'But they've gotta be tough. Whole werewolf packs have gone after him—'
'And they're going up against werewolves. And weretigers, and vampires—everything. It's fighting fire with fire, Kitty.'
'So they're not really cured.'
'Oh, but they are. I never saw them shape-shift, not even during the full moon. The vampires—they walked in daylight!'
'But they retained their strength? They were still able to deal with a werewolf on equal terms?' Lose the weaknesses without losing the strengths of those conditions? Some might call that better than a cure.
'I suppose so.'
Interesting. 'Go on.'
'I was brought inside the main tent. It looked like a church service, an old-fashioned revival, with the congregation gathered before a stage. A man on the stage called to me.'
'This was Smith? What's he like?'
'He—he looks very normal.' Of course. She probably wouldn't even be able to pick him out of a lineup. I expected to be preached at, lectured with all the usual biblical quotes about witches and evildoers. I didn't care; I would have sat through anything if it meant being cured. But he didn't. He spoke about the will to change. He asked me if I wanted to change, if I had the will to help him reach into my soul and retrieve my mortality, my Me. Oh, yes, I said. His words were so powerful. Then he set his hands on my head.
'It was real, Kitty. Oh, it was real! He touched my face, and a light filled me. Every sunrise I'd missed filled me. And the hunger—it faded. I didn't want blood anymore. My whole body surged, like my own blood returned. My skin flushed. I was mortal again, alive and breathing, like Lazarus. I really was! He showed me a cross and I touched it—and nothing happened. I didn't burn. He made me believe I could walk in the sun.'
When Estelle first started talking, I thought I'd gotten someone who'd been disillusioned, who'd be ready to expose Smith's secrets and tell me exactly why he was a fake. But Estelle didn't talk like a disillusioned ex-follower. She still believed. She spoke like a believer who had lost her faith, or lost her belief in her own right to salvation.
I had to ask: 'Could you, Estelle? Could you walk in the sun?'
'Yes,' she said, her voice a whisper.
Goddamn it. A cure. I felt a tickle in my stomach, a piece of hope that felt a little like heartburn. A choice, an escape. I could have my old life back. If I wanted it.
There had to be a catch.
I kept my voice steady, attempting journalistic impartiality. 'You stayed with him for four months. What did you do?'
'I traveled with the caravan. I appeared onstage and witnessed. I watched sunrises. Smith took care of me. He takes care of all of us.'
'So you're cured. That's great. Why not leave? Why don't those who are cured ever go away and start a new life for themselves?'
'He's our leader. We're devoted to him. He saves us and we would die for him.'
She was so earnest, it made me wonder if I was being set up. But I was close to something. Questions, more questions. 'But you want to leave him now. Why?'
'It—it's so stifling. I could see the sun. But I couldn't leave him.'
'Couldn't?'
'No—I couldn't. All I was, my new self, it was because of him. It was like… he made me.'
Oh, my. 'It sounds a little like a vampire Family. Devoted followers serving a Master who created them.' For that matter it sounded like a werewolf pack, but I didn't want to go there.
'What?'
'I have a couple of questions for you, Estelle. Were you made a vampire against your will or were you turned voluntarily?'
'It—it wasn't against my will. I wanted it. It was 1936, Kitty. I was seventeen. I contracted polio. I was dead anyway, or horribly crippled at best, do you understand? My Master offered an escape. A cure. He said I was too charming to waste.'
I developed a mental picture of her. She'd look young, painfully innocent even, with the clean looks and aura of allure that most vampires cultivated.
'When did you decide you didn't want to be a vampire anymore? What made you seek out Elijah Smith?'
'I had no freedom. Everything revolved around the Master. I couldn't do anything without him. What kind of life is that?'
'Unlife?' Ooh, remember the
'I had to get away.'
If I were going to do the pop-psychology bit on Estelle, I'd tell her she had a problem with commitment and accepting the consequences of her decisions. Always running away to look for a cure, and now she'd run to me.
'Tell me what happened.'
'I was mortal now—I could do whatever I wanted, right? I could walk in broad daylight. I was assigned screening duty at the front gate two nights ago. I lost myself in the crowd and never went back. I found a hiding place, an old barn I think. In the morning, I walked past the open door, through the sunlight—and I burned. The hunger returned. He—he withdrew his cure, his blessing. His grace.'
'The cure didn't work.'
'It did! But I had lost my faith.'
'You burned. How badly are you hurt, Estelle?'
'I—I only lost half my face.'
I closed my eyes. That pretty picture of Estelle I had made disintegrated, porcelain skin bubbling, blackening, turning to ash until bone could be seen underneath. She ducked back into shade, and because she was still a vampire, immortal, she survived.
'Estelle, one of the theories about Smith says that he has some sort of psychic power. It isn't a cure, but it shields people from some of the side effects of their natures—vulnerability to sunlight and the need for blood in the case of vampires, the need to shape-shift in the case of lycanthropes. His followers must stay with him so he can maintain it. It's a kind of symbiotic relationship—he controls their violent natures and feeds off their power and attention. What do you think?'
'I don't know. I don't know anymore.' She sniffed. Her voice was tight, and I understood now where her hushed lisp was coming from.
Matt came into the studio. 'Kitty, there's a call for you on line four.'
Four was my emergency line. Only a couple of people had the number. Carl had it. I bet it was him, still trying to be protective.
'Can't it wait?'
'No. The guy threatened me pretty soundly.' Matt shrugged unapologetically. He'd let me mess with the threats from the supernatural world. One of these days he was going to quit this gig, and I wouldn't be able to blame him. I needed to get Ozzie to give him a raise.
'Estelle, hang on for just a minute. I'm still with you, but I have to take a break.' I put her on hold, punched the line, and made sure it wasn't set to broadcast. The last thing I needed was Carl lecturing me on the air. 'What?'
'Hello, Katherine,' said an aristocratic male voice.
It wasn't Carl. Oh, no. Only one other person besides my grandmother ever called me Katherine. I'd met him only a couple of times in person, during territorial face-offs with Carl and the pack. But I knew that voice. That voice made my bone marrow twinge.
'Arturo. How the hell did you get this number?'
'I have ways.'
Oh, please. On the phone, behind the microphone, I had the power. I switched the line over to live. 'Hello, Arturo. You're on the air.'
