Kitty and the Silver Bullet

by Carrie Vaughn

  “I guess so.”

  “This Ben guy—is he Mr. Right?”

  I wished I knew the answer to that. I shrugged. “Who knows.”

  She said, a sly and knowing lilt to her voice, “There’s still time. You may still get sucked into that suburban two point five kids thing.”

  My expression froze into a polite smile. I didn’t want to tell her. I wasn’t ready to tell her about the kids thing. We had more important things to talk about.

  “So what about Mom?” I said.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “It’s not really up to us, is it? She’s a big girl.”

  Cheryl started pacing. “I know, but she’s going to need help, we’re going to have to help her, if she has to have more surgery and chemotherapy we’re going to have to look after her, aren’t we?”

  “I think you’re jumping the gun here. Why don’t we wait until we know how serious it is before we start freaking out.”

  “So we can make important decisions while we’re freaking out?”

  “Bridges, Cheryl. We’ll cross them when we get to them.”

  “We have to be ready for the worst, we have to be ready to help.”

  “We will be,” I said. “We totally will be, whatever it takes.”

  “Then you’re staying? That means you’ll be around, you won’t go zipping off across the country at the drop of a hat, without telling anyone.” She didn’t ask this casually; she leaned in, glaring with a kind of desperation, almost but not quite jabbing her finger at me.

  This wasn’t about Mom at all, I realized.

  “Cheryl, what are you asking? You want to make sure that if Mom needs help it won’t all be you? Is that it?”

  We stayed like that, staring at each other. It was almost wolfish.

  The door opened, and Mom’s voice called, “Hello, Cheryl? Kitty? Is that your car out there?”

  How could she sound so damned cheerful? She ought to be mentally curled up and quivering like the rest of us.

  All smiles, Cheryl went out to meet her, our conversation forgotten. “Hi, Mom! We’re in here!”

  Jeffy was on his feet, leaning on the rail of the playpen, talking at me, but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I regarded him a moment and said, “She’s still crazy after all these years, isn’t she?”

  Nicky had stopped Mom—Grandma—in the living room, and the two of them were gushing at each other about toys when Cheryl and I arrived. Now the whole house was filled with hugs and greetings. It was all very girly and domestic. Mom seemed to have recovered from the surgery. And why wouldn’t she? Perfectly routine, everyone kept saying. As if the words “perfect” and “surgery” belonged in the same sentence. She was sore, though she tried to hide it. She managed to hug us without using her right arm. If she was nervous about waiting for the results, she hid that as well.

  Cheryl had sandwiches waiting in the kitchen, and we settled down to eat. Nicky peeled the crusts off hers. Mom helped her.

  The whole time, Mom talked about nothing in particular, filling the silence so the unspoken worry couldn’t be mentioned. Cheryl kept glancing at me, her expression prompting me, like she wanted me to say something. Wanted me to ask Mom if she needed help. But I wasn’t going to bring up anything. She was the oldest, that was her job. I didn’t care if I was the self-help guru in the family.

  When she got the test results, Mom wouldn’t even have to tell us. I didn’t know why Cheryl was so worried about helping her—the more I thought about it, the more I thought Mom wouldn’t want our help. She’d get through as much of this as she could all by herself.

  That was what I’d have done. At least, I’d have tried.

  For this afternoon, at least, I pretended that nothing was wrong and enjoyed the day with my mom and sister. The last time we’d done a girls’ day like this, Nicky had been a squirming baby.

  I was the one who broke up the party, since I had to get home and get ready for this evening. I said good-bye to the kids—Nicky seemed to remember me from the hospital—and hugged Cheryl while trying to transmit don’t worry vibes. I couldn’t tell if it worked. Then Mom and I hugged, careful of her right side.

  “You’ll let me know if you need anything, right? If there’s anything I can do to help?”

  She pulled back and gave me a wry look. “You never let me help you, why should I be any different?”

  Called that one, didn’t I? “Because . . . I don’t know. I just wanted you to know you could call me.”

  “I know. Thank you, dear.” Smiling, she kissed my cheek, and that was that.

  chapter 5

  The Brown Palace Hotel was a downtown icon. Built during the gold rush days when Denver was filled with nouveau riche who wanted a taste of high society, it was a landmark and a status symbol. Presidents stayed here. Really posh. I’d have expected nothing less from Mercedes.

  The clerk at the front desk directed me to Mercedes’s suite. I dragged Ben to the elevator. He’d been waiting in the lobby, hands shoved in his trouser pockets, gazing around at the artwork, fireplaces, stained glass, and foliage. He wore a jacket but no tie. Edging more toward scruff than polish, but he still looked great. For my part, I wore a skirt, dress shirt, and heels. Felt pretty good, even though it wouldn’t measure up to whatever Mercedes was wearing.

  “You’re sure about this?” he said as we went down the hallway. He’d been muttering about walking into the spider’s parlor.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t trust vampires.”

  “And how many vampires do you actually know? That you didn’t stake?”

  “I haven’t staked that many vampires.”

  I stopped and stared at him. I’d been joking. I’d known he’d sometimes helped Cormac on vampire hunting jobs, before Cormac went to jail. But we’d never talked about it. “How many have you staked?”

  After a pause, he said, “Two. That’s it.”

  “That’s enough, don’t you think?”

  “And I helped with four of Cormac’s.”

  “Exactly how many has Cormac staked?”

  He just smiled.

  Those guys drove me crazy. I huffed and stalked on ahead. He’d caught up by the time I knocked on the door to the suite.

  From within, Mercedes called, “It’s unlocked, come in!”

  I opened the door and stepped into a spacious sitting room, furnished with big, velvety armchairs and chaises, grouped around a fireplace and mahogany coffee table. Rich carpets and crystal lamps gave the place a warm, opulent atmosphere.

  Directly across the room, Rick stood up from a brocade- upholstered chair. He was suave and polished as ever, but held himself tautly, like he was nervous. His hands clenched at his sides, but his face was neutral.

  “Shit!” I glared at him, frozen.

  “That’s quite a greeting. I assume you two know each other?” Reclined on an antique sofa, Mercedes regarded me calmly.

  I should have known, I should have expected. She couldn’t be here without drawing the attention of the local vampires. I was so focused on her I forgot about the big picture. I even forgot about looking after my own ass. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath to try to collect myself. Then I studied Mercedes Cook. She wore a smoke-colored, slinky dress made of a lacy fabric that seemed modern and antique at the same time.

  “Uh, yeah,” was all I could manage. My secrecy was well and truly blown, it looked like. I wondered who else knew I was back in Denver?

  Rick recovered from what I took to be shock—clearly he’d been as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Which meant that for some reason Mercedes hadn’t told him I was coming. But what was he doing here?

  Regaining his usual calm, he returned to his seat. “Back in Denver, I see.” Flat statement.

  I could argue, make excuses, play dumb. Or play it straight. Really, this was none of his damn business. “Looks like it,” I said, smiling as amiably as I could manage.

  “Interes
ting,” was all he said. No why or how or when.

  “How long have you two known each other?” I asked. They exchanged one of those glances that suggested a long association—the suppressed smiles and questioning looks in the eyes. Trying to decide how much to tell, whether to tell anything at all.

  Mercedes took the initiative. “Oh, we’ve known each other quite some time, haven’t we?”

  “Come on, you’re vampires,” I said. “What does that mean? A decade, or a century or three?”

  “You and Rick are friends,” Mercedes said. “Do you know how old he is?”

  I studied Rick, who remained impassive. Were we friends? I wasn’t sure I’d go that far. I knew him without knowing anything about him. I felt like I’d stumbled into some kind of game, or long-running joke. “Two fifty,” I said. Meaning two hundred fifty years.

  Mercedes glanced at him, her smile widening. “Oh, my, we are keeping secrets here, aren’t we?”

  I blinked. “How old is he? How far off am I?”

  “I told you, Kitty, it’s not polite to talk about age.” She smoothed out her already perfect skirt and changed the subject. “At some point I suppose I’ll pay my respects to Arturo. Are you friends with him as well?”

  I frowned. “I know him. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell him I’m back in Denver.”

  “Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” she said. No assurances that she’d keep my secret. I had to reassess my impression of her completely. I’d taken her at face value—she came across as a young, vibrant, successful performer. That was a persona, the one she wanted me to see—and to be fair, that was exactly what she was. An actress. And I’d fallen for it. Underneath was something else, manipulative and dark. Vampire. Ben was right—again. He stood close to me, our arms touching.

  “It’s really not that interesting. If I’m interrupting, I can leave.”

  “Oh, no, please,” Mercedes said, looking genuinely put out. But I didn’t trust the expression. I didn’t trust her anymore—and she knew it. I could see it in her glittering eyes. She’d played me and been happy to do so.

  I should have walked out of there right then.

  “Come and sit with us. Rick was telling me about the situation here, among our kinds. I’d like to hear your opinion as well.” She gestured at chairs near Rick.

  I looked at Ben. He said, “It’s your call.”

  They were vampires, but I didn’t think they were going to hurt us. Not here, anyway. We went to sit, while I tried to calm my racing nerves. The coffee table held a bottle of wine already uncorked, and four glasses poured and waiting. I chose one and took a sip. By then I needed a drink.

  Four glasses. But vampires didn’t drink wine.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Ah, that should be my other guests.” Mercedes leaned back and donned a smile.

  Other guests. I looked at Rick, to see his reaction; he frowned and straightened to the edge of his seat. He hadn’t expected anyone else either.

  I set my glass of wine on the table and braced.

  The handle turned. The door opened inward, as if in slow motion. I could smell them before I saw them, I could hear them breathe, and I recognized the beats of their hearts. All my senses were pushed to their limits, waiting. I knew it all, I knew everything, I knew before the door opened all the way and they walked into the room.

  Carl and Meg. Arm-in-arm, looking sullen.

  I stood and stumbled back, knocking over my chair. My body felt like fog, drifting, melting away. I wasn’t here, I couldn’t be here, I couldn’t move. Every pore burned. I wanted to vomit, but was too shocked.

  Carl saw me and turned animal. He didn’t shift, but his wolf came to the fore. It was amazing to watch. Our gazes met, and he lunged. His back bowed, his arms bent, his fingers locked into claw shapes, all in preparation of charging me. His lips rippled back in a snarl as he bared his teeth. A growl burred deep in his throat. The sound pinged a memory in my hind brain, turning my limbs to ash.

  Arturo, who’d entered behind the couple, caught Carl as he took his first step toward me. The alpha werewolf lunged, and Arturo—svelte, blasé Arturo, Denver’s Master vampire—dropped him where he stood by grabbing his arm, putting a hand on his neck, and squeezing. Carl arced his neck, gasped a breath, and stepped back, arresting his lunge. Arturo didn’t even appear strained.

  “Margaret, you too! Stop!” Arturo’s voice lashed, and Meg, Carl’s mate, cowered, lurking on Carl’s other side, kneading his arm like she might pull it off.

  Arturo glared at us. Only ten feet separated us. I didn’t remember moving, but Rick stood on one side of me, Ben on the other, and both had death grips on my arms, holding me back while I struggled against them. My throat was sore—from growling. Without being conscious of it, I’d matched Carl’s lunge. I’d been ready to meet him head-on and fight, right here in the elegant suite.

  Rick slipped in front of me, blocking my view. “Calm, Kitty. Stay calm,” he whispered.

  Fight him, fight him, get out of here, fight, run, escape—

  Wolf swam at the front of my mind, pure instinct driving me.

  I shut my eyes tight and gasped a breath that sounded like a sob. Took another, steadier breath, and stamped on the Wolf, tamped her down tight. Deep breath, keep it together. Focused on Ben’s touch on my arm, his warm, safe scent in my nose.

  Carl struggled briefly against Arturo’s grip, and I wanted to scream.

  “Ah,” Mercedes said in her sugary, stage-diva voice. “That’s why you left Denver.”

  Bitch. “You knew. You set this up.” My voice still growled.

  She shrugged, just a bit. “I wanted to see for myself.”

  “Let me go. Please let Ben and me go,” I said softly, well aware that Carl and Meg stood between us and the door, that we’d have to get past them to escape.

  Mercedes didn’t speak, and the tableau didn’t change. We stood like statues, waiting for someone to cough. For someone to break.

  “You’re playing games,” I said, my panic rising.

  “Oh, no, this isn’t a game, this is politics. Rough politics,” she said.

  Arturo, bless his undead heart, sounded as irate as I felt. “Mercedes, she’s right. You’re playing games, and keeping leashes on a pack of werewolves is not how I’d planned on spending my evening. Meg!”

  The alpha female—nemesis, rival, chief bitch of my nightmares—had crept around her mate. Carefully, she stood in front of Carl and held herself straight. She didn’t attack, didn’t make the least sign of aggression. She just studied me. Me and Ben both. Ben’s shoulders tensed, like hackles rising.

  Meg had long, straight black hair, deeply tanned skin, unidentifiably ethnic features. She had a wild and exotic look about her, and a slim and powerful build. She was dressed for an evening downtown—a rust-colored blouse, dark slacks, high-heeled sandals, jewelry. I’d been used to seeing her in the outdoors, in a T-shirt and jeans. Carl, wearing shirt and slacks, hadn’t changed much—he was tall, six-five or so, and broad to match, all muscles and quivering temper. You didn’t challenge Carl. You just didn’t.

  Unless you were my best friend T. J. T. J. had challenged, and Carl had killed him for it.

  For the moment Meg had taken up her old role of instigator. She’d poke and prod until I lashed out, then let Carl take me down. Now Ben, the newcomer, the unknown in the room from her perspective, occupied her attention. She took a long moment to stare at him. I willed Ben to stay calm, to stay quiet. I didn’t want him reacting—either aggressively or submissively. I didn’t want him to give her any points by admitting, however inadvertently, that she was stronger.

  When Meg spoke to me, it was like glass shattering. “You really did it. You went and made yourself a mate so you could come back here and take over.”

  Gah, same old Meg. Some things never changed, and my next few breaths were calmer. “No, Meg. That’s what you would have done.”

  Carl said, “I told
you not to come back. I told you I’d kill you.”

  I argued. Maybe they’d see reason. Maybe they’d be reasonable. “I’m not here to make trouble, I promise I don’t want any trouble. My mom’s sick, Carl. I had to come back, just until she’s better.” I’d slipped into the old pattern, groveling before him, begging, head bowed, slouching. I’d fought hard so I wouldn’t have to do that anymore. T. J. died so I wouldn’t have to do that. I consciously straightened my back, straining against tense muscles. Made myself as tall as I could. Didn’t tremble. I met Carl’s gaze. Didn’t quite offer a challenge, but I had to face him as an equal. No—I had to believe I was better.

  “If you don’t want trouble then who is he?” Carl nodded at Ben.

  Ben stood close enough, just behind my shoulder, that I could feel his body heat. He hadn’t cowered before Carl’s and Meg’s bluster. I sensed some tension, some anxiety in him. But his back was straight, and his gaze steady. I was glad to have him at my side.

  “He’s a friend. He’s only here because of me. You can leave him alone.”

  Carl didn’t like him. He didn’t like the presence of a competent, self-assured male who didn’t owe him loyalty. Ben could stand there without flinching and Carl would take it as a challenge.

  But Ben didn’t just stand there. Oh, no.

  “So you’re Carl,” Ben said, taking a couple of slow steps forward and studiously looking Carl up and down. “I thought you’d be taller.”

  I mentally slapped my forehead. But I had to admit, Ben always knew just what to say.

  Snarling, Carl sprang forward, hands outstretched, fingers clawed. I braced, preparing to dodge, then run like hell. Ben, damn him, didn’t flinch at all because he must have guessed what was coming next.

  Again, Arturo stopped Carl. In a flash of movement, he grabbed Carl’s arm and twisted it, using the bigger man’s momentum to divert him and drop him to his knees. His breath heaving, Carl struggled, his eyes gleaming with animal ferocity, ready to rip out of the vampire’s grip. But with his hand on Carl’s shoulder, Arturo only had to squeeze once to quiet him. I didn’t know where the strength came from—Arturo seemed to exert no effort.