Kitty's House of Horrors

now, when they’re underground, they don’t have to put on a good face for anyone. And when the people they’re hunting are also underground, so that no one misses them when they disappear, there’s no accountability, no due process, and sometimes no justice.”

Except in rare cases, like Cormac’s, when he’d been justified in making the kill—and had been convicted for it anyway. The no-win situation. I wasn’t going to bring that up if I could help it, which was part of why this topic was making me nervous. It was hitting too close to home. Never mind having to talk to listeners who clearly wanted people like me dead. Weren’t they supposed to be fans?

This guy wasn’t buying it. “Let’s face it, people like that have been around for centuries, right? And the freaks haven’t taken over yet, so it must be working. What’s wrong with letting them do their jobs?”

Sometimes I thought my listeners were the smartest people around. Sometimes I despaired for the human race.

I said, “I think the question at hand isn’t whether or not these hunters should go public, but whether they should be regulated by the government. Licensed, trained, paid regular salaries. Made an extension of existing law enforcement. Hell, train existing law enforcement and let them do the same job for supernatural citizens that they do for everyone else. It’s already happening—the police department right here in Denver has a paranatural unit now.”

The guy’s mocking tone was clear. “Oh yeah, that’ll bring a whole lot of protection and justice to the system.”

“Come on, people, have a little faith. You have to start somewhere or you end up with anarchy. You end up with guys claiming to be vampire hunters running around staking whoever they please in a self-proclaimed war against evil. Next call, please. Kansas City, you’re on the air.”

“I’m one of those bounty hunters you’re talking about. And let me tell you, you have no idea what’s out there.” The voice was female, with an edge. She sounded like someone who was under a lot of stress. Someone who was used to fighting—all the time. She went on. “Vampires and werewolves aren’t even the half of it. Demons, incubi, zombies, warlocks—there’s a battle for good and evil out there, and the only thing standing between nice people like your listeners and total chaos are people like me who are willing to sacrifice everything to keep the rest of you safe. And what thanks do we get? Scars and trauma, and not a whole lot else. Naive do-gooders trying to shut us down when you all ought to be on your knees thanking us.”

I stared at the mike, because I could think of only one thing to say, and I knew it was the wrong thing. But I couldn’t help it; I said it anyway.

“I’m sensing a lot of anger here.”

A beat. Then, “Excuse me?”

“Anger. You know: ire, hostility, rage, fury. You have some.”

“Oh, you have no idea. I’m angry about a lot of things.”

I leaned in, getting ready for a nice long chat. I had a wedge with this one, and she seemed willing to talk. We were going to do some digging. Hell, if she didn’t like it, she could always hang up. But I didn’t think she would, because she was the one who’d called me, and if she hung up now, then I’d just keep talking about her without her input. I loved this gig.

“Why is that?”

“This is a war,” she said. “I’m one of the few people out there who are doing something about it. Of course I’m angry!”

“A war? Isn’t that a little melodramatic? Most people will go through their whole lives and never encounter anything remotely supernatural. Or at least not recognize it. In my experience, most of this stuff prefers to stay out of sight.”

“It stays underground because it’s afraid of people like me. Not that anybody knows it.”

My own problems were temporarily forgotten, because this was interesting. Brain wheels were turning, giving me an idea. My caller wouldn’t like it. “Let me try something out on you. You’re not really angry about this so-called war you’re talking about. You’re angry because you don’t get any appreciation. Because you’re not getting enough love. Am I right?”

“What?” she spat. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I don’t expect anyone to hand me a medal.”

Oh, but I was just getting started. “See, I don’t think you’re as tough as you think you are. Or as tough as you work so hard to make other people think you are. I think you use violence to cover up a lot of insecurities. You have to be the biggest, baddest beast on the block. But that gets kind of lonely, doesn’t it? You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

“You think in this line of work I can trust anyone? You’re more naive than I thought.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“As a matter of fact, I have several.” She sounded smug, bragging.

“Really? How is that working out for you?”

She actually sighed, the barest sign she’d let her guard down. “Not very well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She hadn’t called to argue with me. She’d called because she needed to vent. She needed to gush. And gush she did. “It’s so hard when you can’t count on the people close to you. They’re great guys, they really are, but I feel like they’re always judging me. Of course they are—they’re way too good for me. They deserve someone better, someone who isn’t always getting into trouble, who doesn’t have my temper. Someone prettier.”

“Whoa, hold on there, what has that got to do with anything?” I said.

“I just want people to like me. But how can I afford to be nice, doing what I do?”

I turned off the snark. “You’re a really strong woman, I can tell. You fight a lot of battles, you stand up to a lot of really bad stuff. I get that. So tell me something: why don’t you feel better about yourself? Don’t you think there’s a certain strength to be had in standing tall, in thinking you’re beautiful and acting that way? You don’t have anything to prove, right?”

“Easy for you to say—everybody loves you.” She sniffed. Now I wanted to feed her chocolate and give her a big hug.

“Honey, some days I’m not too sure about that. But ever onward, I say. I gotta tell you, I think we’re a little out of my league here and I’m really not qualified to offer you guidance. Have you thought about getting counseling?”

She huffed, and whatever moment of honesty and openness had passed. The defenses slammed back into place. “Counseling? I don’t need help. I’m not weak.” She clicked off.

I sighed. “Alrighty, then. Public service announcement here: there’s no shame in getting help. Really. Honest. We’re all in this together, and life is a little easier when we act like it. Well, it looks like we’re out of time. Alas. Now, for next week I’m trying to dig up information on a vampire-only beauty pageant held in New York City last month. Apparently it was all very hush-hush and no one’s talking about it. But I’m bound and determined to bring the winner of that pageant on the show for an interview. Join me for the next exciting Midnight Hour. This is Kitty Norville, voice of the night.”

Two weeks later, I was set to go.

Ben and I stayed awake for a long time the night before I had to fly to Montana. I was still contemplating backing out of the whole thing. If he’d told me right then that he didn’t want me to go, I’d have called it off and stayed, just for him.

But we were both trying to pretend that neither of us was that needy.

We’d made love, then made love again, and now lay sweaty and tired, arms around each other. I absently ran my fingers through his hair—scruffy and tangled no matter how much I combed it and smoothed it. It was amazing how long I could focus on his hair. I was comfortable, with his arms around my middle holding me to him like I was a giant pillow. His face nuzzled at my neck, moving along the skin, around my ear, into my hair, as he breathed deeply all the while. Like he was trying to memorize my scent.

“I can’t smell that good,” I whispered.

“Yes, you can,” he whispered back. “I’m not going to wash the sheets ’til you get back.”