Kitty Rocks the House (3 page)

I had a hard time thinking of Rick as young. To Nasser, everyone must seem young. He meant well, I was sure, but I bristled. I didn’t appreciate the suggestion that I was weak. I’d worked so hard not to appear so.

“Thanks, but we’ve done okay so far.”

“Your offer is generous,” Rick added, more politely. “But I think we’ll be all right.”

Sometime after midnight, we stood from the sofa and chairs, made our farewells, as if this were an ordinary dinner party in an ordinary house.

“How long will you be staying in Denver?” I asked Nasser.

“Tomorrow night I leave for Washington, D.C., to visit with Alette. But tonight, Rick has offered me the hospitality of Denver.” The two vampires shared a sly smile between old friends.

I decided I didn’t want to know. Rick had his ways and means, and as long as they didn’t involve dead bodies, I wasn’t going to ask.

“Well then. I suppose I’ll leave you to it.”

“It was very good to meet you, Katherine,” Nasser said.

My throat tightened, thinking of my grandmother. But the moment passed. “Nice to meet you, too. Keep in touch.”

“Assuredly.”

Nasser went ahead to speak with his entourage, and I hung back with Rick.

“You have an opinion,” he said.

I shrugged. “He seems to know a lot. I definitely like the idea of getting more information, of organizing. I just…”

“Seems a bit like putting your finger in the hole in the dike and hoping.”

“Yeah,” I said.

*   *   *

B
EN WAS
working when I got home. His briefcase was open on the floor beside him, papers spread out on his desk in the corner of the living room. He was a law firm of one, a criminal defense attorney, and a few of his clients were prone to calling him from jail late at night.

“Well?” Ben said, turning away from his desk when I shut the door behind me.

“That was interesting,” I said. He raised a brow. I supposed I could have been a little more specific. “I like Nasser. He’s creepy, but he seems sensible. For a vampire.”

“I suppose that’s encouraging,” Ben said, his tone neutral.

“You could have gone to meet him.”

He nodded at the briefcase. “I think I’d rather spend all night springing clients from the drunk tank. So, is there a plan? Does this guy have a way of getting at Roman?”

“I wouldn’t call it a plan. But he has his network, we have ours, and the more allies we have the stronger we are. At least that’s the theory.”

“It certainly can’t hurt. By any chance did he call you Regina Luporum?”

“I’m never going to live that down,” I said.

“I think you should embrace it. It has a nice ring to it.” He was grinning.

“In fact, Nasser implied that I was too young and inexperienced to get much of anything done. He offered to send bodyguards. Of course, he implied the same about Rick so I’m thinking he treats everyone like that.”

“And that’s another reason it’s a good thing I didn’t go.” He reached out a hand, and I moved forward to take it, letting him pull me close, wrapping his arms around me. His warmth, the pressure of his embrace, chased away some of the night’s tension. Better to leave Nasser, Roman, the Long Game, Regina Luporum, and all of it, outside.

“Please tell me you’re done working for the night,” I said, leaning in to kiss his scalp.

“I am now,” he said.

“Good.”

Chapter 3

F
RIDAY NIGHT
saw me where most Friday nights saw me: at the KNOB main studio, in front of the monitor and microphone, watching for the next entertaining morsel.

“Welcome back to
The Midnight Hour.
I’m going to take the next call, now. Diane from Eugene, you’re on the air.”

She came on breathless, exhausted. “Hi, Kitty, thanks so much for taking my call, you have no idea how much it means.”

“You’re welcome, Diane. What’s your problem?”

“It’s my husband. I think—I think he’s a zombie.”

I smiled. “Believe it or not, I get this one a lot. Can you describe his behavior? Why do you think he’s a zombie?”

She huffed. “He doesn’t
do
anything! He sits on the sofa all day watching TV and that’s it.”

Leaning into the mike, I said, “I’m not sure that makes him a zombie.
Lazy,
but not zombie, you know?”

“But he doesn’t even get up for meals. If I put a sandwich in his hand he’ll eat it. He shuffles to the bathroom a couple of times a day. But ask him to come to the table? Take out the trash? Wash the car? It’s like I’m not even here.”

Oh, to have a secret video feed into her world. Radio was a challenge, because the only information I had to go on was what she told me and the tone and quality of her voice. She sounded desperate, and the details could have meant anything. I had to dig.

“How long has this been going on? Did you notice anything strange about him around the time it started? Did he have contact with anyone you don’t know?”

“He works in construction. Or he used to. He could have been in contact with anyone. He just came home one day, sat down on the sofa, and that was it. That was a month ago. He’s lost his job, and I can’t go on like this.”

“What
exactly
are his symptoms? Can he move? Do his eyes focus? Does he say anything or just make noises, or nothing at all?”

“His skin’s kind of clammy. He smells kind of rank. And he doesn’t
do
anything. That’s why I figured he must be a zombie.”

“Or he hasn’t taken a shower in a month. The reason I’m asking all this is because I encountered a zombie once, and it’s … well, it’s a form of poisoning, may be the best way to describe it. It damages neurological function. If he really is a zombie, I think it would be more obvious.”

“What do you mean
if
?”

“Because zombies don’t just sit there. They’re enslaved to someone, and they’re compelled to follow that person, or search for the supernatural element that binds them to their captor. So I’m thinking something else is going on—not that it’s not a problem, mind you. But this may be more … how do I put this? Psychological rather than supernatural.” I tried to find a way to soften how this sounded. “Has your husband ever been diagnosed with depression? Have you considered that he may need help? I mean, more help than a late-night radio talk show can offer.”

“Wait a minute—you think he may just be
depressed
?”

I winced. “I don’t think there’s any
just
about it. I tell you what—either way, this is a medical issue. You should really call a doctor.” I didn’t wait for her response, because I wasn’t qualified to diagnose a case of depression over the radio or anywhere else, and I didn’t want her trying to argue with me about whether or not he needed real help. I hoped she listened to me. Really, though, all I could do was switch to a different line. “Next caller, you’re on the air.”

Ozzie, station manager and producer of the show, sat in a corner of the studio beaming at me. He was an aging hippy, complete with thin gray ponytail and a lot of attitude. I tried to ignore him, forcing the frown off my face. He’d decided to sit in on the show tonight, to “observe” as he’d put it. He’d done that a lot over the last few months, in an effort to keep me in line. Making sure I didn’t climb on any conspiracy soapbox regarding vampires taking over the world. I’d tried that, and had lost some credibility—and market share. Ozzie wanted that market share back. Stick to what I knew, he insisted: human interest, fluffy features, sensationalist advice. “That’s always been the meat of your show. Your bread and butter,” he’d say. I’d tell him to stop mixing metaphors because it was giving me a headache.

But he was right. My ratings stopped falling when I stopped talking about vampire conspiracies. So much for getting the word out.

“Hi, Kitty. Thanks for taking my call. I have a really serious question.” He was male, soft-spoken, grim.

“They’re all serious, as far as I’m concerned.” You wouldn’t necessarily know that by listening to me.

“Yes, but, this is
really
serious.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“Do you believe in interspecies dating?”

I’d even gotten this one before, though maybe not in such blunt terms. “What, you mean dogs and cats, living together?”

“I mean do you think a relationship between, oh, like a vampire and a werewolf, or a were-lion and a normal human could ever work?”

“You call that interspecies dating, do you?”

“Well, yeah.”

I double-checked the name on the monitor. “Well, Ted, I believe we’re all human beings. A relationship between any of them has about as much chance of working out as a relationship between any other combination of people. Nothing interspecies about it.”

“You know what I mean.”

I decided to be difficult. “No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Care to explain it to me?”

“They may have started out human, but they’re nothing alike. How are they supposed to have relationships when they have nothing in common?”

“Except that they’re all human, at the core,” I said, insistent.

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Did you call in to argue with me about it?”

“No, I just wanted to ask, and I think you’re wrong. It’s been proven over and over again.”

This was where I was supposed to say,
Some of my best friends are vampires …
“Proven by whom?” I said instead, and didn’t give him a chance to answer. “While I do think it’s difficult for an uninfected human being or mortal lycanthrope and a vampire to carry on a relationship, because they age and the vampire doesn’t, I know it can work because I’ve seen it happen. As cliché as it sounds there really are cases where love conquers … if not all, then a lot.”

“You still believe that? After how many years of people calling you with all their problems? If you were right, you wouldn’t have a show.”

“The very fact that people call in with their problems gives me hope that those problems can be solved, and that people want to succeed. I mean, sticking two people who are human together doesn’t guarantee a successful relationship, does it?”

“Well, no…”

“Word of advice—never attribute to supernatural malice what just may be human nature. Next caller, lay it on me.” I hit the line.

“Um, hi. Yeah. Um, thanks for taking my call. I think.”

Okay, this guy was more nervous than even my more anxiety-prone callers. He sounded hushed, like he had laryngitis. Or like he was trying to disguise his voice. This ought to be good.

“You have a problem you want to talk about?”

“Yeah, um, I do.” He took a breath, gathering himself for the coming ordeal. “I’m a werewolf. And I’m okay with that, most of the time. That is, I think I’m pretty well-adjusted. But I’ve met this girl. Woman. My girlfriend. And she’s great.” A wistful tone entered his voice. “She’s more than great. I—I really want to ask her to marry me.”

“But—” I prompted. There was always a but.

“She doesn’t know I’m a werewolf. And I don’t know how to tell her. On top of that I want to introduce her to my pack, but I don’t know where to even start with that. I have a pretty good pack, they’re good people…”

“But—”

“I shouldn’t complain, my alpha pair are really laid back, as long as we don’t run around killing anything they let us do pretty much what we want. They
encourage
us to do what we want. But sometimes I could use, you know, a little guidance.”

“They sound like the parents who provide the beer at their teenagers’ parties.”

“Funny you should mention beer. I mean, um, what I really want is some advice about how to tell my girlfriend what I am. I shouldn’t ask her to marry me until she knows that.”

His voice had become clearer, more confident. And familiar. It was the line about the beer that did it. His alpha pair, providing the beer for the parties.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Where are you calling from?” The monitor said “Bob from Westminster.” Westminster, the suburb of Denver. Right. I knew him.

“Um…” he said, the anxiety back in his voice.

“Listen, caller from Westminster, could you stay on the line just a second? Thanks. And now I’m going to break for station ID. I’ll be back in a couple of howls.” I made a desperate waving motion at the window, and my engineer Matt cued up station ID and PSAs, and the
ON AIR
sign dimmed. Then I took my caller off hold and talked through the headset.

Bob? I didn’t think so. “Trey, is that you? Tell me that’s not you.”

“It’s me.” The man sighed, his secret revealed at last.

“What are you doing calling me on the show? On the air? You can talk to me anytime you want. Why didn’t you just call my regular number?”

“You’re not exactly the easiest person to pin down. If you’re not working, you’re traveling, or you’re wrapped up in some plot. It never seems like the right time to sit down and talk, or you’re too busy, and, well. I figured this was the one time I’d get you where you’d be ready to listen.”

Hearing this from Trey didn’t quite feel like getting kicked in the gut, but it was close. I leaned my head on my hands, glad he couldn’t see me slouching, tail between my legs.

“Wow. Okay. Message received. I’m really sorry, Trey. I hadn’t realized I’d been so … so…” I couldn’t think of a word for what I’d been. I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend he was this serious about. “I’m sorry. But your girlfriend. That’s great. I’d really like to meet her.”

“If you think you can pencil me into your schedule.”

“Fine. I get it. I’m a bad den mother.”

“Kitty, I didn’t say that. I just…”

I waited for him to finish the thought, but he didn’t. “Look,” I said. “Name a time. We’ll get together—”

Matt’s voice cut in through my headset. “You have a minute, Kitty.”

Of course I only had a minute. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“Trey, I’m not sure if this is irony or just a stupid joke, but I have to get back to the show now. I’ll call you.”

“Sure. I’ll take my answer off the air.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. At least he waited for me to hang up first.