Kitty Steals the Show

of Satan, don’t you think I’d know it? Wouldn’t I have some sense of it? Wouldn’t I actually, you know, go around trying to do horrible things to people? To be a minion of Satan don’t you have to decide to be a minion of Satan? I guarantee you I didn’t make that choice.”

She huffed with apparent exasperation. “You must have done something. You may not have consciously chosen to become a werewolf, but something set you on that path and put you in Satan’s way and here you are, spreading your lies and propaganda.”

That actually stopped me for a moment, my jaw opening at the start of a word, only I couldn’t decide which one. I didn’t think much of her God, if that was the world she lived in.

“You’re saying I was attacked and left in the woods to die as punishment? Really? What could I have possibly done to deserve that?” My question held a tone of bafflement.

I didn’t think she’d actually have an answer for me. I should have known better. “I know this is a personal question and you’re probably hoping to keep this secret—but at some point in your life you had an abortion, didn’t you?”

If she’d been on the phone I’d have hung up on her by now. The perils of the in-person interview. I needed a moment to shuffle through any number of inappropriate responses, and there were oh so many of them.

I finally leaned back in my chair and regarded her, my expression stony. “So that’s what it takes to become a minion of Satan, is it? Good to know. For future reference. So what do men have to do?”

Her lips pressed even tighter. “Mock me all you want, but I’m right. We’re all right, and you and all your ungodly scientist friends will burn in hell.”

“We have to believe in hell first.”

“You may not believe in Satan and hell, but they certainly believe in you,” she announced, giving a decisive nod.

I had to think about that for a minute before answering, “I don’t think that’s how that saying usually goes.”

“It’s still true.”

“Actually, I think it’s irrelevant. I’m a werewolf. I’m not a bad person. A lot of the werewolves I know aren’t. Even a big chunk of the vampires I know aren’t bad people. And yet you’d condemn us all?”

“That’s right.” She beamed like she’d scored a point.

Time to get out while the getting was good. “All righty then. Anything else you’d like to tell my listeners before I kick you out?”

“No. And I’ll show myself out.” She did just that, yanking off the headset and practically launching herself from her seat to march to the door. She turned the wrong way into the hall and had to march back across the doorway in the other direction. I’d have laughed if I hadn’t been gritting my teeth.

“And that’s a special kind of crazy for you,” I said into the mike. “Once again, that was Tracy Anderson of Truth Against the Godless, which has been protesting the conference all week because they think Satan is in charge, or something. I dunno. Let’s take a break, and when we come back I’ll have another guest on for you.”

The recording light went out, and I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hair.

Matt talked at me from the Skype call on the laptop. “Kitty, why do you love baiting these people so much? You know what they’re going to say, and you’re not going to change their minds.”

“Know thine enemy,” I said tiredly. “People have to know the crazies are out there.”

“Well, you sure know how to find them.”

“I keep thinking if I give them enough rope they’ll hang themselves right on the air and I can save my breath.”

“If a whole crowd of people like that are protesting out there, you must be having a hell of a time.”

He didn’t know the half of it, all the crap I wasn’t talking about on the air or anywhere else. “It’s been … interesting. But good. I have to think the good guys are winning.”

“Who’s defining good?”

Yeah, that was the problem, wasn’t it? In her own mind, Tracy Anderson thought she was freaking Joan of Arc. I thought she was a petty little woman with fears so gigantic she had to lash out at something to feel safe. Werewolves and vampires were pretty easy targets, all things considered. I almost understood it.

Didn’t make it right.

Chapter 13

I FINISHED MY interviews well after dark, and was cranky and in desperate need of some dinner. Another day gone, and the conference was already half over. Despite all my on-air proclamations to the contrary, I felt like I hadn’t accomplished anything. But I had to keep up a good front. We were supposed to be saving the world, weren’t we? Maybe I ought to set the bar a little lower. The conference was half over, and we hadn’t had any riots yet. There, that was something to be proud of.

Ben met me at the studio, and we walked back to the convention. Emma was going to meet us there with the car to take us back to the town house.

“Where’s Cormac?” I asked once we’d left the studio.

“Nick Parker invited him to dinner, and he said yes. Apparently Amelia wants to meet the family.”

“Huh. That’s so weird.”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll be good for him. He actually seems to be developing social skills.”

“You mean he can’t hide anymore,” I said.

“Yeah, that, too.”

“Hmm, to be a fly on that wall.” I wished them all well. After a hundred years in limbo, Amelia was getting a second chance. A happy ending of sorts.

“How’d your interviews go?” Ben asked.

I sighed. “Maybe Matt can fix it all in post-production.”

He chuckled. “That bad?”

I winced. “I can never tell. I got some great people to come in, recorded a couple of really great interviews. We ought to be able to get a good couple of hours of show out of it.”

“But?”

“It feels like spitting into the wind sometimes.”

“Here I was thinking this whole conference would never have happened without all your work.”

“Work, or mouthing off?”

“Yeah,” he said and put his arm over my shoulders.

“Thanks, I guess. But is it for the best? Would it have been better if this had all stayed underground?”

He waited a few steps before saying, “I don’t know.”

I tried to imagine a world in which I didn’t have my show—in which I had never announced to everyone that I was a werewolf—and had a tough time with it. I’d still be bottom of the pecking order of the pack at home, the old alphas would probably still be alive, and still beating me up. I’d have never met Alette, Emma, Dr. Shumacher, Tyler, Luis, Esperanza, or a dozen other of my friends. Including Cormac. And Ben would be dead, because I wouldn’t have been there for Cormac to bring him to, to save him after he’d been attacked.

I reached around and hugged him. “I wouldn’t want things any different.” He kissed the top of my head.

We continued on a few more steps, warm and comfortable, before Ben said, “I suppose this would be a bad time to ask you how your speech is coming along.”

I groaned. “I still haven’t written it. What am I going to do?”

“You can always wing it. That might be kind of fun.”

“For who?”

“I’d bring popcorn to that,” he said, and I fake-punched his shoulder.

We reached the hotel. A few protestors lingered, gathered behind the police barricades and holding their signs. Most of them seemed to have given up for the evening.

Vampire-centric programming would be going on now. I turned my nose to the air and watched the clumps of