Kitty and the Midnight Hour

light over the door. I stared for a good minute before I could say anything.

'You know where I live.'

'Wasn't hard to find out,' he said.

'Am I going to have to move now?'

He shrugged. 'The place is kind of a dump. I thought you'd be making better money than this.'

He didn't have to know about Carl's payoff. 'Maybe I like it here. What do you want?'

My neck was tingling. I needed to get the hell out of here. But he wasn't armed tonight. At least not that I could see. Without all the guns he looked less like a hit man and more like a good-guy biker.

'You remember that cop? Hardin? She got in touch with me about those murders.'

Just like that, the anxiety went away. The big picture took over. Being pissed off that someone was going behind my back took over. 'Really? She told me she didn't trust you enough to talk to you about it.'

'She seems to have the idea that you're too loyal to your 'kind' to be any help.'

'Just because I wouldn't name names.'

'Do you have a name?'

'No. Geez, it's like thinking that because someone's—I don't know, an auto mechanic—that they know every other auto mechanic in town.'

'Werewolves are a little less common than mechanics.'

I changed the subject 'Why are you helping her? Last time I talked to her, she wanted to prosecute you for stalking and attempted murder.'

'She offered to keep off my back if I helped catch this guy.'

Hardin knew how to be everyone's friend. 'Convenient.'

'I thought so.' He paced a couple of steps toward me. 'Listen. You have information about this killer that I can't get—the scent. Is there something you're not telling the cops?'

I huffed. 'I didn't recognize the scent. It's not one of ours. At least I don't think it is.'

'Okay. I'm not the cops. I'm not territorial about information. We can get closer to catching this guy if we pool what we know.'

'What do you know?'

'How to kill werewolves.'

'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'

'No.'

Defeated, I let out a sigh. 'What do you want me to do?'

'If you see this guy, give me a call. You go places I don't, meet people I can't. You have contacts.'

'You don't agree with Hardin? You don't think I'll protect him just because he's a werewolf?'

'I think you'll do the right thing. You have my number.' He turned to walk away.

'Who owes who a favor now?'

He glanced over his shoulder. 'Don't worry, I'm keeping track.'

Matt leaned against the doorjamb between the sound booth and studio. 'Kitty? There's a live one on line three. Might be a crank, but she sounds like she's really in trouble. You want it?'

I could say no. This was my show, after all. It would be a lot easier and better for everyone if I transferred her to a hotline. Too bad there wasn't a hotline for troubled vampires and werewolves.

I nodded, listening to my current caller's ornate commentary about miscegenation and purity of the species. Standard canned reactionary rhetoric.

'Uh-huh, thank you,' I said. 'Have you considered a career as a speechwriter for the Klan? Next caller, please.'

'Oh, thank you! Thank you!' The woman was sobbing, her words unintelligible around the hysterics.

'Whoa, slow down there. Take a breath. Slow breaths. That's a girl. Estelle? Is this Estelle?'

She stopped hyperventilating somewhat, matching her breathing to my calm words. 'Y-yes.'

'Good. Estelle, can you tell me what's wrong?'

'They're after me. I'm hurt. They're coming after me. I need help.' Her words came faster and faster. My heartbeat sped up along with them. Her voice lisped, like she held her mouth too close to the phone.

'Wait a minute. Explain your situation. Who's after you?'

She swallowed, loud enough to carry over the line. 'Have you heard of Elijah Smith? The Church of the Pure Faith?'

I stood and started pacing. More than heard of him, I was almost ready to show up at his door and let him have at me just to learn something new. I so wanted to expose him for a charlatan. Right now, the church caravan was parked some sixty miles away from the studio.

'Yes, I've heard of them.'

'I left. I mean—I want to leave. I'm trying to leave.'

'Oh. I mean—oh.' I, who made my living by my voice, was speechless. No one had ever left the Church of the Pure Faith. None of Smith's followers had ever been willing to talk about him.

I had so many questions: What was she? Had she gone looking for a cure? Did it work? What was Smith like? This was the interview I'd been waiting for.

'Okay, Estelle. Let me make sure I'm clear on this. You are—what, vampire? Lycanthrope?'

'Vampire.'

'Right. And you went to the Church of the Pure Faith seeking a cure for vampirism. You met Elijah Smith. You—were you cured? Were you really cured?' What would I do if she said yes?

'I—I thought so. I mean, I thought I was. But not anymore.'

'I'm confused.'

'Yeah,' she said, laughing weakly. 'Me, too.'

Estelle sounded exhausted. How long had she been running? The night was half over. Did she have a safe place to spend the day? And why had she called me!

Witnesses. We were live on the air. Thousands of witnesses would hear her story. Smart. Now if only I could live up to her faith in me.

'Are you safe for the moment? Are you in a safe place or do you need to get out of there right now? Where are you?'

'I lost them, for now. I'm in a gas station; it's closed for the night. I'll be all right until dawn.'

'Where, Estelle? I want to send you help if I have to.'

'I don't think I want to say where. They might be listening. They might follow you here.'

This was going to be tough. One step at a time, though. I covered my mouthpiece with a hand and called to Matt. 'Check caller ID, find out where she's calling from.' Through the booth window I saw him nod. I went back to Estelle. 'When you say they're after you, do you mean Smith? Do you mean his people? Do they want to hurt you?'

'Yes. Yes!'

'Huh. Some church. Why don't people leave him?'

'They—they can't, Kitty. It's complicated. We're not supposed to talk about it.'

Matt pressed a piece of paper against the booth window, pay phone—unknown, it read.

'Estelle? Walk me through the cure. You saw a poster announcing a church meeting. You showed up at the tent. How long ago was this?'

She was breathing more calmly, but her voice still sounded tight, hushed, like she was afraid of being overheard. 'Four months.'

'What happened when you got there?'

'I arrived just after dark. There was a group of tents, some RVs, campers and things. They were circled and roped off. There were guards. About eight of us gathered at a gate. There was a screening process. They patted us down for weapons, made sure none of us were reporters. Only the truly faithful ever get to see Smith. And—I wanted to believe. I really wanted to believe. One of the people they searched, I think he was a werewolf—they found a microphone or something on him, and they threw him out.'

They threw out a werewolf. That took some doing. 'People who've tried to break into the Church have met up with considerable force. Who works on the security detail?'

'His followers—everyone who lives and works in that caravan is a believer.'