Carrie Vaughn - Kitty's House of Horrors

Hands in his trouser pockets, Grant faced us. “I seem to have missed some excitement.”

Maybe Conrad was half right. Maybe this had been rigged—just not the way he thought. I glanced sidelong at one of the cameras. “I think Provost may have put Jerome up to a little fun,” I said. “But hey, we had to get started with the freaky shit sometime.”

“Er—language, Kitty,” Ariel said.

I shrugged. “That’s what editors are for.”

Conrad crossed his arms. “Odysseus—despite your name, I think you may be the most rational person here besides me. You really believe all this? You believe Jerome is a werewolf? That Kitty is? I mean, a werewolf named Kitty—how do you expect anyone to buy that?”

“Because I’ve seen her shape-shift,” he said.

Conrad opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again.

“My offer still stands,” I said, hitching my thumb toward the door. “I’ll go shape-shift right now and we can finish up this whole thing.”

Tina raised a hand. “I’d go for that—I haven’t seen you shift. And how did he see you shift? What’s the story with that?”

“Long,” I said. “Complicated.”

“I guess that means you’re not going to tell us.”

“What happens in Vegas, as they say,” Grant said, brow lifted.

Did he just crack a joke?

That, then, was going to be the tone for the entire two weeks: something freaky happening, maybe prompted by Provost, maybe not; then Conrad grumbling about how it was all a setup; Valenti, Cabe, and the PAs running around to capture it on film. I assumed the events would escalate—the incidents would get weirder, and Conrad’s denials would get lamer, until he had a moment of epiphany. And probably a spectacular nervous breakdown, to boot. Then we’d all reconcile and grow together as human beings. Reality shows liked to convince the TV-viewing public that they were all spontaneous and, you know, real. But a good editor would be able to turn the footage from this week into a retelling of War and Peace.

Midmorning, Provost dropped in to see how we were doing. The daily check-in. His producer face was as plastic and smiley as ever. I was sitting on the porch, feet propped on the railing, reading a book when he bounded up the steps, arms spread in greeting.

“Kitty! How’s it going? Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes. Quite,” I said noncommittally.

“You couldn’t find anything more, ah, photogenic to do than read a book?”

“You don’t think this is photogenic? Look at it this way, you include footage of me reading, you’ll appeal to your intellectual demographic.”

He stared blankly, and he was probably right: he didn’t have an intellectual demographic. I knew I was in trouble when he pulled over another of the chairs and settled in for a chat. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, acting chummy, but the gesture made me cringe and want to growl. Some people had no respect for personal space. He might have been a high school guidance counselor in a past life.

“I wondered if you could do me a favor,” he said.

“Another one?” I said. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like whatever he was about to say.

“There’s obviously some kind of history between you and Grant.” He gave a certain weight to the word “history” that made me raise my brow. “Now, I don’t need any details, but I have to say, there’s a lot of potential there. And something’s definitely going on between Grant and Anastasia. The whole thing screams triangle. Really meaty stuff. I was hoping I could convince you to, you know, maybe play it up a little.”

I was under no illusions that reality TV actually depicted reality, so this shouldn’t have surprised me. Still, I stared at Provost, disbelieving, but he continued looking hopeful. If I got angry, it would only reinforce any notions he’d developed. Ignoring him probably wouldn’t work—he’d just keep bugging me until the two weeks were up. Maybe if I played nice it would throw him off guard.

I said, “You know, the ‘history’ between Grant and me involves a death-defying escape from a cult of crazies practicing human sacrifice in worship to an ancient Babylonian goddess. You sure you want me to play that up?”

That got him to at least hesitate. The permanent smile remained frozen. “You may be right. The network executives might have a problem with human sacrifice. If we didn’t handle it, you know, tastefully. ”

The words “tasteful” and “human sacrifice” should never appear together in the same sentence. Why did I even bother arguing?

“Can I ask you something? Did you put Jerome up to dropping that mauled deer on the driveway?”

“No. That was all him. Great stuff, too. That guy has a good eye for entertainment.”

“Must be all the pro wrestling.”

“So when are you going to head out for a run yourself? The four-legged kind.”

“I try to be a little more civilized,” I said. “All joking aside, I wasn’t really planning on it at all.”

“Too bad you wouldn’t let us schedule this over the full moon.”

I leaned forward. Bared my teeth in an expression of aggression he wouldn’t understand. “If you want it that bad, I hear there’s a video you can download off the Internet.”

He blinked, gave a nervous smile, and walked away. Maybe he did understand the body language.

He went inside. Through the picture window, I watched him have similar, hushed conversations in corners with Lee and Tina. He tried to have one with Grant, but the magician made a curt apology and walked away.

I was making a map in my mind of who was talking to whom, who had sneaked off, and who could possibly be colluding with Provost. Or Grant. Or Anastasia. Inventing more conspiracies, and probably playing the game exactly the way Provost would want me to.

That night, when the vampires and Dorian arrived and we gathered in the dining room for the official structured-activities portion of the evening, Tina was the last to arrive, and she had a shopping bag with her. The item in it was long, flat, maybe a couple of inches thick.

“Ooh, I know what this is,” I said, my eyes getting big, because this was going to be good. Tina gave me a smile as she peeled back the bag and revealed the Ouija board box.

“Oh, now, this is interesting,” Anastasia said, leaning in.

“Give me a break!” Conrad said, looking away in disgust.

“No, seriously, she’s really good with this,” I said.

“You’re not going to get me to buy that a Oujia board really works. Especially not one that comes in a box from Parker Brothers,” Conrad argued.

“These are actually the best kind,” Tina said, ripping off the shrink-wrap. “These are clean. You don’t want to mess with a board when you don’t know where it came from or what it’s been used for.”

“I’ve never had much luck with any boards,” Jeffrey said.

“That’s because you’re all auras and empathy. I’m a little more hands-on,” Tina said, and the two grinned at each other like they were sharing a secret.

Did I sense sparks? Were Tina and Jeffrey developing a thing? I’d have to keep an eye on them. The thought made me giddy—they’d be so cute together. I wondered if their kids would be superpsychic. But I was getting ahead of myself.

The eleven of us gathered around the long dining room table. Tina sat in the middle and set up the board. “We’re not all going to be able to play, I’m afraid. There’s not enough room. But, Jeffrey, if you could sit across from me, I’m betting the two of us should be able to get something.”

“I’m game.” He always was.

Ariel dimmed the lights and brought out a couple of candles. “It’s all about atmosphere.”