Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville) (12 page)

It was all I could do not to roll over and show him my belly. An alpha after my own heart.

I glanced at Ben. “Can you imagine if we tried to do some kind of United Packs of America thing back home? We’d get laughed at.”

“At best,” he said.

“You lot don’t need it,” Caleb explained. “You have lots of wide-open spaces and no history of entrenched feudalism. You don’t like the locals you just go somewhere else. Am I right?”

I remembered my own flight from my first pack. I’d had the freedom to be a lone wolf with relative ease. “You don’t get too many lone wolves here, then?”

“Oh, occasionally. As long as they keep the peace, I leave ’em be.”

“If I’d known who to contact, I’d have asked permission to enter your territory, if that’s what you’re here to talk to me about.”

“If I’d said no, would you have stayed out?”

“I’d already bought the plane tickets.”

He smiled like he’d won a point. “Lucky for you that’s not what I’m here about.”

“Oh?”

“Where do you stand?” he said. His tone made the question very large indeed.

“On my own two feet?” I suggested. Ben snorted a laugh.

“Regarding the vampires,” Caleb answered, not missing a beat. “The vampires here, in Europe, in your own country. Do you serve them?”

People kept asking me that. Kept making assumptions. “No,” I said. “I’m friends with some of them. But I protect my pack. That’s all.”

“You sure about that? It’s rare, for a territory’s wolves to be so … independent.”

“I think I know what you’re really asking,” I said. “I met some of the vampires of Europe last night. And some of their wolves. I didn’t like what I saw.”

“You’ve never seen wolves as slaves, you mean.”

“No,” I said. “Not like that.”

“It’s been that way for centuries on the Continent,” Caleb said. “It’s different, here. The arrangement Ned and I have is unusual.”

“What arrangement is that?”

“We leave each other alone.”

“The European vampires don’t like either one of you because of that.”

“They’d take Ned out, if they could.”

“And if they took him out, the wolves here could lose their autonomy.”

“It won’t come to that,” he said, but it sounded like bluster. His gaze fell, the tiniest sign of a loss of confidence. “There are rumors that a war is coming. Between those who want us in the open and those who don’t. Between us and regular people. What do you think? Is war brewing?”

War was such a big word. I wanted to deny it. “I think so, yes,” I said.

“This conference of yours has brought the likely instigators to my doorstep. What am I supposed to do with that?”

He said it like it was my fault. Like the conference was even my idea. Or maybe that the war was. “I suppose that depends on which side you’re on.”

“I’m on the side of angels, love.”

I liked him. That didn’t mean I could trust him. I looked to Ben for his opinion. He kept a neutral expression; his hackles were down, though, his shoulders and back relaxed.

I turned back to Caleb. “Does the name Roman mean anything to you? Or Dux Bellorum?”

“No, but if I run into these fellows what should I do?”

“Stake the hell out of him,” Ben said.

Caleb smiled. “That bad, eh?”

“If there is a war coming,” I said. “It’s because of him.” In a hushed voice I explained what I knew of the Long Game, that two-thousand-year-old Roman had been gathering allies and taking control of territory, for the purpose—near as anyone could figure—of having the most power. Of ensuring that the supernatural world, controlled by him, had supremacy over humanity in whatever conflict, instigated by him, ensued.

“Not even the vampires know which of them’s aligned with Roman and who isn’t,” I said. “I think it’s on purpose. Keeps them at each other’s throats. At least that’s what happened last night.”

“Better each other’s than ours. They’re nervous,” Caleb said, thoughtfully scratching the stubble on his chin. “Things are changing too fast for ’em—they’re used to watching the world move slowly around them, manipulating events behind the scenes. They can’t do that so much now.”

“If Roman can gather allies, then so can we. The more people know about him, the less power he has. So now you know.”

The alpha werewolf leaned back in his chair. “You’re all right, Kitty Norville. Unfortunate name, there.”

“Don’t start,” I muttered.

He chuckled. “One more question for you. There’s another American werewolf here for the conference, a Joseph Tyler. What do you know about him?”

I straightened, hackles stiffening again. “What about him?” I said, my voice low.

“Steady there,” he said. “Friend of yours, I take it?”

“If you hurt him—”

He huffed. “What makes you think anyone can hurt him? He’s a tank. That’s what I want to ask—is he going to be trouble while he’s here?”

I was shaking my head before he’d finished talking. “No, not at all. He’s had enough trouble. He was Special Forces in Afghanistan, he’s worked really hard to adjust to civilian life. To werewolf civilian life. He’s a really good guy.” I could defend Tyler for hours.

Caleb nodded. “All right. I trust you.” He pushed his chair away from the table. “I don’t know if you’ll still be here for full moon, but if you need a place to run, to let off steam or whatnot, I can show you territory where you won’t be bothered.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

“Can we get you a drink? You and your friends?” Ben asked, gesturing to the handful of other wolves in the place obviously keeping watch.

“Maybe next time,” he said. “I should be going.”

We exchanged phone numbers before Caleb and his pack left, and I felt like I had another ally.

Ben and I finished our drinks, ate some food, and were on our way out when my phone rang, making me jump. Just when I felt like I was able to let my guard down … caller ID said Cormac.

“Yeah?” I said in greeting.

“I need to talk to you. Is Ben there?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong?”

“Where are you?”

“That pub a couple of blocks from the hotel.”

“Right. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Cormac, wait—” But he’d already hung up. I looked at Ben. “Cormac’s on the way.”

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, concerned. I had to shrug.

We went back inside and ordered another round of drinks while we waited.

Chapter 8

C
ORMAC APPEARED
at the door and took off his sunglasses before looking around. He brought his fingerprint-unique scent with him—the aged leather of his coat, soap on male skin. Ben waved, and he took the seat Caleb had been using.

“I need help,” he said, before hello even.

Ben and I both straightened. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

He scratched the corner of his mustache, an uncharacteristic nervous gesture. “Really it’s Amelia who needs help. Or thinks she does.
We
do, I mean.” He winced, and I gaped. Cormac, tongue-tied and awkward? Something really was wrong. “Amelia thinks you can help,” he said finally.

I raised my brow and waited some more. Scowling, he ducked his gaze, and if he looked like he was having an argument with himself, he probably was. My curiosity boiled.

“You want to explain?” I asked.

He shook his head. “
I
say we just break into the place—”

“Maybe from the beginning?”

“You want something to drink first?” Ben said.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Ben went to get him a beer, and by the time he got back, he’d figured out how to tell the story.

“I spent most of yesterday in libraries,” he said. “Looking up genealogies, family histories. Amelia tracked down her family—her brother and his descendants. They’ve still got land and money, her couple of greats grand-nephew owns the house where she grew up, the one she was living in before she left.” Before she set out on the travels and adventures that took her around the world and eventually to Colorado, where she’d been wrongfully executed for murder.

He continued, “She hid some things in the house. Journals, odds and ends. She wants to try to get them back.”

“You can’t exactly walk up to some guy’s door, knock, and ask to go searching for his dead great-aunt’s lost journals,” I said.

“
I
can’t.” He pointed at his scowling face and rough appearance, then pointed at me. “
You
might be able to.”

I huffed. “Oh, come on! You can’t expect me to try to sell that story to a total stranger.”

“That’s what I think—but for some reason she doesn’t want me breaking in and grabbing the stuff.”

“No breaking and entering,” Ben said. “Especially not in a foreign country, not while you’re still on parole. Not
ever.
” Ben glared, and Cormac actually lowered his gaze, chagrined.

I started to ask why they didn’t just write a letter or make a phone call explaining the situation, then realized—who would believe that? The nephew might not believe someone telling him this in person, but he wouldn’t be able to ignore the plea, like tossing a letter in the trash.

The story was far-fetched, unlikely. I sympathized.

“Are you sure she isn’t trying to get part of her old life back?” I said.

Cormac pursed his lips, engaging in another of their silent, internal discussions. He tilted his head and said, “Wouldn’t you?”

I glared across the table at him. At them. I was going to get roped into this, wasn’t I? They weren’t just playing on my sympathy, they were playing on my curiosity. I’d chase the story. It might have been crazy and misguided. It might even have been sad, another reason to pity the tragic woman who’d attached herself to Cormac. But it also couldn’t hurt to try. What was the worst that could happen? The British equivalent of a restraining order? I knew better than to ask that question.

“Ben?” I said, glancing over.

He shrugged. “It never hurts to ask. But if he says no and kicks us out, are you going to be okay with that?”

“We just have to make sure he doesn’t say no.”

Cormac slid over a piece of paper with a name and phone number written on it. What could I do but pick it up? He watched, his hunter’s gaze cool and steady, as I pulled out my phone and dialed the number, writing a quick script in my head.

After only a couple of rings, the other end of the line picked up and a female voice answered. “Nicholas Parker’s office.”

I glanced at Cormac, thinking I maybe should have gotten a little more information about Nicholas Parker, apart from the belief that he was Amelia’s great-great-grandnephew, before calling. Oh well. “Hi, may I speak to Mr. Parker, please?”

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

“My name’s Kitty Norville, I have some information for him.” Maybe that would be enough. I didn’t even know what kind of office Parker had. Doctor? Lawyer? Stockbroker? Hairdresser? Lawyer, I bet.

“One moment, please.”

Waiting, I imagined what kind of indignant conversation Nicholas Parker and his secretary were having.
Kitty who?

Then a male voice came on. “This is Nicholas Parker.” Tenor, BBC British, the kind of voice that narrated nature documentaries, that automatically inspired confidence in a backwoods American. Surely I’d be able to explain the situation to him.

My script kicked in. “Hi, I’m Kitty Norville, I host a radio show and I’m tracking down a story you might be able to help me with.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of you. You’ve been in the news recently, I think.”

Right. Now, was that a good thing or a bad thing? “I have some information about a distant relative of yours, a great-aunt, I think. Amelia Parker?”

“Yes. She’s a bit of a family legend, came to an awful end in America if I remember right. Something of a scandal. I only know the family stories. I don’t even know if any of them are true.”

I took a deep breath. “What would you say if I told you I have a message for you from her?”

I expected the long pause. The question was, would there be a click of him hanging up at the end of it. But no, he answered. “I’d say I thought it was a bit odd.”

British understatement, gotta love it.

“She died, but that wasn’t the end of it. If you’ve heard of me then you know I deal with some pretty crazy stories, and this one’s a doozy. Can we meet in person?”

“I’m really not sure what to say, Ms. Norville. If you have some artifact that belonged to her, surely you can send it—”

“I said I have a message from her. I’d really like to talk to you about it. I can come to your office.” A nice, familiar, public place. That should have been comforting.

He sounded subdued, nervous. Of course he did. “I suppose I have a few minutes to spare this afternoon.”