Kitty Goes to Washington

'This and that. About being a vampire. I was—how would you call it?—a native informant.' He started pacing, hands in his trouser pockets, gaze downturned. 'I'll give him this much, he knows his subject. At least, he knows enough to know where to find us, if he wants to. Then, would you believe he simply asks nicely? He proves how much he knows, and you don't feel bad about answering his questions. You become just another data point. There's nothing more to it.'

I had a hard time picturing Flemming traveling the streets, finding his way to a place like the Crescent, notepad and tape recorder in hand, and asking nicely.

'What did you tell him? What's it like being a vampire?'

He looked away for a moment, his gaze distant and thoughtful. It seemed he did have another personality buried in there somewhere.

'Time almost stands still,' he said. 'The world seems to freeze for a moment. You're able to study every little piece of it. All the microscopic points become clear. And you move through this world like a lion on the veldt. You realize everything is yours for the taking. All you have to do is reach out and grab hold of anything you like. Anyone you like.'

In the next beat of time he stood beside me. Brushing my hair aside, he breathed against my neck, a faint, warm sigh. No teeth, no threat, only a caress. I shivered, but didn't move away from him. For some reason, I didn't move away.

'Is that what you expected to hear?' he said.

I turned and glared. But he hadn't done anything. They were only words.

I knew better than anyone what a person could do with mere words.

'Is that what being a vampire is all about?' I said. 'Is that why you're such an arrogant prick?'

He laughed. 'An arrogant prick? Really? I suppose that's how it must appear to the rest of you. But to us, you're little more than a bit of hair floating on the breeze. We don't care what you think.'

'Not all vampires are like that. I've met some who are reasonable human beings.' One or two. Maybe. 'That's all Flemming's doing? Collecting stories? Gathering true-life accounts?'

'I'm sure that's not all he's doing. He's a medical doctor, isn't he? He's probably doing some blood tests on the side. I know I would.' He licked his lips.

'What if I told you Flemming has a lab with holding cells? One of them has garlic in the paint, like it was meant to subdue a vampire. What if it looked like he was holding test subjects against their wills?'

His gaze had been wandering, studying the room as if he were a fan of interior design, unconcerned. Now, he focused on me, suddenly interested. I almost took a step back. Though if I'd taken one step, I might have gone ahead and run all the way out of the room. Leo's interest was not something I wanted.

'That would be extremely dangerous and foolish of him if he had done so,' he said. 'Even if he could trap a vampire, he could never again release it—and survive.' His lips parted and he showed his teeth, the sharp points of his fangs.

'Unless he's really good with a stake,' I said.

'In-deed ?' That British accent could make one word take on a world of meaning.

'Ah, Kitty, you've returned.' Alette, queen of her domain, strode into the foyer, smartly dressed and elegant as always, looking like she was on her way from one task to another. She acknowledged Leo with a nod and stopped before me to regard me with that prim nod that made me feel like I'd somehow fallen short of her standards, and that I would always fall short. 'I expected you back some time ago. I hope your tardiness means you've had a productive afternoon?'

This was where I ponied up that information I promised her. The only question was, how much did I tell her? 'I've learned that Flemming has holding cells for vampires and werewolves in his lab. I think he's been keeping test subjects against their wills.'

'By test subjects you mean vampires and lycanthropes? Do you know how he could possibly hold such beings against their wills?' Her disbelief was plain in her tone.

'I don't know, but he's done it,' I said, frustrated. 'Here, look at this. He's been talking to people.' I showed her the list, being sure to point out Leo's name on the first page.

Alette looked at him. 'You've been speaking with Flemming?'

I wanted Leo to squirm like a kid who'd been caught lying. I wanted him to blush, look abashed, duck his gaze, something. He stood quietly and completely unruffled.

'Yes,' he said. 'I have. The good doctor's been going around collecting folktales. I talked to him on the assumption that such conversations work both ways. I've been a bit of a double agent, if you like.' He flashed his devil-may-care smile.

'You didn't see fit to tell me of this?' Alette said.

'Because I didn't learn anything. Which leads me to think he isn't hiding anything.' He said this pointedly to me. 'He really is just an earnest scientist in danger of losing his funding.'

Why didn't I buy that?

Alette did. She gave a satisfied nod and handed the pages back to me. 'Have those cells been recently occupied?'

'I couldn't tell,' I said. I hadn't smelled anything. 'I don't think so.'

'We'll continue to watch Flemming. Your vigilance should be commended, Kitty. But don't let it become paranoia.'

Leo said to Alette, 'My dear, you seem to be in the middle of some chore. Might I be of service to you?'

'Always, Leo.' He offered her his arm, and she took the crook of his elbow. She gave me one last glance over her shoulder as they left the foyer.

I had no way of knowing who to believe. I wanted to think well of Alette, and if she trusted Leo I shouldn't question it. She'd known him longer than I had. Maybe Flemming really was harmless, and all the cloak-and-dagger shenanigans with Cormac had been a waste of time. I felt like I was working my way through a maze. I hated mazes.

This town was getting to me.

Chapter 7

Thursday was exploitative celebrity day at the hearings.

There was me, of course. I'd been told I might testify today, if the committee had time. Ben told me not to hold my breath. I was thinking of starting a pool among the press corps to guess when I'd actually be called up.

The good senators had called in others who'd made themselves famous based on the stuff of magic and the supernatural, and the others arrived today.

Waiting in the hallway outside the hearing room, a swarm of people collected around a lone figure, a slick-looking man in his thirties who smiled amiably. At first I thought the people surrounding him were reporters, but then the man took one of the notepads, signed his name on it, and handed it back. I recognized him, then: that easygoing smile, the fashionably trimmed sandy hair, the clean features that made him instantly likable and trustworthy. Jeffrey Miles, professional psychic and channeler.

He was best known on the daytime talk show circuit, where he impressed the hosts and awed the audiences with his intimate knowledge of their friends and relatives who had 'passed on.' He claimed to be able to communicate with the 'other side,' to deliver messages and reassurances from the dead, and to reveal information that only the deceased or the audience member could have known. Classic cold readings. He appealed to the angels and Precious Moments crowd.

I leaned on the wall and smirked at the proceedings. Someone in my position—werewolf, witness to the supernatural—might have been inclined to believe in his awesome powers. Except I didn't. It was manipulative bunk, and it was people like him who made it difficult for the rest of the world to believe in people like me.

The session was set to begin, and it took security guards to clear out Miles's admirers. His geniality didn't disappear with the fans; it wasn't some mask he put on for them. He shook his head, amused, straightening his blazer as he headed toward the door.

He walked right by me without a second glance, and was through the doorway before he stopped, backed up, and turned to look at me.

'You must be Kitty Norville,' he said.

'And you're Jeffrey Miles.' I crossed my arms.

'You know—' He scratched his head and seemed suddenly uncomfortable. 'I have a confession. I hate to admit it, but I was one of those people who thought it was all a gimmick. Your show, the werewolf thing. But you really are a werewolf, and I have this urge to apologize for doubting.'

I stared, dumbfounded and speechless for maybe the third time in my entire life. The polite, socialized part of my brain scrambled to graciously accept his apology. The sarcastic part clamped down on that right away.

He was human, straight up as far as I could see, with nothing in the way of heightened senses that a lycanthrope had. I really had to know, 'How can you tell?'

'Your aura is very wild. Very animal. I only see that with lycanthropes.'

The sarcastic part of my brain started beating itself against a figurative brick wall to stifle the laughter.

'Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,' I said. 'I'm sorry I can't return it.'

'Too many documented frauds?'

'Something like that.'

He closed his eyes for a moment and visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging a bit, his face going slack, like he had fallen asleep right there on his feet. I watched, intrigued. Looked like I was going to get a free show.

Then he said, 'Theodore Joseph holds a strong place in your thoughts.'

I grit my teeth to make sure my mouth stayed closed. He might as well have punched me in the gut. I looked away before my eyes had a chance to tear up, the way they always did when I was reminded of T.J. at an unexpected moment.

My mind raced. He could have done research. He'd have known in advance that I was going to be here, he could have looked at the police record, the one where I named T.J., there were records that Miles could have easily found—

He continued. 'He says—there's nothing to forgive. Stop asking for forgiveness.'

That wasn't recorded anywhere. The police didn't know T.J. was dead. I hadn't told them that part.

I hadn't ever asked T.J. for forgiveness. Not out loud—I mean, how could I? He was dead. And it was my fault he was dead. I was so, so sorry, and maybe all these weeks I'd just wanted to say that. I wished I'd had a chance to tell him that. I wished that he were here for me to tell him.

And there was Jeffrey Miles, watching me with a quiet, sympathetic look in his eyes, wearing a grim smile.

I scrubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, but it didn't work. Tears fell.

'I'm sorry,' he said, handing me a tissue. He had it ready, like people burst into tears in front of him all the time. 'This isn't the time or place for this.'

'No, it's okay. I asked for it, didn't I?' I chuckled halfheartedly. 'I can almost hear him sometimes. You're saying it's real?' Jeffrey Miles was for real. I felt like a jackass.

'I think he's been watching out for you. Not a ghost, nothing so strong as that. But he's interested.'

'Where—where is he?'

'Even I don't know that. They come to me. I can't find them. Who was he?'

'Don't you know? I thought you were psychic.'