Kitty Goes to Washington kn-2

by Carrie Vaughn

  I wondered as well. The Crescent was only a few blocks away. I could walk there at this point.

  "Don't worry, it won't take long." Leo flashed his grin at me, then lunged at Bradley.

  It happened so fast the driver didn't have a chance to flinch. Leo grabbed his head and wrenched, twisting it sharply until it crunched. As a man, Leo didn't look like much. Didn't look strong enough to break a man's neck. But he was a vampire, with a strength and speed that were blinding. Bradley probably didn't even know what was happening.

  I didn't even have a chance to scream.

  Leo didn't pause before launching over the backseat. It should have been awkward, but he seemed to fly, leaping at me arms outstretched, pinning me. He grabbed my hands, slipped something out of his pocket, wrenched my arms back, and a second later I was locked in handcuffs, my hands behind my back. The cuffs burned, searing against my wrists like they were hot from an oven. When I pulled against them, the pain flared.

  Who the hell had silver alloy handcuffs?

  Leo rolled me faceup and straddled me, pinning my legs with his body, squeezing his hand on my throat. "Be a good little kitten and this will all be over soon. If you start shape-shifting, I will kill you. Understand?"

  He wasn't actually wanting to rape me, was he?

  I squirmed, the handcuffs seared my skin, and I whimpered.

  "Oh, you poor dear." He leaned close, breathing against my cheek. I shut my eyes and turned away. I could get through this. Whatever he planned, I could get through it.

  His teeth rubbed against my jawline just before a fang dug in. It felt like a pinch.

  I screamed, arching my back to thrash away, not caring about him or the silver, just wanting to get away.

  He held me too well, pinned against the length of the backseat, my arms immobile under me. I wasn't getting away. He licked the wound he'd made. Then, laughing, he straightened.

  "My, you are high-strung, aren't you? Don't worry, as much fun as it might be, this isn't what the evening has in store for you."

  Howl, claw, bite, Change, run away…

  No. Couldn't let Wolf out, couldn't let her panic overwhelm me. Keep it together, stay in my body, my human body. I didn't doubt that Leo would kill me if I Changed.

  That took all my strength. I didn't have enough left over to even tell him to fuck off.

  From his jacket pocket he took out a couple of handkerchiefs. I was breathing hard, whining with every breath, frozen with panic. Bradley's face leaned against the seat, toward me, dead eyes staring at me. Dead, blank, gone. I should have seen it coming, he should have seen it coming, this shouldn't be happening—

  Leo jammed one scarf into my mouth, tying it behind my head. Another went around my eyes.

  Breathe, steady, stay anchored. Keep it together, that was what T.J. always said. Good girl.

  T.J. wasn't around to rescue me this time.

  Chapter 11

  The car door opened, closed. Then another one opened and closed. My nose and ears worked overtime, compensating for the lack of sight. Leo had left the backseat and returned to the front seat. A weight shifted. He was shoving Bradley's body out of the way.

  The engine was still running. Bradley hadn't shut it off, only shifted to park. Leo put the sedan in gear, and we drove away.

  I didn't count turns, knowing it wouldn't do any good because I couldn't judge the distance. We drove for what seemed a long time. We must have been leaving town. We could be going anywhere.

  All I could do was keep breathing, and keep my hands still so the silver didn't burn as much.

  Finally, we stopped. Car doors opened, first the front, then the back.

  "Sit up," Leo said.

  I couldn't. My muscles were frozen. He grabbed my shoulder and hauled me up.

  "Out."

  Again, I tried. Given enough time, I could have made the epic journey from the seat to outside the car on my own. But I was too slow for Leo. He dragged me out, and he was strong enough to keep me on my feet when all I wanted to do was collapse. He held me up with one hand on my arm. The other clamped on the back of my neck, guiding me.

  "Walk," he said.

  I stumbled. He moved too quickly, but somehow I got my feet under me. We were outdoors, out of D.C. The air was a little fresher. Where were we? Given another moment I might have figured it out by the smell of the air, but Leo was in a hurry.

  A door opened, then closed behind us. We'd entered a building. Here, the air smelled antiseptic, sickly, too much disinfectant and not enough life. The floor was tile.

  I knew that smell. I'd been here before. This was the NIH Clinical Center.

  We rode an elevator. I tried not to think, because thinking made me scared and angry. The more emotion I felt right now, the closer Wolf came to breaking free. The moon was so close right now.

  I leaned away from Leo; his grip on my neck tightened. I had to breathe, calmly and coolly. My mouth was dry. I swallowed back screams.

  The elevator opened into the basement. Leo pushed me forward again. I knew how many steps we'd go, I knew which door he guided me through. Without seeing, I could have made my way around the furniture in the office.

  In the next room I smelled people. I sucked in air, trying to sense them, how many, who they were.

  "My God, was this really necessary?"

  I knew that voice. I knew that voice better than I knew the man it belonged to. Dr. Paul Flemming.

  "Could you have done it any better, then?" Leo said, annoyed. "You wanted me to bring her, you didn't say how."

  Leo rattled the handcuffs—turning a key. Unlocking them. All my muscles tensed. He said he'd kill me and I almost didn't care. I just wanted to hurt him.

  The burning metal fell away, but before I could turn, he shoved me forward. I scrambled to keep my balance. I stayed on my feet, and in the same moment tore off the gag and blindfold.

  I stood in the werewolf holding cell of Flemming's lab. The walls sparkled silver, pressing against me. The door was locked. Slowly, I stepped toward the Plexiglas wall. Keep it together, I told myself. I wanted to face them as a human, to tell them what I was thinking.

  Flemming's lab was full of people. At least, it seemed like it. I had to stare, studying the scene before me for a long time, because it didn't seem real. I didn't believe it. Flemming stood near my window, arms crossed, looking hunched-in and miserable, lips pursed and gaze lowered. To my right, near the wall, stood Senator Duke and one of his aides, a man I recognized from the hearings. Beyond them were three hard-core army-looking types: they wore all black, down to the combat boots, had severe crew cuts, and toted machine guns. They glared at me. Leo stood directly in front of me, grinning like this was the funniest thing he'd seen all week.

  To my left, occupying the largest space of floor that was free of lab benches and equipment, was a news crew. It looked like a full-on studio job, with a large television camera, a camera operator, and a sound guy with a mike on a boom and headphones. And Roger Stockton, sans handheld video camera. Someone had given him a promotion. An equipment bag on the floor nearby bore the logo of a local network affiliate.

  He stared at me, wide-eyed, like a rabbit in a trap. He trembled like prey, like he knew that if I wasn't currently behind a locked door, I'd kill him.

  I started to laugh, then stopped, because the nausea wracking my stomach was about to break loose. I swallowed, and my mouth tasted like copper.

  "What's going on here?" My voice cracked.

  No one said anything. They'd come here to see a monster. Monsters weren't supposed to talk back.

  Finally, Roger said, "Live broadcast. I sold the story to the network. It's my big break. I can take my work to the mainstream. Hey, if you'd just given me an interview, I wouldn't have agreed to this." A smile flickered, then disappeared.

  "Unreal," I muttered, not aware I'd spoken aloud until I heard my voice. But why stop myself? "Fucking unbelievable. You were supposed to be for real! Searching for the truth, looking for k
nowledge—not in it for the fame and money! But you really are scum, aren't you? Playing like you're my friend, then selling me out the first chance you get—" My first impressions weren't always faulty, apparently. "What the hell are you trying to accomplish with this? What the hell do you think is going to happen? And you." I pressed my hands to the glass in front of Leo. "What are you getting out of this? Does Alette know you're working for them? God, of course not—you wouldn't have killed Bradley then. You're moving against Alette, aren't you?" His expression of amusement didn't waver.

  Duke said with a tone of disgust, "We don't have to explain ourselves."

  "It's just for the night," Flemming said softly. "You'll be free to go in the morning."

  Then, I did laugh. Bitter, hysterical laughter. I shut my mouth before it could become a howl. "Are you kidding me? Do you think that makes everything all right? You're supposed to be a scientist, Flemming. You call this science?"

  "I think he calls it public relations," Leo said. "He's a bureaucrat. Well, gentlemen, it's been lovely working with you, but I have business elsewhere." The vampire wore a sly grin on his face, looking terribly amused. "Doctor, if you'll remember our agreement?"

  If anything, Flemming became more pale and uncomfortable-looking, kneading the fabric of his jacket sleeves. He looked over at the soldiers and nodded. Two of them moved toward the door and waited.

  Leo tossed me a salute. "Take care of yourself, Miss Norville."

  He stalked out of the room without waiting for a response. The two soldiers followed him.

  Soldiers. Flemming had given the bastard backup. I had to call Alette. Would someone let me call Alette?

  Senator Duke marched over to the doctor and pointed an accusing finger at the door Leo had just left through. "Dr. Flemming, I have to protest you making deals with that monster. When I agreed to help you, you said nothing about working with the likes of that!"

  "I think there's some debate about who's helping whom here, Senator. I'm giving you the evidence you want. You said you didn't want to be involved in collecting that evidence."

  "You'd do well to remember you wouldn't even have a chance to save your research if it weren't for me."

  "I seriously wonder about that." He kept his gaze focused on me. I felt like a bug under a microscope.

  I had to move. I had to get out of here. I saw the way out—through the door, past my enemies. Had to be a way out. If I kept moving, walking long enough, far enough, I'd find a way out. Had to turn before I got too close to the wall—it felt hot, the silver would burn me.

  "Kitty!"

  I flinched, startled out of my manic thoughts. Flemming had uncrossed his arms and was watching me, concerned.

  "You're pacing," he said.

  Like a caged wolf, back and forth across the front of the cell. I hadn't even noticed.

  I couldn't see the moon. I didn't have to. A cramp wrenched my body. I doubled over, hugging my stomach, gritting my teeth, and unsuccessfully stifling a groan.

  "Jesus, what's wrong with her?" the cameraman said.

  Flemming frowned. "She's a werewolf."

  Public relations. That was the game we were playing, was it? Flemming and Duke would both win support for their causes if they could prove, once and for all, that the monsters were real. The hearings hadn't been able to do that; that was all just talk. They needed videotape. Brightly lit, clinical videotape.

  I didn't have to give up the fight that easily. There was a way out. If I could keep in control for a little while longer, I could beat them. I breathed, taking a moment to center myself, to convince my body to stay human. You'll be out soon, I told Wolf. Just give me the next hour or so.

  She settled. We lived by compromise, my Wolf and I. She understood that the human half had to fight this battle.

  "Roger, come here. I have to talk to you." I stood near the glass wall, by the dinner tray slot. I turned my back to the others.

  "Why?" He laughed nervously. "You look like you want to kill me."

  "That's because I do. But I won't. Come here."

  I must have sounded serious, because he obeyed. Stockton crept forward slowly, like he thought I could break out of here. I couldn't; leaning on the Plexiglas told me it was solid. The hinges on the door were strong—and painted with silver. I might be able to break through, but I'd have to throw myself against it all night and probably wouldn't be in great shape afterward.

  Let the human side deal with this.

  "I have a counteroffer, Roger. How'd you like to produce the first live televised episode of The Midnight Hour?"

  His brow furrowed, confused. "What, here?"

  "Yup. Look, I know Duke and Flemming aren't going to let me out of here. But if I'm going to end up on TV, I want to do it on my terms. I get my show, I get to have my say, and you get your footage. That's what you want, isn't it? Real live film of a werewolf transformation, in a brightly lit lab, no shadowy forests and night-vision cameras, and you get a front-row seat. I just want a little credit. Duke and Flemming still get to prove their points. Everybody wins."

  "What, you want me to put in a phone line, take calls—"

  "No, there's no time for that. I just want a mike so I can talk to the audience. A few supplies, some music, I'll carry the whole thing by myself. That's all I'm asking for, some odds and ends and billing for the show. What do you say? You owe me, Stockton." That did come out as a growl. Just a little. I grit my teeth, glared—I couldn't imagine what I looked like to him. Like a werewolf. He stepped back.

  "If all I want is werewolf footage, I'll get that one way or the other," he said.

  And he was right, of course. I was in a very poor bargaining position. "Then tell me what you want."

  He glanced at Flemming and Duke, who were their usual stolid and frowning selves. He hesitated, his face gone stony with thought. His jovial, animated facade had disappeared. Then, he said, "I still want that interview. I'll interview you, then you can do or say whatever you want for the rest of the broadcast."

  Dammit, if he asked me any questions I was likely to swear a blue streak at him. I didn't know how much self-control I could manage for the next hour—surely not enough to produce a cohesive interview. All I wanted to do was scream. But I was in no position to negotiate. I wanted a microphone, and if this was what I had to do to gel it, then so be it. "Fine, okay."

  He pursed his lips and nodded. "Right. We'll do it."

  I thought I was going to melt with relief. The night wasn't over yet, but I'd gotten the ball back in my court. Half a ball, anyway.

  I said, "Call my home radio station and talk to the executive producer, Ozzie, he'll clear up all the legal stuff." I gave him Ozzie's phone number, and recited the list of gear I thought I'd need. CD player, Creedence Clearwater Revival and whatever other CDs he could scrounge up, a copy of London's Call of the Wild, and—

  "A rump roast?" Stockton stared at me before writing it down.

  "It'll make her much happier, trust me." Let him work out that bit of phrasing on his own.

  Stockton conferred with his crew, then turned back to me. "I'll be back in twenty—no, fifteen minutes. Don't start without me."

  "Wouldn't think of it."

  Flemming looked worried. "What do you think this will accomplish?"

  I shrugged, feeling giddy. "Don't know. Don't care. It's just nice to be doing something."

  I wasn't supposed to be here. I really wasn't supposed to be here. As in, this wasn't the way my life was supposed to go. Even just a few years ago, as a child of yuppies my life had been pretty much laid out for me: a decent degree from a decent university, a decent job—maybe in radio, but probably something nine to five, like sales. Marriage, children, tract housing on the prairie and a golden retriever playing fetch in the backyard. What all the other girls were doing.

  Then the attack, and the wolf came, and nothing could ever, ever be normal again. There'd never be a golden retriever in the backyard—dogs hated me now. They could tell what I was.r />
  Still, none of that explained how I got into these situations. Was I too young to retire? Get a nice, quiet job in accounting somewhere?

  On full moon nights, keeping human form became painful, then it became impossible. Wolf had to be free, she had to be released, and if she had to rip her way out, she would. So much easier to let it slide, let it happen.

  I couldn't do that, not tonight. Had to stay human as long as I possibly could, had to be in control, know what was happening. I'd had practice at this. I sat still, kept still, breathed slowly. Just a little while longer, girl.

  I had a couple of tricks I used to keep the Wolf at bay. Humming Bach while thinking of broccoli. My humming was becoming more frantic, and still my stomach churned. The thin line between human and beast was growing thinner. When it disappeared, I'd be gone.

  I had to stay on my side of the line. I imagined the line growing thicker. I had to keep it in place.

  "T.J., I wish you could help me."

  I remembered him holding me, when I started to lose it. Keep it together, he'd whisper. That's a girl.

  Keep it together.

  The line remained drawn. I was still human. I took a deep breath, fitting into my skin a little more firmly.

  Stockton returned in less than half an hour, more quickly than I expected despite his promise. He must really have been worried about missing something. He carried two big shopping bags. I pictured him running through the store, throwing things into a cart, and flinging his credit card at the poor checkout clerk.

  "I talked to your producer. Ozzie, that's his name? He didn't believe me, so he said to call him back and get you on the phone."

  Of course Ozzie didn't believe him, and I didn't blame him. I'd avoided TV like the plague. I was so glad I had smart friends.

  "Do it," I said.

  Duke, still off to the side, showed me an ugly snarl. "You can't think this will help you. The world will still see you as you really are."

  "That's what I'm hoping," I muttered.

  Flemming turned to Stockton. "I'm having second thoughts. I'm not sure we should go through with it."

  "Oh, no," the reporter said. "You were the one who called me, you were the one who arranged this whole thing, I want my story—it's out of your hands."