Kitty Rocks the House (19 page)

“I’m thinking I should stay right where I am and keep an eye on the microphone. But a little harmless experimentation can’t hurt.” I looked at Ozzie. “We have a special guest in the studio tonight, my producer, Ozzie,” I said, for the benefit of my listeners. “Feel like helping me out tonight?”

He frowned with suspicion, which was probably wise of him. But if he was going to sit in on my show, he could help out. Maybe this was a bad idea, but I’d worry about that later.

“Why?” he said carefully.

“I just want to try something. Please?”

I’d keep nagging until he relented, or tell embarrassing stories about him until he agreed, just to shut me up. He gave a sigh heavy enough to carry over the mike, which made things more dramatic. I loved it.

“Come on over, Ozzie,” I said, grinning, and he did. When he reached the table, I handed him the skull. “Okay, hold this. In both hands. Bring it up to your face so your nose touches it.”

He held it in one hand, away from himself. “Kitty, I’m not really sure about this.”

“It’ll be fine, trust me.” I’d be a terrible used-car salesman. I glanced at Ben, who had a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing. Matt, sitting behind the booth’s glass, didn’t bother, and was practically vibrating in his seat. Now, if only I was getting the same effect over the air.

Ozzie gripped the skull in both hands and slowly raised it until it was level with his face. “Should I be sitting down?” he said.

Good question. “You’re fine,” I said, full of confidence, trying to be reassuring. Because nothing was going to happen, right?

He brought the skull close, until his nose touched it. He stared deep into its eyes.

“All right, faithful listeners,” I said into the microphone, my voice hushed. “My test subject is now face-to-face with the crystal skull. Everything seems normal. You okay there, Ozzie?”

“I think my eyes are crossed.”

“Are you expanding yet?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of giving me a headache.”

Just as I wished for some kind of funky New Age flute music to cover up the pauses while we waited for something to happen, Matt pushed a couple of buttons and there it was: “El Condor Pasa” on pan pipes playing faintly in the background. Just perfect. My listeners were at the edges of their seats, I hoped.

“Anything?” I prompted.

Ozzie murmured, “I don’t think anything’s happening. Can I stop now?”

“Give it an extra few seconds.”

“Okay…”

Wait for it … I had my cell phone in hand, flipped through the setting controls until I found the most annoying ring tone I had, then set it off at high volume. An alarm bell’s blaring filled the studio. The sound of cosmic disaster called down by ancient Mayan vampires. Or just the worst that modern technology had to offer. Even I jumped a little and I was expecting it. Ben clapped his hands over his ears and winced.

Ozzie let out a scream, stumbled backward, and dropped the skull. For a heart-stopping moment I watched it fall and almost reached out to catch it lest it shatter. But it bounced on the carpeted floor and rolled to a stop. Upright, facing me. Staring at me. I stared back.

“Kitty, Jesus Christ, what the … hell was that?” Ozzie was a radio guy to the core and stopped himself from needing to get bleeped. Good thing, too, because Matt had fallen out of his chair, laughing, and wasn’t going to be bleeping anything for a while.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniggering around the words. “I had to do something to get past all that dead air. The skull wasn’t doing anything.”

“You set me up.”

“Kinda, yeah. But it would have been pretty cool if something had happened.”

He reached to the floor to retrieve the skull and set it on the desk with a
thunk
that would definitely be audible over the microphone. “Always happy to help,” he said flatly. I expected him to walk out of the studio—maybe for good—but he returned to his chair and settled back to keep watching.

“Thanks, Ozzie. You’re a trooper,” I said, trying not to giggle. “Well, I don’t know if we expanded any minds tonight, but we upped some heart rates.” The board was still lit up with calls, which comforted me. As long as I had calls, I could pull
something
together for the show.

Meanwhile, the thing was still staring at me. I squinted, and its eyes seemed to flash. Fine, enough of that. I turned it around so it was facing the wall.

“Right, moving on. After the break I’ll take some more calls. Anyone out there want to talk some more about vampire aliens or crop circles? Call me.”

The
ON AIR
sign dimmed, and Matt cued up station ID and PSAs. I turned to Ozzie to face the music. He seemed to be stewing, and I wondered if I was still going to have a job at the end of the evening.

Finally, Ben was the one who asked, “You’re not going to fire her, are you?”

The producer’s stern glare broke into a broad grin. “Are you kidding? Of course not! That was fantastic! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about! Sensationalism! Bread and butter! Good work, Kitty. I’ll leave you to it.” He came over to me and patted me on the shoulder before walking out of the studio. Leaving me to it.

I looked at Matt through the window, and he blinked, appearing as confused as I was. Ben, likewise.

“Don’t question it,” he said. “Not if Ozzie leaves you alone from now on.”

“You have a minute, Kitty,” Matt announced, counting down to the end of the break. The phone lines were lit up. All I had to do was take calls to the end of the show.

I patted the top of the skull. Its work here was done.

*   *   *

W
E RUSHED
to New Moon after the show.

I’d tried to make myself as presentable as possible, dressing as nicely as I ever did on a Friday night, in slacks and a blouse, and unscuffed pumps even. But after two hours of
The Midnight Hour,
I couldn’t hide the fatigue pinching my features or the sweaty perfume I’d acquired. Getting there as quickly as I could was more important than looking nice. Presentable was good enough.

The envoy from Buenos Aires was already at the restaurant when I got there. I’d left tonight’s manager—Shaun had the night off—instructions to invite him in and show him to my table in back. The vampire was sitting there now, alert and interested without being tense, elbows propped up and hands steepled before him, gazing over the place with a frown. He wore jeans and a dark blazer over a white T-shirt. His dark hair was cut short, and he had strong, square-jawed Latino features. He gave off an action-hero vibe at odds with the vampire stereotype.

By the warm cast to his olive skin, I guessed that Angelo had offered him some kind of hospitality. I knew the Denver Family didn’t kill to eat, but apart from that, I didn’t ask for details. Most Families had human servants who willingly donated, or they had hunting grounds that they protected and used sparingly, to avoid drawing attention. All that mattered was the Denver Family didn’t draw attention. Angelo himself was nowhere to be found, naturally. Leaving the dirty work to me.

I asked Ben to wait near the front of the restaurant, at the bar, to keep watch. Concern pinched his face, but he didn’t argue. If I was going to prove I was strong enough to lead, strong enough to fight, I had to do this on my own.

“Titus,” I said when I arrived at the table and sat across from him. “Welcome. Thanks for coming to see me.”

His lip curled in what I hoped was amusement. “Indeed.”

Oh, this was going to go well … “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

“This setting is a bit … common.” He glanced around the bar, which was experiencing a late after-theater rush. Raised voices created a flood of noise against the backdrop of the rock music on the stereo system. A few of my pack were here, including Darren, who once again was with Becky. They were sitting at the bar, knee to knee. Not causing trouble, thank goodness. I found myself wishing Shaun was here for backup.

“I kind of like it,” I said, smiling fondly.

“Keeps you rooted in the world, does it?”

“Yeah. Rick would say that.” I wanted to like this guy. His manner seemed straightforward. I tried to take the measure of him, without meeting his hypnotic gaze, staring instead at the collar of his shirt.

“Are you
certain
Ricardo isn’t available?”

“He’s following up another lead.” My chin was up, my back was straight, my stance confident. Alpha-like, even. Not inviting argument.

“What am I supposed to tell my Mistress, then?” he said. He had a Spanish-flavored accent, his tone only mildly annoyed, as if he hadn’t expected anything different out of this meeting.

“Everything Rick knows, I know.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

I gritted my teeth. “All right,
just about
everything Rick knows, at least about the Long Game, I know.” Still, with that skeptical lilt to his brow. Flustered now, I said, “I’ve faced Dux Bellorum twice and survived.”

“Really?” He sounded disbelieving rather than impressed. I wasn’t going to be able to convince him I had any credibility at all. Was it anti-werewolf prejudice, or was I selling myself badly?

“Yeah. Have
you
ever met the guy?”

“My Mistress has. Many years ago. He offered her power. She walked away. Fled, rather, to the colonies. She opposes him by staying out of his reach.”

“How much longer do you think she’ll be able to keep that up?”

A trace of anxiety furrowed his brow. “That is why I am here. I had hoped to speak to Ricardo of this.”

“I’m telling you what he’d tell you. You have allies. We’ve already exposed Roman and a number of his followers. The more of us watching for him, the better chance we have of stopping him. He can be beaten.” I
hoped
he could …

Another long moment of sizing each other up passed. I had the impression that he could see through me, read my mind even. My skin itched, but through an act of will I didn’t fidget.

“I am supposed to tell Mistress Bianca that the Master of Denver has more important business than speaking with her chosen representative?”

Etiquette wasn’t my strong suit, and I couldn’t help but fail miserably at it where vampires were concerned. I sighed. “I keep forgetting you people have so much time on your hands you have nothing better to do than take offense at everything.” He flattened his hands on the table and opened his mouth to speak, but I gestured to stop him. “I know, I know. Sending a werewolf to talk to you is an insult. You’ll just have to believe me that Rick is dealing with a serious matter than no one else can handle, and that I really do know what he does about Dux Bellorum.”

Titus seemed mollified. “I believe you know enough. This is all so very … chaotic.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it. We just have to keep paddling along, yeah?” He rewarded me with a thin, amused smile. “Can we contact you if we need to? Will you contact us, if you learn anything?”

He hesitated, and every moment he did my hopes sank a notch. He drew breath and said, “I’m skeptical, I confess. The situation in Denver seems less stable than I was led to believe. Are you and Ricardo truly strong enough to mount an opposition against Roman?”

“We’ve stood up to him before. Yes,” I said, because I had to.

“Then I’ll return home and report to my Mistress. She’ll send word of her response.”

He started to push back from the table, but I rushed out a question while I had the chance. “Before you go, can I ask you something? Do you know anything about vampires working for the Vatican?” Argentina was a Catholic country, right? What could it hurt to ask?

“You’re joking, yes?”

“Never mind,” I said, sighing.

He stood and walked out without further acknowledgment, without giving me another chance to talk at him. To convince him. Bianca, Mistress of Buenos Aires, was the only vampire Master in South America we were absolutely sure didn’t belong to Roman. Not that South America was swarming with vampires, but I didn’t much like the feeling of facing an entire continent outside our influence.

I slumped forward and put my head on my arms, just to rest for a moment.

Footsteps approached, and I caught the scent of werewolf before me. Darren. Chin up, shoulders broad, he smiled at me and sat in the chair across from me, the one where Titus had been a moment before. Ben moved toward us in a hurry.

The restaurant had emptied while Titus and I talked. The manager and a couple of staff remained, working to close up. Becky was still here, by the front door, hackles up. The moment seemed frozen—something was happening. I caught Ben’s gaze and shook my head, asking him to wait. I wanted to see how this played out. Ben stopped, but almost bounced in place, hands clenched, looking back and forth between Darren and Becky.

Darren ignored him and said, “It’s tough, isn’t it? Being in charge. Staying in control.”

I tried to puzzle out his intention. The obvious condescension in his tone wasn’t mean, but wasn’t very sympathetic, either. He mostly sounded like he was making a casual observation. Never mind that the words slipped a knife between my ribs.

“I didn’t realize I was being graded.”

He went on, “You’ve had to work very hard, haven’t you? Leading this pack, putting yourself out there.”

Ben leaned in. “You’re out of line—”

I held up a hand to stop him. Maybe we could good cop/bad cop this. “I do okay.”

Darren’s smile cut. “I mean you’ve had to work hard to be an alpha. Because you’re not, really. You certainly weren’t born an alpha. You were happier when you had somebody taking care of you, weren’t you?”

I flashed back on those years, bottom of the pack, everyone’s baby, everyone’s punching bag. Maybe that had been less work, but “happy” certainly wasn’t the word I’d use to describe that time. It was never as much work to roll over and show your belly as it was to stand up straight. But standing straight felt so much better.

I grinned, teeth showing. “That’s a little Calvinistic, don’t you think? Predeterministic? You don’t believe in upward mobility?”

“You can’t change your basic nature.”

A few feet away, Ben was just about trembling with anger. I tried to radiate calm. I didn’t want to get blood all over my nice restaurant. “That’s the big debate for the ages, isn’t it? Nature versus nurture. So you’re a nature guy, I take it?”