Kitty's House of Horrors

by Carrie Vaughn

  “It’s gone now,” Jeffrey said. “He’s dark again.”

  Grant pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped away the symbols he’d drawn, and scrubbed the chalk circle until it was a blurred, formless mess. The mirror was bright and clear.

  “I’m done with it,” he said, nodding at the body. “We should put it with the others.”

  Or drop it in the lake. But that would feel like poisoning the lake.

  “I think I need to take a shower,” Tina said.

  Nobody moved except Grant, who was packing items back in his case. The magician finishing his work. And I didn’t know why anything Grant did surprised me anymore.

  “That was sick,” Lee said, harsh, frowning.

  Grant stood, glared. “What that man did to Ariel, Jerome, Dorian, and the production assistants was sick. He and the others did what they did for sport. I do it out of necessity. And I don’t do it lightly.”

  Cormac would have understood. Cormac would have approved, so I couldn’t argue.

  Grant paused in front of me. I’d been staring at the body, and I turned to him reluctantly. “You look like you want to say something.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t have anything to say.”

  His expression didn’t change. It hardly ever did. But he put his hand on my shoulder, a brief touch, a faint comfort.

  Anastasia was the one to finally ask, “What did you learn?”

  “They’re still filming us,” he said. “They’re planning on selling the footage as proof that monsters can be killed. That they ought to be killed.”

  “A snuff film?” I said, astounded.

  Grant nodded. “Provost and Cabe are his partners. They’re out there now. I saw two bases of operation, one near the lodge and one near the outgoing trail. They attacked Jerome and Kitty from that one. They have us trapped, and they have all the time in the world.”

  “Then we go after them,” Lee said. “We know where they are now, we go get them, then get the hell out of here.”

  “They have weapons,” Anastasia said. “They’re entrenched. We’re too vulnerable. That’s exactly how they planned it.”

  “So we flush them out,” I said, because that was what Cormac would say and how he’d have handled this. He sure as hell wouldn’t sit here waiting for the bad guys to come to us. Get the upper hand. Startle them.

  “How do we do that?” Lee said, anxious, frustrated. Sweat shone on his brow, and the ocean smell of him was stronger.

  I picked up the walkie-talkie from the pile of Valenti’s leavings, switched it on, and pressed talk. Everyone in the room cringed or lurched, making various noises of protest—what the hell was I doing?

  Poking the wasp nest. I was good at that sort of thing.

  “Hell-lo-ooooo,” I said, singsong, into the speaker. Moving to the front door, I cracked it, turning my ear to the great outdoors to hear what I could. I let my finger off the button and waited, listening through the static hiss for something more meaningful. And waited. My heart was thumping hard, but I didn’t let on. I was in the middle of a practical joke, and I was determined to find this little piece of it funny. I grinned while the others watched, horrified. Except for Grant, who smiled, just a little.

  Then the static clicked and shifted, and words came through. “Hello? Valenti?”

  And that was Joey Provost’s voice, with the show business veneer rubbed off. What was left was backstabbing manipulator. Such a fine line between the two. I didn’t hear anything outside; he wasn’t close, which was something.

  “’Fraid not. It’s Kitty Norville. Thanks for calling The Midnight Hour. Do you have a problem you’d like to talk about?”

  I waited through another few moments of poignant static before hearing, “Where’s Valenti?”

  “Ooh, that’s a really tough question. How religiously inclined are you?”

  “Bitch,” he hissed.

  “I love it when people call me that, it’s so meta. Just tell me one thing—what made you think you could get away with this? Get away with murder?”

  He didn’t answer. I waited, listening through static for a long time. For all I knew, he’d shut his device off. I’d hoped Provost would be stupider than that. I’d hoped he’d have to talk, then give something away, like an undefended location. I threw the walkie-talkie down. Which Cormac probably wouldn’t have done.

  “Consider them flushed,” I said.

  “Then we have the offensive, at least for a little while,” Anastasia said. “What do you think they’ll do?”

  I took a deep breath. Took a flyer. “I think they’ll come here. They’ll want to find out what happened to Valenti, and then they’ll want to take us down fast. They may not bother with the horror show anymore.”

  “Agreed,” Grant said. “Then we should move fast. Get out there and find their hunting blinds. Clear them out, leave them without equipment. Then we go back to our original plan to get out and call the police.”

  “It’ll be dawn soon,” Gemma said. She sounded small, like a scared kid. Did Valenti and his crew even think of her as a kid? Or just as a monster?

  Anastasia said, “We have a few hours. We’ll be fine, Gemma.” An unspoken trust me finished the sentence. Gemma pretty much had to trust her, didn’t she?

  “Lee, you’re a hunter. You can use this?” Grant handed him Valenti’s sniper rifle. He took it, and he smiled a little. A fire lit his eyes.

  “Did your voodoo magic show tell you where these blinds are?” I said to Grant. “Exactly where?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but Tina said, “I saw them. We both did.” Jeffrey nodded.

  Grant’s lips thinned to a line. “I was hoping you had.”

  We broke into teams. Lee, Tina, and I would go after the blind by the outgoing trail. Tina would help guide us, based on the images Grant had produced. After destroying what we could of the blind and the weapons we assumed we’d find there, we’d continue on to get help. If we encountered more silver-tainted barriers, like the razor wire, Tina could help clear the way. If need be, I could run ahead while Tina and Lee waited. Jeffrey, Anastasia, and Gemma would look for the blind closer to the lodge. Anastasia took the handgun so both parties went armed. Originally, Grant wanted Gemma to stay inside. She refused, wanting to stay with Anastasia. So Grant would wait at the lodge in case the remaining hunters came back.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” I asked him. It was a stupid question. Of course Grant could take care of himself.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  Were there really only seven of us left? Maybe Conrad had gotten away okay. Maybe he’d found help.

  We stood on the porch, getting ready to head out. I felt the need to add instructions. “Remember, we’re not going after Cabe and Provost. We’re going after their stuff. It’s probably best if we avoid them entirely.”

  “But, you know, if you get a shot off,” Lee said.

  “Kitty’s right,” Grant said. “Don’t take stupid chances. And there are probably still traps out there. Be careful.”

  Words of the day, really.

  chapter 17

  Tina walked close behind me, within arm’s reach, because she didn’t have good night vision and needed me to guide her. Lee walked a few paces to my right, carrying the sniper rifle in both hands, like a character out of a Vietnam War movie.

  I concentrated on listening, smelling—spotting anything out of the ordinary. A place in the shadows with the wrong colors or an odor that didn’t belong. So far, nothing. But I remembered the pine pitch Valenti had used to mask his scent. Any minute now, I’d hear the hiss of silver-tipped arrows flying.

  We’d traveled maybe two miles from the lodge, but it had taken an hour, since we’d moved so carefully, soundlessly, and full of paranoia. I kept glancing at Tina, hoping for some sign that she knew where the site was, that she was leading us somewhere. And for part of the time she did look like she was searching, stopping and studying the landscape, as if
trying to recognize a landmark. Mostly, though, she looked scared, her face tight, brow furrowed.

  Even if we didn’t find the hunters’ shelter, that would be okay. If all we did was hike within cell phone range and call the cavalry, I’d be fine with that.

  After another half hour of cautious walking, Tina put a hand on my arm.

  “We’re looking for a tent,” she said. “Camouflaged, under a pair of trees. I think it’s near here. This looks familiar.”

  We all looked outward, scanning the trees. I took in a long, slow breath—and smelled canvas.

  I couldn’t see it until we were almost standing next to it. Just like Tina had said, it was a low tent slung between trees, a darker shadow standing out against a natural backdrop. We waited outside it a long time, like we expected it to come to life and swallow us. Lee aimed the rifle.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Lee said. “Do you?”

  I didn’t, and I couldn’t smell anything living inside. I supposed it was time to get a closer look at what we were up against.

  The tent was little more than a tarp slung over a rope tied between the trees and staked out to form walls. It was draped with camo netting, like a hunting blind. Lee pushed back the flap with the end of his rifle—the Vietnam War movie again. My heart raced, waiting for the screaming guy with the grenade to jump out. But nothing happened.

  Inside was just enough room for a low camp cot and a small, collapsible metal table. Next to the cot was a steel cage, square, just big enough to hold a person. I didn’t want to know what they planned to do with that. Under the table sat metal crates—ammo boxes and the like. On top of the table were a camp stove, a bottle of water, some packets of freeze-dried food, and a tiny portable TV showing a black-and-white image of the trail leading away from the lodge. I wondered how many other cameras were out there. They couldn’t have had one in the lodge’s interior, or they’d have known what had happened to Valenti. So they weren’t omniscient. That was something.

  Leaning against the ammunition cases was a crossbow, sleek steel and black, modern and dangerous, and a cylindrical container of bolts to go with it. Silver tips. This was the weapon that had killed Jerome.

  Suddenly, I wanted to break something.

  “What do we do now?” Lee said.

  I didn’t know. This was so big, so organized. I was just trying to live my life and do my thing, and suddenly I was furious that I kept getting interrupted by crap like this. I didn’t just want to howl, I wanted to roar. The sound an animal made when it went rabid.

  I took a deep breath and tried to push that feeling away.

  Concentrating on calm and not on the knot in my gut, I said, “We need to get rid of this stuff so no one can use it anymore.”

  Tina shook her head. “I think we need to get out of here.”

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  Lee said, “It’s just nerves. This is what we came here to do.”

  “No. Nobody move,” she said.

  We all stood still. I held my breath, listening, waiting. A breeze shifted the trees outside, and the tent’s canvas rippled. I tried not to jump. We were the hunters now, had to stay calm. Just keep telling myself that.

  After a moment, she nodded toward a space at the edge of the table. “There,” she said. “On the table, a trip wire.”

  “What?” Lee said. “I don’t see anything.”

  He started toward the table when she said, “Don’t! Don’t move, don’t touch anything.”

  Focusing, I could see it: a thin, clear filament, like a fishing line, running from the table to the ground. I pointed. “There. You see it?”

  “If we move the table, something goes boom,” Lee said.

  I sighed. “I say we back up out of here the way we came and forget about plan A.”

  “Agreed,” Tina breathed.

  She backed up and out the tent entrance. I followed, stepping carefully, searching all around me for the least little anomaly that might be a booby trap. Lee followed on the same path. He paused at the entrance for one last look around inside.

  Something exploded. A whoosh of red fire, then a whoomp, like the air sucking out of a room. I grabbed Tina and fell to the ground, sheltering her. She screamed.

  I didn’t see what caused it—I’d never learn exactly what Lee triggered, whether he tripped a line that Tina and I had missed or stepped on a pressure plate. Maybe the explosion had been on a timer. Maybe it would have gone off no matter what we’d done, and it was undoubtedly meant to catch all of us in the blast.

  A searing, angry heat washed over us. Tina curled up, sheltering her head, and I did the same as debris rained. Ashes and burning filled my nose, and I choked back a howl. Time to run, Wolf said. This was dangerous, we had to get away.

  No. Not without Tina. She was dead out here by herself.

  I whined, shook, hugged myself to keep fur from sprouting, and finally looked up. Little fires had broken out around us, on the forest floor and in trees, but none of them seemed serious. Tongues of dancing flame flickered in a regular circle around what used to be the tent, now lying in burned, shredded pieces. Other debris remained: the charred stump of a table, flipped over and flung a dozen yards away; a mangled cot; the ammunition cases—made of metal, whatever explosives were inside them hadn’t ignited—and other unidentifiable debris. And Lee.

  He’d been thrown from what had been the entrance of the tent and lay sprawled, twisted into an inhuman shape. His clothes had burned away, along with his skin and hair. All of him was charred. He still had the rifle in his burned hands. He smelled cooked. I covered my face and gagged.

  Tina clung to my arm with both hands. “Lycanthropes are tough—they can survive just about anything, right?” she said.

  We could survive a lot of things, but not everything. If we were decapitated, if our hearts were destroyed, if the damage was too great—I didn’t know all the limits of what we could survive. But I didn’t think a lycanthrope could survive this.

  I crept forward because I had to see. Heat rolled off the whole area, baking the air, making me itch. I tried to keep from smelling it and kept my gaze on Lee. He didn’t move. When I got close enough, I could see he didn’t have a face anymore. Nothing but a black crust. He wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t hear his heart. I waited for five minutes, to be sure. When I touched his neck, the skin broke, still hot, still smoking. I didn’t feel a pulse. Too much damage, too much shock, with no chance to heal. So, high explosives could also kill a werewolf.

  I hurried back to Tina, grabbed her, and kept moving. I didn’t have to urge her along to keep up.

  “What do we do now?” Her voice was stiff—forced calm.

  “Keep going,” I said. “We have to call someone. We have to get help.”

  “I don’t know how long I can keep running.”

  “We don’t have to run. We just have to keep moving.” That explosion had probably been heard all over the valley. The hunters knew their trap had been sprung. They might come back to assess the damage. We had to move.

  I wondered what the others would think had happened. But I couldn’t worry about that. I hoped they wouldn’t decide to come look.

  A hundred yards farther on, we came close enough to the trail to hear shouting.

  “Help! Help me! Oh, God, please!” The voice was rough, as if it had been screaming for a while. No tears, no sobbing, but the despair was plain. We stopped, listened.

  “That’s Conrad,” I said.

  The scent of blood on the air hit me. Part of me wanted to leave him, just pass on by and keep going—he wasn’t one of us. This was probably another trap, with Conrad as bait, and we’d be better off moving on. But we didn’t.

  “No, go slow,” Tina hissed, after I’d started to race forward. We crept forward more cautiously. I looked around, up into the trees, searching for the merest glint or hint of movement. Wondering where the next bullet was going to come from. And bombs, those guys were using bombs.

  Tina clenc
hed my arm and pointed ahead to a dark spot on the trail. A sinkhole, with debris scattered around the edges. Conrad clutched one side with an arm, bracing, trying to scramble out but unable to gain the leverage.

  “Conrad?” I said, in as loud a whisper as I could manage.

  “Kitty? Oh, my God, help me! Help!”

  Tina and I rushed to the edge of the sinkhole and looked in. The bottom was lined with spears, a dozen rigid poles sticking straight up, tipped with shining metal—silver. A tiger trap. Conrad had sprung the trap and fallen in, and one of the spikes had impaled his leg through the calf, from ankle to knee. Blood dripped down the length of the spear.

  He’d managed to keep himself from falling in and impaling himself on more sharp points. But he was clinging and unable to pull himself off the spear that did get him.

  “Oh, shit,” Tina murmured.

  Yeah. That about covered it. Maybe because we couldn’t save Lee, we worked hard to save Conrad.

  I grabbed Conrad’s arms, gave him an anchor, kept him from sliding in farther. He was pale, covered in sweat, his clothes soaking with it, and shivering, no doubt on the edge of shock. Tina lay flat, as far over the edge as she could and still keep her balance, which let her stretch just far enough forward to reach the spear that pinned Conrad. She grabbed it, maybe thinking to pull it out of its hole. Her hands slipped on the blood. She tried again, working to be careful, but she couldn’t help but jerk it when she did. Every time, Conrad groaned, gritting his teeth, trying to keep from crying out. His fingers dug into me.

  “I think it’s set in concrete,” Tina said. “I can’t budge it.”

  Concrete? Overkill a little? Like I even had to ask at this point. I pursed my lips, bracing for the next few difficult minutes. I renewed my grip on Conrad, to make sure he knew I was there. He didn’t seem quite aware.

  “Conrad? We’re going to have to slide your leg off.” I had no idea if that was the right thing to do medically. We didn’t really have a choice.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned. He was past thought, wrapped only in pain and fear.