Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand kn-5

by Carrie Vaughn

Evan continued, “Not to sound too rude, but I didn’t expect to see the two of you having a drink together.”

  “We hear that a lot,” I said. I wondered if he could see it. If I wasn’t so publicly known, would he be able to tell I’m a werewolf? Could he tell about Ben?

  “Kitty’s my client,” Ben said. Again with the client thing. What was he going to say when we were both wearing matching rings?

  “I have to say, that’s pretty funny,” he said.

  “We hear that a lot, too,” I said. Evan laughed politely.

  “You in town long?” he said to Ben.

  “Just for the weekend.”

  “Maybe we could have lunch or something, if you have time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll call you. Your number still good?”

  “Last time I looked.”

  The hair on my neck tingled, and the muscles in my shoulder tightened. A woman entered the bar. We all turned to look.

  She was my height, but she had a presence that seemed to take up the room. Dark hair, short and full-bodied, bouncing around her ears. Spiky earrings, red lipstick. Dark sunglasses that she took off, folded, and slipped into a pocket of her leather jacket as she scanned the bar. And her outfit. That was mainly why everyone stared: knee-high leather boots with four-inch spike heels, perfectly shaped legs, a leather skirt that would have had me tugging at the hem, yet she wore it as naturally as skin, a form-fitted top of silk and lace, and a cropped leather jacket—all of it in black, of course. I might have seen her picture on a flyer taped to a street sign out on the Strip. Every straight man in the place left his jaw hanging open, and every straight woman clung a little tighter to her boyfriend.

  Except me, ’cause I’m more secure than that. Mostly. I might have inched a little closer to Ben. But then, his jaw wasn’t open. He arced a brow and pursed his lips.

  She looked at us, and those scarlet lips turned a smile. She marched over. Though she looked supernatural—in one sense—she smelled human. Basic, even. No perfume, no extras. Leather, clean soap, and gun oil. I’d bet an awful lot that that she carried a gun in a holster under that jacket. Maybe another tucked in the back waistband of the skirt. And probably a knife in her boot, stilettos up her sleeves, throwing stars in her pockets, and God knew what else. Everyone in the place might have stared, but no one sauntered up to offer to buy her a drink, because she was the scariest-looking person here.

  “Brenda, Brenda, Brenda, I was wondering when you’d make an appearance,” Evan said, smiling and offering his hand for shaking.

  She glanced at it, didn’t take it. Hands on her hips, she looked us all over like we were drenched in pond scum.

  Evan smirked like this was par for the course with Brenda. And my God, did she not look like a Brenda. More like a Veronica, or maybe a Blaze. He carried on. “Brenda, do you know Ben? Ben, this is—”

  “Oh, we’ve met,” Ben said.

  “Been a while. How’s that knee?” Brenda asked, studying him up and down. I inched a little closer to him again. I wondered: was this all an act on her part? Surely nobody was this in-your-face naturally.

  “Fine. Thanks,” Ben said, deadpan. Okay, that was a story I needed to pry out of him.

  Then she looked at me. Scanned me up and down just the same way, and for some reason I suddenly felt like I had a target painted on my chest.

  “And hello to you,” she said wryly. “I’ve always wanted to ask you something: Kitty’s your stage name, right? It can’t be your real name.”

  She was about to make a “werewolf named Kitty” crack. I could feel it. My smile was strained to the point of breaking. “It’s my real name. Proof that God has a sense of humor,” I said.

  “That’s too damn funny for words,” she said, shaking her head. “You like living dangerously, I take it.”

  Who, me? A werewolf standing in the middle of a mini supernatural bounty hunter convention? “Oh, come on, are you telling me we aren’t all civilized people here?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. What’s the story, boys? There a reason you’re letting someone like her hang around?”

  Which meant whatever it was she hunted, and however good she was at it, she hadn’t spotted Ben. None of them had. It was all I could do not to sigh with relief. But any second now another one of them was going to walk into the bar, and that one would be psychic, or magic, or something, and blow the whole deal. I didn’t want to know what this crowd would do if they found out what had happened to one of their own.

  I relaxed and tried not to cling to Ben. That, if anything, would give it all away.

  “She’s okay, Brenda,” Ben said. “Let her alone.”

  She got close to him, right in his face. “And you are the last person I’d expect to stick up for something like that. No, I take it back—the second-to-last person. But Cormac’s not around at the moment, is he?”

  “No, he’s not.”

  I didn’t like this. We were cornered against the bar, and she was staring him down like she wanted to take a piece out of him. Ben was tense, but I was ready to crawl out of my skin. Wolf wanted to get out of here. Brenda smelled dangerous.

  “He should have finished her off when he had the chance.”

  Before either of us could respond—not that explaining the situation would have helped—Evan made a nod toward the bar and said to Brenda, “Let me buy you a drink.”

  “I can buy my own damn drink. Club soda with lime!” she called to the bartender, who was in the middle of drawing a couple of beers. He glanced over in a panic.

  It occurred to me that perhaps she was over-compensating.

  “You know, it’s late,” I said, pointing a thumb toward the door. “I think I’m going to head out. It was nice meeting you all.”

  “Late?” Brenda smirked. “That’s rich coming from one of you lot.”

  “I’m atypical.” My smile was stiff. “Good night.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Ben said, mostly sounding casual, and fell into step with me.

  “I imagine she does need someone watching her back around here,” Brenda said. Ben tossed her a fake salute.

  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, but I still had too much pride to run. Out of sight of the bar, walking down the hall to the elevators, Ben took my hand and squeezed.

  “You okay?” he said.

  “Yeah. I might have preferred someplace a little quieter. With fewer people.”

  “Sorry. I just wanted to see who all was around. You can usually find everyone in the bar sooner or later.”

  “And Brenda. What was that?”

  He chuckled. “Just goes to show you don’t have to be a werewolf to be an alpha female.”

  “Boy, you said it. I’m not even a human being to her, am I?” I said.

  “Nope. That’s how all those guys justify hunting people like you. Er, like us.”

  “And you used to be one of them.”

  “Not really. Well. Maybe. I mostly just tagged along.”

  Which was how he ended up as a werewolf in the first place. Just tagged along to watch Cormac’s back, and the monster flanked him. He was lucky to be alive. Or not, depending on your point of view.

  Maybe he was thinking the same thing, because he had this sad look on his face, a distant gaze. Like he knew he wasn’t part of that world anymore. Maybe he even missed it.

  “I still want to know about you and Brenda,” I said.

  “Jealous?”

  “Trick question, honey.”

  “All I want to know is how she can sprint in four-inch heels without breaking her stride, but I wear track shoes, trip on a pebble, and tear a ligament that puts me in a knee brace for eight weeks.”

  “That’s our mysterious universe for you. And what were you hunting at the time?”

  “Cormac.”

  I raised a brow. What the hell was Cormac doing that had Ben and Brenda chasing after him? And why hadn’t I heard about it? And why... The questions could go on for
ever.

  “It’s a long story,” he said.

  “I bet it is. And what’s Evan’s story? He another client?”

  “No, he’s the competition. Works out of Seattle. Though I guess Cormac doesn’t have competition anymore.”

  “I used to figure Cormac was one of a kind, or one of maybe a half dozen, tops. How many vampire and werewolf hunters are there? There’s Evan, Brenda, Boris, Sylvia—” I counted on my fingers. This was already too many.

  He shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s a tough group to keep tabs on. People disappear, people retire, and no one really announces anything. It’s like Evan said, it works pretty much on gossip and rumor. But that’s how you know where the vampires and lycanthropes are, and where the work is.”

  “How many of them were sitting in that bar?”

  “Maybe a dozen,” Ben said finally. “I recognized a lot of faces, even if I don’t know them well.”

  “Don’t you find that disturbing?”

  “I suppose,” he said. “I used to hang out with people like that a lot. I guess I’m having trouble thinking of myself as the enemy.”

  That was his old world. It didn’t matter if he was the target now. However much he might want to, he couldn’t go back to the way he was. His wolf must have been telling him that.

  I squeezed his hand back and walked closer, so our bodies brushed. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair. There’d be time for that when we got to the room.

  “What happens when they find out about you?” When they found out he was one of the bad guys now, nominally.

  “They probably won’t shoot me on sight, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “You stood in that bar a whole ten minutes and no one took a shot at you.”

  “But I imagine there was a lot of visualization going on in a lot of minds.”

  He chuckled, but the sound was sad. Then he said, “I think they’d feel sorry for me. But I’d really rather they didn’t find out.”

  Outside the elevators, from a side corridor, a shadow stepped in front of us to block our way. I jumped and caught a growl in the back of my throat. Ben touched my arm, and I could feel us both poised between flight or fight, staying together to protect each other or separating to confuse our enemy—

  The shadow turned into Odysseus Grant, looking down on us with a stern gaze. He was tall, with a face like chipped stone. I hadn’t realized how tall he was. I’d attributed his height to stage presence. He wore his tuxedo, with jacket and bow tie, like he’d just come from his own show. Maybe he’d always been there, and my imagination had turned him into a shadow, made him appear out of nowhere. Maybe he’d been waiting for us.

  “Mr. Grant,” I said, catching my breath and trying to slow my heart. I had to call someone in a tux “mister.”

  “Ms. Norville. Mr. O’Farrell.” He nodded at Ben, and I didn’t have to wonder if he knew that Ben was a werewolf, or if he could tell. He knew and took in the knowledge with a slight nod. But how had the magician known Ben’s name? “I’m sorry if I startled you. I wanted to tell you—I watched your show. I’m almost sorry I didn’t take part. But about the gentleman inviting you to Balthasar’s show—don’t go. Don’t have anything to do with them.”

  “Why? What’s the story?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It always is.”

  He quirked a smile. “Have you met any other lycanthropes here? Have you seen any sign of a pack here, besides those two this evening?”

  “No. I’ve been wondering about that.”

  “Balthasar does not tolerate rivals.”

  “I’m not a rival.”

  “Of course not. But he might see you as something else. A possession, maybe?”

  I laughed. “I don’t think so.” Ben wasn’t laughing, though. He’d curled his hand around my arm.

  “I wanted to warn you.”

  “What’s your stake in it? Why tell me this?”

  “I’m simply a concerned citizen who knows something you don’t.”

  And if that didn’t pique my curiosity... “What’s the big secret, then? What do you know? What’s going on over there? The lycanthropes—they perform under duress, don’t they? They’re trapped—”

  Chuckling, he shook his head. “It’s not so mundane as that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s best you don’t concern yourself with such matters.”

  “Secrets don’t scare me, they only piss me off.”

  “That can be dangerous.”

  “Thanks. But I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.”

  He looked both of us up and down. Taking our measure. “I suppose you’d have to be.”

  “We look out for each other,” Ben said.

  “Good. I’ll be off, then. Sorry for interrupting your evening.” He tipped an imaginary hat at us, then disappeared around the corner, a dapper gentleman from another century.

  I stared after him, vaguely aware that Ben was still squeezing my arm. “It’s frustrating. I can’t find anything out about Balthasar, and then Grant comes along talking all this doom. And he wouldn’t even come on my show.”

  “You sure seem to be popular with the guys,” he said.

  “Jealous?”

  “Yeah, I think I am.”

  I put my arm around his waist as we walked to the elevator. “Good.”

  Chapter 10

  Late that night I lay in bed, curled on my side, wishing for a quiet place that didn’t smell like the hotel room, which stank of furniture polish, bleach, lint, and people. Strangers. Not pack, not friendly. I hadn’t wanted to take over Denver’s werewolf pack; I’d kept insisting that I didn’t want to be an alpha. But now I missed the other wolves. I missed my own place. Here, even with the thick curtains drawn, shutting out the neon lights and early morning activity on the Strip, I could still hear the cars, an occasional voice, distant music.

  Ben touched me. He set his hand on my bare hip, lightly, then moved his face along my shoulder to my neck, my hair, taking in my scent, letting his breath whisper over my skin. His warmth brushed over me, sending calm through me. Wherever he was, that was home. He smelled like pack, and that made him safe. Not just in the sense that I knew he wouldn’t hurt me; it was more than that. He meant safety. Lying with him, closed in his arms, nothing could harm me.

  That was objectively true. But my shoulders were tense, like hackles, despite the drinks, despite making love before drifting to sleep. Rather, Ben had drifted to sleep and I stared at the curtained windows, waiting for ninjas to strike. The whole way back here I’d looked over my shoulder and jumped at odd noises. I’d felt that prickling sensation that someone was watching me from across the room. But of course when I looked, no one was there.

  Ben kissed my upper back, pressing at the knots in the muscles. I moaned softly and bent my neck forward to give him better access. Distraction. I only needed distracting and I’d be fine. As if he knew this, he nuzzled my neck, burying his face in my hair, moving slowly, gently. My body tingled, flushing. Where he touched felt electric.

  “You smell worried,” he murmured.

  “You can tell?”

  “Yeah.” He kissed, more firmly this time, his mouth open, and I melted a little further. “Is it about getting married?”

  I was chagrined to realize I hadn’t been thinking about getting married. I really should have been. “No, I’m looking forward to that,” I said. “It’s not that. I feel like I’m being watched. Followed.”

  “Even now?” He inched closer, pressing his body to mine, wrapping an arm around me, his hand crawling up my torso to cup a breast. I nestled firmly into his arms.

  “I saw this TV special once about security in the casinos. They have cameras everywhere. You can’t even tell where they all are. People sit in these dark rooms watching the footage all day, every day.”

  “There are no cameras in the hotel rooms.” His movements, holding me against him, nuzzling at my hairline, became more insi
stent. His erection against my backside became insistent.

  “I’m worried about people who don’t need cameras. Like the lycanthropes from Balthasar’s show. And Odysseus Grant—the way he seemed to jump out of thin air. That doesn’t even start to mention all your buddies at the silver-bullet convention—oh—” Another moan caught in my throat, because he was tracing my ear with his tongue and shifting me onto my back.

  He loomed over me now, gray and shadowy in the dark, his hair ruffled by sleep, but a light shone in his eyes. He smelled warm and wild, a spicy, earthy scent that was all his. I wanted to dig my fingers into him and pull him close, never letting go.

  “Kitty,” he said. “Stop worrying.”

  “Okay.”

  I laced my hands in his hair and made him kiss me until I forgot about everything else.

  The next morning, I felt as good as I had all weekend—relaxed, refreshed, ready for the day. On the other hand, Ben, his expression pursed and studious, was pacing back and forth along the window.

  “You okay?” I said, watching him from the bed.

  “I’m not sure I can go through with this.”

  I blinked in confusion and tried not to let out a wail. “Wait a minute. The wedding? Now you get cold feet?”

  “No, not the wedding,” he said, frowning. “The poker tournament.”

  “Oh. That.” The frown turned into a scowl, and I said, “But this tournament, it’s a big deal, right? If you don’t try, you’ll always wonder.” See? I could be a supportive girlfriend.

  “I don’t know. Am I supposed to be this nervous? I’ve got butterflies. No—it’s like I’ve got claws scraping the inside of my skin. What are you smiling at?”

  “That’s exactly how I felt yesterday before my gig.”

  Ben stopped pacing and let out a sigh, a release of nervous energy. I’d had my turn in the spotlight yesterday—I actually thought it was kind of cool Ben was getting a bit of that spotlight today. In poker, of all things. I said, “If your werewolf superpowers can win anything at all, I think you should try it. It’d be nice to have some good come out of being infected with lycanthropy.”

  “Besides being with you, you mean?” he said, his smile crooked.