should have taken just a few days had been dragged out to the end of the week. I quivered, waiting for something to break.
The audience was dwindling. Most of the reporters had drifted off to cover more interesting stories, and maybe a dozen general spectators remained. Even some of the senators on the committee hadn't bothered showing up. As expected, Roger Stockton was there, ready to stick it out to the very end. He looked like he'd been able to sleep. He invited himself into the seat next to mine. After last night he must have thought we were some kind of buddies.
Maybe we were.
He leaned close and immediately launched into questions. "So where are the aliens and what do they have to do with the vampires? Are vampires aliens?"
"Aliens?" Ben, overhearing, asked.
"A couple of really bad movies have covered that plot," I said. "Where did you come up with it?"
"Last night, the Man In Black with the vampires, the one keeping people away like it was some kind of UFO cover-up. You seemed pretty tight with all them—what aren't you telling me?"
I tried to smile mysteriously, which was hard to do when I really wanted to laugh. "It's not really my place to give away secrets. Honestly, though. The 'Man In Black' was just a guy. There aren't any aliens."
"That's what they all say," he said, glaring. "'It was Venus,' my ass."
Ben gave me a look that said, What the hell are you talking about ? I gave him one back that said, Later .
Finally, the session started. I still hadn't been called. We listened to half an hour of testimony from Robert Carr, a B-grade filmmaker who'd been praised for the frightening werewolf shape-shifting effects in his movies—had he used real werewolves, by any chance? He claimed no, he had a talented CGI artist who used a morphing technique to shift images of people into images of wolves, and if his effects were more successful this was because he pictured actual wolves, instead of the unlikely broad-chested, fake-fur-covered mutant grotesques that most werewolf movies used.
I'd seen a couple of his films, and I was sure he was telling the truth and didn't use real werewolves. Though his effects were impressive and awfully realistic. He might have seen a real werewolf shape-shift. I'd have to tackle—er, approach—him after the hearings and get him to come on the show. We could talk about werewolves as metaphor in film.
I was a little put-out, though, that the committee decided to talk to the werewolf filmmaker before the actual werewolf. Okay, we were still in the entertainment industry portion of the testimony, and maybe some of the committee members didn't believe I was a werewolf. But I'd been on the schedule for three days now. Impatient didn't begin to describe it. I hadn't been able to eat more than half an English muffin for breakfast, I was so anxious.
"Thank you, Mr. Carr, that will be all." Duke straightened the papers on the table infront of him with an air of finality. "I'm afraid that's all the time we have for testimony today. We'll recess for the weekend and resume on Monday to hear from those witnesses we haven't called yet. Thank you very much."
The place burst into activity, people talking among themselves, getting up to leave, aides rushing to attend to the committee members. The other senators looked as confused as I felt; they hadn't been expecting this, either. The tension that had been there from the start didn't dissipate.
"This is weird," Stockton said. "Weren't you supposed to be up there today?"
"Yeah." I crossed my arms and pouted.
"I don't believe it." Ben flopped back against his chair with a sigh. "You see somebody's name on the docket, you expect them to get called. This isn't just annoying, it's unprofessional. They expect us to be on time, the least they could do is run an extra hour to hear everybody."
Maybe there was a reason. Was there anyone else due to be called after me? Or did Duke just want to postpone my testimony?
I counted forward, checking off days on the calendar I kept in my mind, confirming the day with the inner tide that felt the pull of it even if I didn't know exactly what day the full moon fell on. I stared across the room to the table where the senators were cleaning up, heading out, conversing with each other or aides. Duke glanced up and caught my eye. He set his jaw and turned away.
Alette was right. She'd called it.
"The bastard," I said. "He planned it. He planned it this way all along. He needs to drag the hearings out until Monday."
"What's Monday?"
"Full moon. He wants to make me testify the day of the full moon."
Stockton gave a low whistle. "Sneaky," he said with something like admiration. I glared at him. He may have thought we were great friends after our adventure last night, but he was doing a lousy job staying in my good graces. He was less like a war buddy and more like an annoying younger brother.
Ben said, "You make it sound like that's not good."
I shook my head, trying to call up some reserve of righteous outrage. Mostly I felt tired. "I'll be at my worst, that's all. Edgy, nervous. Itchy. He knows enough to know this. Maybe he thinks I'll lose my temper and Change right in front of them all." This put me in a foul mood.
"Can you handle it?" Ben said. "Should we put in a request to delay testimony for a day?"
The day after would be even worse than the day before. It felt like having a hangover, and I seemed to spend too much energy mentally holding the door to the Wolf's cage shut. I'd be distracted and no good.
"No, no," I said. "I mean, yeah. I can handle it. I think." I hoped. No caffeine for me that day.
I had to talk to Fritz, but it was getting late; I didn't know if I'd get to the Crescent in time to see him.
I ran from the Metro station to the club, jumped down the stairs, and grabbed the doorway to stop myself as I looked around in a panic.
I wasn't too late. He sat at his usual table, hunched over his tumbler, staring at nothing and wrapped up in his own world.
Pulling up a chair, I sat near him, close enough to whisper but far enough away to dodge if he decided to take a swing at me. I had no idea how this would play out.
He blinked at me, startled.
"What can you tell me about Dr. Paul Flemming?" I asked.
He stared, his gaze narrowing. "I do not know this name."
He could say that, but his expression told me otherwise. His lip twitched, his eyes were accusing. He looked like someone who had decided to lie.
"I saw your name on a list in his laboratory."
"I know nothing," he said, shaking his head. Quickly he drained his glass, slammed it on the table, and pushed his chair away.
"Please don't go. I just want to talk." This strange, lurking figure raised so many questions. At this point I didn't even care what he told me, just as long as he said something. A flash from the past, a story, an anecdote. The sweeping words of advice and judgment the old often seemed to have ready for the young. I didn't care. I wanted to find a crack in that wall.
He turned to me, looming over my chair, his lips curling. "I don't talk to anyone."
I met his gaze, my own anger rising. "If you don't want to talk to anyone, why do you even come here? Why not drink yourself to death in private?"
He straightened, even taking a step back, as if I had snarled at him, or took a swipe at him. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.
"Here, it smells safe. For a little while each day, I feel safe."
I resisted an urge to grab his arm, to keep him here. To try to comfort him through touch, the way I would have if we'd been part of the same pack. But we weren't a pack. He was a stranger, behind this wall he'd built to keep the world out, and I didn't know why I thought he'd talk to me. Just because I was cute or something.
"Why would you be afraid of anything?"
Slowly, a smile grew on his ragged features, pursed and sardonic. "You are young and do not understand. But if you keep on like this, you might." He brushed his fingers across the top of my head, a fleeting touch that was gone as soon as I'd felt it, as if a bird had landed on me and instantly taken flight again.