Kitty's House of Horrors (3 page)

Then he said, “Cormac has a parole hearing.”

M
oving on to the next call, now. Hello, Audra,” I said into the mike.

“Hi, Kitty, yeah, so I’m like a really big fan. I love your show, really.”

“Great, thanks very much.”

“So, like, I totally need your help. I have this friend who thinks she’s a werewolf. But she’s totally not. I even went out
with her on the last full moon. And I’m like pointing at the sky, pointing at the moon, going, ‘Look, you haven’t turned into
a wolf—you’re not a werewolf!’ And she’s all like, ‘But I am on the
inside.
I have the
soul
of a wolf.’”

These potpourri shows were great for when I didn’t have anything else planned. Just let people call in with all the problems
that have been brewing over the last few weeks. Great—in theory. But it meant I couldn’t complain about what calls I
did
get.

I had so much going on in my personal life right now I had a hard time focusing on the call. Cormac’s parole hearing was scheduled
at the same time I was supposed to be in Montana taping what SuperByte Entertainment was now calling
Supernatural Insider.
I wouldn’t be here to give him or Ben moral support. That pissed me off. But I was also so darned excited over the prospect
of Cormac getting out of prison. Apparently, he’d been a good boy, and that shaved enough time off that now, with almost half
of his four-year sentence completed, he was eligible for parole, and Ben said it was all but a done deal. Cormac had friends
and family in the area, a place to live, and a plan to look for a job. By all appearances he was completely reformed and repentant.
At least, he’d convinced the prison psychologist of it. And what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during those sessions…

So in as little as a month from now, he could be out. A free man. I was excited—and more than a little anxious.

I didn’t know what to think about Cormac anymore. The first time I met him, he’d tried to kill me, but I talked him out of
it. The next time I met him, we traded information, because we were both after the same bad guy. The third time, we’d almost
fallen into bed together. We didn’t, because he had a thing against werewolves. After that—we were friends. We acted like
it, mostly. We’d come to each other’s rescue often enough.

I met Cormac before I met Ben. Cormac referred me to Ben—his cousin—when I needed a lawyer. Then Cormac brought Ben to me
right after Ben had been bitten and infected with lycanthropy. I took care of Ben, and Ben and I—well, we bonded, and Cormac
was left out in the cold. Then he came to our rescue, shot and killed a very bad person on our behalf—and was convicted of
manslaughter for it. And each of us thought it was our own fault. We had a bumper crop of guilt between us. Not to mention
the sparks still lingering between me and Cormac, though I’d gone and gotten married to his cousin and best friend in the
meantime. And in the middle of all that I had this sensationalist TV show to deal with.

I needed a radio advice show
I
could call in to.

Audra was still talking. “… and I know she listens to your show, too, and I just want you to tell her that she’s so full of
it.”

I leaned in and turned on my snotty voice. “And why should I tell her that?”

“Because she’s totally deluding herself. She’s not fooling anyone.”

“Maybe she isn’t trying to fool anyone. Maybe she really honestly feels this way, and if it helps her feel better about herself,
and she isn’t hurting anything, who are we to argue? As her friend you ought to be a little more supportive, don’t you think?
She’s not actually hurting anyone, is she?”

“Well, no. But it’s just so stupid!”

“I think you’re being a little judgmental.”

“But you’re a real werewolf—why are you standing up for her?”

“Because I think, based on what you’ve told me, that she’s right and you’re wrong.”

Audra made an offended grunt. “That’s so not fair!”

Lots of people called in to the show. Lots of people claimed to be fans. Yet they always seemed surprised when I gave them
the same smackdown I gave ninety percent of my callers.

“Let me ask you a question, Audra. Why are you so threatened by this? Why does it bother you so much that she calls herself
a werewolf when she physically isn’t one?”

“Because she’s
wrong.
And she’s just such a snob about it. Like she’s all better than me because she’s a werewolf when what she really is is
crazy.
”

I straightened. “Why does this girl even hang out with you when you’re so mean to her?”

“I’m not mean to her! I’m trying to get her to wake up to reality!”

“To which you’ve applied a narrow definition.”

“And she can’t face up to the fact that I’m a vampire.”

“Huh?”

“The only reason she keeps going on about being a werewolf is because I’m a vampire, and she’s jealous.”

I blinked, my brow furrowed in confusion. My lack of a poker face was another reason I was better off on radio than TV. Which
was something else that was going to make
Supernatural Insider
interesting.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re a vampire? Really?” ’Cause right then I would have laid money that she wasn’t.

“Well…” she said. “I have the
soul
of a vampire.”

I didn’t know what it was that made people bare their souls and tell me the truth when I had no way of knowing whether they
were vampires, lycanthropes, or the Queen of Sheba. Maybe it was that radio was simultaneously so personal and anonymous.
They could speak, I could hear them, hear the tears in their voices. But they could stay alone, no one had to see them crying,
and as soon as they hung up the phone the confession might never have happened. But I was happy for the confessions, because
they made for great entertainment.

“Audra, Audra, Audra,” I said. “You know some people believe that vampires don’t even have souls?”

“But I
do,
I
understand,
I have the innate sense of style and superiority! I feel the music of the night!”

Oh no. One of
those.
“Audra, do you collect dried red roses in your bedroom? In fact, your whole bedroom is done up in black and red, isn’t it?
You dress in black and wear a lot of eye makeup? And you listen to a lot of Sarah Brightman?”

“Yes,” she said, tentative.

“Okay. Here’s what I think. I think you’re a bit of a whiner.”

“But you’re not being
fair!
You’re not even
listening
to me!”

Well… “I’d like you to try something. I want you to count to ten and exhale slowly. It’s a calming exercise. It works for
me every time. Can you try it now? Deep breath, and one, two, three—”

“But I
am
calm!”

“Just keep up that counting, Audra, and I bet if you tell your friend that you’ll stop making fun of her if she stops making
fun of you, you guys’ll get along just great.” Gratefully, I hit the cutoff. “Next call, what have you got?”

“Hi, Kitty. Thanks for taking my call. I want to talk about bounty hunters. Those guys who go out hunting supernatural monsters.”

This night was definitely not going my way. I didn’t want to talk about bounty hunters, but who was I to deny my audience?
I knew I wasn’t going to like where this went. I sighed. “What about them?”

“You’ve met a lot of these bounty hunters, right? Why don’t we hear more about them in the news and stuff? I’d have thought
they’d want publicity, that they’d want to get some credit for the work they do.”

Looking back on it, I was kind of shocked at how many supernatural bounty hunters I had met. Not by intention, of course.
Self-preservation dictated I stay as far away from professional assassins as possible.

“If they started working in public,” I said, “then they’d have to be held accountable for what they do. Right now, when they’re
underground, they don’t have to put on a good face for anyone. And when the people they’re hunting are also underground, so
that no one misses them when they disappear, there’s no accountability, no due process, and sometimes no justice.”

Except in rare cases, like Cormac’s, when he’d been justified in making the kill—and had been convicted for it anyway. The
no-win situation. I wasn’t going to bring that up if I could help it, which was part of why this topic was making me nervous.
It was hitting too close to home. Never mind having to talk to listeners who clearly wanted people like me dead. Weren’t they
supposed to be fans?

This guy wasn’t buying it. “Let’s face it, people like that have been around for centuries, right? And the freaks haven’t
taken over yet, so it must be working. What’s wrong with letting them do their jobs?”

Sometimes I thought my listeners were the smartest people around. Sometimes I despaired for the human race.

I said, “I think the question at hand isn’t whether or not these hunters should go public, but whether they should be regulated
by the government. Licensed, trained, paid regular salaries. Made an extension of existing law enforcement. Hell, train existing
law enforcement and let them do the same job for supernatural citizens that they do for everyone else. It’s already happening—the
police department right here in Denver has a paranatural unit now.”

The guy’s mocking tone was clear. “Oh yeah, that’ll bring a whole lot of protection and justice to the system.”

“Come on, people, have a little faith. You have to start somewhere or you end up with anarchy. You end up with guys claiming
to be vampire hunters running around staking whoever they please in a self-proclaimed war against evil. Next call, please.
Kansas City, you’re on the air.”

“I’m one of those bounty hunters you’re talking about. And let me tell you, you have no
idea
what’s out there.” The voice was female, with an edge. She sounded like someone who was under a lot of stress. Someone who
was used to fighting—all the time. She went on. “Vampires and werewolves aren’t even the half of it. Demons, incubi, zombies,
warlocks—there’s a battle for good and evil out there, and the only thing standing between nice people like your listeners
and total chaos are people like me who are willing to sacrifice everything to keep the rest of you safe. And what thanks do
we get? Scars and trauma, and not a whole lot else. Naive do-gooders trying to shut us down when you all ought to be on your
knees thanking us.”

I stared at the mike, because I could think of only one thing to say, and I knew it was the wrong thing. But I couldn’t help
it; I said it anyway.

“I’m sensing a lot of anger here.”

A beat. Then, “Excuse me?”

“Anger. You know: ire, hostility, rage, fury. You have some.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I’m angry about
a lot
of things.”

I leaned in, getting ready for a nice long chat. I had a wedge with this one, and she seemed willing to talk. We were going
to do some digging. Hell, if she didn’t like it, she could always hang up. But I didn’t think she would, because she was the
one who’d called me, and if she hung up now, then I’d just keep talking about her without her input. I loved this gig.

“Why is that?”

“This is a war,” she said. “I’m one of the few people out there who are doing something about it. Of
course
I’m angry!”

“A war? Isn’t that a little melodramatic? Most people will go through their whole lives and never encounter anything remotely
supernatural. Or at least not recognize it. In my experience, most of this stuff prefers to stay out of sight.”

“It stays underground because it’s afraid of people like me. Not that anybody knows it.”

My own problems were temporarily forgotten, because this was interesting. Brain wheels were turning, giving me an idea. My
caller wouldn’t like it. “Let me try something out on you. You’re not really angry about this so-called war you’re talking
about. You’re angry because you don’t get any appreciation. Because you’re not getting enough love. Am I right?”

“What?” she spat. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t expect anyone to hand me a medal.”

Oh, but I was just getting started. “See, I don’t think you’re as tough as you think you are. Or as tough as you work so hard
to make other people think you are. I think you use violence to cover up a lot of insecurities. You have to be the biggest,
baddest beast on the block. But that gets kind of lonely, doesn’t it? You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

“You think in this line of work I can trust anyone? You’re more naive than I thought.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“As a matter of fact, I have several.” She sounded smug, bragging.

“Really? How is that working out for you?”

She actually sighed, the barest sign she’d let her guard down. “Not very well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She hadn’t called to argue with me. She’d called because she needed to vent. She needed to
gush.
And gush she did. “It’s so hard when you can’t count on the people close to you. They’re great guys, they really are, but
I feel like they’re always judging me. Of course they are—they’re way too good for me. They deserve someone better, someone
who isn’t always getting into trouble, who doesn’t have my temper. Someone
prettier.
”

“Whoa, hold on there, what has that got to do with anything?” I said.

“I just want people to
like
me. But how can I afford to be nice, doing what I do?”

I turned off the snark. “You’re a really strong woman, I can tell. You fight a lot of battles, you stand up to a lot of really
bad stuff. I get that. So tell me something: why don’t you feel better about yourself? Don’t you think there’s a certain strength
to be had in standing tall, in thinking you’re beautiful and acting that way? You don’t have anything to prove, right?”

“Easy for you to say—everybody loves you.” She sniffed. Now I wanted to feed her chocolate and give her a big hug.

“Honey, some days I’m not too sure about that. But ever onward, I say. I gotta tell you, I think we’re a little out of my
league here and I’m really not qualified to offer you guidance. Have you thought about getting counseling?”