Carrie Vaughn: Kitty and the Silver Bullet

"Kitty. Stop talking around it. Tell me what's wrong."

Mine. His. It had been both of ours. "The doctor said I had a miscarriage. I called Shumacher at the Center, and she told me lycanthropes always have miscarriages. That shape-shifting and pregnancy…it doesn't survive. I thought—I guess I assumed that if I wanted to have kids someday, it wouldn't be a problem. I just assumed. I never even asked. But I can't. And I didn't think I'd be this upset about it. I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense." I took a swig of beer and turned away to hide my face.

He didn't say anything. I couldn't guess what he was thinking. Wasn't sure I wanted to know. So I didn't look at him. I tried to block out the world, so I wouldn't have to process anything that wasn't in my own head.

Then he moved. Slipped out of his chair and knelt next to mine. Put his arms around me, held me against him, laid my head on his shoulder, and murmured, "Shh."

He knew I was crying before I felt it myself. He saw it coming, but I didn't know it until I was sobbing onto his shoulder and kneading the shirt across his back with stiff fingers.

After I'd cried myself out, we migrated to the sofa, where I lay curled up against him, snuggled in his arms.

"Did you know you were pregnant?"

"No. I should have known. Should I have known? You think I'd know something like that."

"I don't know anything about it."

"I'm kind of glad I didn't know. What if I'd known, gotten used to the idea, maybe even gotten excited, and then—" I shook my head. "Does that sound weird?"

"I don't know. What would sound normal?"

"This happens all the time, people go through this all the time. Why is it so…What about you? Do you want kids?" I twisted around so I could see him better.

He waited a long time before he said, "No."

"Then you're glad it turned out this way."

"Kitty, no, it's not like that." He blew out a frustrated sigh. "A year ago it never would have occurred to me that it was even a possibility. That I'd be living with someone and that the issue would even come up. I might have changed my mind. I don't know."

Neither did I. A common phrase, lately.

I snuggled closer. "I feel like someone's taken something away from me. It makes me angry."

We must have stayed there for hours. I was intensely grateful. I didn't know how I expected him to react I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd run screaming. But I needed to be close to him, and he stayed.

I'd started to fall asleep—it must have been close to midnight—when the doorbell rang. The freaking doorbell.

"Who the hell is it at this hour?" Ben said, grumpy.

"Vampire?" I muttered.

He gave me the smirking you can't be serious look. Neither one of us moved. We couldn't be expected to answer the door at midnight.

But the bell rang again, longer, like our visitor was leaning on the button.

Ben groaned. "It's an emergency. Has to be."

"Light's on. Can't pretend we're asleep."

Making a production out of it, he extricated himself from my grip and stood. "You stay, I'll check on it."

I didn't argue.

A full minute later I heard from the front door, "Kitty? It's for you."

I had no idea who it could be. I didn't know anyone in Pueblo besides Ben.

I trudged to the front door. Ben gripped the handle of the open door and looked back at me. And there, on the other side of the threshold, stood Rick. The vampire.

I needed to stop making flippant remarks like that.

"Oh my God. Rick."

"Hi, Kitty." His height was average and his features pale, vaguely aristocratic, like a figure from an old painting. That may also have been the way he carried himself—straight-backed, self-possessed. Nothing would ever make him lose his temper. His dark hair was brushed back from his face and just touched his shoulders. He wore dark slacks, a well-pressed shirt, smart shoes—and an overcoat, in summer.

Rick was an odd duck. He was affiliated with Arturo, the Master vampire of Denver, but he also maintained a degree of independence. I wasn't sure what he did for Arturo, or what he got out of the association. I wasn't exactly an expert on vampire internal politics. I did know he was at least a couple hundred years old, and he'd been in the region for much of that time. He had some great Old West stories. In the past, we'd done favors for each other, passing along useful information. Neither of us was as territorial as others of our kind.

"What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story. May I come in?" He gestured at the threshold.

I had to invite him in. He looked at me, waiting, and I stared back, stupefied.

Ben inched closer to me and said to my ear, privately, "He smells dead."

"Yeah," I whispered back. "That's how vampires smell."

"It's weird." He glared sidelong at Rick.

The vampire waited quietly. I couldn't decide what to do.

"Do you trust him?" Ben said. Ben and Cormac had been vampire hunting together. We'd never really discussed how Ben felt about vampires, but I knew he didn't think well of them in general.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Rick said.

Rick had never given me a reason to be suspicious of him. I thought of him as one of the good guys. He'd done me favors. Still, I couldn't help but feel like I was going to regret this.

"Come on in," I said with a sigh, and stepped aside. Rick stepped across the threshold, hands stuck in the pockets of his overcoat.

I sneaked a glimpse out at the curb. I wanted to see what kind of car a vampire would drive. Fully in character, I spotted a BMW convertible, silver and zippy. No way anyone in this neighborhood drove that car.

I gave a low whistle. "Nice."

"Thanks," Rick said.

Turning back inside, I closed the door. "I'd offer you something to drink, but, well—no way. No offense."

"That's all right. I had a drink before I came."

Ben shook his head, scowling. To me he said, "I hate vampires."

Rick wore an amused smile. "Kitty, it's been a while. How are you?"

"Now's not really a good time to ask that. I'm kind of drunk." And sick. Sick at heart. "Um, this is my friend, Ben. Ben, Rick."

"Ben O'Farrell, isn't it?" Rick said.

Ben's back tightened, his shoulders bunching like hackles rising. A response to danger. He looked hard at Rick. "Have we met?"

"No. But you have an entry in the same file Arturo keeps on that bounty hunter, Cormac. It doesn't say anything about you being a werewolf."

I thought for a minute Ben was going to jump him, the way every muscle in his body seemed to quiver. I resisted an urge to grab him and hold him back. But I had to admit, I was also creeped out that Arturo was keeping files on Cormac and God knew who else. Me, most definitely. Couldn't help but wonder what it looked like.

Trying to exude calm, I touched Ben's arm.

"You going to take that information back to him?" Ben asked.

"No," he said.

"Rick—how did you find me?"

"Matt gave me your address."

Matt, the engineer from KNOB, my old radio station. "Okay, now did he give it to you, or did you, let's see, how do I put this…persuade him to give it to you?"

"He, ah, might have taken a little persuading." He actually smiled at that.

I rolled my eyes. I was sure Matt was fine. Rick probably hadn't needed to do more than look him in the eyes and work a little of his vampire mojo on him. If I asked Matt, he wouldn't remember what had happened.

"Can we sit down somewhere?" Rick said.

We retreated to the living room. Ben and I sat on the sofa, and Rick found a chair to pull across from us. He sat, then leaned forward, elbows on knees. He seemed casual, almost friendly, at odds with the usual vampire sense of sophistication. Most vampires liked to be the coolest thing in the room. Rick usually didn't bother with the pretension. The BMW notwithstanding.