Kitty Goes to Washington kn-2

by Carrie Vaughn

  I could hardly breathe, the smell was so strong. I kept my hand in front of my face.

  We found a few people, both lycanthropes and vampires, hiding in the closets of campers, on the floorboards in trucks and cars. They hugged themselves, shaking, crying—symptoms of withdrawal. They looked pale and thin, their hair was dull and limp. I didn't think anyone with lycanthropy could die of malnutrition, their bodies were so hardy and resistant to damage. But they didn't look good. The vampires—their bodies might not break down. But they might lose their minds. Smith was sustaining them, that was how they had survived.

  I tried to draw them out, talking to them, reassuring them, but they didn't like me. My scent was unfamiliar, and they cowered, more animal than human. Some of them followed me into the open. Some of them, Leo had to come and whisper to them, work some of his vampire charm on them, until their eyelids drooped and they followed on command.

  These people had been living a dozen to a trailer, no food, no showers. Smith had turned them into zombies.

  Alette joined us as we finished our tour of the camp.

  "This is a rather impressive coup you've accomplished, for someone who claims to have no authority," she said, frowning.

  She asked me what happened, exactly what we had seen and what we had done to banish Smith. She nodded and seemed unsurprised, like she recognized what he was and had expected as much.

  "I never thought it could be this bad," I said. "I thought Smith was duping people. But he was sucking them dry. Keeping them alive so he could continue using them."

  "It's what his kind do," Alette said. "What they've done for centuries, in one guise or another. The sidhe, the fairies, have always fed on the lives of mortal human beings. In the old days they stole infants and replaced them with changelings; they seduced young men and women; they kept mortal servants for decades. It's as if they aren't really alive themselves, so they need life nearby to sustain them. Vampires and lycanthropes have something more. They started as mortal, and became something powerful. Whatever the sidhe draw from living humans, they draw more of it from us. Smith created a situation where he could surround himself with their power. Because the sidhe have power over perception, especially over perceptions of space and time, he could make his followers believe anything. He could show them the world he wanted them to see. The stories say that food of the fairies would appear to be a feast, but turn to dust in your mouth." She gazed over the abandoned caravan with a look of sadness.

  We returned to Alette's townhome near dawn. Bradley gave some excuse about finishing arrangements during daylight hours—Alette needed to rent a whole separate townhome where the vampire refugees could stay—and left me facing her in the foyer alone.

  She stood, arms crossed, wearing a rust-colored dress with a tailored, silk top and flowing skirt, not at all rumpled after the evening's outing. How did she do it?

  "Well. You're rather a mess," she said, regarding my singed clothing, dirt-smeared face, wounded arm, and bloodstained shirt. The observation sounded even more depressing in her neat British accent.

  "Yeah," I said weakly. What else could I say?

  "I do wish you had told me what you had planned. We might have been more prepared."

  I really wanted to sit down, but I didn't dare use any of the antique furniture in the room in my grubby state. "There wasn't really a plan involved. We just sort of seized the moment. Look, I know I had no right to ask for your help and no reason to think that you'd give it—"

  "Oh? You're saying I haven't given you any reason to believe that I would give aid in a crisis? That you believe I have no interest in what happens outside the boundaries of my personal domain? That my resources are for my own selfish use and haven't been developed precisely so that I might lend assistance in any situation where it might be needed?"

  Alette was the vampire Mistress of Washington, D.C., and that probably wasn't an accident. From here, she could oversee goings-on around the world. She could make worldwide contacts. And she'd been humble enough to offer hospitality to a wandering werewolf. Hospitality, and the loan of a diamond pendant.

  "I'm sorry." I looked away, smiling tiredly and feeling like a heel. Any rebellion had been completely wrung out of me tonight, and my arm still hurt.

  She continued, softer in tone, kinder. "I happen to believe that immortality ought to make one more sensitive to the plight of the downtrodden, and more apt to work toward the betterment of humanity. Not less. We have the luxury of taking the long view. I know the behavior of some of my kind leaves much to be desired, but please do not judge me by their example."

  Never again. "All right. I just… I keep wondering, asking myself…"

  "Did you do the right thing?" I nodded. Destroying the church so abruptly might have caused more problems than it had solved. We might have found another way, if we could have lured people away instead of removing Smith all at once…

  Alette said, "Elijah Smith drew people to him under false pretenses, removed their wills to decide whether or not to stay with him, and forced them to live in conditions that I consider to be criminal. Human law could not have remedied the problem. You did. Perhaps someone else might have done the job a bit more neatly. But as you say, you seized the moment. You shouldn't worry."

  Would there ever come a time when human law could handle situations like this? I couldn't imagine the local sheriff's office with a copy of procedures on how to arrest and hold in custody an Unseelie fairy. Or a rogue werewolf, or a rampaging vampire. We kept having to police ourselves. We had to be vigilantes, and I didn't like it. I kept claiming we could be a part of the "normal" world, of everyday society. Then shit like this happened to prove me wrong.

  "Thanks. Again," I said.

  "Ma'am? Shouldn't we be off?"

  Leo spoke and I jumped, startled. He'd appeared in the doorway behind me, and I hadn't heard him. He grinned wickedly; he'd known exactly what he was doing.

  "All right, Leo. Thank you." She passed me on her way to follow him, pausing a moment to look kindly on me. Like someone might look at a dog who'd had a run-in with a skunk. "Do try to get some sleep," she said.

  She'd turned down the hall, out of my sight, when Leo took the opportunity to lean in and say, "Might also try a shower there, luv." He turned on his heel and followed his mistress.

  The perfect end to the day, really.

  So much for turning this trip into a working vacation. I wasn't getting any sleep. I'd need a week off to recover from all this. Preferably some place with a hot tub and room service. At least my arm had healed quickly.

  I got to the Senate office building early, despite the lack of sleep. It meant I was able to catch Duke before the session started.

  He was walking down the corridor, conferring with an aide, who was holding a folder open in front of him. I stood against the wall, waiting quietly and out of sight until they reached me. Then I hurried to keep pace with them. Both him and his aide looked over at me, startled.

  "Senator Duke? Could I talk to you for just a minute?"

  The aide turned to shield the senator, blocking my access to him. He said, "I'm sorry, the senator is much too busy right now. If you'd like to make an appointment—"

  "Really, just a couple of questions, we don't even have to stop walking." I hopped to try to catch sight of Duke around his aide. "Senator? How about it?"

  He looked straight ahead and didn't slow. "One question, if we can keep walking."

  "Of course. Thanks." The aide glared at me, but shifted so I could walk next to Duke. "Why did you bring Elijah Smith here?"

  "Because he understands my mission: to see these… diseases… eradicated. I'm sure you understand. And he's a man of the cloth, which brings a respect that these hearings are sorely in need of, wouldn't you agree?"

  "A man of the cloth? Really? Of what denomination? Have you seen any kind of identification for him?"

  He frowned. "I'm sure he's a good Christian preacher who teaches that faith saves."

&nb
sp; "He wasn't what you think. He wasn't helping anyone."

  "Was?" he said. He stopped and looked at me. "What do you mean, was?"

  "He, uh, had to leave town suddenly."

  Glaring, I thought he might start a fight with me right there. His aide's eyes widened, like he was worried, too. "What have you done?"

  I stood my ground. I wasn't going to let him cow me. I had authority, didn't I? Yeah, right.

  "You believe, Senator. I know you believe: ghosts, devils, angels, good and evil, the whole nine yards. Elijah Smith was a demon, preying on the weak and helpless. I hope you'll believe me."

  His expression was cold, but his eyes held a light—a kind of fevered intensity. "If he was preying on anything, it was your kind. Vampires and werewolves—monsters. Hardly the weak and helpless." He gave a short laugh.

  "We're all just people at heart, Senator. I wish I could make you understand that."

  "That'll be for the committee to decide." He gestured to his aide and stalked down the corridor. His aide scurried to keep up with him.

  I met Ben outside the Senate office building. He seemed surprised to see me coming out the door instead of arriving via the sidewalk.

  "You're up early," he said, raising an inquiring brow.

  "Um, yeah. By the way, we don't have to do anything about Smith. You don't have to look into it."

  He studied me closely. "What did you do?"

  "Nothing," I said far too quickly. "Well, I mean, we did a spell."

  "A spell?"

  "We just threw some herbs and stuff around. That's all."

  "It's not something you're going to end up in court over, is it?"

  Not human court, at any rate. "No, I don't think so."

  He sighed. "Just for you, I think I'm going to raise my rates. To pay for the hair loss treatments."

  He was such a kidder.

  We entered the meeting room and found our usual seats. Cormac hadn't shown up since Duke fired him, but Ben said he was still in town. Just in case, Ben said, but wouldn't say in case of what.

  Today's session was late in starting. Time dragged. Reporters fidgeted, Senate aides hovered in the background, wringing their hands. The senators themselves shuffled papers and wouldn't raise their gazes. Testimony that should have taken just a few days had been dragged out to the end of the week. I quivered, waiting for something to break.

  The audience was dwindling. Most of the reporters had drifted off to cover more interesting stories, and maybe a dozen general spectators remained. Even some of the senators on the committee hadn't bothered showing up. As expected, Roger Stockton was there, ready to stick it out to the very end. He looked like he'd been able to sleep. He invited himself into the seat next to mine. After last night he must have thought we were some kind of buddies.

  Maybe we were.

  He leaned close and immediately launched into questions. "So where are the aliens and what do they have to do with the vampires? Are vampires aliens?"

  "Aliens?" Ben, overhearing, asked.

  "A couple of really bad movies have covered that plot," I said. "Where did you come up with it?"

  "Last night, the Man In Black with the vampires, the one keeping people away like it was some kind of UFO cover-up. You seemed pretty tight with all them—what aren't you telling me?"

  I tried to smile mysteriously, which was hard to do when I really wanted to laugh. "It's not really my place to give away secrets. Honestly, though. The 'Man In Black' was just a guy. There aren't any aliens."

  "That's what they all say," he said, glaring. "'It was Venus,' my ass."

  Ben gave me a look that said, What the hell are you talking about? I gave him one back that said, Later.

  Finally, the session started. I still hadn't been called. We listened to half an hour of testimony from Robert Carr, a B-grade filmmaker who'd been praised for the frightening werewolf shape-shifting effects in his movies—had he used real werewolves, by any chance? He claimed no, he had a talented CGI artist who used a morphing technique to shift images of people into images of wolves, and if his effects were more successful this was because he pictured actual wolves, instead of the unlikely broad-chested, fake-fur-covered mutant grotesques that most werewolf movies used.

  I'd seen a couple of his films, and I was sure he was telling the truth and didn't use real werewolves. Though his effects were impressive and awfully realistic. He might have seen a real werewolf shape-shift. I'd have to tackle—er, approach—him after the hearings and get him to come on the show. We could talk about werewolves as metaphor in film.

  I was a little put-out, though, that the committee decided to talk to the werewolf filmmaker before the actual werewolf. Okay, we were still in the entertainment industry portion of the testimony, and maybe some of the committee members didn't believe I was a werewolf. But I'd been on the schedule for three days now. Impatient didn't begin to describe it. I hadn't been able to eat more than half an English muffin for breakfast, I was so anxious.

  "Thank you, Mr. Carr, that will be all." Duke straightened the papers on the table infront of him with an air of finality. "I'm afraid that's all the time we have for testimony today. We'll recess for the weekend and resume on Monday to hear from those witnesses we haven't called yet. Thank you very much."

  The place burst into activity, people talking among themselves, getting up to leave, aides rushing to attend to the committee members. The other senators looked as confused as I felt; they hadn't been expecting this, either. The tension that had been there from the start didn't dissipate.

  "This is weird," Stockton said. "Weren't you supposed to be up there today?"

  "Yeah." I crossed my arms and pouted.

  "I don't believe it." Ben flopped back against his chair with a sigh. "You see somebody's name on the docket, you expect them to get called. This isn't just annoying, it's unprofessional. They expect us to be on time, the least they could do is run an extra hour to hear everybody."

  Maybe there was a reason. Was there anyone else due to be called after me? Or did Duke just want to postpone my testimony?

  I counted forward, checking off days on the calendar I kept in my mind, confirming the day with the inner tide that felt the pull of it even if I didn't know exactly what day the full moon fell on. I stared across the room to the table where the senators were cleaning up, heading out, conversing with each other or aides. Duke glanced up and caught my eye. He set his jaw and turned away.

  Alette was right. She'd called it.

  "The bastard," I said. "He planned it. He planned it this way all along. He needs to drag the hearings out until Monday."

  "What's Monday?"

  "Full moon. He wants to make me testify the day of the full moon."

  Stockton gave a low whistle. "Sneaky," he said with something like admiration. I glared at him. He may have thought we were great friends after our adventure last night, but he was doing a lousy job staying in my good graces. He was less like a war buddy and more like an annoying younger brother.

  Ben said, "You make it sound like that's not good."

  I shook my head, trying to call up some reserve of righteous outrage. Mostly I felt tired. "I'll be at my worst, that's all. Edgy, nervous. Itchy. He knows enough to know this. Maybe he thinks I'll lose my temper and Change right in front of them all." This put me in a foul mood.

  "Can you handle it?" Ben said. "Should we put in a request to delay testimony for a day?"

  The day after would be even worse than the day before. It felt like having a hangover, and I seemed to spend too much energy mentally holding the door to the Wolf's cage shut. I'd be distracted and no good.

  "No, no," I said. "I mean, yeah. I can handle it. I think." I hoped. No caffeine for me that day.

  I had to talk to Fritz, but it was getting late; I didn't know if I'd get to the Crescent in time to see him.

  I ran from the Metro station to the club, jumped down the stairs, and grabbed the doorway to stop myself as I looked around in a panic.


  I wasn't too late. He sat at his usual table, hunched over his tumbler, staring at nothing and wrapped up in his own world.

  Pulling up a chair, I sat near him, close enough to whisper but far enough away to dodge if he decided to take a swing at me. I had no idea how this would play out.

  He blinked at me, startled.

  "What can you tell me about Dr. Paul Flemming?" I asked.

  He stared, his gaze narrowing. "I do not know this name."

  He could say that, but his expression told me otherwise. His lip twitched, his eyes were accusing. He looked like someone who had decided to lie.

  "I saw your name on a list in his laboratory."

  "I know nothing," he said, shaking his head. Quickly he drained his glass, slammed it on the table, and pushed his chair away.

  "Please don't go. I just want to talk." This strange, lurking figure raised so many questions. At this point I didn't even care what he told me, just as long as he said something. A flash from the past, a story, an anecdote. The sweeping words of advice and judgment the old often seemed to have ready for the young. I didn't care. I wanted to find a crack in that wall.

  He turned to me, looming over my chair, his lips curling. "I don't talk to anyone."

  I met his gaze, my own anger rising. "If you don't want to talk to anyone, why do you even come here? Why not drink yourself to death in private?"

  He straightened, even taking a step back, as if I had snarled at him, or took a swipe at him. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.

  "Here, it smells safe. For a little while each day, I feel safe."

  I resisted an urge to grab his arm, to keep him here. To try to comfort him through touch, the way I would have if we'd been part of the same pack. But we weren't a pack. He was a stranger, behind this wall he'd built to keep the world out, and I didn't know why I thought he'd talk to me. Just because I was cute or something.