Carrie Vaughn - Kitty Rocks the House

He brought the skull close, until his nose touched it. He stared deep into its eyes.

“All right, faithful listeners,” I said into the microphone, my voice hushed. “My test subject is now face-to-face with the crystal skull. Everything seems normal. You okay there, Ozzie?”

“I think my eyes are crossed.”

“Are you expanding yet?”

“I don’t know. It’s kind of giving me a headache.”

Just as I wished for some kind of funky New Age flute music to cover up the pauses while we waited for something to happen, Matt pushed a couple of buttons and there it was: “El Condor Pasa” on pan pipes playing faintly in the background. Just perfect. My listeners were at the edges of their seats, I hoped.

“Anything?” I prompted.

Ozzie murmured, “I don’t think anything’s happening. Can I stop now?”

“Give it an extra few seconds.”

“Okay…”

Wait for it … I had my cell phone in hand, flipped through the setting controls until I found the most annoying ring tone I had, then set it off at high volume. An alarm bell’s blaring filled the studio. The sound of cosmic disaster called down by ancient Mayan vampires. Or just the worst that modern technology had to offer. Even I jumped a little and I was expecting it. Ben clapped his hands over his ears and winced.

Ozzie let out a scream, stumbled backward, and dropped the skull. For a heart-stopping moment I watched it fall and almost reached out to catch it lest it shatter. But it bounced on the carpeted floor and rolled to a stop. Upright, facing me. Staring at me. I stared back.

“Kitty, Jesus Christ, what the … hell was that?” Ozzie was a radio guy to the core and stopped himself from needing to get bleeped. Good thing, too, because Matt had fallen out of his chair, laughing, and wasn’t going to be bleeping anything for a while.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniggering around the words. “I had to do something to get past all that dead air. The skull wasn’t doing anything.”

“You set me up.”

“Kinda, yeah. But it would have been pretty cool if something had happened.”

He reached to the floor to retrieve the skull and set it on the desk with a thunk that would definitely be audible over the microphone. “Always happy to help,” he said flatly. I expected him to walk out of the studio—maybe for good—but he returned to his chair and settled back to keep watching.

“Thanks, Ozzie. You’re a trooper,” I said, trying not to giggle. “Well, I don’t know if we expanded any minds tonight, but we upped some heart rates.” The board was still lit up with calls, which comforted me. As long as I had calls, I could pull something together for the show.

Meanwhile, the thing was still staring at me. I squinted, and its eyes seemed to flash. Fine, enough of that. I turned it around so it was facing the wall.

“Right, moving on. After the break I’ll take some more calls. Anyone out there want to talk some more about vampire aliens or crop circles? Call me.”

The ON AIR sign dimmed, and Matt cued up station ID and PSAs. I turned to Ozzie to face the music. He seemed to be stewing, and I wondered if I was still going to have a job at the end of the evening.

Finally, Ben was the one who asked, “You’re not going to fire her, are you?”

The producer’s stern glare broke into a broad grin. “Are you kidding? Of course not! That was fantastic! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about! Sensationalism! Bread and butter! Good work, Kitty. I’ll leave you to it.” He came over to me and patted me on the shoulder before walking out of the studio. Leaving me to it.

I looked at Matt through the window, and he blinked, appearing as confused as I was. Ben, likewise.

“Don’t question it,” he said. “Not if Ozzie leaves you alone from now on.”

“You have a minute, Kitty,” Matt announced, counting down to the end of the break. The phone lines were lit up. All I had to do was take calls to the end of the show.

I patted the top of the skull. Its work here was done.

WE RUSHED to New Moon after the show.

I’d tried to make myself as presentable as possible, dressing as nicely as I ever did on a Friday night, in slacks and a blouse, and unscuffed pumps even. But after two hours of The Midnight Hour, I couldn’t hide the fatigue pinching my features or the sweaty perfume I’d acquired. Getting there as quickly as I could was more important than looking nice. Presentable was good enough.

The envoy from Buenos Aires was already at the restaurant when I got there. I’d left tonight’s manager—Shaun had the night off—instructions to invite him in and show him to my table in back. The vampire was sitting there now, alert and interested without being tense, elbows propped up and hands steepled before him, gazing over the place with a frown. He wore jeans and a dark blazer over a white T-shirt. His dark hair was cut short, and he had strong, square-jawed Latino features. He gave off an action-hero vibe at odds with the vampire stereotype.

By the warm cast to his olive skin, I guessed that Angelo had offered him some kind of hospitality. I knew the Denver Family didn’t kill to eat, but apart from that, I didn’t ask for details. Most Families had human servants who willingly donated, or they had hunting grounds that they protected and used sparingly, to avoid drawing attention. All that mattered was the Denver Family didn’t draw attention. Angelo himself was nowhere to be found, naturally. Leaving the dirty work to me.

I asked Ben to wait near the front of the restaurant, at the bar, to keep watch. Concern pinched his face, but he didn’t argue. If I was going to prove I was strong enough to lead, strong enough to fight, I had to do this on my own.

“Titus,” I said when I arrived at the table and sat across from him. “Welcome. Thanks for coming to see me.”

His lip curled in what I hoped was amusement. “Indeed.”

Oh, this was going to go well … “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

“This setting is a bit … common.” He glanced around the bar, which was experiencing a late after-theater rush. Raised voices created a flood of noise against the backdrop of the rock music on the stereo system. A few of my pack were here, including Darren, who once again was with Becky. They were sitting at the bar, knee to knee. Not causing trouble, thank goodness. I found myself wishing Shaun was here for backup.

“I kind of like it,” I said, smiling fondly.

“Keeps you rooted in the world, does it?”

“Yeah. Rick would say that.” I wanted to like this guy. His manner seemed straightforward. I tried to take the measure of him, without meeting his hypnotic gaze, staring instead at the collar of his shirt.

“Are you certain Ricardo isn’t available?”

“He’s following up another lead.” My chin was up, my back was straight, my stance confident. Alpha-like, even. Not inviting argument.

“What am I supposed to tell my Mistress, then?” he said. He had a Spanish-flavored accent, his tone only mildly annoyed, as if he hadn’t expected anything different out of this meeting.

“Everything Rick knows, I know.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

I gritted my teeth. “All right, just about everything Rick knows, at least about the Long Game, I know.” Still, with that skeptical lilt to his brow. Flustered now, I said, “I’ve faced Dux Bellorum twice and survived.”

“Really?” He sounded disbelieving rather than impressed. I wasn’t going to be able to convince him I had any credibility at all. Was it anti-werewolf prejudice, or was I selling myself badly?

“Yeah. Have you ever met the guy?”