That almost sounded like a challenge: could I get out of here without her knowing? What would she do if I tried?
And what if there really were ravening werewolves waiting to find me alone? That was a tough call.
“All right,” I said noncommittally, and Alette gave me a skeptical look.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have other business. Good evening to you.”
She left Emma and me at the foot of a set of narrow, curving stairs outside the parlor.
“This way,” Emma said, smiling, and gestured up.
Sometimes human servants were vampires in training, waiting for their masters to initiate them into true undeadness. Sometimes they were simply servants, although their brand of service usually involved a bit more than dusting the furniture. I looked around the collar of her blouse for telltale scars, signs of old bite marks. I didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, somewhere.
We reached the top of the stairs and entered a narrow hallway. More framed photographs and portraits decorated the walls. They represented different times, different eras; the hair, clothing, and demeanors of the people changed from portrait to portrait as we continued. Did Alette have some kind of obsession with collecting these images?
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Emma said. She was probably about nineteen. Hell, she might have been working her way through college.
I had to ask. “Do you know what she is?”
She smiled wryly and ducked her gaze. “My family’s worked for her for generations. We followed her here from England two hundred years ago. She’s been good to us.” She opened a door at the end of the hall, then looked at me. “You know better than anybody, they aren’t all bad.”
I couldn’t argue.
My duffel bag had already been brought up to the bedroom. The suite included a full bathroom, with brass handles on the sink and shower. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea. I might even get spoiled. Emma showed me an intercom by the door, a modern amenity in the antique house. “Just ring if you need anything.”
I asked for a sandwich. Then sleep. Sleep was good. Sleeping meant I wasn’t wondering where the rest of Alette’s vampire clan was hanging out, because human minions could only do so much and I was pretty sure she didn’t rule her empire all by herself.
Chapter 3
Alette wanted me to tell her if I planned on going out. Well, of course I planned on going out. But by the time I woke up, it was full daylight, which meant she probably wasn’t around.
So I left a note. I scribbled it on a piece of notebook paper and laid it on the coffee table in the parlor.
It wasn’t completely honest of me. Tom and Bradley were probably on call. Alette probably meant for me to tell one of them. I could have gotten a private chauffeured tour of the city—nice, protected, safe.
I’d put my hand on the knob of the front door when I heard footsteps trotting down the stairs behind me.
“Miss Norville!” It was Emma, her brown hair pinned up in a sloppy bun, wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt. The clothes made her look young. “Are you leaving?”
I took a guilty step away from the door. “Call me Kitty. I, ah, just wanted to look outside to see what the weather was like.” She wasn’t going to buy that. I had my backpack hitched over my shoulder. “Alette puts you to work on Sunday, does she?”
“Oh, no. She lets me use the library upstairs to study. It’s my last day to catch up on homework before class tomorrow. I was just heading to the kitchen for a snack.”
Wow, she really was working her way through college.
“You go to Georgetown?”
“George Washington,” she said. She stayed there, leaning on the base of the banister, smiling helpfully. “Have you had breakfast? You want me to fix you something?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine.” I wanted to leave. No offense or anything. I fidgeted.
The awkward pause continued. I wasn’t fooling anyone. I’d even convinced myself that if I left my car in the driveway out back and used public transportation, they’d just think I was sleeping in late or something.
Finally, she sighed and said, “I can’t stop you from leaving. But Alette won’t be happy about it when she finds out you went out alone.”
Now that didn’t make me feel guilty at all. “Are you going to get in trouble if I run off?”
“No. Alette doesn’t get angry, not like that. But she’ll be disappointed.”
And no one liked to disappoint Alette.
“It won’t be long. I just want to look around. I’ll be back before she even wakes up for the evening.”
“Have a good time,” Emma said. The statement was perfunctory rather than sincere. She swung around the corner, disappearing through the door to the kitchen in the back of the house.
I felt like a heel. I went out anyway.
D.C.’s famous Metro subway didn’t run this far out, but a shuttle bus made stops between Georgetown and the nearest Metro stations. In half an hour I was in the middle of the Mall.
Then I totally, unabashedly played tourist. I couldn’t see it all in a day. I probably couldn’t see it all in a week, if I factored in museums. Fortunately, there were plenty of companies willing to take my money to drive me around on their tour buses and give me the spiel. The buses even dropped me off in front of just about every museum I could hope to visit. I saw the White House!
All morning and part of the afternoon, I ran around like a maniac seeing the highlights. As I did, I kept my eyes open, looking at the faces around me, wondering. But they were all tourists, round-eyed and cranky. I wasn’t going to find any lycanthropes among them. Not that I could scent one across the Mall anyway. They had to be somewhere, though, and I would have liked to have spotted a friendly-looking one to buy a cup of coffee for and ask what was really going on.
I was leaving the American History Museum when my cell phone rang. I just about jumped out of my skin. I’d shoved the thing in my jeans pocket and forgotten about it.
I answered it.
“Kitty?”
“Ben? Where are you?”
“I’m at the hotel. Where are you?” The lawyer had flown into town this morning on a red-eye. We’d reserved rooms at the same hotel—the place I hadn’t checked into yesterday.
“It’s a long story. We should get together.”
“I’m having a late lunch in my room. Can you get over here? I’ll order you a steak.”
“Make it rare. Thanks. See you in a few minutes.”
After a few hours of walking, I fancied I knew my way around well enough that I could find the hotel by myself, and I was pleased to no end by proving myself right.
It pays to have all the escape routes mapped out ahead of time.
The hotel was a few blocks from the Capitol, within easy reach of the office complex where the committee hearing was scheduled to take place. Ben had given me his room number, so I went right up and knocked on the door. He opened it and went back to the table, where he had a room-service tray spread out, and sat to finish his own steak.
“I suppose that’s going on the expense account,” I said, closing the door behind me. He just smiled.
The thing about Ben was he didn’t stand much on ceremony. He wore a dress shirt, untucked and unbuttoned to expose the white undershirt. He was in his thirties, rough around the edges, weathered maybe. His dirtyish blonde hair was ruffled, the hairline receding. On the bed, a briefcase sat open, a storm of papers and legal publications strewn around it. He didn’t look like much, but he worked hard.
“Nice flight?” I said.
“Yeah. Great. You look like you’ve been running all over town.”
I probably didn’t look too fresh, blonde hair plastered to my face with sweat. It wasn’t summer, but the city was having a balmy fall. A sticky humidity dampened the autumn air.
I hadn’t even thought about the distances involved. Most tourists would probably think it was crazy, trying to cram a
s much as I had into that little time. But I wasn’t even tired. It was one of those times when being a werewolf had its advantages. I could run for miles.
“This place is incredible,” I said. “I ran to the Air and Space Museum to see the Wright Flyer, the Natural History Museum to see the Hope Diamond and the dinosaurs, and the American History Museum to see the Star Spangled Banner. They also have Mr. Rogers’ sweater, did you know that? One of them, at least, the guy must have had like a hundred. This has got to be the most culturally valuable square mile in the U.S.” I’d hit the highlights in the big museums, making a sprint out of it. I didn’t know when I was going to get another chance to sightsee this week.
He stared at me, wearing a mocking smirk.
“What?” I said with a whine, a little put-out.
“You actually got teary-eyed when you saw the Star Spangled Banner, didn’t you? You been to Arlington Cemetery yet? You see Kennedy’s grave?”
I had teared up. I wasn’t going to admit it. “Not yet. I was going to do that tomorrow after the hearings.”
“That’ll push you over the edge, I bet. Bring Kleenex.”
I pouted. “You don’t have to make fun of me.”
“Why not? You’re a sentimentalist. I didn’t know that before.”
“So I’m a sentimentalist. So what? What does that make you?”
“A lawyer.” He didn’t even have to think about it. He continued straight to business. “You know who’s chairing this committee you’re testifying for?”
I didn’t. I’d been busy with the show, the chance to interview Flemming, and traveling. I had Ben to worry about the rest, right? “No.”
“You aren’t going to like it.”
How bad could it be? “Who is it?”
“Joseph Duke.”
I groaned. Senator Joseph Duke was a witch-hunting reactionary. Literally. As in, in a world when such things were still mostly considered myth and fairy tale, Duke ardently believed in witches, vampires, werewolves, all of it, and felt it was his God-given duty to warn the world of their dangers. An earnestly religious constituency kept him in office. I’d had him on the show a few weeks ago. He’d promised to pray for my soul. It shouldn’t have surprised me. He probably saw these hearings as vindication, his chance to declare to the world that he was right.
“It could be worse,” I said hopefully.
“Yeah. You could be a communist werewolf.” He gestured to the opposite chair. In front of it, as requested, was a mostly red steak on a plate. I sat and didn’t feel much like eating.
“What’s your story?” he said.
I told him. I tried to make it sound not quite so dangerous. But he gave me that frowning, are you crazy? look anyway.
He huffed. “The Master vampire of the city decided to make you her personal houseguest? I don’t have to tell you that’s creepy, do I?”
“I know. But she isn’t all that bad.”
“Kitty. She’s a vampire.”
“Yeah, and I’m a slavering werewolf. I get it.”
“Listen, they’ve cobbled these hearings together at the last minute. I couldn’t get the staff to give me a schedule of when witnesses are testifying. They’re probably not going to call you tomorrow. I’m thinking they’ll spend a couple days grilling Flemming. We should go and sit in, to see what kind of tone they set. Get a feel for the room, that sort of thing.”
And it wouldn’t hurt hearing what Flemming had to say. See if his answers to the senators were any less evasive than the ones he gave me.
“What do we know about Flemming?” I asked Ben.
“Whatever’s been in the news. He’s a doctor, he’s been on the fringes of some pretty whacked-out research. You probably know more than I do.”
“I know about his research, about his work with the Center. But I don’t know anything about him. He said he did a residency in New York. Think you could track down a little history on him?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He reached over to one of the piles of paper on the bed, scooped it up, and handed it to me. “Here’s your mail from the last couple weeks. There’s a couple of local invitations you might look at. Word seems to have got out that you were coming. You apparently got put on some media-related mailing lists.”
That was it. Everybody knew I was here. Even people I didn’t know about knew I was here. I supposed I ought to enjoy the attention.
“Why would people send me invitations?”
“Apparently, you have cachet,” he said dryly. “You’re hip.”
Gah. That was almost worse than being an authority.
The invitations he mentioned were three pieces of mail that came in thick, stationery-type envelopes, cream-colored and pearl-gray. I cracked them open while I ate. One was an invitation for a cocktail party at the Washington town house of the Colorado representative from my district. Vote-pandering. I set it aside. The second was for the next installment of a lecture series sponsored by the League of Women Voters. Latent college feminist tendencies almost got the better of me on that one.
The third was a reception for the opening of a new exhibit at the Hirshhorn, the museum of modern art that was part of the Smithsonian. Attire: formal. Cultural, flashy. Swanky. An interesting crowd showed up to these things, I bet. It would sure beat hanging out at Alette’s for the evening. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to a real party.
I was going to have to buy a dress. And shoes. And I only had a couple of hours to do it in.
“I gotta run.” I stuffed the mail in my backpack and headed for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Kitty.” He stopped me, caught my gaze. He’d looked mostly at his plate until then, finishing off the last of his meal. He startled me into staring back. “I don’t have to tell you to be careful, do I?”
I was a little dumbstruck. “Wow. I might start to think you really care.”
“Have to protect the revenue stream,” he said, quirking a smile.
I rolled my eyes and got out of there, thinking, what could possibly go wrong?
I’d never owned a little black cocktail dress. But every girl should own a little black cocktail dress before she’s thirty. Now I had mine.
I returned to Alette’s place just after dark, with an hour to spare before the reception. Alette met me in the foyer, like she’d been watching for me. My assurances to Emma that Alette wouldn’t know I’d been gone scattered like dust.
She crossed her hands before her. “I would have preferred that you take Bradley or Tom on your outing.”
Despite my best efforts, I stood there like a guilty teenager out past curfew, my backpack over one shoulder and the plastic garment bag from the department store over the other.
I shrugged, trying to turn a wince into a smile. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
Her glare told me what a poor excuse that was for flouting her hospitality.
“You’ve been shopping?” she said, indicating the bag.
She wasn’t going to want me to go to the museum reception. She’d want me to stay all tucked up and safe, with her. But I’d been all over town today. I hadn’t sensed any lycanthropes. What was more, no super-territorial werewolves had found me. That whole explanation was becoming increasingly lame.
Sneaking out while she was up and about would be a lot harder than sneaking out during daylight hours.
I wasn’t going to make excuses. “Yeah. I got a dress. I have an invitation for a reception at the Hirshhorn.” Earnestly, I dug in my backpack, found the invitation, and handed it to her. As if I had to prove something like that. “It sounds like fun, and it starts in an hour, and I’d really like to go.”
This was ridiculous. I hadn’t had to beg to go out since high school. Well, that wasn’t true. I’d had to beg Carl, the alpha male of my old pack, to go out. He liked keeping his cubs under his paw, and he especially didn’t want me having any fun without him. I thought I’d finished with all that when I left. When he kicked me out. I square
d my shoulders and tried to seem a little bit dignified.
She examined the invitation, then me. “This dress. May I see it?”
I peeled off the plastic and held the hanger up to my shoulders. It was black silk with spaghetti straps, clingy in all the right places. The skirt was short without being trashy. I had to be able to sit down and stand up without embarrassing myself. And I found these killer strappy high heels on sale.
Alette rubbed the fabric between her fingers, stepping back to take in the whole garment. “Hm. Understated. Good lines. It will do, I suppose.”
Like I needed her permission. “I’m going to get changed,” I said, creeping toward the stairs.
She didn’t stop me. After the first couple of steps, I ran the rest of the way.
I’d just closed the door to my room when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my pocket, read the display—it was my mother. I’d forgotten, today was Sunday. She called every Sunday.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, Kitty. Where are you this week?” Her tone was laden with unspoken reprimands. She’d asked me to call her when I stopped in a new place, to let her know where I was. Since I was someplace different nearly every week, and on the road most of the time in between, it seemed kind of, well, futile to try to keep her updated on my whereabouts. I forgot, usually.
“Washington, D.C.”
Her tone changed to sounding genuinely interested. “Really? That’s exciting. Have you done any sightseeing?”
Thankfully, I was able to tell her yes, and we could talk about that for a minute or two. She sounded put out when I told her I hadn’t been taking pictures.
Kitty Goes to Washington Page 5
