Kitty Raises Hell
Page 70
Cormac pointed. “See, I know when the problems are solved even when you don’t tell me, because you just stop talking about them. And did you say genie ?”
“Can I tell you about your executions now?” I said quickly, opening the folder. He leaned forward, interested. “If you take in the twenty or so years before and after 1900, there were about half a dozen women executed. There was only one woman executed in 1900.”
“What was her name?” Cormac said.
“Amelia Parker. Her story’s a little different.” I even managed to dig up a few scraps of information here and there, a footnote in an old history book, a couple of hundred-year-old newspaper articles copied off microfiche. I talked like I was delivering a lecture. “Lady Amelia Parker. British, born 1877, the daughter of a minor nobleman. By all accounts, she was a bit of a firebrand. Traveled the world by herself, which just wasn’t done in those days. She was a self-taught archeologist, linguist, folklorist. She collected knowledge, everything from local folk cures to lost languages. She has her own page in a book about Victorian women adventurers.”
Something lit Cormac’s eyes, some recognition, familiarity. He knew something. I stopped myself from calling him on it and demanding that he tell me, because I wasn’t finished with Amelia’s story yet.
“She came to Colorado to follow an interest in Native American culture and lore but was convicted of murdering a young woman in Manitou Springs. The newspaper report was pretty sensationalist, even for 1900. Said something about blood sacrifice. There were patterns on the floor, candles, incense, the works. Like something out of Faust . The newspaper’s words, not mine. She was convicted of murder and hanged. Right here, in fact. Or at least, in this area, at the prison that was standing here at the time.”
Cormac leaned forward. “The victim. How did she die? Did it say what happened to her?”
“Her throat was cut.”
He chewed his lip and stared off into space.
“What is it?” He didn’t say anything, and I pressed. “You know something. This all makes sense to you. Why? How?”
Finally, he shook his head. “I’m not sure. May be nothing. But she’s got a name. It’s not all in my head.”
“What isn’t?”
He looked at me, square on. “She didn’t kill that girl. She was trying to find out who did. What did.”
I blinked. “What do you mean what ?”
“Never mind,” he said, leaning back and looking away. “I’ll tell you when I know more.”
“Why is she important?” I said. “She’s been dead for over a hundred years.”
His smile quirked. “And you really think that’s the end of it? You’ve been telling ghost stories for years. Are you going to sit here now and tell me it isn’t possible?”
For once, I kept my mouth shut.
Ben leaned forward and smirked. “She just doesn’t like the idea that someone else is having adventures without her.”
“I’ll have you know I’m looking forward to a good long adventure-free streak from here out,” I said.
They chuckled. No, actually, they were doubled over and turning red in the face with laughter. At me.
“A month,” Cormac said finally, wheezing. “I bet you don’t go a month without getting into trouble.”
“How are we defining trouble?” I whined, irate. “Are we talking life-or-death trouble or pissing-off-the-boss trouble? Hey, stop laughing at me!”
Which only made them laugh harder, of course. I growled.
Ben straightened and got serious. “I’m not taking that bet.” Cormac shrugged as if to say, oh, well.
I closed the folder. “I could try to mail this to you, but I’m not sure it would get past the censors.”
“Just hang on to it for me,” he said.
“Right,” I said.
We had a whole box of stuff waiting for when he got out. A whole world waiting.
A couple of months later, Paradox PI broadcast an entire episode on the Band of Tiamat and its aftermath. Peter dug up all kinds of dirt on the Band of Tiamat and their King of Beasts cover operation, including evidence that the group had been quietly murdering werewolves for almost a decade. They did a class job on the episode, bringing in experts with opinions on all sides of the debate. What could have been an exploitative show featuring fire and mayhem ended up being a fairly reasoned documentary on spells, djinn, and what happens when magic goes awry. Which wasn’t to say they didn’t air plenty of footage of flaming chaos.
Some skeptics still claimed that we’d staged the whole thing. I didn’t care, because the djinn was gone and Denver was safe. And we got in a big old plug for The Midnight Hour.
I also forwarded all the data to my contacts at the NIH’s Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. Let those guys see if they could figure it out. Did a being made of fire even have biology?
We had a party at the refurbished and open-for-business New Moon when the episode broadcast. Rented a couple of big-screen TVs, served up lots of beer and pizza. Even my parents and Cheryl and her family came. I kind of wished they hadn’t, since I’d have to suffer my mother’s appalled expression when she realized what was really going on during those weeks. Maybe I could convince her that we’d staged the whole thing and hadn’t really been in danger. Enough skeptics out there were already claiming it.
A bunch of people from KNOB were there, as well as a good chunk of my pack. The Paradox PI team—Gary, Jules, and Tina—also came back for the party. The place was filled.
Shaun had plenty of staff on hand, but I still found myself carrying pitchers of beer and bouncing from table to table trying to be social with everyone at the same time. I was getting flustered playing hostess for so many people. So many disparate parts of my life had come together. Part of me wanted to run, but I clamped down on that side of my psyche.
Another part of me felt a thrill at being in charge, being on top of it all, being at the center. Rick had said that—being at the center of the pattern. Bringing people together. I felt pride in what was happening here, and that was new. I liked it.
Ben grabbed my hand when I happened to drift close enough to our table in the corner. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
I was flustered, and he’d noticed, which made the world a little sunnier. Squeezing his hand, I sank into the chair next to him. “I’ve decided it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good time.”
“Can I tell you about your executions now?” I said quickly, opening the folder. He leaned forward, interested. “If you take in the twenty or so years before and after 1900, there were about half a dozen women executed. There was only one woman executed in 1900.”
“What was her name?” Cormac said.
“Amelia Parker. Her story’s a little different.” I even managed to dig up a few scraps of information here and there, a footnote in an old history book, a couple of hundred-year-old newspaper articles copied off microfiche. I talked like I was delivering a lecture. “Lady Amelia Parker. British, born 1877, the daughter of a minor nobleman. By all accounts, she was a bit of a firebrand. Traveled the world by herself, which just wasn’t done in those days. She was a self-taught archeologist, linguist, folklorist. She collected knowledge, everything from local folk cures to lost languages. She has her own page in a book about Victorian women adventurers.”
Something lit Cormac’s eyes, some recognition, familiarity. He knew something. I stopped myself from calling him on it and demanding that he tell me, because I wasn’t finished with Amelia’s story yet.
“She came to Colorado to follow an interest in Native American culture and lore but was convicted of murdering a young woman in Manitou Springs. The newspaper report was pretty sensationalist, even for 1900. Said something about blood sacrifice. There were patterns on the floor, candles, incense, the works. Like something out of Faust . The newspaper’s words, not mine. She was convicted of murder and hanged. Right here, in fact. Or at least, in this area, at the prison that was standing here at the time.”
Cormac leaned forward. “The victim. How did she die? Did it say what happened to her?”
“Her throat was cut.”
He chewed his lip and stared off into space.
“What is it?” He didn’t say anything, and I pressed. “You know something. This all makes sense to you. Why? How?”
Finally, he shook his head. “I’m not sure. May be nothing. But she’s got a name. It’s not all in my head.”
“What isn’t?”
He looked at me, square on. “She didn’t kill that girl. She was trying to find out who did. What did.”
I blinked. “What do you mean what ?”
“Never mind,” he said, leaning back and looking away. “I’ll tell you when I know more.”
“Why is she important?” I said. “She’s been dead for over a hundred years.”
His smile quirked. “And you really think that’s the end of it? You’ve been telling ghost stories for years. Are you going to sit here now and tell me it isn’t possible?”
For once, I kept my mouth shut.
Ben leaned forward and smirked. “She just doesn’t like the idea that someone else is having adventures without her.”
“I’ll have you know I’m looking forward to a good long adventure-free streak from here out,” I said.
They chuckled. No, actually, they were doubled over and turning red in the face with laughter. At me.
“A month,” Cormac said finally, wheezing. “I bet you don’t go a month without getting into trouble.”
“How are we defining trouble?” I whined, irate. “Are we talking life-or-death trouble or pissing-off-the-boss trouble? Hey, stop laughing at me!”
Which only made them laugh harder, of course. I growled.
Ben straightened and got serious. “I’m not taking that bet.” Cormac shrugged as if to say, oh, well.
I closed the folder. “I could try to mail this to you, but I’m not sure it would get past the censors.”
“Just hang on to it for me,” he said.
“Right,” I said.
We had a whole box of stuff waiting for when he got out. A whole world waiting.
A couple of months later, Paradox PI broadcast an entire episode on the Band of Tiamat and its aftermath. Peter dug up all kinds of dirt on the Band of Tiamat and their King of Beasts cover operation, including evidence that the group had been quietly murdering werewolves for almost a decade. They did a class job on the episode, bringing in experts with opinions on all sides of the debate. What could have been an exploitative show featuring fire and mayhem ended up being a fairly reasoned documentary on spells, djinn, and what happens when magic goes awry. Which wasn’t to say they didn’t air plenty of footage of flaming chaos.
Some skeptics still claimed that we’d staged the whole thing. I didn’t care, because the djinn was gone and Denver was safe. And we got in a big old plug for The Midnight Hour.
I also forwarded all the data to my contacts at the NIH’s Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. Let those guys see if they could figure it out. Did a being made of fire even have biology?
We had a party at the refurbished and open-for-business New Moon when the episode broadcast. Rented a couple of big-screen TVs, served up lots of beer and pizza. Even my parents and Cheryl and her family came. I kind of wished they hadn’t, since I’d have to suffer my mother’s appalled expression when she realized what was really going on during those weeks. Maybe I could convince her that we’d staged the whole thing and hadn’t really been in danger. Enough skeptics out there were already claiming it.
A bunch of people from KNOB were there, as well as a good chunk of my pack. The Paradox PI team—Gary, Jules, and Tina—also came back for the party. The place was filled.
Shaun had plenty of staff on hand, but I still found myself carrying pitchers of beer and bouncing from table to table trying to be social with everyone at the same time. I was getting flustered playing hostess for so many people. So many disparate parts of my life had come together. Part of me wanted to run, but I clamped down on that side of my psyche.
Another part of me felt a thrill at being in charge, being on top of it all, being at the center. Rick had said that—being at the center of the pattern. Bringing people together. I felt pride in what was happening here, and that was new. I liked it.
Ben grabbed my hand when I happened to drift close enough to our table in the corner. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
I was flustered, and he’d noticed, which made the world a little sunnier. Squeezing his hand, I sank into the chair next to him. “I’ve decided it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good time.”
