Kitty's House of Horrors (9 page)

“Good guys. I wonder what that means to you.”

“I just want to be left alone,” I said, my voice soft. I didn’t know yet if Anastasia was a good guy. I didn’t know what that
meant to her.

Her gaze narrowed. “I don’t believe you. The evidence suggests otherwise.”

I looked up, because these were the big issues, and when you started trying to untangle the big issues—of philosophy, of ideology—there
often were no right answers. I tended to take things day by day, by gut instinct, and hope for the best.

“Then maybe I want justice,” I said.

“Oh,” she said, with something like mocking awe. “You’re an idealist.”

“Yeah. So I’m told.”

“Well. Good luck. You’ll need it.” She gazed outside, like she had just commented on the weather, or the lovely shadows on
the grass.

Hand on hip, I turned to her. “Okay, now you’re just baiting me.”

“We don’t move through time,” she said. “We exist outside of it. We build our own worlds and carry them with us, cultures
within cultures, orbits within orbits. And we look on you as we would on rats in a cage. Studying you.”

“If you feel that way, why are you even here? Why bother interacting with us? Is someone like Dorian just your milk cow?”

“Some of us feel differently,” she said quickly, almost an apology. “Some of us resist the urge to see the rest of you as
livestock. I know you understand—you resist the same urges.”

“But I’m mortal. Changes the outlook a bit.”

She said, “I’m trying to explain what you’re facing. The players in the Game—why consolidate power except to use it? What
does anyone use power for but to impose their worldview over everyone?”

“That’s a little epic for me to wrap my head around.”

“Live long enough and you see where the patterns lead.”

“How long?” I took the flyer.

She smiled, thin and wary. “I should retire now. Thank you for speaking with me.”

When she offered her hand, I took it—it was smooth, cool, firm. I still wouldn’t meet her gaze, and this seemed to amuse her,
as well. Then she left, disappearing around the corner to the basement door.

I flopped onto the sofa and buried my face in a cushion.

I
managed to get a couple hours of sleep. I should have slept more—it’s not like I had to be anywhere—but I kept turning that
conversation with Anastasia over in my mind, and I kept worrying.

When I got up, it was still before anyone else. I went for the phone and called Ben. My hand cupped over the mouthpiece, I
spoke as softly as I could.

“What’s wrong?” he said instantly. I was being so obviously conspiratorial.

“I need you to check on something for me.”

“You’re still managing to find trouble, aren’t you?”

I should have argued this on principle. But really, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. “This probably isn’t important, but I
don’t want to be blindsided. You may need to talk to Rick about it.”

“Do I have to?”

Rick, Master vampire of Denver. Ben didn’t like vampires; I couldn’t much blame him. “Come on, Rick’s a good guy.”

“For certain values of good.”

“There’s a vampire here. Her name’s Anastasia. I’d just like to find out more about her, where she came from, if she has any
kind of reputation.”

“Is there a reason for the cloak-and-dagger routine?”

“She’s been asking me about Roman.”

He paused a moment, then said, “Oh. Shit. Is she working for him or something? How are they connected?”

“That’s what I need to find out. She didn’t seem to be all that thrilled with him, which is a little encouraging.”

“The enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend.”

“I know that. She seems to be trying to find out which side I’m on. Why can’t people just leave me alone?”

“You’re a popular public figure who volunteered to be on a reality TV show. And you want to be left alone?”

“Okay, point taken.” I pouted.

“You know I’ve got my own situation going on here. I have Cormac’s parole hearing in two days.”

Crap. I was frustrated all over again that I wasn’t going to be there. “How is that going? Are you okay? Is he okay? Is everything
going to be okay?”

“If he can keep his nose clean for a couple more days, we should be golden.”

My first thought: he’d kept his nose clean for almost two years—surely the next couple of days wouldn’t be a problem. But
then I thought, this was Cormac we were talking about. “You sound nervous.”

He sighed. “I am nervous. This is the perfect time for the universe to drop a bomb on us.”

“Don’t think like that. It’s going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Just keep saying that. We could use the good vibes.”

“You got it,” I said, wishing hard that this would work out all right. “Don’t worry about my problems—springing Cormac is
more important.”

“I think I can spare five minutes for a call to Rick. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Thanks. I love you, Ben.”

“I love you, too. If Roman shows up, run. Don’t try to talk to him, don’t get into an argument with him. Just run.”

“Yeah. I’ll run.” Roman wasn’t going to show up. Hell, no. That would be too much.

We signed off, and I cursed the universe’s bad timing that all this was happening at once.

After the talk with Ben, I emerged from the back of the lodge to the living room just in time to hear Tina yell.

“Oh,
gross!
What the hell?”

A half-dozen of the others were awake by then and ran to the picture window, where Tina was standing, mouth open, looking
out with a horrified expression. The usual cameras were there to capture the fun.

A mauled carcass lay at the edge of the meadow. It wasn’t very clear, but blood was visible, along with a mound of meat—pink
flesh that gleamed wetly in the morning sun. There might have been legs sticking out, maybe a scrap of tawny hide.

“Is that a deer?” Jeffrey said. “It looks like something shredded it.”

Conrad said, “Maybe a bear. Or a wolf. A real wolf, I mean.” He eyed me.

“They wouldn’t leave a kill like that this close to people,” Lee said.

I looked around. Tina, Jeffrey, Conrad, Lee, Ariel, me. I had an idea of what had happened.

“Has anyone seen Jerome?” I said wryly. So maybe I hadn’t been the first person up this morning.

“What?”

Lee raised a brow. “Seriously?”

Yeah,
he
knew what I was talking about. I stepped outside, went down the porch steps, and took a breath of air. The smell hit me:
blood and guts, decay setting in. Crows would be here soon to start picking at it. Circle of life and so on. I also caught
the scent of lycanthrope all over the place. I wondered if Macy was trying to be cute, dragging his kill back here.

At that moment, he emerged from around the side of the lodge. He’d probably retreated to the forest on this side of the valley
to sleep his wolf off. And he hadn’t bothered to bring clothes with him: he was naked. I could see every inch of his sleek,
muscular body. He was huge, solid as a brick wall. Well built, all the way around. A-hem.

He’d even managed to clean most of the blood off his face and hands, but I could still smell traces.

When he saw me, he stopped. I met his gaze and smiled. “I see you managed alone just fine.”

“You missed out,” he said. “The hunting here’s great.”

“Yeah, that’s why they call it a hunting lodge. You’re putting on quite a show.” I tilted my head toward the window and the
audience standing there.

Macy grinned. “I thought I’d shake things up a little.”

“Uh, yeah.”

I went back inside, leaving the man to his lack of modesty. He followed me in, not caring a bit that the others suddenly looked
everywhere else but at him. Except for Lee, who was smirking right along with me. Something about being a lycanthrope made
being naked not all that big a deal.

“Convinced yet, Conrad?” I said.

He shook his head. “It’s a trick. Provost probably dumped that carcass out there.”

The bummer thing was, he wasn’t wrong. A scene like this would have been easy to stage.

Macy didn’t pause for conversation but went straight to the stairs, where Grant was descending. The two passed each other
awkwardly.

Hands in his trouser pockets, Grant faced us. “I seem to have missed some excitement.”

Maybe Conrad was half right. Maybe this had been rigged—just not the way he thought. I glanced sidelong at one of the cameras.
“I think Provost may have put Jerome up to a little fun,” I said. “But hey, we had to get started with the freaky shit sometime.”

“Er—language, Kitty,” Ariel said.

I shrugged. “That’s what editors are for.”

Conrad crossed his arms. “Odysseus—despite your name, I think you may be the most rational person here besides me. You really
believe all this? You believe Jerome is a werewolf? That Kitty is? I mean, a werewolf named Kitty—how do you expect anyone
to buy that?”

“Because I’ve seen her shape-shift,” he said.

Conrad opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.

“My offer still stands,” I said, hitching my thumb toward the door. “I’ll go shape-shift right now and we can finish up this
whole thing.”

Tina raised a hand. “I’d go for that—I haven’t seen you shift. And how did he see you shift? What’s the story with that?”

“Long,” I said. “Complicated.”

“I guess that means you’re not going to tell us.”

“What happens in Vegas, as they say,” Grant said, brow lifted.

Did he just crack a joke?

T
hat, then, was going to be the tone for the entire two weeks: something freaky happening, maybe prompted by Provost, maybe
not; then Conrad grumbling about how it was all a setup; Valenti, Cabe, and the PAs running around to capture it on film.
I assumed the events would escalate—the incidents would get weirder, and Conrad’s denials would get lamer, until he had a
moment of epiphany. And probably a spectacular nervous breakdown, to boot. Then we’d all reconcile and grow together as human
beings. Reality shows liked to convince the TV-viewing public that they were all spontaneous and, you know, real. But a good
editor would be able to turn the footage from this week into a retelling of
War and Peace.

Midmorning, Provost dropped in to see how we were doing. The daily check-in. His producer face was as plastic and smiley as
ever. I was sitting on the porch, feet propped on the railing, reading a book when he bounded up the steps, arms spread in
greeting.

“Kitty! How’s it going? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. Quite,” I said noncommittally.

“You couldn’t find anything more, ah, photogenic to do than read a book?”

“You don’t think this is photogenic? Look at it this way, you include footage of me reading, you’ll appeal to your intellectual
demographic.”

He stared blankly, and he was probably right: he didn’t have an intellectual demographic. I knew I was in trouble when he
pulled over another of the chairs and settled in for a chat. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, acting chummy, but the gesture
made me cringe and want to growl. Some people had no respect for personal space. He might have been a high school guidance
counselor in a past life.

“I wondered if you could do me a favor,” he said.

“Another one?” I said. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like whatever he was about to say.

“There’s obviously some kind of history between you and Grant.” He gave a certain weight to the word “history” that made me
raise my brow. “Now, I don’t need any details, but I have to say, there’s
a lot
of potential there. And something’s definitely going on between Grant and Anastasia. The whole thing screams triangle. Really
meaty stuff. I was hoping I could convince you to, you know, maybe play it up a little.”

I was under no illusions that reality TV actually depicted reality, so this shouldn’t have surprised me. Still, I stared at
Provost, disbelieving, but he continued looking hopeful. If I got angry, it would only reinforce any notions he’d developed.
Ignoring him probably wouldn’t work—he’d just keep bugging me until the two weeks were up. Maybe if I played nice it would
throw him off guard.

I said, “You know, the ‘history’ between Grant and me involves a death-defying escape from a cult of crazies practicing human
sacrifice in worship to an ancient Babylonian goddess. You sure you want me to play that up?”

That got him to at least hesitate. The permanent smile remained frozen. “You may be right. The network executives might have
a problem with human sacrifice. If we didn’t handle it, you know,
tastefully.
”

The words “tasteful” and “human sacrifice” should never appear together in the same sentence. Why did I even bother arguing?

“Can I ask you something? Did you put Jerome up to dropping that mauled deer on the driveway?”

“No. That was all him. Great stuff, too. That guy has a good eye for entertainment.”

“Must be all the pro wrestling.”

“So when are you going to head out for a run yourself? The four-legged kind.”

“I try to be a little more civilized,” I said. “All joking aside, I wasn’t really planning on it at all.”

“Too bad you wouldn’t let us schedule this over the full moon.”

I leaned forward. Bared my teeth in an expression of aggression he wouldn’t understand. “If you want it that bad, I hear there’s
a video you can download off the Internet.”

He blinked, gave a nervous smile, and walked away. Maybe he did understand the body language.

He went inside. Through the picture window, I watched him have similar, hushed conversations in corners with Lee and Tina.
He tried to have one with Grant, but the magician made a curt apology and walked away.

I was making a map in my mind of who was talking to whom, who had sneaked off, and who could possibly be colluding with Provost.
Or Grant. Or Anastasia. Inventing more conspiracies, and probably playing the game exactly the way Provost would want me to.