Kitty Goes to Washington kn-2

by Carrie Vaughn

  All morning and part of the afternoon, I ran around like a maniac seeing the highlights. As I did, I kept my eyes open, looking at the faces around me, wondering. But they were all tourists, round-eyed and cranky. I wasn't going to find any lycanthropes among them. Not that I could scent one across the Mall anyway. They had to be somewhere, though, and I would have liked to have spotted a friendly-looking one to buy a cup of coffee for and ask what was really going on.

  I was leaving the American History Museum when my cell phone rang. I just about jumped out of my skin. I'd shoved the thing in my jeans pocket and forgotten about it.

  I answered it.

  "Kitty?"

  "Ben? Where are you?"

  "I'm at the hotel. Where are you?" The lawyer had flown into town this morning on a red-eye. We'd reserved rooms at the same hotel—the place I hadn't checked into yesterday.

  "It's a long story. We should get together."

  "I'm having a late lunch in my room. Can you get over here? I'll order you a steak."

  "Make it rare. Thanks. See you in a few minutes."

  After a few of hours of walking, I fancied I knew my way around well enough that I could find the hotel by myself, and I was pleased to no end by proving myself right.

  It pays to have all the escape routes mapped out ahead of time.

  The hotel was a few blocks from the Capitol, within easy reach of the office complex where the committee hearing was scheduled to take place. Ben had given me his room number, so I went right up and knocked on the door. He opened it and went back to the table, where he had a room-service tray spread out, and sat to finish his own steak.

  "I suppose that's going on the expense account," I said, closing the door behind me. He just smiled.

  The thing about Ben was he didn't stand much on ceremony. He wore a dress shirt, untucked and unbuttoned to expose the white undershirt. He was in his thirties, rough around the edges, weathered maybe. His dirtyish blond hair was ruffled, the hairline receding. On the bed, a briefcase sat open, a storm of papers and legal publications strewn around it. He didn't look like much, but he worked hard.

  "Nice flight?" I said.

  "Yeah. Great. You look like you've been running all over town."

  I probably didn't look too fresh, blond hair plastered to my face with sweat. It wasn't summer, but the city was having a balmy fall. A sticky humidity dampened the autumn air.

  I hadn't even thought about the distances involved. Most tourists would probably think it was crazy, trying to cram as much as I had into that little time. But I wasn't even tired. It was one of those times when being a werewolf had its advantages. I could run for miles.

  "This place is incredible," I said. "I ran to the Air and Space Museum to see the Wright Flyer, the Natural History Museum to see the Hope Diamond and the dinosaurs, and the American History Museum to see the Star Spangled Banner. They also have Mr. Roger's sweater, did you know that? One of them, at least, the guy must have had like a hundred. This has got to be the most culturally valuable square mile in the U.S." I'd hit the highlights in the big museums, making a sprint out of it. I didn't know when I was going to get another chance to sightsee this week.

  He stared at me, wearing a mocking smirk.

  "What?" I said with a whine, a little put-out.

  "You actually got teary-eyed when you saw the Star Spangled Banner, didn't you? You been to Arlington Cemetery yet? You see Kennedy's grave?"

  I had teared up. I wasn't going to admit it. "Not yet. I was going to do that tomorrow after the hearings."

  "That'll push you over the edge, I bet. Bring Kleenex."

  I pouted. "You don't have to make fun of me."

  "Why not? You're a sentimentalist. I didn't know that before."

  "So I'm a sentimentalist. So what? What does that make you?"

  "A lawyer." He didn't even have to think about it. He continued straight to business. "You know who's chairing this committee you're testifying for?"

  I didn't. I'd been busy with the show, the chance to interview Flemming, and traveling. I had Ben to worry about the rest, right? "No."

  "You aren't going to like it."

  How bad could it be? "Who is it?"

  "Joseph Duke."

  I groaned. Senator Joseph Duke was a witch-hunting reactionary. Literally. As in, in a world when such things were still mostly considered myth and fairy tale, Duke ardently believed in witches, vampires, werewolves, all of it, and felt it was his God-given duty to warn the world of their dangers. An earnestly religious constituency kept him in office. I'd had him on the show a few weeks ago. He'd promised to pray for my soul. It shouldn't have surprised me. He probably saw these hearings as vindication, his chance to declare to the world that he was right. "It could be worse," I said hopefully. "Yeah. You could be a communist werewolf." He gestured to the opposite chair. In front of it, as requested, was a mostly red steak on a plate. I sat and didn't feel much like eating.

  "What's your story?" he said.

  I told him. I tried to make it sound not quite so dangerous. But he gave me that frowning, are you crazy? look anyway.

  He huffed. "The Master vampire of the city decided to make you her personal houseguest? I don't have to tell you that's creepy, do I?"

  "I know. But she isn't all that bad."

  "Kitty. She's a vampire."

  "Yeah, and I'm a slavering werewolf. I get it."

  "Listen, they've cobbled these hearings together at the last minute. I couldn't get the staff to give me a schedule of when witnesses are testifying. They're probably not going to call you tomorrow. I'm thinking they'll spend a couple days grilling Flemming. We should go and sit in, to see what kind of tone they set. Get a feel for the room, that sort of thing."

  And it wouldn't hurt hearing what Flemming had to say. See if his answers to the senators were any less evasive than the ones he gave me.

  "What do we know about Flemming?" I asked Ben.

  "Whatever's been in the news. He's a doctor, he's been on the fringes of some pretty whacked-out research. You probably know more than I do."

  "I know about his research, about his work with the Center. But I don't know anything about him. He said he did a residency in New York. Think you could track down a little history on him?"

  "I'll see what I can do." He reached over to one of the piles of paper on the bed, scooped it up, and handed it to me. "Here's your mail from the last couple weeks. There's a couple of local invitations you might look at. Word seems to have got out that you were coming. You apparently got put on some media-related mailing lists."

  That was it. Everybody knew I was here. Even people I didn't know about knew I was here. I supposed I ought to enjoy the attention.

  "Why would people send me invitations?"

  "Apparently, you have cachet," he said dryly. "You're hip."

  Gah. That was almost worse than being an authority.

  The invitations he mentioned were three pieces of mail that came in thick, stationery-type envelopes, cream-colored and pearl-gray. I cracked them open while I ate. One was an invitation for a cocktail party at the Washington town house of the Colorado representative from my district. Vote-pandering. I set it aside. The second was for the next installment of a lecture series sponsored by the League of Women Voters. Latent college feminist tendencies almost got the better of me on that one.

  The third was a reception for the opening of a new exhibit at the Hirshhorn, the museum of modern art that was part of the Smithsonian. Attire: formal. Cultural, flashy. Swanky. An interesting crowd showed up to these things, I bet. It would sure beat hanging out at Alette's for the evening. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been to a real party.

  I was going to have to buy a dress. And shoes. And I only had a couple of hours to do it in.

  "I gotta run." I stuffed the mail in my backpack and headed for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Kitty." He stopped me, caught my gaze. He'd looked mostly at his plate until then, finishing off the la
st of his meal. He startled me into staring back. "I don't have to tell you to be careful, do I?"

  I was a little dumbstruck. "Wow. I might start to think you really care."

  "Have to protect the revenue stream," he said, quirking a smile.

  I rolled my eyes and got out of there, thinking, what could possibly go wrong?

  I'd never owned a little black cocktail dress. But every girl should own a little black cocktail dress before she's thirty. Now I had mine.

  I returned to Alette's place just after dark, with an hour to spare before the reception. Alette met me in the foyer, like she'd been watching for me. My assurances to Emma that Alette wouldn't know I'd been gone scattered like dust.

  She crossed her hands before her, "I would have preferred that you take Bradley or Tom on your outing."

  Despite my best efforts, I stood there like a guilty teenager out past curfew, my backpack over one shoulder and the plastic garment bag from the department store over the other.

  I shrugged, trying to turn a wince into a smile. "I didn't want to bother anyone."

  Her glare told me what a poor excuse that was for flouting her hospitality.

  "You've been shopping?" she said, indicating the bag.

  She wasn't going to want me to go to the museum reception. She'd want me to stay all tucked up and safe, with her. But I'd been all over town today. I hadn't sensed any lycanthropes. What was more, no super-territorial werewolves had found me. That whole explanation was becoming increasingly lame.

  Sneaking out while she was up and about would be a lot harder than sneaking out during daylight hours.

  I wasn't going to make excuses. "Yeah. I got a dress. I have an invitation for a reception at the Hirshhorn." Earnestly, I dug in my backpack, found the invitation, and handed it to her. As if I had to prove something like that. "It sounds like fun, and it starts in an hour, and I'd really like to go."

  This was ridiculous. I hadn't had to beg to go out since high school. Well, that wasn't true. I'd had to beg Carl, the alpha male of my old pack, to go out. He liked keeping his cubs under his paw, and he especially didn't want me having any fun without him. I thought I'd finished with all that when I left. When he kicked me out. I squared my shoulders and tried to seem a little bit dignified.

  She examined the invitation, then me. "This dress. May I see it?"

  I peeled off the plastic and held the hanger up to my shoulders. It was black silk with spaghetti straps, clingy in all the right places. The skirt was short without being trashy. I had to be able to sit down and stand up without embarrassing myself. And I found these killer strappy high heels on sale.

  Alette rubbed the fabric between her fingers, stepping back to take in the whole garment. "Hm. Understated. Good lines. It will do, I suppose."

  Like I needed her permission. "I'm going to get changed," I said, creeping toward the stairs.

  She didn't stop me. After the first couple of steps, I ran the rest of the way.

  I'd just closed the door to my room when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket, read the display—it was my mother. I'd forgotten, today was Sunday. She called every Sunday.

  "Hi, Mom."

  "Hi, Kitty. Where are you this week?" Her tone was laden with unspoken reprimands. She'd asked me to call her when I stopped in a new place, to let her know where I was. Since I was someplace different nearly every week, and on the road most of the time in between, it seemed kind of, well, futile to try to keep her updated on my whereabouts. I forgot, usually.

  "Washington, D.C."

  Her tone changed to sounding genuinely interested. "Really? That's exciting. Have you done any sightseeing?"

  Thankfully, I was able to tell her yes, and we could talk about that for a minute or two. She sounded put out when I told her I hadn't been taking pictures.

  "I'll send you a postcard," I said. "Look, Mom? I'm really sorry to cut you off, but I don't have time to talk right now. I've got someplace I have to be."

  "Oh?" That unmistakable Mom question.

  I relented. I felt bad for ditching her so quickly. "There's a reception at one of the art museums here. It sounded like fun."

  "Are you going by yourself?"

  I had no idea how she managed it, how she could ask one question and convince me she meant something entirely different. It scared me a little that we knew each other well enough that I knew exactly what she was really asking.

  "Yes, by myself," I said with a sigh. "I haven't been here long enough to get asked out on any dates."

  "Well, you know so many people all over the place, I can't keep track of it unless I ask. I worry about you, traveling alone."

  This wouldn't be a good time to tell her that I was staying with a vampire. "I'm doing fine, Mom. I promise."

  "All right, I believe you. Call me before you leave town, okay?"

  Mental note, mental note. "I'll try to remember."

  "I love you."

  "Love you, too, Mom."

  Finally, I was showered and dressed. I spent five minutes practicing walking in the new shoes and was ready to head downstairs.

  Alette waited in the foyer at the base of the stairs. She might not have moved since I last saw her, except someone was with her now. She finished saying something to him and turned to watch me.

  The one she'd been talking to, a man in a dark gray suit, stood behind her, leaning against the doorway to the parlor, his arms crossed. Not Bradley or Tom. In his mid-twenties, he was shorter, cleft-jawed, with spiky brown hair and a wry expression. He studied me slowly, pointedly dragging his gaze up my body, starting at the ankles and lingering over the interesting bits. His smile got wryer when he caught my gaze.

  He smelled cold-blooded and no heartbeat sounded in his chest. Not just a vampire, but a smarmy one.

  When I reached the foyer, I asked in a low voice, "Who's he?"

  Alette lifted a hand to introduce him. "This is Leo. He will accompany you to the reception."

  A chaperone. Great. A vampire chaperone? Double great.

  "You know, I'm sure I'll be fine."

  She gave me an arched-eyebrow look, the parental you stay in my house you abide by my rules kind of look.

  She reached for him. Smiling, he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it lightly. Their gazes met and exchanged some long-practiced message of conspiracy. She said, "He's one of mine. You can trust him."

  But I didn't trust her. I was about to suggest that I pack my bags and get a room in the hotel after all, that this wasn't going to work out. She looked me over, stepping to one side and the other to take in several angles.

  Finally she said, "You really can't go out looking like that. Wait here a moment." All business, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor, she marched out of the foyer, into the back of the house.

  I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Everything fit, everything was straight—I thought. I craned my head over my shoulder to try to see my backside. Did I have toilet paper stuck somewhere?

  Leo regarded me, openly amused. "So you're the infamous Kitty Norville." Like Alette, he had a British accent, but his was lighter, a bit more drawling.

  "Infamous? I don't know about that."

  "You should be flattered. Alette doesn't bother with everyone who crosses into her territory."

  "I am flattered, really," I said, scowling.

  Alette returned, holding something in her hand. "It's typical," she said. "You lot spend so much time running about in the woods, you forget how to properly accessorize. Hold this."

  She carried a velvet jewelry box, which she opened and handed to me. While I held it, she carefully removed the necklace within, a diamond teardrop on a gold chain. At least it looked like a diamond. Not that I knew anything about them, my trip to see the Hope Diamond that afternoon notwithstanding. It was as large as my fingernail.

  I'd left my blond hair loose. It lay in waves to my shoulders. It would start to look tangled and ratty as soon as I stepped outside, but I didn't kno
w what else to do with it. Standing behind me, she took my hair in hand and lay it to the side, then clasped the necklace around my neck. The diamond lay an inch below the hollow of my throat, halfway between chin and neckline. Perfect.

  "Now, you may be seen in public," she said, stepping around to survey me from the front.

  "Not silver."

  "I should think not."

  I smoothed my hair back into place. "My hair, is my hair okay?"

  She grasped my hands and smiled. "It looks fine, my dear."

  Suddenly, I liked her. I worried a little that she was working some wily vampire trick on me. But this didn't seem like a vampire trick. This was about loaning someone a piece of jewelry. It was such an unexpectedly girly thing for a centuries-old vampire to do.

  Leo offered his arm, and I stared at it like I didn't know what to do with it. I stood there long enough to feel impolite and embarrassed that I was impolite. By way of apology, I put my hand in the crook of his elbow. He smiled like a laugh was on the verge of bursting forth. I squared my shoulders and tried to muster some dignity. His arm was stiff, and I kept thinking there should have been a pulse under the skin.

  Alette saw us off at the door like we were a couple of kids going to the prom. Bradley chauffeured us in the sedan, which was waiting at the curb. He stood by the open door to the backseat, and this was all getting ridiculous. Continuing with his formal actions like it was some kind of game, Leo assisted me to my seat and made a little bow before walking around to the other side of the car.

  I was torn between feeling like an actress on her way to the Oscars, and the butt of someone's joke, so I kept quiet.

  The Hirshhorn's main focus was modern art and sculpture. The gallery where the reception took place was stark, with white walls and a gleaming floor, lit by strategically placed track lighting. Sculptures and the odd multimedia installments stood here and there throughout the wide space, while paintings hung in scattered isolation.