“Vampiresactually can smoke pot,” he said by way of introduction.
“Oh?Are you a vampire? How does that work?” Vampires technically didn’tneed to breathe to live. They drew air into their lungs in order tospeak, laugh, whatever. But did pot actually work on them?
This guy hadjust been waiting for a chance to lecture. “I am avampire, and I happen to have a long history of smoking, well, lots of things. As you know—at least I’m assumingyou know—vampires can’t ingest narcotics. We can’t ingest anything buthuman blood. But smoking narcotics? That works.” His accent wasAmerican, maybe someplace from the east coast. That didn’t tell meanything abouthow old he was or where he came from.
“Do tell me more.” The vampires I knew in real lifenever seemed to tell me anything.
“There’sa catch. You have to be full up on blood. And I mean full. When yousmoke pot, or tobacco, or opium, or”—he rattled off three more names ofthings I hadn’t even heard of—“the active ingredients enter thebloodstream through the lungs. We vampires can take in air when we needto, but we don’t need the oxygen because, well—”
“Becauseyou’re basically dead. In stasis. Whatever.”
“That’s a simplification—”
“Iwant to hear about vampires smoking pot.”
“Fordrugs to work there has to be enough blood in our systems for anythingin the lungs to transfer. Not enough blood, you’re just inhaling smoke.Really, it’s a lot faster to find someone who’s already high and taketheirs. Since you need the blood anyway. Cuts out a step, if you knowwhat I mean.”
“Ihave no idea what you mean,” I said, fascinated. “But okay.”
“Somevampires will tell you blood on its own is enough of a high, butsometimes you just want a little variety.”
“Iguess so,” I said. “Thanks so much for calling in, Ray from Seattle.”
“Happyto, love your show! We should hang out sometime! Because you knowwhat I haven’t done? Taken blood from a werewolf who’s high on pot—”
“Movingon now, we’re going to take a short break for messages, but I’ll beright here waiting for you. This is Kitty and you’re listening to The Midnight Hour.”
Meanwhile,something was happening in the booth. Three people had entered, twomen and a woman. All three were white, wore dark suits, had subduedprofessional manners. They moved in behind Matt’s chair and loomed.Matt looked around, his eyes wide, a little freaked. I caught his gazethrough the window, and he shook his head, confused.
“Hey,what’s going on?” I asked through the intercom. The public serviceannouncements playing on the air filled the background. One of the menescorted Matt out of the booth. The remaining two looked out thewindow, at me.
“Ifyou’ll stay right there, ma’am,” the woman said.
Ididn’t. I went straight for the door, which opened—and the pair of themstood blocking my way. Matt and the other agent were heading down thehall. What were they doing? They couldn’t take away my sound guy in themiddle of a show. I tried to push past, to go after him—they didn’teven flinch.
Calmingmyself, I took a steadying breath. They smelled human, plain, ordinary.Nothing unusual to speak of. I wasn’t sure why I expected them to smellominous. Probably because everything else about them was ominous. Theydidn’t even have guns, and somehow I had expected them to have guns.
Icurled my lip, showing teeth, a challenge they would have recognizedif they’d been werewolves.
“Ms.Norville? We’d like to talk to you for a few moments,” the woman said.
“Thenyou should call and make an appointment.” Their glares told me that no,they didn’t do that sort of thing. “I’m in the middle of a show, Ican’t just leave dead air.”
“Thendo something about it.”
“Idon’t suppose you’d be up for an interview? We could talk—”
“I don’tthink you want that,” the man said darkly.
Themonitor was filling up with incoming calls. I couldn’t do anythingabout it. Alrighty, then. “Fine,” I muttered, and went into the soundbooth to plug in my phone. I couldn’t leave the broadcast empty, and Ididn’t want to go hunting through the archives for past interviews Icould re-run. So I pulled up a ten-hour loop of the sax riff in“Careless Whisper” and let it play.
Thetwo agents in black were still blocking the hallway; I invited theminto the studio.
“Havea seat, Ms. Norville,” the man said.
Ididn’t. “Who are you? Can I see some badges or ID or something? Imean, obviously you’re some kind of government agents.”
“Areyou sure?”
“Yeah.The last two Men in Black who came after me weren’t from thegovernment at all, and they were way scarierthan you. You two are just . . . creepy.”
Thewoman sighed and pulled a badge out of her inside jacket pocket. Inmovies and TV, agents flashed their badges and the people looking atthem seemed to be able to take in all the information with a glance.That didn’t work in real life. I had to lean in close to study the fineprint.
“AgentMartin?” I said. “And you are?”
Theman scowled like he was revealing something important. “Agent Ivers.”
“Andwhat exactly is the Paranatural Security Administration?” I asked.
“We’rea division of the Department of Homeland Security,” Martin said.
Well,that couldn’t be good. “Why haven’t I heard about you guys before now?Because I would have heard of you guys before now.”
“We’restill a provisional agency,” Ivers said, walking around the studio,appearing to study equipment, frowning at the no-doubtsubversive-looking concert flyers and new-age festival announcementspinned to the bulletin board. KNOB was public radio, what did he expect?
“Whatdoes that even mean?” I asked.
Martinpeered at the monitor. “You get a lot of phone calls each week?”
“Itdepends on the topic, depends on the week. Things really ramp up rightaround Halloween. And Christmas, weirdly enough.”
“Doyou keep records of all the calls you receive?”
Myhackles rose, a stiffening across my shoulders. If I could havegrowled, I would have. I steadied myself, remaining cautious. “Why doyou want to know?”
“Ifyou got a suspicious call from a stalker, someone making threats. . .weknow you’ve received threats on the air. You keep some kind of recordof that to pass to the police, don’t you?”
Iwas afraid to say yes. I didn’t want to say yes. That would open a door.“Look, it’s literally the middle of the night. I think
