Kitty Raises Hell

by Carrie Vaughn

  I bowed my head. Took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I’ll call you next time.” Be honest, now. “I’ll try to remember.”

  I didn’t dare look at him to see how he took this. I listened, took in his scent, tried to sense him, feel the heat of his body. When he spoke at last, there was almost a smile in his voice. “I really hope there isn’t a next time. At least where the demon hunting is concerned.”

  Smiling weakly, I looked over my shoulder at him. Then I turned, sidling up to him. Tail low, ears flat—at least if I had them in this form, that was what they’d be doing. It was amazing, though, how much of that attitude the human body could emulate. Slouching, I looked up at him with big puppy-dog eyes.

  “Can we go ahead and skip to the making-up part?” I said. Making up, making out . . .

  He glared, resisting. Playing hard to get. Still a little angry. So, how much could I get away with? I took a breath through my nose, hoping to catch a scent, a clue.

  He was focused on me. His body was saying yes.

  I hooked my fingers over the waistband of his jeans, pulling myself toward him. He rocked a little but stood his ground, making me come to him. I was okay with that.

  Body to body, I breathed out, brushing his throat, almost close enough to kiss him. Not quite. I watched movement under his skin as he swallowed. A quick kiss, a taste of salty skin with a flick of tongue at the V of his open collar.

  My hands slid to the button of his jeans, unfastening it. Then I opened the zipper, slowly. He made a sound deep in his chest, like he didn’t want to let it out, didn’t want to admit I was getting to him. He was perfectly capable of running away if he wanted to. He didn’t. Looking up, I could just see the smile touch his lips.

  I slid my hand down the open access, maneuvered under his boxers to bare skin, and felt for him. Wasn’t hard to find. Throbbing manhood, they called it. Ben had it. He shivered a little at my touch. Pressed into me. His hand—fingers spread, eager—found my hip, slid to my backside.

  I kissed his chin—he turned his face and caught my lips with his.

  Cradling him, melted against him, I urged him on. Pulled him to the sofa, pushed him down, climbed on top of him. I was hungry for him. And relieved that he hadn’t walked away. Grateful and thrilled. It all wrapped together with heat and lust building in me. I pulled off my shirt, tossed it aside. Grabbed his jeans and yanked down. Rubbed my hands up his body and watched him flex under my touch. He closed his eyes, and his hand clenched on the sofa.

  I considered: This had been a pretty big fight. I’d screwed up, I could admit that. That meant I was going to have to spend a good long time making it up to Ben, right?

  I could do that.

  I felt better in the morning. That might have been from anticipating the show, looking forward to taking the next step. Or it might have been from being curled up in bed with Ben, who was smiling vaguely in his sleep. The apology must have worked.

  Despite everything, I was looking forward to talking about the demon on the show. Some people accused me of being a sensationalist, of fishing for controversy. Maybe even of inciting controversy. Really, I loved drawing back the curtain, dragging this stuff into the open, kicking and screaming sometimes, and shining a bright light on it. I thought of it as dispelling ignorance. Ignorance bred fear, and I didn’t like being afraid.

  I didn’t want to have to wait through an entire day until it was time to do the show. On the other hand, vampires couldn’t bother me during the day.

  No, bothering me during the day was Detective Hardin’s job. I would have loved another hour or two of sleep on a day when I had to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at midnight, but Hardin called my cell phone.

  “What have you been doing?” said Hardin, and she wasn’t happy.

  “What do you mean, what have I been doing?”

  “Are you near a TV? Can you turn on the news?”

  “Just a sec.”

  The TV was in the next room. I pulled on a robe and went out to turn it on, then flipped channels until I found what Hardin was talking about: A local newscast showed a building on fire. Then another one. And another. A series of film clips showed five different buildings, in different parts of town, all on fire. The scenes were nighttime—they must have happened last night. A caption read “Fire Department Stretched Thin.”

  Ben had been working at his desk. Drawn by the images, he leaned forward and stared at the TV.

  “Oh my God,” I said, sinking to the sofa. “What happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me. Even apart from injuries from the fires, I have three more bodies just like Cabrerra.”

  A wave of dizziness hit me as the blood left my head. I sat down. “Who? Who are they?” Which of my pack members had paid for my curse this time?

  “They’re not werewolves. The victims are random, as far as we can tell. If these are all connected, and I dare you to tell me they aren’t, this thing’s gone on a rampage, and I need to know why.”

  Not werewolves. My pack was safe. But I didn’t feel any better, since three random innocents had died because of this. No one was safe.

  “I think we cornered it,” I said. “Maybe even scared it.”

  “So you figured out what’s doing this? You know how to stop it?” She sounded excited.

  I winced. “What would you say if I said it was a genie?”

  “Like in a bottle?”

  “Yeah.”

  She paused for a long moment. “I don’t know what I’d say. Aren’t they supposed to grant wishes? Not go around burning people to death?”

  “Well, there’s the bedtime stories, and there’s reality. We all know how that works, right?”

  “This doesn’t help me figure out what to do about it. I don’t want anyone else to die, Kitty.”

  “And you think I do?” I said, shrill.

  Taut with frustration, she said, “Why do these things always happen to you?”

  I nearly screamed, but I swallowed it back. My voice sounded unnaturally calm. “If I knew that, I would make them stop.”

  We both simmered for a moment. Then she said, “How do I arrest a genie?”

  That was always the first thing she asked. How do I arrest it? She’d managed lycanthropes so far and was gunning for vampires, and I had no doubt that if a way to arrest genies existed, she would find it.

  “Some of us are working on the problem,” I said, sighing.

  “I want in on it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’m not convinced you’ve ever really bought into this supernatural-and-law-enforcement-working-together philosophy, no matter how much you might talk about it on your show. I think you’re still in this mind-set of working under the radar and making sure the supernatural takes care of its own problems. I don’t know who you have working on this, and I don’t really care. I just want in on it. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

  Whoa. She not only listened to my show. She, like, paid attention. Read into it.

  I changed my tone, leaned back against the sofa, and tried to sound nonchalant. Tried to relax so I could sound nonchalant. “Detective. You like my show?”

  She huffed. “I consider it part of my job to listen to it. I don’t know if there’s any like involved.”

  Ouch. That wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence. I avoided an urge to whine about it. “Listen tonight,” I said. “Then you’ll know everything I know.”

  I hung up before she could argue.

  Leaning on the table, I covered my face with my hands. I wanted to run. Wanted to be wild, without responsibility. I didn’t want to have to face this problem anymore.

  We watched the news report run on. This was a special, not the regular newscast. Another fancy caption and graphic came on-screen: Arsonist Loose in Denver? They had no idea.

  “That was Hardin, I take it,” he said. “Calling about this?”

  I nodded. “She says three people have died. No one from the pack, but still.”


  “Shit,” he said again. “I hate to think what this thing is going to do next.”

  Him and me both. I shook my head, leaned back to stare at the ceiling with aching eyes, beyond tears and beyond words.

  “There isn’t enough blood and dust to protect the city,” I said. Now it was all of Denver I felt responsible for, not just me and my pack. All I had to do was make enough of the potion to drench over the whole city. That would go over well.

  “You know what this means?” Ben said. “If you bring this up on your show tonight, it’ll strike again. Every time we’ve provoked it, it’s struck back. Lashed out. It’ll use your show as an excuse to attack again.”

  This had occurred to me. “Then you think I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t talk about it on the show.”

  He shook his head. “No. It just means you have to finish it tonight. You can’t let it go on another night.”

  “What if we can’t? What if we can’t figure out how to stop it tonight? What then?”

  “Then we’ll deal with it tomorrow. One day at a time.”

  He was right. If we wanted to rile it up, it had to be because we knew how to finish it. No good just pissing it off for the hell of it.

  That was it, then. One way or the other, tonight, we’d face the monster.

  Chapter 18

  We had all day to prepare. That should have been enough time, right? I read everything I could get my hands on about genies, though most of what was out there was from the One Thousand and One Nights collection of stories, and I wasn’t sure I bought most of that. They were mischievous and seemed most often trapped by clever tricks. The stories were like those of Celtic fairies, pixies, and leprechauns—over time, the truly scary, otherworldly creatures had turned into harmless, cute little beings who granted wishes. Time made the stories nicer. Grimm turned into Disney. Why couldn’t I get a genie that granted wishes and sounded like Robin Williams?

  Then again, this genie was granting wishes—just not mine, but my enemies’.

  Peter called to check in from Las Vegas. “Hey, Kitty.”

  “Hey, have you found Grant?”

  “There’s something weird going on with that guy. I tried to get into his dressing room, but nothing worked, and I’ve picked dozens of locks before. I’ve never found a door I couldn’t get into.”

  Was that even legal? “You know, if you ever want to do this sort of thing professionally, I think there are guidelines that say breaking and entering is bad.”

  “Yeah, okay, but there’s still something weird going on.”

  “Agreed.” He had no idea just how weird.

  “I went to the police to see if a missing person report’s been filed on him, and I think I found something. There’s about a dozen people over the last five years who’ve gone missing at the Hanging Gardens. That’s unusual, even for Vegas. If you need nonsupernatural proof that something’s going on over there, this may be it.”

  “Enough to get the police involved?” I said.

  “I need to get someone here interested enough to start an investigation and get a search warrant. I still don’t know quite what I’m looking for—”

  “Anything they might be using to cast spells or summon demons. Blood, daggers, arcane symbols, Arabic written on ancient parchment. Use your imagination. You’ll probably be close.”

  “I still have to talk someone into serving a search warrant.”

  “I think I know someone who might be able to help you with that,” I said and grinned over at Ben. I handed the phone to him at his desk.

  They talked for a good long time, and I tried not to be antsy, sitting on the sofa with books and my laptop pretending to do research. I couldn’t get a whole lot of meaning from only one side of the conversation, especially when Ben slipped into lawyer speak, but they sounded like they were making a plan.

  “I’ll fax you a copy of the paperwork,” Ben said, and hung up.

  “Well?” I said.

  “You have a DVD of the show from Vegas?”

  “Yeah. What for?”

  “I’m going to use it as proof that your buddy Nick is psychologically harassing you and that the harassment is continuing, in violation of the restraining order. We convince the Vegas cops the harassment is dangerous and establish just cause for a search of their place for evidence linking them to the fires.”

  “Will that actually work?”

  “It might. If it doesn’t, we haven’t really lost anything.”

  Nothing but time. “You’re the lawyer,” I said.

  He started packing up his laptop and collecting a few papers from the file rack on his desk.

  “I’m going to go try to get the police reports about Mick and New Moon. It may take me a few hours to get it all together, then get the files to Peter. Will you be okay?”

  I smiled. “Yesterday you didn’t want to leave me alone.”

  “But you don’t need to go anywhere today, right? You’ll head to the radio station this evening, but you’ll be here the rest of the time, and the building’s got all that blood gunk around it, right? So you’ll be fine.”

  Truthfully, I wasn’t sure, because I was worried about Ben out there by himself, unprotected, where the demon could get to him. And maybe I was nervous about being alone, too. But I nodded. “I’ll be fine. Will you be fine?”

  “Yeah, I think so. I hope so. I’ll probably bring a jar of that gunk along, though.”

  “I’ll go find one,” I said and went to the kitchen, where I had a box of the stuff. I’d never get the smell of it out of my nose, would I?

  When I returned, Ben was running his hands through his hair. “Do I look too ratty? I should probably comb my hair.”

  Aw. I touched his cheek. “Yeah, but you usually look like you need to comb your hair. You’ll be fine.” We kissed, and for that moment I really did think we’d be all right.

  “I’ll meet you at KNOB in time for the show.”

  We said our usual “be careful” version of goodbye.

  Twilight fell, evening came. I grew more nervous, because the disasters always happened at night, like the world really was divided into light and dark, good and evil. I always tried to give the world the benefit of the doubt and pay attention to the shades of gray that seemed painted everywhere. Times like these, though, it was easy to feel an inexplicable black darkness rising against me. Easy to feel the monster that dwelled inside me and believe myself doomed.

  Willpower. Had to keep going. In a world that seemed determined to turn us all into monsters, I had to keep making the list of reasons to keep fighting, to keep myself whole, to stay human, sane, and good—or at least the best I could. My family, my career, chocolate. Blazing Colorado sunsets, The Clash, Jimmy Stewart and Harrison Ford movies. My friends, which I counted more of every day. And Ben.

  In that mood, I slung my bag over my shoulder and went outside to my car.

  On the sidewalk, I stopped abruptly as I caught a scent. Smoke, smoldering, fire waiting to burst forth. Brimstone.

  My skin flushed hot. Looking around, desperate to catch a sign of it, to see a figure outlined in flame or to hear ghostly laughter, I waited for fire to consume me. I’d caught the smell as soon as I left the protective barrier the blood and ruin potion formed around the building. It had been waiting for me. But the smell was everywhere, without source.

  I’d had the feeling that someone was watching me for weeks now, and not just Peter. No matter where I looked, nothing presented itself. I couldn’t spot anything. I swallowed back a whine.

  “Stop stalking me!” I called, feeling like an idiot, but I could either yell at it or scream incoherently. “You want to come after me, then come after me! Face me! You could burn me to a crisp, so why don’t you?”

  A grating voice chuckled.

  This was what I’d been reduced to: yelling at air in my parking lot. The demon was trying to drive me crazy, and it was succeeding.

  “What are you?” I said, my voice low, like a growl
. I’d attack it, I really would. If I had any idea how.

  Something grabbed my wrist. I’d have sworn it was a hand, a strong, rough hand, four fingers and a thumb wrapping around me and squeezing hard, like it meant to drag me away. Gasping, I jerked away, scrambling back, cradling my hand to my chest. That chuckle sounded again, amused, mocking.

  Red burn marks shone on my skin, like a sunburn, in the shape of fingers. Like a red-hot hand had grabbed me.

  I managed not to scream, though I really wanted to. The only thing that kept me from running, as fast as I could without thought to direction, was my car sitting thirty feet away. I really needed to get to my car, like someone in a bad horror movie, fumbling with the keys, trembling. Except I had this feeling that a creature made of invisible fire and the scent of ashes stood between me and it. To move forward was to move toward doom.

  I retreated until I pressed myself flat against the wall of the building, behind the invisible barrier. Here, the air smelled safe. I stared out. I couldn’t see anything, but my heart was racing.

  I could stay here forever, lock myself inside the house and never come out. But I wanted to get this thing. I tried again, moving cautiously, paralleling the building as I set out toward my car.

  The feeling of heat and the oppressive scent of danger confronted me immediately. I nearly dropped to my knees, overwhelmed, convinced that I was going up in flames. My breath came out in a sob. I clutched my chest.

  What would it feel like to burn from the inside? Is this what Mick felt?

  Turning, I stumbled back to the building, back behind the safe barrier, thinking, Yeah, okay, I could stay inside for the rest of my life. No problem.

  A strong voice called across the parking lot in a foreign language. In a panic, I tried to think—was this the voice that channeled itself through Tina? Was the language, the words, the same? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t tell—the alien words slipped in my mind like water, I couldn’t recognize or hold them. But the meaning was clear: a command, filled with authority and anger. Like a priest performing an exorcism.