Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville) (18 page)

“You have some interesting ideas about how modern music and tales of the supernatural intersect,” I said. “You want to give me the rundown?”

“Yes, right. Do you know anything about, well, the Folk?”

Oh, that he should ask me that now … “Fairies, right?”

He squirmed in his chair. “We don’t like to use
that
word, but yes, just so. But you’ve heard of them.”

I debated telling him about last night’s adventure, but merely smiled encouragingly. “Yes, a bit.”

“In the old stories, the Folk love music. Playing it, listening to it, dancing to it. People still play traditional jigs and tunes rumored to come from the Folk. Some stories say they’d use music to entrance people, lure them Underhill, or set them dancing until they collapse with exhaustion. What if that still happens, but on a much larger scale?”

“All we have to do is figure out which bands are torture to listen to,” I said.

“Yeah! Well, no, not like that exactly. Today, with as much music as we have, and as many ways to play and distribute it, they must be involved somehow. They’d hardly be able to stay away. Which brings me to the Beatles.”

My eyes widened. This hadn’t been on his blog; he’d saved it for the show. Awesome. “The Beatles were fairies?”

“Please, don’t say that word. Maybe not like
that.
Not specifically
them,
maybe. But all those screaming insane crowds? The reactions they got? No one had ever seen anything like it. They must have had some kind of crazy magic. What if it was a case of elven magic intersecting with modern rock and roll?”

Or maybe they were just really talented songwriters and musicians … “Hmm. It would certainly give a whole new meaning to ‘I Am the Walrus.’”

“Yeah. Or no—wait a minute. I’m not talking about the lyrics so much as the
effect.
”

“The screaming hordes of teenage girls we’ve all seen in the concert footage.”

“The Beatles started an
epidemic
of that sort of thing,” Martin said with obvious awe. “Almost had to be supernatural, don’t you think?”

I rather thought it may have had something to do with the widespread availability of television ushering in an era of hyped-up pop culture and mass consumerism. But I was willing to humor him.

“You may very well be onto something. Let me ask you a question: should there be an effect with recorded music, or is it only live?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? It would seem to only have an effect on live audiences, but they’ve sold millions of records. In fact, I’m developing a study that would examine this exact question. If only I can find the funding for it. I’ve applied for several grants. No luck yet, I’m afraid.” He slouched a little.

“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before someone steps forward to help out.” Coming on my show certainly wouldn’t hurt. I wondered if I’d opened a can of worms.

“That’s just it—this isn’t frivolous research. It’s an
investment.
”

“Oh?”

“Oh yes! If I can figure out what the magical
thing
is, package it somehow, then sell it—can you imagine?”

“Didn’t they do that already with the Backstreet Boys? And the Spice Girls?”

He frowned. “Oh … oh, someone’s already done it is what you’re saying?”

Many times over, I thought. “Fairy magic really is the only explanation for some of that music, isn’t it?”

“I’m going to have to think about this.” He was staring at the microphone, wide-eyed, contemplating whole new vistas of potential, undoubtedly.

“And I think we’ll wrap it up there,” I said. “Thank you very much for coming to talk with me, Martin.”

“Oh—yes. Thank
you!
”

A familiar, back-of-the-neck chill crawled along my spine.
I’ve created a monster …

My toughest guest came right in the middle of the session, for good or ill. I let the studio staff deal with her, figuring she’d be more at ease. I wanted this woman to
talk.
One of the techs ushered her in and guided her to the guest seat at the other end of the table.

She was human, average, in nice jeans, a blouse and blazer, a thin gold necklace and stud earrings. Her hair was short, dyed dark blond with highlights. In her forties, of average height and build, she looked utterly normal and nondescript. I never would have picked her out of the crowd on any street in any town in Middle America.

I thought about approaching her, to try to get her to shake my hand—or to make her refuse to shake. But I could tell by her frown and the hard edge in her stare how that was likely to go. I let the tech deal with her, fitting headphones and showing her the mike, while I sat back and smiled.

As soon as she was settled, the sound guy gave me a cue, and I launched in.

“I’m feeling a tiny sense of victory in even convincing my next guest to come on the show. But she’s here, and I’m very much looking forward to our chat. Tracy Anderson chairs an organization calling themselves Truth Against the Godless, members of which have been out in force picketing the conference. They’ve gone on record denouncing government recognition and public acceptance of people with supernatural identities. Ms. Anderson, welcome to the show. Thank you for being here.”

She and her group had chartered a plane to bring them and their protest banners to London. They’d been planning and organizing to come here for a year. The level of commitment was almost admirable.

Calmly, hands folded on her lap, she said, “I want to make clear that I’m only here because you offer a chance to speak to the audience that most needs to hear our message.” She sat as far away from me as she could and still reach the microphone. I had thought she would avoid looking at me at all. But she stared at me, lines of tension around her mouth. I couldn’t help but stare back.

“Well, I know I’m taking you away from your busy protest schedule, and I appreciate it,” I said.

“My work calls for many sacrifices.”

“So does mine, oddly enough. My first question. You’re one of the founders of Truth Against the Godless. What prompted you to start this group in the first place?”

“Frankly, we started the group because we were appalled. I find it
reprehensible
that evil has been given such a free rein in today’s world. To speak, to act, to corrupt our youth—”

“Evil. I understand you mean something pretty specific by that, and it’s not people who set fire to kittens.”

She scowled at me. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“My listeners may not, so if you’ll just spell it out so we’re on the same page.”

“People like
you.
Werewolves and vampires. Monsters. Satanists. Threats to God-fearing people everywhere.”

“I always feel the need in conversations like this to point out how often God-fearing people themselves have been threats to God-fearing people, and everyone else.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about—you think having a platform gives you a right to twist my words. Someone has to stand up to people like you. To denounce you.”

“Well, good luck with that. I do need to say, though I always seem to make the mistake that it’s blazingly obvious, that part of the whole point of this conference is identifying the underlying causes—and biological implications—of vampirism and lycanthropy. These things have a mechanism. God and Satan have nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, but they do! These aren’t diseases, they’re the marks of Lucifer. It’s the same story—science is leading you astray.”

“I’m going to ask you the same question I ask all of you who express these beliefs—if I was an embodiment of Satan, don’t you think I’d know it? Wouldn’t I have some sense of it? Wouldn’t I actually, you know, go around trying to do horrible things to people? To be a minion of Satan don’t you have to
decide
to be a minion of Satan? I guarantee you I didn’t make that choice.”

She huffed with apparent exasperation. “You must have done
something
. You may not have consciously
chosen
to become a werewolf, but something set you on that path and put you in Satan’s way and here you are, spreading your lies and propaganda.”

That actually stopped me for a moment, my jaw opening at the start of a word, only I couldn’t decide which one. I didn’t think much of her God, if that was the world she lived in.

“You’re saying I was attacked and left in the woods to die as
punishment
? Really? What could I have possibly done to deserve that?” My question held a tone of bafflement.

I didn’t think she’d actually have an answer for me. I should have known better. “I know this is a personal question and you’re probably hoping to keep this secret—but at some point in your life you had an abortion, didn’t you?”

If she’d been on the phone I’d have hung up on her by now. The perils of the in-person interview. I needed a moment to shuffle through any number of inappropriate responses, and there were oh so many of them.

I finally leaned back in my chair and regarded her, my expression stony. “So that’s what it takes to become a minion of Satan, is it? Good to know. For future reference. So what do men have to do?”

Her lips pressed even tighter. “Mock me all you want, but I’m right. We’re
all
right, and you and all your ungodly scientist friends will burn in hell.”

“We have to believe in hell first.”

“You may not believe in Satan and hell, but they certainly believe in you,” she announced, giving a decisive nod.

I had to think about that for a minute before answering, “I don’t think that’s how that saying usually goes.”

“It’s still true.”

“Actually, I think it’s irrelevant. I’m a werewolf. I’m not a bad person. A lot of the werewolves I know aren’t. Even a big chunk of the vampires I know aren’t bad people. And yet you’d condemn us all?”

“That’s right.” She beamed like she’d scored a point.

Time to get out while the getting was good. “All righty then. Anything else you’d like to tell my listeners before I kick you out?”

“No. And I’ll show
myself
out.” She did just that, yanking off the headset and practically launching herself from her seat to march to the door. She turned the wrong way into the hall and had to march back across the doorway in the other direction. I’d have laughed if I hadn’t been gritting my teeth.

“And that’s a special kind of crazy for you,” I said into the mike. “Once again, that was Tracy Anderson of Truth Against the Godless, which has been protesting the conference all week because they think Satan is in charge, or something. I dunno. Let’s take a break, and when we come back I’ll have another guest on for you.”

The recording light went out, and I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hair.

Matt talked at me from the Skype call on the laptop. “Kitty, why do you love baiting these people so much? You know what they’re going to say, and you’re not going to change their minds.”

“Know thine enemy,” I said tiredly. “People have to know the crazies are out there.”

“Well, you sure know how to find them.”

“I keep thinking if I give them enough rope they’ll hang themselves right on the air and I can save my breath.”

“If a whole crowd of people like that are protesting out there, you must be having a hell of a time.”

He didn’t know the half of it, all the crap I wasn’t talking about on the air or anywhere else. “It’s been … interesting. But good. I have to think the good guys are winning.”

“Who’s defining good?”

Yeah, that was the problem, wasn’t it? In her own mind, Tracy Anderson thought she was freaking Joan of Arc. I thought she was a petty little woman with fears so gigantic she had to lash out at
something
to feel safe. Werewolves and vampires were pretty easy targets, all things considered. I almost understood it.

Didn’t make it right.

Chapter 13

I
FINISHED MY
interviews well after dark, and was cranky and in desperate need of some dinner. Another day gone, and the conference was already half over. Despite all my on-air proclamations to the contrary, I felt like I hadn’t accomplished anything. But I had to keep up a good front. We were supposed to be saving the world, weren’t we? Maybe I ought to set the bar a little lower. The conference was half over, and we hadn’t had any riots yet. There, that was something to be proud of.

Ben met me at the studio, and we walked back to the convention. Emma was going to meet us there with the car to take us back to the town house.

“Where’s Cormac?” I asked once we’d left the studio.

“Nick Parker invited him to dinner, and he said yes. Apparently Amelia wants to meet the family.”

“Huh. That’s so weird.”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll be good for him. He actually seems to be developing social skills.”