"There's a blood test Dr. Flemming could probably perform. But for right now—Senator, is your necklace silver?"
She frowned quizzically. "Yes."
"May I see it?" I eyed the security goon off to the side. "May I approach?"
No one said anything, and Dreschler slipped the chain over her head, so I went to her place on the risers. She offered me the piece of jewelry.
I took it in my left hand, curling the chain around my fingers for maximum skin contact. My hand started itching immediately, and within seconds the itching turned into burning, like the metal was hot, right out of the furnace hot. I couldn't take it for much longer; my face bunched up into a wince, and I hissed a breath between clenched teeth.
"Here," I said, handing it back to her. I shook it away quickly, more inelegantly than I meant to, in my hurry to get it away from me. I stretched my hand, which still throbbed.
A red rash traced lines around my fingers and left a splotch on my palm, all the places where the necklace had made contact. I held it out, so all the committee members could see it.
"A silver allergy," Dreschler said. "It might happen to anyone. My sister can't wear earrings that don't have surgical steel posts."
"Trust me, this didn't happen before I was infected. I had to give up some killer jewelry because of this."
She showed a thin smile, almost in spite of herself. I went back to my seat; she didn't put the necklace back on.
Next to her, Senator Deke Henderson spoke. "What else? What other changes does this… condition bring on?"
"Dr. Flemming mentioned a lot of it in his testimony. It affects the senses. Smell becomes more sensitive, night vision is better. I'd have to say in my own experience it effects mood as well, things like temper and depression. I've heard some jokes about how women make better werewolves since they're used to turning into monsters once a month." That got a few nervous chuckles. "Although I can't say how much of any depression is caused by the condition, or stems from the frustration of dealing with it."
Henderson, the rancher who'd probably spoken out on the debate about reintroducing wild wolves to ranch country, said, "You just called yourself a monster, Ms. Norville. These conditions, as you call them: do they pose a threat to society?"
I had thought long and hard about how I would answer this question. I'd written out a dozen versions of my answer, practiced it, slept on it. Or didn't sleep on it. People on both sides of the issue might not be happy with what I wanted to say.
"No, sir. I don't believe they do. I could mention a dozen issues that better merit your attention if you're worried about dangers to society—highway safety and cancer research, for instance. If they—werewolves, vampires, all of it—were a danger, you'd have had to confront them long before now. For centuries, these groups have lived under a veil of secrecy. They haven't revealed themselves to the public, and they have taken great care to monitor themselves, to ensure that they don't become a danger to society at large, and thereby threaten that secrecy. Like any other citizen, it's in their best interests to live by society's laws. Individuals may pose a threat to other individuals—but no more so than any other person. Domestic violence, for example, poses a much greater danger to more people, I think."
The veil of secrecy was gone, now. The centuries of cultural conditioning that we lived by, as governed by the packs and the vampire Families, by gathering places like the Crescent and patriarchs like Ahmed, all of it swept away. A lot of people weren't going to like it. I didn't know what would happen next, what would come of all this. I felt like I was in the middle of the show, with no other choice but to plunge forward. I clung to the familiarity of that fatalism.
Senator Duke pointedly adjusted his microphone to draw attention to himself. My heartbeat quickened. He had not been kind to witnesses this week. I suspected he had saved the bulk of his ire for me.
He said, "Ms. Norville. As a werewolf, have you ever killed anyone?"
He'd done his research, I was sure. He had to know the answer to that.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth. "Yes, sir. I have."
The murmur of the audience sounded like the distant crash of waves. I heard pens scratching on paper. How nice, that some people still used pen and paper.
"Care to explain?" Duke drawled.
"The Denver police have a report of the incident. The situation was self-defense. He—the man I killed—was also a werewolf, and he had murdered several women. When he attacked me, I defended myself the best way I could." It may not have been the whole truth…
"Did you enjoy it? Killing him?"
"I hope I never have to do anything like that again."
"What about your other half? That demon inside of you? How did it feel?"
He was determined to turn this into a good ol' witch hunt, wasn't he? "There is no demon, sir. Just me."
"That's what you'd like us to think, with your fancy suit and lipstick—"
"Senator, I'm not wearing lipstick."
"—and the Good Book says, 'When he speaketh fair, believe him not for there is abomination in his heart'!"
"Does this mean we're moving away from the 'scientific discourse' part of the testimony?"
"Senator!" That was Henderson. Duke shut up, finally. I sighed. Henderson continued. "May we please return to the subject at hand? You're in danger of harassing the witness."
"Well past, I'd think," Ben muttered behind me.
Duke glared at Henderson, and I caught a glimpse of a long-standing rivalry, acrimonious and far beyond compromise.
"Senator Duke, do you have any further questions?"
Duke meaninglessly shuffled the papers before him. "I do. Ms. Norville, you host a weekly radio show called The Midnight Hour , is this correct?"
Yay, an easy one. "Yes."
"What is the purpose of this show?"
"Entertainment, primarily. Also education. On good days."
"Not conversion?"
I could hear Ben fidgeting, straightening, crossing and uncrossing his arms. He whispered, "Objection…" This wasn't a courtroom. He couldn't stand up and yell it.
"I'm not sure I understand you. Conversion to what?"
"You don't use your show to recruit?"
My jaw opened and it took me a second to close it and formulate a coherent sentence. "On the contrary, sir. I want to shatter any romantic illusions about these conditions that people might have picked up from late-night movies. I mean, just listen to the show."
"Ms. Norville, how many werewolves do you think are living in the United States today?"
"I have no idea."
"None at all?"
"No. There isn't exactly a space for it on the census form."
"Maybe we'll change that. If you had to make a guess, what would you say?"