Kitty and the Midnight Hour
Page 25
"Change the topic. I mean it."
"Cormac, when was the last time you went on a date?"
One of the challenges of doing a radio show was judging everything by people's voices. I couldn't see their faces and expressions. I had to gauge the inflections of their voices to judge their moods and reactions.
So while I couldn't see Cormac's face, I could tell by the lightness in his voice that he was grinning. "Norville, when was the last time you went on a date?"
The phone line clicked off.
Bastard.
"That, my friend, is none of your business," I said at the microphone. I straightened, donned a smile, and thought happy thoughts. My claws around Cormac's throat. My hands itched.
A couple of days later I was still trying to clean up that same pile of crap on my desk when I got a phone call.
"Hello. How are you, Ms. Norville?"
It was the CDC guy, Paranatural Biology, whatever flavor of government spook he was. I should have expected him to call again.
"Hello, Mr. Throat."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. I'd just like to talk."
"The last time you called to have a chat, you hung up on me."
"I have to be careful. I don't think you quite understand my position—"
I huffed, exasperated. "Of course not; you haven't told me what your position is!" At this point, I was betting he was a wacko with delusions of grandeur trying to incorporate me into his paranoid fantasy. Then again, he might have been that and some kind of government spook.
He made an annoyed sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about your revelation. I'd wondered, of course. About your identity. This is a very brave move you've made."
"How so?"
"You've exposed yourself. But you've also created an opportunity. You might be making my job easier."
"You still haven't told me what your job is."
"I think you know more than you're letting on."
He'd mentioned the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. He must have been involved with that project, involved with reporting the findings to the government.
"Let's check that," I said. "The publicity my show is generating in some way lends weight to the research that's going on. You're trying to bring attention to that study, and my show is opening the door to that. Doing the leg-work for you. Before too long, people will be demanding that the study be exposed."
"That's a distinct possibility." He sounded like he was smiling, like he was pleased.
"Can I ask a couple of questions?"
"I reserve the right not to answer."
"Oh, always. Why wasn't that study given more publicity to begin with? It's over a year old. It wasn't classified, but it was just… ignored."
"Ironically, classifying it would have drawn more attention to it, and some people don't want that. As for publicizing it—secrecy is a powerful tool among some communities."
Like vampires. I had my own streak of paranoia in that regard. "Next question. How did you get your test subjects to participate? Based on that secrecy you just mentioned, why would they submit to examination?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"If there were a cure, would you take it?"
A couple of months after the attack, when I'd gotten over the shock and started finding my feet again, I did a lot of research. I read about wolves. I read all the folklore I could get my hands on. A lot of stories talked about cures. Kill the wolf that made the werewolf. I couldn't try that one. Drink a tea made of wolfsbane under a new moon. That one just made me sick.
Then I gave up. Because it wasn't so bad, really.
"I don't know," I said finally. "Does the name Elijah Smith ring a bell with you?"
"No. Should it?"
"You might want to look it up. Is that what you guys are doing? Looking for a cure?"
"Tell me—who do you talk to when you need advice?"
What was this, a game of questions? "Are you offering to be my bartender?"
"No. I just—I respect you. Good-bye, Ms. Norville."
"Wait—" But he'd already hung up.
I needed a drink. I needed a bodyguard.
The phone rang again, and I nearly jumped out of my chair. I swear to God, if I wasn't doing a call-in radio show, I'd get an unlisted number.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Norville?"
"Hello, Detective Hardin."
"You remember me. Good."
"I'm not likely to forget that night." Probably the second-most-fear-intensive night of my life.
"No, I guess not. I wondered if I could get you to do a little consulting on a case."
"What about?"
She paused; I could hear her drawing a deep breath over the phone, like she was steeling herself. "It's a crime scene. A murder."
I closed my eyes. "And you think something supernatural did it."
"I'm pretty sure. But I want a second opinion before I start making noise. It could get ugly."
She was telling me? All it would take was one rogue vampire sucking dry an adorable preteen girl. "You know I don't have any sort of training in this, no forensics or even first aid."
"I know. But you're the only person I know who has any familiarity with this subject."
"Except for Cormac, eh?"
"I don't trust him."
That was something, anyway, getting a cop to trust a monster more man a monster killer. Maybe the show was doing some good after all. Maybe my being exposed would do some good.
"I'll need a ride."
"I'm on my way."
Hardin picked me up in an unmarked police sedan. As soon as she pulled away from the curb she started a rambling monologue. It sounded casual, but her knuckles were white and her brow was furrowed. She was also smoking, sucking on her cigarette like it was her first all day, tapping the ashes out the cracked window.
"I started listening to your show. That night we got called to your studio was so weird—I was curious. I still am. I'm learning more all the time. I've been going over all our mauling death cases from the last few years. Most of them are too old to have any evidence to follow up on, or we caught the animal that did it. But now—I don't think I can ever write off one of these to wild dogs again. You convinced me. You guys are known for ripping people's throats out."
"Cormac, when was the last time you went on a date?"
One of the challenges of doing a radio show was judging everything by people's voices. I couldn't see their faces and expressions. I had to gauge the inflections of their voices to judge their moods and reactions.
So while I couldn't see Cormac's face, I could tell by the lightness in his voice that he was grinning. "Norville, when was the last time you went on a date?"
The phone line clicked off.
Bastard.
"That, my friend, is none of your business," I said at the microphone. I straightened, donned a smile, and thought happy thoughts. My claws around Cormac's throat. My hands itched.
A couple of days later I was still trying to clean up that same pile of crap on my desk when I got a phone call.
"Hello. How are you, Ms. Norville?"
It was the CDC guy, Paranatural Biology, whatever flavor of government spook he was. I should have expected him to call again.
"Hello, Mr. Throat."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind. What can I do for you?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary. I'd just like to talk."
"The last time you called to have a chat, you hung up on me."
"I have to be careful. I don't think you quite understand my position—"
I huffed, exasperated. "Of course not; you haven't told me what your position is!" At this point, I was betting he was a wacko with delusions of grandeur trying to incorporate me into his paranoid fantasy. Then again, he might have been that and some kind of government spook.
He made an annoyed sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about your revelation. I'd wondered, of course. About your identity. This is a very brave move you've made."
"How so?"
"You've exposed yourself. But you've also created an opportunity. You might be making my job easier."
"You still haven't told me what your job is."
"I think you know more than you're letting on."
He'd mentioned the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. He must have been involved with that project, involved with reporting the findings to the government.
"Let's check that," I said. "The publicity my show is generating in some way lends weight to the research that's going on. You're trying to bring attention to that study, and my show is opening the door to that. Doing the leg-work for you. Before too long, people will be demanding that the study be exposed."
"That's a distinct possibility." He sounded like he was smiling, like he was pleased.
"Can I ask a couple of questions?"
"I reserve the right not to answer."
"Oh, always. Why wasn't that study given more publicity to begin with? It's over a year old. It wasn't classified, but it was just… ignored."
"Ironically, classifying it would have drawn more attention to it, and some people don't want that. As for publicizing it—secrecy is a powerful tool among some communities."
Like vampires. I had my own streak of paranoia in that regard. "Next question. How did you get your test subjects to participate? Based on that secrecy you just mentioned, why would they submit to examination?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"If there were a cure, would you take it?"
A couple of months after the attack, when I'd gotten over the shock and started finding my feet again, I did a lot of research. I read about wolves. I read all the folklore I could get my hands on. A lot of stories talked about cures. Kill the wolf that made the werewolf. I couldn't try that one. Drink a tea made of wolfsbane under a new moon. That one just made me sick.
Then I gave up. Because it wasn't so bad, really.
"I don't know," I said finally. "Does the name Elijah Smith ring a bell with you?"
"No. Should it?"
"You might want to look it up. Is that what you guys are doing? Looking for a cure?"
"Tell me—who do you talk to when you need advice?"
What was this, a game of questions? "Are you offering to be my bartender?"
"No. I just—I respect you. Good-bye, Ms. Norville."
"Wait—" But he'd already hung up.
I needed a drink. I needed a bodyguard.
The phone rang again, and I nearly jumped out of my chair. I swear to God, if I wasn't doing a call-in radio show, I'd get an unlisted number.
"Hello?"
"Ms. Norville?"
"Hello, Detective Hardin."
"You remember me. Good."
"I'm not likely to forget that night." Probably the second-most-fear-intensive night of my life.
"No, I guess not. I wondered if I could get you to do a little consulting on a case."
"What about?"
She paused; I could hear her drawing a deep breath over the phone, like she was steeling herself. "It's a crime scene. A murder."
I closed my eyes. "And you think something supernatural did it."
"I'm pretty sure. But I want a second opinion before I start making noise. It could get ugly."
She was telling me? All it would take was one rogue vampire sucking dry an adorable preteen girl. "You know I don't have any sort of training in this, no forensics or even first aid."
"I know. But you're the only person I know who has any familiarity with this subject."
"Except for Cormac, eh?"
"I don't trust him."
That was something, anyway, getting a cop to trust a monster more man a monster killer. Maybe the show was doing some good after all. Maybe my being exposed would do some good.
"I'll need a ride."
"I'm on my way."
Hardin picked me up in an unmarked police sedan. As soon as she pulled away from the curb she started a rambling monologue. It sounded casual, but her knuckles were white and her brow was furrowed. She was also smoking, sucking on her cigarette like it was her first all day, tapping the ashes out the cracked window.
"I started listening to your show. That night we got called to your studio was so weird—I was curious. I still am. I'm learning more all the time. I've been going over all our mauling death cases from the last few years. Most of them are too old to have any evidence to follow up on, or we caught the animal that did it. But now—I don't think I can ever write off one of these to wild dogs again. You convinced me. You guys are known for ripping people's throats out."
