"Really, sir, I hesitate to even make a guess," I said. I wasn't going to stick my neck out on a question like that.
"What about vampires?"
"Look at the numbers for any rare disease. They're probably comparable."
He made a show of holding one of his pages up, staring at it down his nose like he was trying to focus on something, like maybe he'd found the one question he'd almost forgotten to ask. He made a long buildup, which meant it was going to be the bombshell. Even worse than are you recruiting !
"On your show, you've met a lot of your kind, haven't you? You've said that most of you have packs, that you tend to congregate. So, let's say there's another werewolf in this room. You could tell us who it is?"
"I suppose."
"If, in the name of security, I needed you to tell me how to find other werewolves, could you do that?"
Um, I didn't like where this was going.
"How many werewolves do you personally know?"
I glared. "I couldn't say."
"Could you give us names? In the interests of security."
"Right now?"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "In the future, maybe."
I leaned toward the mike. "I think the next thing you're supposed to say is 'I have here a list of known werewolves working inside the U.S. government.' Isn't it?"
He frowned. "I was rather hoping you could help me make up that list."
"Oh, no. No way. You guys—I mean you, the Senate as an institution—you've been down this road before. I won't have anything to do with it."
"Ms. Norville, are you refusing to answer my question?"
"I don't think it's a reasonable question. It's an invasion of privacy, it's—"
"I could hold you in contempt of Congress."
The world had suddenly shifted to an old black and white newsreel. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen anymore.
Ben leaned forward to say in a low voice, "The phrase you want is 'Fifth Amendment.'"
Duke pointed at him. "Who are you? Are you influencing the witness?"
Ben stood. "I'm Benjamin O'Farrell, Your Honor. The witness's attorney. Under the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution my client refuses to answer your question on the grounds that it may be self-incriminating."
There. That showed him. I sat a little straighter.
"That's nonsense! It's not an unreasonable question! I can hold you in contempt, I can throw you in jail if I want. The moral and spiritual sanctity of this nation is at stake, and right here in the nation's capital we have the spawn of Satan himself lobbying for equal consideration! The Constitution does not apply to you!"
Everyone started talking at once. Well, not everyone. But it seemed like it. I was stunned, glaring bullets at Duke, and I managed to sputter something about showing him my birth certificate proving I was a natural-born citizen and the Constitution in fact did apply to me. Ben was on his feet, talking about suing in federal court for civil rights violations. Dreschler seemed to be in a mild panic, speaking with one of the committee staffers behind her. Henderson was yelling at Duke; Duke was still shouting quasi-religious bigoted inanities at me.
If I'd been a spectator it would have all been very exciting, I was sure.
Amid the chaos, that deeply buried part of myself was rising to the surface, clawing at the bars of the cage I kept her in, wanting to escape, wanting to run , on all her four legs. She knew that in a few hours she'd get to do just that, and she didn't want to wait.
I stayed seated and breathed very calmly, because that was the only way I'd keep her, the Wolf, locked away.
Dreschler reached over and unplugged Duke's microphone, right from the back. That didn't stop Duke from continuing to rant, but now his voice was faded and lost in the back of the room. At last, he realized he'd been had. It took him a surprisingly long time. He glared at Dreschler, eyes bugging and face turning scarlet.
"The committee withdraws the question," Dreschler said coolly into her own mike. "And with all due respect, Chairman, another outburst like that and the committee will vote to censure you."
Ben, moving in slow motion, returned to his seat. Someone in the back clapped a few beats that echoed in the chamber. I dared to look over my shoulder to see who it was. Roger Stockton, camera tucked under his arm.
Dreschler sighed, sounding as tired as I felt. "One last question, Ms. Norville. This committee was convened to determine if the work of the Center for the Study of Para-natural Biology warrants greater attention from the United States Congress, and if the information made public by Dr. Flemming and the Center requires action by the federal government, or poses a threat to the American public. You've been here all week, you've heard the testimony that we have, and you have an insight that none of us understand. If you were sitting up here, what would be your conclusions?"
Was she asking me to do their job for them? Was this my chance to steer policy for the whole government? I spent a moment wishing I would sink through the floor. I hosted a cult radio show, that was all. I wasn't an expert. And a U.S. senator was expecting me to give her advice? Was treating me like some kind of authority? Once again, Alette had called it.
If I blew them off, refused to give them some advice they could use, no one would ever take me seriously again. I'd come too far to deny what I'd become.
"I suppose if I were going to turn activist, this would be my chance. Rally members of the supernatural underworld into some kind of new minority that can lobby the government for recognition and protection. But typically, such people are more interested in anonymity than activism. They just want to be left alone. And oppression hasn't been much of an issue when most people don't believe that the supernatural exists. What Dr. Flemming has done is brought these conditions out of the realm of mysticism and into the area of scientific examination. This is good, presuming that it is done for the right purposes. I worry about the Center's research precisely because its motives are unclear. And I worry that with these conditions now brought into the public eye, such oppression will start.
"I think it's too early to make sweeping decisions. But I would ask the members of the committee to keep their minds open. I would hope that whatever publicity comes out of this, people remember that these are diseases, and the Americans who have them are still Americans."
"Thank you, Ms. Norville. That closes hearings for today. The committee has a long deliberation ahead of it. We'll hope to reconvene in the near future with our concluding statements."
Henderson and Dreschler stood and booked it out of there like they couldn't wait to be somewhere else. Duke took a moment to glare at me vindictively, like it was my fault he'd lost control of his own committee.
Whatever.
Ben put his hand on my shoulder. "You did okay. Let's get out of here."
"Norville! Kitty Norville! Can I ask you a few questions? How long have you had this condition? Tell us how it happened—did you survive an attack? Do you recommend people arm themselves with silver bullets?"
"We have no comment at this time. Thank you," Ben said.
Ben tried to hustle me out of there. We looked like a hundred scenes aired on news programs, of people leaving courtrooms or hearings. I kept my head up, trying to salvage some dignity, but my gaze was down, avoiding eye contact. Ben stayed close, partially shielding me from the cameras and reporters. He wasn't a werewolf, but right now he was my pack, and I was grateful for the protection.
"Kitty!"
I looked up at the familiar voice. Jeffrey Miles was trying to push toward me through the crowd. He must have been sitting in the back of the room. I paused to let him catch up to us.
He wasn't smiling. His normally easygoing demeanor was gone. He looked tense.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's Roger. He left in a hurry right before the session ended. He seemed really anxious."