Kitty Goes to Washington

by Carrie Vaughn

  “I’ll send you a postcard,” I said. “Look, Mom? I’m really sorry to cut you off, but I don’t have time to talk right now. I’ve got someplace I have to be.”

  “Oh?” That unmistakable Mom question.

  I relented. I felt bad for ditching her so quickly. “There’s a reception at one of the art museums here. It sounded like fun.”

  “Are you going by yourself?”

  I had no idea how she managed it, how she could ask one question and convince me she meant something entirely different. It scared me a little that we knew each other well enough that I knew exactly what she was really asking.

  “Yes, by myself,” I said with a sigh. “I haven’t been here long enough to get asked out on any dates.”

  “Well, you know so many people all over the place, I can’t keep track of it unless I ask. I worry about you, traveling alone.”

  This wouldn’t be a good time to tell her that I was staying with a vampire. “I’m doing fine, Mom. I promise.”

  “All right, I believe you. Call me before you leave town, okay?”

  Mental note, mental note. “I’ll try to remember.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  Finally, I was showered and dressed. I spent five minutes practicing walking in the new shoes and was ready to head downstairs.

  Alette waited in the foyer at the base of the stairs. She might not have moved since I last saw her, except someone was with her now. She finished saying something to him and turned to watch me.

  The one she’d been talking to, a man in a dark gray suit, stood behind her, leaning against the doorway to the parlor, his arms crossed. Not Bradley or Tom. In his mid-twenties, he was shorter, cleft-jawed, with spiky brown hair and a wry expression. He studied me slowly, pointedly dragging his gaze up my body, starting at the ankles and lingering over the interesting bits. His smile got wryer when he caught my gaze.

  He smelled cold-blooded and no heartbeat sounded in his chest. Not just a vampire, but a smarmy one.

  When I reached the foyer, I asked in a low voice, “Who’s he?”

  Alette lifted a hand to introduce him. “This is Leo. He will accompany you to the reception.”

  A chaperone. Great. A vampire chaperone? Double great.

  “You know, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  She gave me an arched-eyebrow look, the parental you stay in my house you abide by my rules kind of look.

  She reached for him. Smiling, he took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it lightly. Their gazes met and exchanged some long-practiced message of conspiracy. She said, “He’s one of mine. You can trust him.”

  But I didn’t trust her. I was about to suggest that I pack my bags and get a room in the hotel after all, that this wasn’t going to work out. She looked me over, stepping to one side and the other to take in several angles.

  Finally she said, “You really can’t go out looking like that. Wait here a moment.” All business, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor, she marched out of the foyer, into the back of the house.

  I tried to figure out what was wrong with me. Everything fit, everything was straight—I thought. I craned my head over my shoulder to try to see my backside. Did I have toilet paper stuck somewhere?

  Leo regarded me, openly amused. “So you’re the infamous Kitty Norville.” Like Alette, he had a British accent, but his was lighter, a bit more drawling.

  “Infamous? I don’t know about that.”

  “You should be flattered. Alette doesn’t bother with everyone who crosses into her territory.”

  “I am flattered, really,” I said, scowling.

  Alette returned, holding something in her hand. “It’s typical,” she said. “You lot spend so much time running about in the woods, you forget how to properly accessorize. Hold this.”

  She carried a velvet jewelry box, which she opened and handed to me. While I held it, she carefully removed the necklace within, a diamond teardrop on a gold chain. At least it looked like a diamond. Not that I knew anything about them, my trip to see the Hope Diamond that afternoon notwithstanding. It was as large as my fingernail.

  I’d left my blonde hair loose. It lay in waves to my shoulders. It would start to look tangled and ratty as soon as I stepped outside, but I didn’t know what else to do with it. Standing behind me, she took my hair in hand and laid it to the side, then clasped the necklace around my neck. The diamond lay an inch below the hollow of my throat, halfway between chin and neckline. Perfect.

  “Now, you may be seen in public,” she said, stepping around to survey me from the front.

  “Not silver.”

  “I should think not.”

  I smoothed my hair back into place. “My hair, is my hair okay?”

  She grasped my hands and smiled. “It looks fine, my dear.”

  Suddenly, I liked her. I worried a little that she was working some wily vampire trick on me. But this didn’t seem like a vampire trick. This was about loaning someone a piece of jewelry. It was such an unexpectedly girly thing for a centuries-old vampire to do.

  Leo offered his arm, and I stared at it like I didn’t know what to do with it. I stood there long enough to feel impolite and embarrassed that I was impolite. By way of apology, I put my hand in the crook of his elbow. He smiled like a laugh was on the verge of bursting forth. I squared my shoulders and tried to muster some dignity. His arm was stiff, and I kept thinking there should have been a pulse under the skin.

  Alette saw us off at the door like we were a couple of kids going to the prom. Bradley chauffeured us in the sedan, which was waiting at the curb. He stood by the open door to the backseat, and this was all getting ridiculous. Continuing with his formal actions like it was some kind of game, Leo assisted me to my seat and made a little bow before walking around to the other side of the car.

  I was torn between feeling like an actress on her way to the Oscars, and the butt of someone’s joke, so I kept quiet.

  The Hirshhorn’s main focus was modern art and sculpture. The gallery where the reception took place was stark, with white walls and a gleaming floor, lit by strategically placed track lighting. Sculptures and the odd multimedia installments stood here and there throughout the wide space, while paintings hung in scattered isolation.

  The art was, for the most part, incomprehensible without referring to the notes. Whitewashed papier-mâché-looking objects projecting from the wall, spindly bits of found material built into the shape of a chair, that sort of thing. The reception was being held in honor of one of the artists, an unassuming middle-aged woman standing in a far corner of the room, surrounded by admirers. I hadn’t figured out which pieces were hers, yet. Wasn’t sure I wanted to, in case I was called upon to speak intelligently about them. I was more likely to say something monosyllabic like “Neat,” or “Whoa,” which probably wouldn’t go over well.

  I parked by a Jackson Pollack painting, because I recognized it. Or recognized that this particular set of splatters was by Jackson Pollack.

  I looked at the art. Leo looked at everything else. His behavior was oppressively bodyguardish, though with his indifferently amused grin no one but me noticed. He appeared to be a laid-back guy whose girlfriend had dragged him along to see Culture.

  “So, Leo,” I said, “where you from?”

  “To start? Leeds,” he said. “Haven’t been back in ages.”

  Which could have meant anything to a vampire. “A few decades? A century? Two?”

  “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the mystery.”

  “How long have you been with Alette?”

  “Isn’t that the same question?”

  Well, couldn’t fool him, could I? “Do you miss it?”

  “What? Why would I want to be there when I’m lucky enough to be here playing nanny to you?”

  Sue me for trying. I turned back to the wall and pretended he wasn’t there. I couldn’t, very well. His presence was like a rock in a stream, a cold solid pl
ace that all the life and movement in the room flowed around, avoiding. Without any overt gesture, he managed to keep himself apart from the crowd. I caught him staring at a woman across the room. She was young, dressed in slacks and a green blouse with a plunging neckline. She held a wineglass and absentmindedly ran a finger around the rim. She laughed at something the woman next to her said; her chin tipped up, exposing a slim, clean throat.

  Leo’s stance was watchful, focused, and his gaze was hungry.

  Vampires hunted by seduction. Youth and beauty attracted them; they in turn made themselves attractive to youth and beauty. Leo was handsome, in a rakish, English way, dressed conservatively but smartly, and more importantly richly, and he’d most likely had decades to practice his pickup lines. She’d think she was being swept off her feet, and wouldn’t know what really hit her.

  “You take a step in her direction, I’ll run right over there and let her know that while they couldn’t prove anything at the rape trial, she ought to keep her distance.”

  He tried to keep his smirk in place, but his glare wasn’t at all amused. “No one ever accuses you of being the life of the party, do they?”

  “You’re never going to find out.”

  He stepped closer and spoke so his breath touched my bare shoulder. “Werewolf blood is quite the delicacy. You might think of giving me a try. The experience isn’t as one-sided as you might imagine.”

  A shudder charged up my spine and my heart rate doubled. I took a step back, almost stumbling over my own feet. It was pure instinct, wolf backing into a corner and preparing for an attack, bracing for a chance to run.

  Leo laughed. He’d known exactly what button to push. I closed my eyes and straightened, taking a deep breath and trying to relax. Embarrassing, certainly. This was also proof of just how close to the edge I really was, how fine the line was between the two parts of my being. A little nudge like that, and I slid right over. If he’d pushed it, I might have started Changing right there, in self-defense.

  “Jerk,” I muttered. “I need to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Take your time, take your time,” he said and pointedly turned to continue visually menacing the woman across the room. I marched away.

  I didn’t really have to use the bathroom. I leaned on the tile wall and pressed my hands to my cheeks, which were flushed and burning. I’d let him get to me, and I was more angry at myself than him for it. I liked to think I was better than that.

  I waited until my heartbeat had slowed and I felt calm again. Checking myself in the mirror, I smoothed out my dress and nodded, satisfied. I’d just ignore him.

  On the way out the door, I ran into a man exiting the men’s room. I’d had my head down, not paying attention—not as calm and collected as I’d thought. I stumbled, and he grabbed my arm to steady me.

  I started to pull away and apologize, but I caught his scent, and it was wild. Fur and wilderness, open country under a full moon—not quite human. My eyes widened and my back tightened, like hackles rising.

  He stared back at me, eyes also wide, his nose flaring to take in my scent. He’d sensed me just as strongly as I’d sensed him. He was tall, with a strong face, brown eyes, and dark hair.

  For a moment, I tensed, ready to run, to flee what might have been a challenge; our wary gazes locked on each other. I didn’t want to fight. I took a step back, but then his lips grew into a wondering smile. The expression said welcome. He didn’t want to fight either.

  “I don’t know you. Who are you?” He had an unidentifiable accent, though his English was crisp and clear.

  “Kitty,” I said. “I’ve been looking for you. I mean, not you specifically, but—” He was a lycanthrope, but not a wolf. I couldn’t identify the odd edge to his scent. “You’re not wolf. What are you?”

  The smile turned playful. “Jaguar.”

  “Really?” Awe filled my voice. That was so cool. “I had no idea.”

  “That’s clear. My name is Luis. I work at the Brazilian embassy. You—are you visiting Washington?”

  “Yes.” We were just around the corner from the party. From Leo. I glanced nervously in that direction, expecting the vampire to walk in on us at any moment. I pulled Luis closer to the wall, as if that would hide us. “Luis, I was given to understand that the lycanthrope situation here is sort of unstable. Dangerous for strangers just passing through.”

  His brow creased. “Who said this?”

  My hands wanted to clench, I was so nervous. I had so many questions, and I didn’t know him at all, didn’t know how he’d react, didn’t know what I was getting myself into. But I was desperate for another source of information.

  “Alette,” I told him.

  He shook his head and chuckled, but the gesture was humorless. “Alette, yes. She thinks we are rabble. Why have you spoken with her?”

  I winced. “It’s a long story.”

  “You should meet others of your kind, hear their side. I will take you there. No matter what she has told you, you will be safe.”

  I’d just met him. I shouldn’t have trusted him, but my curiosity quickly overcame any sense of caution. And I felt something else—a warm shiver that had nothing to do with our lycanthropy. I hadn’t let go of his arm. His body was close to mine, and he was cute.

  “There’s a problem. Alette sent Leo along to look after me. I don’t think he’d be happy about this.”

  He pursed his lips, serious for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder. “It isn’t a problem. Come.”

  He held my hand—his was warm and dry—and guided me away from the exhibit, around another corner to the service door where the catering staff passed back and forth with their trays of food and drink.

  Luis said, “Some vampires have lived like nobility for so long, they forget about the servants. He won’t be watching this door.”

  Sure enough, we traveled down a plain concrete corridor to a fire door and emerged onto the nighttime street. No one followed us.

  We walked along the Mall, which even at night hosted joggers, dog walkers, people strolling before or after a dinner out. After ten minutes or so I took off my heels and carried them. My feet tingled on the concrete sidewalk. Nighttime, and I felt like running. Full moon wasn’t for another week, though. Luis glanced at me, gaze narrowed, lips in a wry smile, like he understood.

  Next we rode the Metro for a few stops, ending up a mile or so north from where we started. Luis led me on for a couple more blocks before stopping.

  “Here we are.”

  A subtle shopfront sign, silver lettering on a blue background, lit by a small exterior light, announced the Crescent. Tinted windows didn’t offer much of a view of the interior.

  “Upstairs is a Moroccan restaurant. Decent, a little pricey, but don’t tell Ahmed I said that. We’re going downstairs.”

  Sure enough, we bypassed the brick stairs leading up and took the set winding down to a garden-level door. “Ahmed?”

  “He owns the place. You’ll meet him if he’s here tonight.”

  I heard the music before Luis opened the door. Once he did, the sound opened up with all its richness and rhythm. Live music, not a recording. A Middle Eastern drum, a string instrument of some kind, and a flute. They weren’t playing an identifiable song, but rather jamming on a traditional-sounding riff. It was fast, joyous, danceable.

  Once inside, I saw the trio of musicians seated on chairs near the bar: one was white, one black, the other Arabic-looking. The whole place had an international feel to it, and I heard conversations in a few different languages. Cloth hangings decorated the walls, and while the area inside the door looked like any other bar, farther inside there weren’t any chairs, but large cushions and pillows surrounding low tables. Oil lamps and candles provided light. I smelled curry and wine in the air.

  A guy who couldn’t possibly have been old enough to serve drinks was behind the bar, drying glasses. A few patrons sat nearby on bar stools, tapping their feet or nodding alo
ng to the music. A woman in a full skirt and peasant blouse danced—I supposed it was belly dancing, but my image of belly dancing was totally different. She was all about grace and joy of movement, not the I Dream of Jeannie fantasy. Her dark hair trailed in a braid that swung as she turned, and she wore a distant smile.

  Another dozen people sat at the tables, watching the dancer or the musicians, talking among themselves, reclining on cushions, eating, and drinking. It was a calm, leisurely party, a nightclub of sorts, drawing people for conversation and atmosphere.

  All of them were lycanthropes.

  I stopped, shocked into immobility. I hadn’t sensed this many lycanthropes in one place since I was with the pack. I had never seen this many in one place without them glaring at each other, stalking, picking fights, jockeying for position within the pack hierarchy. At the very least, if they weren’t fighting they were cowering before the leader who kept them in line, who made peace by force. There was no leader here, not that I could see.

  “Is something wrong?” Luis said.

  “No, it’s just—I wasn’t expecting this. All of them in one place. It’s overwhelming.”

  “You have always been alone, then?”

  “I used to have a pack. But it was nothing like this.”

  He said, “Can I get you a drink?”

  I probably needed one. “Wine. White. I think.”

  Two filled wineglasses in hand, Luis led me to the back half of the club, where we could sit in relative quiet. His face lit when he came to a small group gathered in a corner.

  “Ahmed! You are here.”

  “Luis!” A large man rose to his feet more gracefully than I would have given him credit for. He displaced his friends to one side, who amiably continued their conversation without him. He managed to clap Luis on the shoulders without making him spill a drop of wine. He had a faint accent, thoroughly Americanized. “Good to see you, I was beginning to think you’d abandoned us at last.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  Ahmed turned to me. He had olive features, black hair and dark stubble, a good deal of paunch without the impression of softness. It made him seem round and jovial. Over his shirt and trousers, he wore a flowing, pale-colored robe, which made him fit perfectly with the atmosphere of the place.