Kitty's Greatest Hits (kitty norville)

by Carrie Vaughn

  Oh my God, oh my God—

  “Well, thank you for the public service announcement.” Her voice dripped with her trademark sarcasm. “I’m cutting you off now, you’ve had a little too much ego tonight. Next call—ooh, I think I might have a debate for us here. Hello, Jake? You’re on the air. What do you have for me?”

  If he still had a heartbeat, it would be racing. As it was, he was afraid he was going to swallow his tongue. He had to remember to breathe so he’d have air to speak. He sucked in like a bellows and almost choked.

  “Um, Kitty? Oh, wow. I mean—” Stupid! He was an idiot. Get it together. “Hi.”

  “Hi. So you have a response to our esteemed vampire caller.”

  Remember how angry he was. He had to get this off his chest. “Oh, do I ever. That guy is so full of … crap. I mean, I really want to know where I can get in on some of this vampire world domination action. ’Cause I’m a vampire and I’m stuck working the night shift at a Speedy Mart. I’m not top of any food chain.” His blood—borrowed blood, weak blood—ran hot, burning to the tips of his ears. He probably looked almost human right now.

  “You’re not part of a Family?”

  He almost laughed. “If it weren’t for your show I wouldn’t even know about Families.” He wouldn’t know what he was missing. He would just think that he’d been dealt the shittiest hand imaginable: working the night shift at Speedy Mart for all eternity.

  He felt calmer, getting it out. He’d kept this a secret. This was the first time he’d said out loud, I’m a vampire.

  Kitty said, “I know this is personal, but I take it that you were made a vampire under violent circumstances, against your will.”

  “Got that right. And if destiny had anything to do with it, I’d sure like to know why.”

  “I wish I had an answer for you, Jake. You got one of the bad cards. But since you and I both know there’s no destiny involved, you have a choice on what to do about it.” Her voice was friendly, comforting. He wasn’t going to get reamed for being whiny. You have a choice. But what could he do?

  “I really just wanted to tell the other side of the story. My side. That guy wasn’t speaking for all vampires. Thanks for listening.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. I’m going to move on to the next call now, okay? Good luck to you, Jake.”

  And the line clicked off. Just like that, it was over. Good luck. Was luck anything like destiny?

  The bell on the door rang, and two women came into the store. They were college-aged, dressed in sweats, their hair up in ponytails. They giggled and looked a little dazed. They were probably on a road trip, driving all night, and stopped for sodas and snacks to keep them awake. Sure enough, one headed for the refrigerator section and the other to the chips aisle.

  He tried to say hello to them as they walked past, but they didn’t hear him. Or they ignored him. Either way, he felt like an idiot.

  He could hear their heartbeats from across the store, and sense the warm trail their bodies left in the air as they moved. Fresh blood. Beautiful. He tried not to stare.

  He wasn’t going to attack them for blood or anything. He appreciated the company too much for that. Maybe they’d smile at him when he rang them up. Maybe he could think of something clever to say—without sounding creepy. Have an actual conversation. So, where are you girls headed? No, that was creepy. Stalkerish. Nice night we’re having …

  He leaned on the counter and tried to look friendly.

  That was another thing: Vampires were supposed to be so seductive, having this uncanny ability to lure anyone they wanted into their clutches. But he looked at these girls and clammed up, got all nervous and sweaty-palmed, like any other geeky kid. He wouldn’t be seducing anyone.

  Maybe he was too new a vampire. He’d only been at this a few months. Maybe he just needed to practice. Smile. Work on the smile. And saying hi—warmly, but not too eagerly. The girls were still in the back of the store, giggling over something. He tried to see them in the convex security mirrors, but no luck.

  Man, this sucked. How much of a loser was he when becoming a vampire didn’t even make him cool?

  He tapped a hand on the counter, adding another crack, and told himself to stop fidgeting.

  The bell rang again, making him flinch. He straightened from the counter and looked. A man walked in, and the hairs on Jake’s neck tingled, all his muscles tensing. The guy wore a heavy coat with the hood pulled over his head—in the heat of summer. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets. The right one had a bulge larger than just the guy’s hand. Jake didn’t need hyperaware senses to know what that meant.

  He came straight to the cash register.

  The girls in the back were quiet for the moment. If they stayed like that for just a few more minutes, Jake could clear the register and get the robber out of here before they got hurt.

  The man moved in front of the register, standing with his back to the security camera that was trained on the door. He put the gun on the counter, kept his hand on it, finger on the trigger.

  “Gimme all your cash.” He wore sunglasses and kept his eyes downcast.

  Jake already had the register open and scooped the cash into a plastic grocery bag. He stole a glance to the mirror in the corner—the girls were moving, coming up the aisle toward the register. They didn’t see what was happening.

  He finished and quickly slid the bag to the guy. A smart thief would have grabbed it and run, happy to get away with whatever he could. The cameras wouldn’t have gotten a good look at him, and corporate headquarters wasn’t going to sweat a hundred bucks when no one got hurt.

  But no. He had to stand there and look in the bag. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all they let me have, man.”

  “—trust me, it’s not going to kill you to drink regular Coke just this once—”

  The girls stopped at the end of the aisle, just a few feet from the counter and the man with the gun. The first one, the blonde, looked up, eyes wide, and put her hand on the brown-haired one’s arm. Equally startled, the thief looked at them.

  Reflexively, the robber’s hand clenched on his weapon. He brought the gun up, swung it around.

  For Jake, time slowed. He knew the guy was going to shoot. It was as if Jake could hear the nerves firing along his arm. That humming in his muscles moved to his skin. His brain wasn’t in control; his panicked adrenal gland was. The bullet would hit the blond girl. Also controlled by instinct, she had moved in front of her friend, putting herself in the line of fire to protect her.

  Jesus, Jake was a freakin’ vampire. He ought to be able to handle this.

  He jumped over the counter.

  At least, he tried, imagining that he could plant his hands and make an elegant leap, swinging his legs and flying toward the gunman feetfirst, knocking him out and saving the day. But he was suddenly a lot more powerful than he thought he should have been, and his whole body turned into a flailing projectile, tumbling toward the assailant. He was flying. Never mind that he couldn’t stop. Could he look like any more of a dork …

  It happened so fast the guy didn’t even look at him. One moment Jake was behind the counter, the next he was crashing into him, knocking him into a display of neon-blue washer fluid.

  “What the fu—?” the guy said.

  The gun went off—two, three times. Jake felt an impact, and the girls screamed.

  That humming strength buzzed through him again, and he was on his feet, looking at his stomach where he was sure he’d been shot. His hand even snagged on a bullet hole in his shirt; but there wasn’t any blood, and even the sensation of impact faded to nothing. Because he was a freaking vampire.

  He put his hands on his hips, stared down at the guy, and laughed.

  The guy screamed, a guttural sound of denial. Still on his ass, he scuttled away from Jake, slipped, and a half-dozen bottles of washer fluid fell on him. His sunglasses came off and skittered on the floor tiles.

  Jake was on him in
a second, his hands gripping the guy’s collar, pinning him to the floor. With a sense of amazement, he parted his lips, baring his teeth. His fangs.

  I could break his neck. Drink him ’til he’s dry.

  The guy started crying. His lips were moving, but his words were unintelligible. He tried to bring his hands up, to ward Jake away, but he could only bat weakly at him.

  Pathetic. And Jake had thought himself a loser.

  He called back to the girls, “There’s some duct tape behind the counter. Could one of you bring it here? And call 911.”

  If he’d been alone, he might have done more to the guy. But this was good enough. This made him a hero. A vampire superhero.

  The blond girl approached, offering him the roll of duct tape. “That was incredible, what you did. I thought for sure he’d shot you. You must know some kind of funky martial arts.” Her friend was on the phone, her voice shaking and hands trembling.

  Jake taped together the guy’s wrists, then his ankles. Not that he seemed inclined to run off. That look Jake had given him must have come straight out of a nightmare.

  Jake stood, crossing his arms to cover the bullet hole in his T-shirt. “It was mostly instinct.” He looked bashfully at his shoe. He didn’t forget to smile.

  The smile she gave back was warm and beckoning. The other girl hung up the phone and hurried around the counter to hold her friend’s arm. They both looked up at Jake with the same earnest admiration.

  He’d seen girls look at rock stars that way. And they were looking like that at him.

  He’d just beat up an armed robber. He could do anything.

  “Hey, you two look really shaken up. You should sit down, at least until the cops get here.” He slipped between them, put his arms around their shoulders, and guided them to the plastic chairs sitting against the wall by the coffeemaker near the counter. They clung to him, leaning against his body. They were so warm. And fresh. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of them. He sat on the middle chair; they perched on either side of him and didn’t let go. Score.

  “I don’t think I can keep driving tonight,” said the brown-haired one.

  “That’s okay,” Jake said. “Stay here as long as you need to.” At least until dawn.

  Now, how to play the cards he’d been dealt tonight?

  LONG TIME WAITING

  Manitou Springs, Colorado, 1900

  Amelia’s scrying brought her to a cottage perched on the hill overlooking the road. Tucked in the woods, the place was meant to be charming, but the blue paint had faded to gray and the shadows of the surrounding trees fell across it strangely.

  The feeling of doom that had brought her here grew stronger. I am too late. For the thousandth time she rebuked herself; she should have heeded the warning on that crossroads tomb …

  Dismounting, she tossed her horse’s reins over the porch railing and charged inside.

  Lydia Harcourt, nineteen, lay in the foyer, sprawled on her side on the hardwood floor. A pool of blood had spread around her, a scarlet carpet. Her blue cotton dress was stained and spattered with it. Her throat had been cut so deeply, the head lolled back at an angle that caused it to stare inhumanly over her shoulder. The wound exposed muscle, bone, torn vessels, and windpipe. One would think the girl had been mauled by an animal, but the cut was too clean. A single swipe of a claw, not the work of teeth and limbs. The blood was still wet, shining in the light coming through the window. This hadn’t happened long ago, but the perpetrator was gone, vanished into air quite literally, same as last time. Last month, she’d tracked the demon to a village in Juarez, where it had slaughtered a herd of cattle. She had known it was only a matter of time before it chose a human target, and one likely to most infuriate Amelia.

  Nothing in the place was broken, no struggle had taken place, no one in the neighborhood had been alerted by screams. Lydia might have simply fallen where she stood.

  “Damn,” Amelia whispered. She cursed herself for having the ability to know what was happening, to mark it and track it, but not the speed to catch the thing. As if the demon knew this, it seemed to taunt her.

  She opened the satchel she wore over her shoulder.

  Chalk. A red candle. A bundle of sage. Flint and steel. A round mirror the size of her hand. The body had not yet stiffened. A trace of warmth still lingered in the blood. If Amelia hurried, she might be able to catch the trail of the demon. Keep such slaughter from happening again.

  She set the candle near the girl’s head and lit it. Next, she drew a circle in chalk. To contain the girl and all the blood, she had to draw it clear to the walls. She paused a moment to take direction, found north, and drew the proper symbols, the ancient signs that communed with the stars overhead and the elements on earth, that opened doors between worlds.

  Lydia watched her with eyes like frosted glass.

  “Rest easy, my dear,” Amelia murmured. “Soon you can tell me what you know, and I’ll stop the thing that did this.”

  She lit the sage, set it smoldering. Placed the mirror by the candle. It reflected golden light back into the room. Amelia knelt before it, and watched Lydia.

  The smoke from the incense set Amelia’s eyes watering. Closing them in a moment of dizziness, she drew a breath. Her mind was entering another state. Opening passages, picturing a great ironbound block of a door that separated the world of the living and the world of the dead.

  “Lydia Harcourt, I need to speak with you,” she said, and imagined the door cracking open.

  Fog appeared in the mirror.

  “Lydia. Can you hear me?” Amelia breathed slowly to keep her heart from racing. If she panicked now, she’d lose the trail and would never vanquish this creature. She focused all her attention on the room, the door, the body, the dead eyes.

  “Lydia, please. I know it’s difficult. I want to help. Can you hear me?”

  The eyes blinked.

  Amelia’s heart jumped, and she steadied her breathing. The dead eyes swiveled to look up at her, and something stared out of them. Amelia found the courage to look back.

  “Lydia. I know you can’t speak. But I need you to remember what happened. Think of who did this to you, live through it one more time, just once. I’ll see it in the mirror here. Then I can find what did this. Punish it. Do you understand? Can you do this for me?”

  The eyes blinked.

  “Oh my dear, thank you.” Amelia brushed a strand of the girl’s chestnut hair off her forehead, as if she could still feel comfort. But who could say what she felt, with the door open? Even if it was only a crack. “Follow the light. Show me in the mirror.”

  The mirror presented an image of fog. Figures began to emerge. A dark form had the shape of a man, tall and stout, but it was featureless. When it reached, the fingers were as long as its arm, and it had claws, extending, curling. In the mirror, Lydia showed a picture of herself, her mouth open to scream as one of the claws raked across her neck.

  “Lydia, you must try to remember. Where did it go?”

  The shadow in the mirror took on red eyes. Again and again, the claw tore through her throat, and she fell before she could make a sound. That was all she had, all she could give Amelia. The corpse, its gaze still locked on her, blinked again, and a tear slid from the outside corner of its eye, down its cheek.

  Amelia sat back and clenched her hands in her lap. What was she doing here? Abusing the dead for no good purpose. She fancied herself a wizard, an arcane scholar, a demon hunter. She’d traveled the world to learn what she knew. It all should have been good for something.

  She touched Lydia’s face and closed her eyes. “Sleep, Lydia. Leave this world. May the next treat you better.” In her mind, she closed the door, slid shut the bolt. The mirror was a mirror again. She snuffed the candle with her finger.

  Then she heard footsteps on the porch. Perhaps Lydia had had time to scream after all.

  The rumble of a carriage and horses came up from the road beyond. More steps on the porch. Her heart in her
ears, Amelia was too shocked to move, so when the men opened the door, they found her kneeling by the body with blood on her hands and the occult circle drawn around her.

  Cañon City, Colorado, Four Months Later

  Doors, passages, worlds. A skillful magus could travel between them by his thoughts alone, or so Amelia had read. In the East she had seen orange-clad monks who could stop their own breathing by meditation and seemed to be dead, but they awoke safely.

  Did she believe a person could travel between life and death? Pass through that iron door and return unharmed?

  The bricks of the prison where she was housed were old enough, at least by this country’s standards. Their roots stretched into the earth. They had seen forty years of life and death. They had passages and portals the wardens did not know about. Lying on her canvas cot at night, she traveled them. She bound together a bit of candle and a lock of hair and burned them until neither remained.

  Would it work?

  The iron door was open wide, gaping like a mouth.

  They had cut her dark hair short and put her in a poor cotton dress, a bleached gray prison uniform. They had let her keep her boots, thank God. These boots had traveled the world and were well broken in, comfortable. At least her feet were not sore. The boots would walk her to the scaffold. She could travel between worlds, but not escape a steel-barred prison. A sore irony.

  The day was blustery, a wind pouring from the mountains, carrying dust and the promise of rain. For now the sky was hazy, washed out by an arid sun. A crowd of spectators had gathered, all men in proper suits and hats, hairy mustaches making their frowns seem fiercer, more judgmental. They were all no doubt horrified at what she’d done. What they thought she’d done. The bastards had no idea. They would truly be horrified if they knew what lived in the world, dime-novel monsters they could not believe.

  She stood on the platform. A man tied her hands in front of her. A noose hung. Part of her wanted to look away, but part of her studied it. She had seen men hanged, but had never seen a noose from this angle, so close. The knot had been tied correctly. She had never seen a woman hanged.