Carrie Vaughn - Kitty Raises Hell

I blinked. “What do you mean what ?”

“Never mind,” he said, leaning back and looking away. “I’ll tell you when I know more.”

“Why is she important?” I said. “She’s been dead for over a hundred years.”

His smile quirked. “And you really think that’s the end of it? You’ve been telling ghost stories for years. Are you going to sit here now and tell me it isn’t possible?”

For once, I kept my mouth shut.

Ben leaned forward and smirked. “She just doesn’t like the idea that someone else is having adventures without her.”

“I’ll have you know I’m looking forward to a good long adventure-free streak from here out,” I said.

They chuckled. No, actually, they were doubled over and turning red in the face with laughter. At me.

“A month,” Cormac said finally, wheezing. “I bet you don’t go a month without getting into trouble.”

“How are we defining trouble?” I whined, irate. “Are we talking life-or-death trouble or pissing-off-the-boss trouble? Hey, stop laughing at me!”

Which only made them laugh harder, of course. I growled.

Ben straightened and got serious. “I’m not taking that bet.” Cormac shrugged as if to say, oh, well.

I closed the folder. “I could try to mail this to you, but I’m not sure it would get past the censors.”

“Just hang on to it for me,” he said.

“Right,” I said.

We had a whole box of stuff waiting for when he got out. A whole world waiting.

A couple of months later, Paradox PI broadcast an entire episode on the Band of Tiamat and its aftermath. Peter dug up all kinds of dirt on the Band of Tiamat and their King of Beasts cover operation, including evidence that the group had been quietly murdering werewolves for almost a decade. They did a class job on the episode, bringing in experts with opinions on all sides of the debate. What could have been an exploitative show featuring fire and mayhem ended up being a fairly reasoned documentary on spells, djinn, and what happens when magic goes awry. Which wasn’t to say they didn’t air plenty of footage of flaming chaos.

Some skeptics still claimed that we’d staged the whole thing. I didn’t care, because the djinn was gone and Denver was safe. And we got in a big old plug for The Midnight Hour.

I also forwarded all the data to my contacts at the NIH’s Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. Let those guys see if they could figure it out. Did a being made of fire even have biology?

We had a party at the refurbished and open-for-business New Moon when the episode broadcast. Rented a couple of big-screen TVs, served up lots of beer and pizza. Even my parents and Cheryl and her family came. I kind of wished they hadn’t, since I’d have to suffer my mother’s appalled expression when she realized what was really going on during those weeks. Maybe I could convince her that we’d staged the whole thing and hadn’t really been in danger. Enough skeptics out there were already claiming it.

A bunch of people from KNOB were there, as well as a good chunk of my pack. The Paradox PI team—Gary, Jules, and Tina—also came back for the party. The place was filled.

Shaun had plenty of staff on hand, but I still found myself carrying pitchers of beer and bouncing from table to table trying to be social with everyone at the same time. I was getting flustered playing hostess for so many people. So many disparate parts of my life had come together. Part of me wanted to run, but I clamped down on that side of my psyche.

Another part of me felt a thrill at being in charge, being on top of it all, being at the center. Rick had said that—being at the center of the pattern. Bringing people together. I felt pride in what was happening here, and that was new. I liked it.

Ben grabbed my hand when I happened to drift close enough to our table in the corner. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

I was flustered, and he’d noticed, which made the world a little sunnier. Squeezing his hand, I sank into the chair next to him. “I’ve decided it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good time.”

He chuckled. “How’s that working out for you?”

“I think it’s really good that we hired Shaun to run the place,” I said.

“Hey, Kitty,” Gary called. He, Tina, and Jules were sitting at a table halfway across the room. It pleased me that I now had a few more people I could hit up for information the next time something bizarre happened. Cormac was right. There would probably be a next time, and sooner than I liked.

Ben and I squeezed hands again, and I flitted off to be social with them.

“You guys okay? Need any more drinks? Any more food?” I asked.

“Maybe you should take a break for a minute.” Gary pulled an empty chair out from the table and nodded at it, encouraging me to sit.

“Of course, it’s nice to be worrying about not enough beer instead of demonic death,” I said, sitting with a sigh.

Gary had turned away to pull a manila folder out of an attaché case. He handed it to me. All three of them looked expectant.

“What’s this?” I said.

“We finally got a translation of the Arabic from the last séance. That’s the transcript. Thought you might be interested.” The video feed of us capturing the djinn had cut out, but one of the microphones inside the house had recorded the creature’s last ravings.

Of course I was interested. I started reading, and it was what I expected: curses, threats, some of them pretty creative. My favorite was the one that went, “You pathetic creatures of flesh and dirt, animals of crude matter.” And so on.

“Look at the end,” Tina said.

The last line. What it was ranting when it realized we had trapped it, when it was being drawn into the bottle. The transcript read, “No, please. I have a wife, a family. I had to do these things, the priestess forced me, she would not release me until I did these things. I am not evil, have pity on me, please.”

For a moment, I felt sick. We had condemned a sentient being to supernatural imprisonment, without trial and without recourse. The priestess had controlled it. In some ways, it had been as much a victim as the rest of us.

But it had killed Mick, and others. I kept coming back to that.

I set my expression and looked back at them, keeping any pity at bay. “It’s a manipulation. It wanted us to feel pity. To feel guilty. It’s still a murderer and deserved what it got.”

This was supposed to be a celebration, and now I was getting depressed. I needed another drink. I’d set my last beer somewhere and couldn’t find it now.

“Hey, Kitty!”

I turned and saw Peter Gurney standing by the door. His appearance was the same as always, kind of scruffy in his army jacket and biker apparel. But he looked better now: stood a little straighter, smiled a little more. He wasn’t so angry anymore.

After the confrontation with the Tiamat cult, I’d asked him what he’d planned on doing. Turned out Paradox PI made him an offer—they could use another person on the team, and Peter passed the audition. He brought his investigative skills to the show and played the part of their junior member in training.

“You made it!” I said, standing to meet him as he came over to join us. We hugged briefly, and he waved at the others, who all waved back. “Come on, sit down.”

He did, then pulled something from his coat pocket. “I brought this for you. Just to say thanks.”

“Thanks for what?”

“For filling in the blanks about Ted. For being his friend.”

He handed over a snapshot. It was T.J. A younger, cockier one than the guy I’d known. He was thin, with rough-and-tumble hair, looking very James Dean in a white T-shirt, tight jeans, and biker boots. Arms crossed, he was leaning against a motorcycle with lots of black and chrome, an older model I didn’t recognize, not the finicky Yamaha he’d had when I knew him.