Kitty Raises Hell (9 page)

“Well, folks. I wish I had something pithy to say, but I’m kind of at a loss to describe what’s going on here. I’ll be the
first to tell you that the universe is filled with some pretty wild, unexplained phenomena. Me, for example. I’ll also be
the first to say it’s still a good idea to take things with a grain of salt. But I’m all out of salt right now. Something
happened here tonight at the old haunted house, but it didn’t happen in the house, and I’m not convinced it was a haunting.
Whatever it was, it sure wasn’t happy. Tune in next week when, hopefully, I’ll have a little more to give you. I’ll also go
back to taking calls so you can tell me about some of your own unexplained, unexplainable, experiences. Until then, this is
Kitty Norville, and this has been
The Midnight Hour.
”

Matt was in the van, pushing buttons, working his own brand of arcane wizardry. He gave a curt nod, which meant we were done.
Finally.

I pulled off my headset and threw it into the van. Then I found Ben and got clingy. I wrapped my arms around his middle and
hugged him close as his arms closed over my shoulders.

“Why do I get the feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better?” he said.

“Because it usually does,” I answered. “Maybe it’s just trying to scare us.” After all, no one had been hurt. Yet. There was
always a yet.

“Isn’t that enough?”

Tina walked up to us. I lifted my head from Ben’s shoulder just enough to face her.

“You going to tell us what you know?” she said. “
Something’s
going on here, and it has to do with you.”

What the hell. Maybe they knew something that could help explain this.

“Okay. But not on camera.”

G
ary called a tow truck for the van, and the
Paradox PI
camera crew stayed behind to clean up the equipment. Their producers would probably have conniptions over the damage when
they saw it. But think of the
ratings.

Not much was open this late, so we ended up at an all-night coffee shop downtown, five of us—the three from the Paradox team
plus Ben and me—crammed in a corner booth, away from prying ears and eyes. None of us even thought about starting the explanations
until we had steaming mugs in our hands. Tina’s hands were still shaking.

The rest of us were just doing a better job of hiding it.

I told them the condensed version of my confrontation with the Band of Tiamat, leaving out the more sensational bits. Like
me being chained to a wall by a pack of lycanthropes. Even the edited version sounded crazy; but out of anyone, the professional
paranormal investigators ought to be open-minded, right?

Jules stared at me. “You mean to tell us you’re being haunted by an ancient Babylonian goddess that practices human sacrifice?”

“No,” I huffed. “I’m being harassed by a cult that worships an ancient Babylonian goddess and practices lycanthropic sacrifice.
I thought you of all people would be sensitive to these nuances.”

Gary said, “But you don’t know what’s doing the harassing. If they somehow found a way to summon a poltergeist, or are using
some kind of astral projection, or if they’ve laid some kind of curse on you.”

My head was spinning. “This isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

Jules turned to the team’s leader. “Gary, this is hearsay, occult nonsense. Not the subject for a proper investigation. We
need to look at the evidence.”

Gary stared into his coffee cup, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt,” I said. “And if this keeps up, someone—either me or someone close to me—is going to.
I have to stop this thing.”

Tina had a gleam in her eyes and a serious set to her jaw that were at odds with her on-screen persona. “I might be able to
help. I’d like to try something.”

“What?” Jules said. “Video? Infrared? We had all that at the house and didn’t catch anything.”

“No, this is different.” She was blushing a little and sounded nervous.

“Like what?” Jules said, insistent.

“You’ll laugh at me if I tell you. I’d rather wait and show you.” She turned to me and said, “I’ll need your help. You willing
to play along?”

“I’m game.” Like Ben said, we had to do something about this.

“Wait a minute, what are we trying to do here?” Jules said. “Find evidence of hauntings or go chasing after a phenomenon that
may not even exist? That may all be a figment of
her
imagination?” He pointed at me.

“Do you have any other idea how that van tipped over?” I said. Ben squeezed my hand, and I took a breath to settle down.

“Electromagnetic phenomenon,” he said, his face perfectly straight. “Seismic activity. Telekinetic event.”

I rolled my eyes. “He talks telekinesis, and I’m the crazy one?”

“Telekinesis has far more documentation than the activities of Babylonian cults,” he said.

I had a feeling Jules was starting to not like me. I addressed Tina. “I’d really appreciate any ideas you have.”

“This is shaping up to be an episode of an entirely different show,” Gary said.

Tina said, “None of us started out with these investigations because of the show. We’re in this because we want to
know.
Whatever’s happening, it’s obviously dangerous, and if I can help discover what it is—I have to at least try. Let’s meet
again tomorrow night. That’ll give me time to get supplies together.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Where did you say this first started? That graffiti at New Moon? Then let’s go there, after closing.”

This sounded ominous. Ominous and intriguing. Ben and I glanced at each other and nodded in agreement. Sighing, Gary shrugged,
indicating he’d lost control of proceedings but wasn’t interfering. Jules slouched with his arms crossed and wouldn’t look
at anyone. So much for keeping an open mind.

Full of coffee, if not any more settled, we went our separate ways to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be another late
night.

T
he next morning, my mother called. I was too dazed, confused, and exhausted from the previous night’s chaos to be irate. Or
even worried. I worried about Mom a lot these days, and every phone call from her—especially when it didn’t come at her usual
Sunday phone-call time—had the potential for disaster.

I answered brusquely. “It isn’t Sunday, Mom, why are you calling?”

“Well, good morning to you, too, Kitty,” she answered in that put-out voice that instantly made me feel guilty.

“I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m a little stressed out right now,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask any questions or try to fix
everything, or invite me over for a dinner of macaroni and cheese. She still did things like that.

“That doesn’t seem at all surprising. I listened to your show last night.”

I braced, because I knew she was going to ask questions I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to expose her to what was happening;
I’d already told too many people about the attacks. I was afraid that telling them about it exposed them to danger.

She continued, “I’m not sure exactly what happened, but it sounded serious. Are you all right?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that when you’re the one who has cancer,” I said, when what I wanted to say was,
No, come and take care of me, please.

“That may be true, but at least the cancer is under control.”

Months of chemo will do that, I supposed. And how could she be so calm about it?

“Why were you even listening to the show? You never listen to my show, it’s on past your bedtime!”

“How do you know I never listen to it? And I think you’re just arguing with me to avoid answering my question. Are you all
right?”

Could I never win an argument with that woman? Ever? Though if I had to be honest, a little childhood part of me was jumping
up and down with joy: Mom listens to my show.

I took too long deciding how best to answer her question, and every moment I delayed would only make her more worried. I didn’t
want Mom to worry, not when she was still sick. Not when there wasn’t anything she could do about it. “I’m fine. Nobody got
hurt last night. We’re trying to figure out what happened, and I have some pretty good leads.”

“Nothing like that is going to happen again, is it?”

Good question. “I don’t know. I hope not. But if it does, I think we’ll be better prepared.”

Mom gave a frustrated sigh. “Kitty, I worry about you.”

So do I.
“Thanks, Mom. But I wish you wouldn’t.”

“I’ll tell you what: I’ll stop worrying about you if you stop worrying about me.”

Wasn’t going to happen, of course. We both wanted assurances from the other that everything was going to be okay. Just fine,
hunky-dory, we weren’t in trouble, no way. Neither of us could guarantee that.

“I’ll be fine. Really. Everything’s going to be fine.” I didn’t expect her to believe it, any more than I believed her half
the time. But she played along, because the conversation obviously wasn’t going to go any further.

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, won’t you?” she said. The usual gambit at this point in the conversation.

“Absolutely,” I said. After a few more empty assurances like that, I coaxed her off the phone.

I called all my wolves, every member of the pack: Was everyone safe? Had anything else happened last night? Had any of them
noticed any more signs of what had attacked us?

The answer was no. But no one had been sleeping well. Mick had gone out to the woods to Change and run off his anxiety for
a few hours. I berated him for that, but only halfheartedly. He wasn’t out of control if he could get himself to wilderness
first. And if it made him feel better . . . well, then.

I understood the impulse.

B
en and I arrived at New Moon after closing, at a bright and early two a.m., to meet the
Paradox PI
team.

“Do you know what Tina’s going to do?” Ben asked.

“No, but there’s something weird about her. I think she’s psychic,” I said.

He chuckled, but the sound was nervous. “Like, she can read minds? Tell the future?”

“Nothing like that, but have you seen the way she looks at us? I think she can tell what we are. I think she really did hear
that noise before it happened. There’s something going on with her.”

“I suppose if anyone can help, a psychic can. But it feels like grasping at straws.”

“They’re professionals,” I argued. “I’ll take any advice, help, or straw grasping I can get.”

“I guess it can’t hurt,” he said. I felt the urge to rap on the wooden doorframe.

The street had quieted, traffic thinning to nothing after bar hours, when the
Paradox PI
van—the unsmooshed one—parked on the street in front of New Moon.

Gary had the camera crew along, as usual—“never waste an opportunity to collect material for your show” was a philosophy I
wholeheartedly endorsed. By the same token, Jules wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to collect data, so he got to work
setting up his standard array of cameras, microphones, and sensors in all parts of the restaurant. Just in case, he said.
Tina asked us to help her clear a space in the middle of the dining room. There, we set up a large round table with five chairs.
Then Tina went to the van to retrieve her equipment.

“Jules,” I said while we waited for her. “What’s she going to do? What equipment does she have that you guys haven’t already
used?”

Jules grumbled. “I haven’t a clue, but this is looking suspiciously like a séance. I can’t believe we’re getting suckered
into this.”

Tina returned, carrying a big plastic shopping bag. Now I was really intrigued. We—Ben and I, Jules and Gary—gathered around
as she set the bag on the table.

“Out with it, Tina,” Gary said. “What are you doing?”

Sheepish, she winced. “I guess it’s sort of going to be a séance.” Jules rolled his eyes. Gary just watched, reserving judgment.

“What kind of séance?” I said, keeping my own skepticism in check. “Holding hands, table rapping—”

Jules snorted. “That’s just what we need to earn a little respect, some good old-fashioned table rapping.”

“No, not exactly like that,” Tina said, still wincing, still sheepish.

She took a long, flattish box from the bag and started pulling off the plastic shrink-wrap that sealed it. It looked like
a board game. I didn’t catch the title until Jules groaned and rolled not just his eyes, but his whole head, in a gesture
of disgust.

“You’re joking!” he burst. “I’m not going to be a party to this. Gary, tell her. This is ridiculous. This is
insane.
”

It was a Ouija board, brand new, smelling of fresh plastic and cardboard.

“Hey,” I said. “We used to play that at sleepovers in the third grade.”

Glancing at me while she opened the board on the table, Tina said, “These can be really dangerous. You were lucky nothing
happened. I assume nothing happened?”

“Not really. We always caught Susan Tate moving the thing around on her own. On the other hand, did you ever play Light as
a Feather, Stiff as a Board? Now that was freaky.”

Gary said, “That’s a simple trick of minor hypnotism.”

“Ah, another childhood illusion shattered. But you’re telling me the Ouija board is real.”

“I’ve had a little luck with it,” Tina said.

“And what do you mean by
dangerous
?” I asked.

She said, “Quite a few cases of suspected demon possession have been linked—”

“It’s rubbish!” Jules interrupted. “If we broadcast this, it’ll ensure that no one from the legitimate paranormal investigation
community ever takes us seriously again.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Tina said. “Trust me.”

It was easy to discount her as just a pretty face—and I really should have known better. The others stared at her, like they
were thinking the same thing. Like they’d never seen her like this before.

“What aren’t you telling us?” Gary said, wary.

“I’ve been using these since I was a kid,” Tina said. “It might be a way to find out what’s really going on.”