Kitty Saves the World

by Carrie Vaughn

  “That’s one of the mysteries, isn’t it? I have no idea who else he might have along. You might be facing an army.”

  I groaned. “I’m thinking part of the plan should be a well-defended escape route.”

  “See, I knew you’d have thought this through,” Alette said pleasantly. I wished I could see her face, to see, and smell, what kind of anxiety she was hiding.

  “All these years, it all comes down to this.”

  She chuckled. “As someone who has lived quite a number of years longer than you, my dear, it rarely all comes down to ‘this.’ You’ll make yourself sick with worry if you aren’t careful.”

  “Too late,” I grumbled.

  “Just remember, you are Regina Luporum and we all have great faith in you.” I couldn’t tell if she was making fun of me.

  Regina Luporum: Queen of the Wolves. Based on the legend of the wolf who mothered Romulus and Remus, she was a werewolf who’d helped found Rome, who’d defended her kind against all comers. A twenty-eight-hundred-year-old Babylonian vampire bestowed the label on me; a three-thousand-year-old vampire made it stick. Destiny, indeed. Sometimes I wasn’t sure I believed in her at all. Other times, I needed to believe in her. Believing that someone like me had done something like this before made it seem a bit more possible.

  “I still don’t know what I think about that.”

  “Well, if the rest of us do, it doesn’t matter what you think, does it? Kitty. Katherine. Do be careful.”

  “You’ll let me know if you hear anything through the grapevine?”

  “Oh yes, certainly. And I won’t say anything about what you’re up to until I hear from you.”

  “Thank you, Alette. For everything.”

  I hung up before I could hear any more wishes for good luck. We’d either have it or we wouldn’t, at this point.

  “You okay?” Ben asked, glancing at me. I was leaning forward, my head in my hands. I wanted to run, to let it all go. But I had work to do.

  “She’s one of the most powerful vampires I know. Why am I doing this and not her?”

  “Because Roman’s been targeting you?”

  Right. I was the one with the radio show.

  We continued on to New Moon. I had one last meeting tonight.

  * * *

  ANGELO WAS already there. I’d called and asked to see him so I could warn him in person—without warning him. I’d told Detective Hardin what was going on, and I’d told Alette, because I trusted them. I didn’t trust Angelo.

  I would have told his predecessor, Rick.

  Lurking in the back near my usual table, Angelo was clearly uncomfortable, scowling at his regular food supply, all the people off-limits to him here. He could only be here at all because I’d invited him. He leaned against the wall, his hands shoved into the pockets of a suit jacket, which he wore over a turtleneck.

  He called himself the “acting” Master of Denver. But really, he was in charge, since none of us had heard from Rick, the previous Master, since last year when he ran off on a religious quest, joining a secret order of vampire priests at the Vatican. We’d all been a little shocked at that one. That description wasn’t fair—it made him sound crazy. I didn’t think he was crazy. But he’d been around for five hundred years and took the long view of things, and he thought he could do more good as a vampire priest than he could staying here and helping me. Than protecting Denver, which after all was only one city. I would have loved to have him here for this. I could have asked him for advice—he was one of the few people who’d ever successfully stood up to Roman. He’d know what to do now, and whether or not this trap we were setting was a good idea.

  But I didn’t even have a phone number for Rick. I was on my own, and all Denver had was Angelo, who preferred being a minion and hadn’t looked happy once since stepping up as Master.

  Ben stopped at the bar to talk to Shaun and get us drinks while I approached Angelo.

  “Hey,” I said, trying to sound upbeat.

  He glared at me. He looked young, but by my guess he was a couple of hundred years old. He cultivated the stylish ennui a lot of vampires did, but I never forgot they studied everything around them, and they remembered.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Why should anything be wrong?”

  “You look like you’re being hunted. Well, you are, given all the trouble you’ve been stirring up, but you don’t usually look it.”

  My lip curled. “Have a seat.”

  Grimacing to show how beneath him this was, he pulled out a chair and flopped into it, sprawling. I sat a bit more primly, hands folded in front of me.

  “Mercedes Cook is back in the country,” I said. “I don’t know for sure that she’s headed for Denver, but she might be.”

  His foot started tapping, a show of nerves. “Great. Excellent. Well then. You remember what happened the last time she came through town, don’t you?”

  I said, “She orchestrated a civil war to try to destroy Rick but ended up destroying Arturo instead.” Arturo, previous Master of Denver before Rick. Roman had never been able to get his hands on this city. My city.

  “She still likely has her eye on the city. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t know, Angelo. What do you want to do?”

  He turned away. “I want to stay out of it. I want to stay safe, and I want to stay out. It’s your fault for bringing this down on us.”

  Ben arrived then, beers in hand. “I guess you told him,” he said, eyeing Angelo warily.

  “She probably won’t even come to Denver,” I said. “What are the odds?”

  “I can console myself that she’ll likely attack you before she comes after me. Canary in the coal mine. Early warning system.” He smiled as if this pleased him.

  I winced. “I’m not going to be here. I’ve got some work to do in Albuquerque. An interview for the show.” Could vampires smell lies? I worked hard not to look into his eyes, not to let him capture me with his hypnotic gaze, and thereby control me.

  He pointed at me. “There’s a reason vampires do not have day jobs—so to speak. Playing the Long Game is a full-time occupation.”

  “I’m not playing. I’m trying to throw the board over.”

  “Oh, you’re playing, whether you like it or not. Be aware, when you go away on this trip of yours, the city might not be the same when you get back.”

  He almost surprised me into meeting his gaze. Instead I picked a spot on his swept-back hair and glared. “Well. That’s ominous.”

  “It’s supposed to be!” He swept a hand through already mussed hair. “I’m not strong enough to stand up to Mercedes Cook. I’m just telling you.”

  I thought he was, but he was scared, a vampire raised on terrifying stories of the Long Game and Dux Bellorum and what happened to weak vampires who got in the way.

  “You just have to hold the fort for a few days. You can do that.”

  He stood, stared down at me. “I’m looking at you, and it feels like I’m never going to see you again. You’re such … my goodness, you’re trying so hard, it’s like watching a child try to build a cathedral. You’re like Joan of Arc. You’re doomed.”

  “Angelo—what’s gotten into you?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me.” His smile was tight, cruel. “I’ve looked after myself this long, I’m sure I can manage for a while longer. Good evening to you all.”

  He stalked out of the place like he was on a mission.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Ben asked, watching after him.

  I wanted to rush over to Psalm 23, the vampire-owned nightclub and hunting ground, and find someone to ask what was wrong with Angelo. But I didn’t have time.

  “Let’s finish our drinks and get out of here.”

  I tried to sip slowly, to enjoy the atmosphere, looking around at this thing we’d made. Ben and I started the place to be neutral ground, a safe haven
where the members of our pack could gather as human beings, where they wouldn’t be inclined to let their wolfish instincts overwhelm them. The plan had been a success, and being here usually gave me a warm feeling of pride. But tonight, this all felt suddenly fragile. Mercedes Cook and her cohort would like nothing better than to come into Denver, take over the vampire Family, and shut this place down.

  That was what I fought for, and why I wanted to stop Roman. Good to have the reminder.

  Finally ready to leave, I nudged Ben. “Go on ahead. I’m going to talk to Shaun.”

  “You want company for that?”

  “Naw. Don’t want to scare him.”

  He nodded. “Right.” He squeezed my hand, looking as grim as I felt.

  Leaning on the bar, I waited for Shaun to finish pouring a couple of glasses of wine for a pair of after-work professionals, a man and woman who seemed to be deep into an evening of flirting. I wished them well.

  “What’s up?” he said, coming over.

  He was another manifestation of my good luck: if I hadn’t been able to win him over when I came back to Denver, I never would have been able to confront the old abusive pack alphas, and I never would have been able to take over the pack and build what we’d done here.

  I said, “Hey. Shaun. I just wanted you to know—if anything happens to us, you’ve got New Moon.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got you covered until you get back—”

  “No. I mean, it’s yours. It’s in the will and everything. Ben did the paperwork, and I thought you should know. I hope you’ll look after the pack, too, but that’s going to be up to everyone else.”

  His expression was slack. “But you’re coming back.”

  “That’s the plan. But, you know, just in case.” I’d fed Shaun and the others the interview story, not the real story. Not because I didn’t trust them, but because I didn’t want them following me, trying to help. I wanted to protect them.

  “What’s really going on?” he asked. He could smell the anxiety on me. We’d known each other for years, human and wolf. We’d seen each other naked. I couldn’t hide.

  “I can’t say,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Kitty—” He glared, and it was a challenge. I just stood, looking back calmly, waiting for him to settle. After a moment, he dropped his gaze.

  “See you in a couple of days,” I said, and brushed his hand before turning to follow Ben out.

  Chapter 4

  WE MET at Cormac’s place at dawn.

  He had a second-story studio apartment off the Boulder turnpike and I-25. I sometimes worried about him being stuck by himself in a run-down place in that part of town, but he didn’t seem to mind. I wasn’t sure he even noticed. It was out of the way, nobody bothered him. I was the one who wanted the nice house in the country. He probably didn’t understand that any more than I understood him.

  Tina hugged her jacket around her against the morning chill as we went to his door. The sky was gray, misty, but it looked like we’d have a dry drive south. It would take about seven hours—we’d get there before nightfall, in time to scout the area before Roman made an appearance after dark. We assumed he’d have nonvampire minions keep watch for him. Our plan was to avoid them as much as possible, and distract them from Tina otherwise.

  “Come in,” Cormac called after Ben knocked.

  “Should you be leaving your door unlocked?” I said as we pushed in. I’d never get used to this, the tiny kitchen in one corner; the slept-in futon with makeshift bed stand; secondhand bookshelves filled with books, boxes, jars, and artifacts; an open closet leaking clothes, and a table stacked with just about everything. It all seemed so temporary. The place smelled old.

  “I knew you were coming,” he answered. He was busy. Two crossbows sat on the rickety kitchen table. Several spears—five-foot lengths of wood sharpened to nasty-looking points—leaned against the wall nearby. He was packing a bundle of a dozen or so steel-pointed, wooden crossbow bolts into a leather quiver. “I could use some help loading this.”

  Each of us took an armload and managed to get it down the stairs to the parking lot without dropping anything. It was a bit disconcerting seeing Ben handle the spears easily, clasped in an arm, leaning against his shoulder, perfectly balanced. He kept a gun at home, and in the glove box of the car. He’d taught me to shoot, but I didn’t enjoy it. I forgot sometimes that he’d grown up with them. Heavy weaponry would never be second nature to me the way it was for these two. I wondered what exactly the rules said about ex-cons and weapons possession, if it was just guns Cormac wasn’t allowed to own anymore or if it was anything. He didn’t seem too concerned.

  “Um, I should probably mention Detective Hardin wants to come with us.”

  A crossbow in each hand, Cormac looked at me sidelong. “Why’d you tell her what we’re doing?”

  “She asked?” I said. “I thought she could help. Run interference if the cops get involved.”

  He grumbled, but didn’t argue. Ben and I exchanged a glance; me encouraging him to back me up, him being noncommittal. That was the thing with Ben: he was never going to take sides between us.

  Ben went to the trunk of the sedan, but Cormac called out, “I’m taking the Jeep.”

  “There’s not enough room for all of us in the Jeep—”

  “I’ll follow you down, in the Jeep.”

  The Jeep had Cormac’s stash of surprises; of course he wouldn’t leave it behind. He arranged things the way he liked while we watched. “I just need a couple more things.”

  We went with him back up to his apartment. Turned out, Cormac had collected his weapons. Now Amelia had to collect hers.

  Cormac stood back from the table, his arms crossed, frowning under his mustache. The items seemed arcane to me—of course they did. Leather bags filled with who knew what, a couple of books, several amulets on chains laid out. A metal box with the lid open. I stepped forward to see what he’d taken from it, items that had obviously caught his attention.

  One was a bronze coin strung on a leather cord, damaged by slashes and hatch marks beaten into it with a hammer. One of the coins of Dux Bellorum, talismans that Roman gave to his followers to identify them, to mark them. I was pretty sure this one had belonged to Kumarbis, the three-thousand-year-old vampire who’d created Roman.

  The second item was a pair of goggles, dark glass set in leather on a well-worn strap.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  I’d ripped those goggles off the head of a demon. A real, honest-to-badness demon summoned from some other realm to wreak havoc, an imposing warrior woman with more weapons slung about her person than even Cormac could manage. I was sure she was working for Roman—or for whomever Roman was working for.

  Dux Bellorum—the leader of war, the general. But as Cormac once said, who was the Caesar?

  “Have you figured out if they do anything?”

  “Nope,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t.”

  I picked them up. Didn’t put them on, because that would have felt really weird—best not meddle with items stolen from very dangerous demon women. But I held them to the window, looking distantly through the shaded lenses. They were almost opaque. I couldn’t see a thing.

  “You want to see what Tina makes of ’em?” Cormac asked, nodding at the psychic.

  I offered them to her. Wisely, she approached with caution. “You want to tell me about them first?”

  “I’m more interested in what you can tell me,” Cormac answered.

  She raised her hand, and I set the goggles across her palm. She wouldn’t close her fingers around them. Eyes shut, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. Not just worried, she seemed almost in pain.

  “No,” she murmured. “I don’t think I want to go there.” She hurried to set them back on the table, then backed away. Hugging herself, she shivered.

  Cormac shrugged and put them back into the box.

  I didn’t recognize t
he third item on the table. It was a Maltese cross, a couple of inches across, made of polished bronze, simple and roughly made, strung on a leather cord.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  He held it up. It glinted in the faint morning light coming in through the window blinds. “That is an amulet that turns magic spells back on themselves.”

  Huh. “That sounds useful.”

  “Yeah, could be.”

  “And where did you pick that up?”

  He turned a rare, wry grin. “Long story,” he said. Experience told me that was all I was going to get out of him.

  He considered the items on the table for another long moment, and finally murmured softly. If I hadn’t been a werewolf I wouldn’t have heard it at all. “Bring everything. We never know what we’ll need, so bring it all.” The diction was careful, formal, different from his usual curt speech. “Right, then, in you all go.” He—she—packed the items back into the lockbox.

  Tina leaned close to me. “That’s Amelia, isn’t it? That’s who I’m pretending to be?” Her daunted expression no doubt came from thinking about trying to replicate that precise, old-school diction.

  “Just be yourself,” Cormac said, and it was definitely him this time, brusque and to the point. “Roman won’t know the difference.”

  She seemed thoughtful. “It’s not straightforward possession, is it? There are two people there, two beings. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Amelia and I worked out a deal,” he said.

  “Deal—what kind of deal?”

  Cormac was loading items from the table—the lockbox, various satchels of crystal and herbs and jars presumably containing potions and whatnot—into a duffel bag and pretended to ignore her. Tina knew better than to push.

  We piled outside while Cormac put on his leather jacket, took one last look around the apartment, and locked the door behind him.

  I was about to call Hardin when her car, an unmarked sedan, pulled into the parking lot. I went out to meet her.

  “This feels like the start of a movie where everything goes horribly wrong,” she said in greeting. She had both hands wrapped tight around a tall cup of coffee. She smelled of office work, too much coffee, breath mints.