Kitty’s Big Trouble (6 page)

He leaned forward and moved his hand toward it. “May I?”

I gestured a yes. He held the object up to the light, studying it.

“You ever see anything like it?” I asked.

“Maybe. It looks a little like an old Roman coin.”

I might have choked out a gasp, and Rick looked at me over the coin. I straightened, regaining some semblance of composure. “We found the burned-out homestead outside Dodge City. There was still one vampire left. He was wearing that.”

“Really?” he said wonderingly. “The vampire—what kind of shape was he in?”

“Terrible. I hardly recognized him as a vampire,” I said. “He’s gone, now.”

Rick shook his head, making a small tsking noise. “Amazing.”

I pointed at the artifact. “If that’s a Roman coin, you don’t think it has anything to do with Roman the vampire, do you?”

He tilted his head, smiled. “The Roman empire was much bigger than Roman the vampire, Kitty. It might have just been a souvenir.”

I didn’t want to admit that he was probably right. We found the vampire, the old stake, and this relic. It had to have some significance because the vampire had been wearing it all this time. “So it doesn’t mean anything? It’s just flotsam?”

“If it means something, I’m not sure what,” he said.

I sighed, disappointed. Maybe I thought I had another puzzle piece. Another clue in the mystery of the vampires’ tangle of allegiances. I put the coin back into my pocket. Maybe Anastasia would know something about it.

“And now for the second thing?” Rick said, drawing me out of my thoughtfulness.

I nodded. “Anastasia called me. She’s in San Francisco, facing down Roman and needs help.”

“Ah, hence the flinch.”

“I didn’t flinch.”

He suppressed a smile. “And you’re going?”

“Yeah. I want to check it out. She says Roman’s looking for this artifact—she actually used the phrase ‘immense power’ to describe it. We have to keep him from getting it.”

I tried to read some emotion off him—was he shocked, wary, confident? What did he think? He seemed calm, mildly curious.

“What do you need from me, then?” he said.

“An opinion. I can’t help but wonder what she isn’t telling me,” I said. The last time I’d seen Anastasia, we’d been on the same side battling some particularly destructive enemies. We’d trusted each other because we didn’t have a choice. I trusted her now because I’d trusted her then. So what was I missing?

Rick leaned back, lacing his fingers. “Here’s what I know about Anastasia. She’s older than I am. She came to this country sometime in the nineteenth century with the first wave of Chinese immigration, I imagine dodging some trouble in China but I don’t know exactly what. She rose through the ranks and became a trusted advisor of the then-Mistress of San Francisco. She controlled Chinatown for her, as I understand it. Then the situation completely unraveled.” He shrugged. “Vampire Families can remain stable for centuries. London’s had the same Master since the seventeenth century. But when they go, they can go quickly, spectacularly, and without any warning. San Francisco was like that.”

“You were there for it?” I asked.

“I saw bits and pieces. I tried not to get involved.” He winced a little—he’d spent centuries trying not to get involved, until a few years ago when he personally destroyed Denver’s previous Master and took over. Everyone had been surprised. It was one of those spectacular changeovers he was talking about.

“Anastasia got out, of course. There was a lot of speculation—did she get out because she was afraid of the new management, or because she’d betrayed the old? Some people said she orchestrated the whole thing.”

“But why? Wouldn’t she have stuck around, then?”

“Her whole reason for going to San Francisco in the first place might have been to topple that Mistress and her Family. When her work was done, she packed up and moved on to her next project. The fact that she’s back now and in need of help suggests to me that she isn’t any more friendly with the current Family—she could just go to them for help.”

“What can you tell me about them?”

Rick said, “They’re a laid-back bunch, but don’t underestimate them. Behave yourself and they won’t give you any trouble. To tell you the truth, most of us were happy with the change in management.”

I thought a moment, lips pursed, leaning my chin on my hand. “Roman must have brought werewolves with him. That’s why she needs me.” If he’d brought vampire minions, Anastasia could have depended on the local Family to oppose them.

“Is there a local pack in San Francisco? What are they like?” he said.

“Word has it the pack there is centered in Oakland and tends to stay out of San Francisco proper. Roman probably knows that.”

Rick glanced away, chuckling.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s the same old story. Both Roman and Anastasia bringing werewolves as hired muscle. Vampires as nobility and werewolves as peasant foot soldiers. The patterns are ingrained among the oldest of us and we keep falling into them.”

That kind of thing made me angry. Made me mouth off when I ought to stay quiet. It almost made me look forward to the upcoming conflict.

“That just means I have to stand up for myself, don’t I?”

“I don’t see you having any trouble with that.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Any other advice?”

“If you see Roman, get out,” he said.

“That’s already on the agenda.” I figured if I actually saw Roman, it would already be too late.

“Keep in mind that Anastasia is not the most powerful thing you might meet out there. If she and Roman are both after this artifact, that means it’s more powerful than both of them. Be careful.”

“I’m not really all that interested in power,” I said.

“That’s why those in power find you so interesting. They really don’t like rogue elements getting in the way of their plans.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“Do you know I was probably the only vampire in North America for about a century?”

“Alette might have mentioned something along those lines. How the hell did that happen?”

“It…” He paused, looking off to some distant time—some very distant time. “It’s a long story. But when the second wave of vampire immigrants arrived, they were a little surprised to find me.”

To be a fly on that wall. I could see it now, some kind of crazy Monty Python–like sketch with vampires going back and forth: “What are you doing here?” “I live here.” “But how can you?
We’re
the first vampires here.” “If
you’re
the first vampires here, then what am I?” And so on, until the skit ended with some kind of pratfall involving stakes.

“Maybe I’ll tell you the whole story sometime.”

“Rick, you have
never
told me the whole story. You just drop maddening hints.”

“How about this: We’ll trade stories when you get back from San Francisco. Deal?”

“Deal.”

I just had to be sure I came back with a lot of stories.

Chapter 4

T
WO DAYS OF
driving later, we checked into a lower-rent, unassuming motel in the middle of the city, off the tourist tracks. That was Cormac’s idea. He said we could come and go without drawing as much attention. I thought maybe he was just self-conscious about staying someplace with room service.

I stood at the window of our room. It didn’t have much of a view, which was frustrating, because less than a mile away was water, San Francisco Bay, its famous bridges, and so on. All I saw were buildings and a busy street. The sky was bright but hazy. The temperature was surprisingly cool. So much for a California summer.

We’d been sure to arrive during daylight hours so we could get our bearings before we had to face Anastasia after nightfall.

“You ever been to San Francisco?” Ben asked. He drew close behind me, resting a hand on my hip, his cheek against my hair.

“Nope,” I said. “I’m fighting an urge to run off and take the boat tour to Alcatraz.”

“Let’s do that after we’ve figured out that Roman isn’t really here and we’re not in trouble.”

“Roman can’t come out in daylight,” I argued, but the sense of foreboding lingered.

“Yeah, but Roman has minions. I thought that’s why we’re here.”

I drew his arms around me and hugged him close. “We’ll be careful.”

A knock came at the door. We were expecting it, but Ben checked the peephole anyway before undoing the dead bolt, then the chain, and opening the door for Cormac, who was staying in the room next door.

He stepped inside. “Ready to go hunting?” He had his leather jacket and sunglasses in place, ready for action. He’d taken possession of the stake we’d found back in Kansas and had that hidden somewhere, and probably a few more stakes besides.

Ben carried the semiautomatic pistol that normally lived in the glove box of the car in a shoulder holster under his blazer. It was loaded with silver bullets. Guns made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure if that was because I didn’t like guns, or I didn’t like how often we seemed to need them. I reassured myself that he probably wouldn’t have to use it.

In addition, Cormac gave us all crosses on chains to wear. Just in case.

I’d guessed that Roman had werewolf minions in town; we were going to try to flush them out. Not necessarily confront them—just see how many there were and what they were up to. Maybe follow them to Roman. If we found them first, they couldn’t jump us.

The chances of finding anything in this huge, packed city were slim. So I kept telling myself.

We planned to meet Anastasia a couple of hours after sunset at an address in Chinatown. That gave us some time to drive into the heart of the city, check out the area, watch for anything that seemed wrong. We decided to start in Fisherman’s Wharf and work our way south. After parking, Ben and I would go together; Cormac would follow separately. I didn’t like splitting up the pack. We needed to look out for each other. Safety in numbers.

As we left the parking lot, I looked all around, taking in the sights and sounds of one of the most touristy locations in the country, squinting against a wind blowing off the water, watching gulls dive and soar. We’d already discussed the plan. I still tried to argue. “I’d feel better if we stuck together.”

“Too obvious,” Cormac answered. “You two look fine as a couple. I don’t look like I belong with you.”

“But—”

“He’s right,” Ben said.

I wore jeans and a light blue blouse; Ben wore khaki slacks and a button-up shirt and blazer. Give us sunglasses and a couple of cameras and we’d look like yuppie tourists. On the other hand, Cormac looked like he ought to be riding a Harley on some dusty back road.

“I’ll keep you in sight, but don’t go looking for me. Got it?” Cormac patted a couple of pockets, as if checking for something. He nodded, apparently satisfied, and walked off in the opposite direction from us.

In ten minutes, Ben and I reached the waterfront around Fisherman’s Wharf. The place was crowded, chaotic, lots of traffic, cars crammed together in makeshift parking lots, a mix of buildings from every decade for the last century, restaurants and junk shops, hotels and offices. Piers crammed with boats: sailboats, fishing boats, tour boats. And people. This late in the day, there seemed to be a ton of screaming children who were too tired and hungry to be interested in cotton candy anymore. I stuck close to Ben, our arms touching as we walked.

“No werewolf in his right mind is going to be stalking us here,” Ben said. “This place is a zoo.”

“Well, we know that
now,
” I said. In fact, this area might be a good place to hide if we wanted to avoid werewolves.

I had a vague sense of Cormac walking about a block behind us. I had to resist an urge to glance over my shoulder, to check my hunch. My senses were going haywire with all the sensory input. Cars, trucks, buses all made different sounds, had slightly different-smelling exhausts. Music from distant radios clashed. Streetlights, traffic lights, signal lights. Dozens of buildings, and every one had a different set of signs, and rows of windows looked down on us. And the people. Hundreds of people, who all looked and smelled different, who spoke a half dozen different languages. It felt like getting trapped in the middle of a herd of cows.

All big cities shared certain characteristics—lots of buildings, lots of cars, a myriad of scents, from gas fumes to pigeon droppings. It was what made them big cities. So I was amazed at how different San Francisco smelled from Denver. I probably would have noticed it even if I hadn’t been a werewolf, but having a werewolf’s sensitive nose made the odors obvious. In Denver, I could always catch hints of mountains and prairie around the smog and steel of the city. The wind brought tastes of the surrounding countryside. Here, I could hardly even smell the concrete and asphalt smells of the city. Mostly, I smelled the ocean, saltwater and fish, a slightly rotten smell of decay in the water, pollution from all the shipping and traffic. The smell was strange, alien; my nose constantly twitched, trying to define and recognize its various textures. I walked with my shoulders bunched up, tense.