Kitty Raises Hell (19 page)

Roman only needed to know what was right in front of him. He was unconcerned.

He said, “Your loyalty. That’s all.”

His words were chilling. This was such a little thing, after all. So easy to say yes, since it didn’t cost anything right
now, but it was so open-ended. He could ask for
anything
later on. To vampires of certain ages, of certain sensibilities, who carried ancient values into the modern era, certain
words—hospitality, honor, and loyalty—had weight and depth that they’d lost for someone like me, who had grown up in a rootless,
disposable modern culture. The old meaning of hospitality wasn’t about napkin rings. It held that you were responsible for
the total well-being of anyone you sheltered in your walls, that you were obligated to help someone who came to you and asked.
Honor touched on the core of one’s very identity, which when lost was nearly impossible to recover. And loyalty. Fealty. The
word called to mind knights on bended knee before their kings. For someone of that mind-set, to break such a vow was to break
the world.

That was what Roman was asking for, no matter how lightly he said the word. His gaze held an ancient gravity.

My steps slowed, then stopped. He continued a pace before stopping himself. I kept my gaze on his shoulder. Even if he hadn’t
been a vampire, with a vampire’s hypnotic stare, I wouldn’t have wanted to meet those hard, fierce eyes.

I swallowed and hoped my voice worked. “In my world, loyalty is earned. Not given away.”

“And I will earn yours by protecting you and your people from this creature.”

A lurch of déjà vu made me think,
I’m right back where I started.
Begging someone else to take care of me. To protect me. When I’d worked so hard to learn how to do it myself.

“You’re asking me to submit.”

He frowned. “Nothing so drastic as that. I’m not asking you to give up your authority.”

He might not have picked up on the importance of that word—submit, submissive—and the shades of meaning that would be clear
to anyone who’d been part of a werewolf pack. Or maybe he understood perfectly well what he was asking me to do. Maybe that
was exactly what he wanted.

“I can’t answer you right now,” I said, hoping that no one else died, hoping that Mick would forgive me. “I need to talk to
the others.”

“You lead this pack. They trust you to decide for them.”

“I don’t lead my pack that way.”

“Ah, one of these newfangled modern werewolves.”

I managed a thin smile. “That’s me.”

“I’m baffled by this city’s leaders’ refusal to take decisive action,” he said.

“Sorry,” I said. “But not really. Is there some way I can get in touch with you when I’ve made a decision?”

“No need. I’ll find you.”

I didn’t like that at all.

His face was angular, full of shadows in the odd nighttime lights from porches, from streetlights shrouded by bare trees.
His eyes gleamed, and he frowned.

“You’ve seen what this thing can do. You don’t have a lot of time to decide.”

The hard sell, like this was buying a used car. But he almost had me cowed. I didn’t want to argue with him anymore. “I know,”
I said.

He marched away, shoulders square, arms straight, tails of his coat rippling behind him. His steps were like drumbeats. Entranced
by this image of determination, I watched. He never turned a corner. He was a small shadow, far ahead, when I went back to
my car.

I
didn’t have a lot of time to spare, so I didn’t wait until morning to call Jules to get an update on the Paradox crew. For
half a second, I worried about waking him up.

“Yeah?” he said curtly but not at all sleepily. These guys were used to keeping nocturnal hours.

“Are you guys still in town?” I said.

“What? Kitty? What’s wrong?”

I hadn’t considered how I must sound: desperate, angry, fierce. Panicked. “I really need you not to leave town. I need your
help.”

He let out a sigh. “We’re still here. Gary’s out of the hospital, but he’s still resting. We’re supposed to take a flight
out tomorrow.”

“I’ve gotten some information,” I said, aware of how much I would have to leave out. But I didn’t want to have to explain
Roman to him. And I wasn’t sure I was ready to talk about Mick. Or maybe I didn’t want to scare Jules off. “I’ve been told
it’s a demon.”

“Are you joking?” he said, half laughing.

“Oh, yeah, because I would totally joke about something like this,” I said, spitting out the sarcasm.

“It’s just that . . . demons. That’s really getting into the lunatic fringe. But I think maybe your local Catholic priest
can help you out. Do up a nice little exorcism for you.”

“That’s funny. I never really thought of Catholics as lunatic fringe. I thought that was you guys.”

“You’re not exactly middle-of-mainstream yourself.”

And I
liked
it that way. “It’s just that we’ve been trying to figure out what this thing is, and I got a lead that said demon. Thought
you’d like to know.”

“But what are we supposed to do about a
demon
?”

We scoff at what we don’t understand. I had clearly stepped outside Jules’s comfort zone. “Jules, let me talk to Tina.”

“I’m sure she knows ever so much more about demons than I do.”

“Maybe she doesn’t, but I bet she doesn’t talk at me like I’m an idiot.” I smiled when I said it. Made me sound like a bitch.
It was my radio-show voice.

The phone shifted, and then Tina said, “Yeah?”

“Here I was thinking Jules was starting to like me,” I said.

“Don’t worry about him. He’s pretty invested in keeping up his front. What did you say to get him riled up?”

“Demon.”

“Demon?” she said with a nervous chuckle.

“So. Do you know anything about repelling demons?”

“Don’t demons usually possess people? Spinning heads, projectile vomiting, that sort of thing,” she said.

“I don’t know anything about it. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“I don’t know anything about it, either.”

“But you
talked
to it! Or it talked to you, through the board. Didn’t that tell you
anything
?”

“It told me that this is way too big for me to deal with.”

Deep breath. Keep it together. “Okay. You guys had your equipment monitoring the séance at New Moon, right? Have you looked
over the recordings at all? Were you able to collect any data from the fire?”

“We gave copies of the video footage to the fire investigator,” Tina said.

“But they’re not looking for the things you’d be looking for. Didn’t it occur to you to look for anything weird in the footage,
anything to explain what happened?”

“Mostly we were worried about Gary,” she said.

Fair enough. “There’s got to be something, and we can cross-reference anything having to do with demons—”

“The chances are really slim we’ll even find anything. They always are.”

“I don’t have a choice. It’s getting worse.”

“Did something else happen? What?”

I hesitated before saying, “It killed someone.”

“Oh, my God. And after that you’re asking us to help you?”

“I can’t make you stay, but could you please review the video? Let me know if you find anything? I’m running out of ideas
here.”

“Kitty, it was just a fire. A normal kitchen fire—”

“You of all people can tell me that?” I said.

“I can convince myself of that. Kitty, I don’t want to touch this thing again. It felt
wrong.
”

“I need evidence, Tina. And I need a plan.”

“I’ll talk to the others,” she said. She sounded tired, but I couldn’t afford to feel any sympathy. I couldn’t let them off
the hook. “I’ll let you know what we decide.”

Reminding myself that screaming demands wouldn’t get me what I wanted, I clamped my jaw shut and took a breath before I was
ready to say, “Thank you. Just think about it. Please.”

T
he next day, Ben and I made our weekly pilgrimage to Cañon City, about a hundred and fifty miles south of Denver. The timing
was bad. I was afraid to leave town, in case something happened; on the other hand, it would be nice to get away. To
run
away. Ben wouldn’t let any excuse short of lying in the hospital in a coma cancel this visit. I found I didn’t want him to
go alone, or I’d spend the whole day worrying about him.

Behind the glass at a visitors’ booth of the Colorado Territorial Correctional Facility, Cormac Bennett rubbed his forehead
in a long-suffering manner. “I don’t know why you guys insist on telling me about a problem like this when there’s nothing
I can do about it.”

Ben and I slumped in the chairs across from him, sharing an intercom phone, talking to a man serving time for manslaughter.
Cormac—bounty hunter of the supernatural, Ben’s cousin, and my friend—had saved our lives with that manslaughter. We’d sort
of gotten used to him arriving in the nick of time, guns blazing, to save our asses. He couldn’t do that much anymore.

Like we usually did on our visits, we asked how he was doing, and he said fine, as well as could be expected, and he asked
how we were doing. I hadn’t meant to tell him. We were supposed to be cheerful and keep up a good front so he wouldn’t worry.
He had enough to worry about. Then I’d said, “Oh, everything’s great except for the demon.”

Then I had to tell him the whole story, which left him rubbing his forehead like he suddenly had a headache.

“I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m just venting,” I said.

“And fishing for advice, right? Just in case I know anything about hunting demons.”

“Well, yeah, okay, if you know anything,” I said, squirming. “So—you ever hunt down a demon before?”

Even Ben was looking amused.

Cormac glared at me. “Can’t say that I have. I’d talk to a priest.”

“People keep telling me that,” I said.

“Interesting image,” Ben said. “You’ve never even been inside a church, have you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve dodged a couple of vampires by going into churches.”

Which was exactly the sort of answer I’d come to expect from him. That sufficiently changed the subject so that we didn’t
talk again about demons and how Cormac couldn’t help us much from behind bars.

Before our hour was up, Cormac leaned forward. His expression was stonelike, unemotional. His voice was flat, but the words
were fraught.

“I don’t want to get too cheesy, but knowing you two are rooting for me is about the only thing that’s getting me through
this. So be careful. Don’t get yourselves killed by whatever’s going on out there.”

It was a heavy responsibility. But it was also incentive. When, I reflected absently, had I collected so much responsibility?
Since when had this many people been depending on me? This time last year, I was all on my own.

Strangely, I didn’t miss those days.

We answered him with thin, strained smiles.

Straightening again, Cormac said to Ben, “Can I talk to Kitty alone for a minute?”

Without a word, Ben stood to leave, giving Cormac a grim smile and touching me on the shoulder as he did.

Alone now, we spent a long moment looking at each other. Reading too much into each other’s gazes. For as short a time as
we’d known each other, we’d managed to work up a lot of history between us. A lot of missed chances. I couldn’t make either
one of us stop regretting them.

“What is it?” I said. “What can you say to me that you can’t say to him?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

I ducked my gaze and shook my head.

“I don’t want him to worry.” He tipped his chair back, and his gaze turned slightly away from me, into space, into nothing.
“Kitty, do you believe in ghosts?”

I wasn’t in a good state of mind to answer that question rationally—I’d spent the last week hanging out with paranormal investigators
and being hunted by a fire-breathing demon. My first reaction was emotional, maybe even screechy, with the thought, Oh, not
him, too! Cormac wouldn’t be asking this if something wasn’t going on here.

I managed to answer calmly, “Of course I do.” Didn’t a werewolf have to believe in ghosts?

He leaned forward. “Can you do some of that research you’re so good at?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I need to know the names of any women who were executed here. Let’s say right around 1900, give or take a decade. And any
history you can find on them.”

I narrowed a suspicious gaze at him. I almost hated to ask, “Are you being haunted or something?”

Absently, he shook his head, his mind in a totally different place. “I don’t know. It’s a hunch. It may be nothing.”

I hadn’t considered the kind of trouble Cormac could get into in prison. Prison was supposed to keep him
out
of trouble.

“Is everything okay?”

The smile turned grim. “Hanging in there. Sometimes by my fingernails. But hanging in there.”

I had a hunch, as well. “Would this make a good story for
Paradox PI
?”

“Just don’t tell them it came from me.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

“ ’Til next time, then,” he said. A uniformed guard loomed behind him to escort him back to the bowels of the place.

“Yeah. I’ll see you,” I answered.

Ben was waiting for me outside, in the grim parking lot outside the fences and coils of razor wire. “What did he say? If you
can tell me. Not that I want to encourage my clients to keep secrets from me.”

I joined him, and together we walked to the car. “He just wants me to look something up for him. He wouldn’t tell me exactly
why. He was worried that you’d freak out about it.”

Ben didn’t freak out. I didn’t think he would. But Cormac had spent most of his life believing that he was looking out for
Ben, protecting him. Funny how Ben thought the same about Cormac.

We walked on a few steps, silent. I let Ben ponder. Then he said, “This doesn’t have anything to do with those Tiamat guys,
does it?”

“No. This seems to be completely unrelated.”

“Is he in trouble?”