Kitty and the Silver Bullet

I crept through the next week like I was moving through a minefield—careful where I stepped, waiting for an inevitable explosion. I settled into a kind of routine, albeit a stressful one. Mostly, the stress came from waiting for the phone call about Mom's biopsy. The one that said whether she had cancer, and if so what kind and how bad, and where did things go from there. Ben and I went back to Pueblo briefly to collect a few belongings and the other car. The move to Denver was starting to feel permanent, even though I kept thinking if the test came back negative, I would flee town again.

I avoided downtown and the northwest foothills where the pack mostly ran. Anyplace where anyone supernatural hung out that I knew of, I avoided. I didn't go out much. KNOB, Ben's place, Mom and Dad's in Aurora. That was it. I caught up on a lot of reading.

Ozzie didn't clean out the supply closet formerly known as my office, but he gave me a new one, an equally cozy hole in the wall that had been waiting for a new marketing assistant that hadn't been hired yet. The place rapidly devolved into a state of messiness that made it look like I'd been working there for months. Newspapers and magazines piled at a corner of the desk, piles of letters and e-mails—I had to deal with it directly now, instead of having someone else filter it—and a radio tuned to KNOB. It felt like I never left.

Right down to the phone ringing more than I wanted it to. And it still made me jump out of my skin. It was my cell this time.

'Hi, this is Kitty,' I managed to answer in a friendly enough tone.

'Well, it's the famous werewolf Kitty Norville,' said a cynical female voice.

I knew that voice. I put a fake smile into my tone. 'Detective Hardin. Hello.'

Detective Jessi Hardin had gotten caught up in a spate of werewolf killings that happened before I left Denver. She was unusual in that I had told her a werewolf was involved, and she'd believed me, before anyone else even acknowledged the existence of werewolves. She was ahead of the curve. I liked her, except she was always calling me and asking difficult questions. I was her go-to person for cases involving the supernatural.

'A question for you: Are you keeping up with things back in Denver?'

She didn't know I was back. She'd called my cell; I could be anywhere. It felt like a tiny victory. Keeping my head down seemed to be working. Now if I could just keep from letting it slip that I was back in Denver. Then she'd start coming to see me in person, to show me bodies that had died gruesomely.

I remembered Rick's newspaper article. 'I heard about the nightclub vampire attacks. Have they got you looking into that?'

'Only on the side. The attackers were vampires, and we’ve got descriptions. We're staking out the most likely clubs—in a manner of speaking. But I've had a different problem thrown at me.'

'Oh?'

'I've just been made the head of the Paranatural Unit of the Denver PD.' Her voice was wry, like this was a big, ironic joke. 'I'm getting to write the law enforcement book on this stuff.'

'Great. Congratulations. I think. So tell me, if the cops have to lock up a werewolf on the night of a full moon, what do they do?'

'Paint the bars with silver.'

Damn, she was good. 'And what about a life sentence for a vampire?'

'That one we haven't quite worked out. I'm kind of in favor of giving the vampire a cell with a nice southern exposure.'

And this was the person writing the book on paranormal law enforcement? 'Detective, not that this isn't pleasant, but do you need something from me?'

'Can't fool you.'

'I sensed it with my keen animal instincts.'

She actually chuckled. 'Right. This whole legend about vampires and mirrors. That their reflections don't appear. How much of that is true and how much is bogus?'

I shrugged, even though she couldn't see it. The uncertainty carried into my voice. 'I don't know, I haven't really had a chance to test it.'

I should have. I should have been more observant. I'd met plenty of vampires, but at the moment I couldn't remember any relevant details, like a reflection in a glass door or a distorted image in a piece of fine china. No doubt about it, vampires were weird, and powerful in ways they didn't reveal to anyone. Had I simply failed to notice their reflective properties, or was there something about them that drew the eye, the attention, away?

'Why do you ask?' I said.

'I have to ask myself some questions: If they really don't show up in mirrors, do they show up on film? Is there something about the way they reflect light, or bend light, that keeps them from appearing in mirrors that would affect how they appear on film?'

'I don't know. I could ask around for you.'

'I'd appreciate it. I have surveillance camera footage from a convenience store robbery that happened downtown a couple days ago. It got handed to me because something about it isn't right. You can see the perpetrators, right there by the register, collecting the cash. But they're not really there. It's like they're ghosts, or afterimages. A double exposure, maybe. The clerk, the other customers, everyone else in the image is clear, except for these two blurs. And on top of that, none of the witnesses remembers what they look like. The clerk remembers being robbed, but she can't describe the thieves, can't remember what they said, if they held a gun on her, or what. It sounds fishy to me.'

It was certainly an interesting bit of speculation, though I hadn't ever heard of a vampire robbing anything. Most of them preferred to make their money with long-term investments. 'I can't recall ever seeing a photo of a vampire. But I never really asked.'

'Any lead will help. The department's resident skeptics are suggesting that 'vampire' really means 'I have no fucking clue.' I'd love to prove them wrong.'

'So if I see a couple of vampires carrying bags of cash, I should call you.'

'You got it.'

She signed off, and I was grateful that she hadn't asked when I was coming back to Denver, or asked to send me copies of the images from the surveillance footage so I could give her my opinion. I'd half expected her to.

That wasn't the only call I had that day. Oh no, they always came in droves.

The next call came to the office phone, forwarded to me from KNOB's main line. The answering voice was confident and saccharine—someone in show business. I recognized that tone. 'Hi, Kitty Norville? My name's Judy Jones, do you have a minute?'

'Sure. What've you got?'

'I'm a publicist here in New York City, and I have a client who I think you'd love to have on your show, if you'll let me arrange it.'

I got calls like this all the time. My show didn't have a huge audience, but for some people it had the right audience, which was more important. A quick interview on my show meant great free publicity for them.

I could always say no. My next question was the obvious one. 'Who's your client?'

'Have you heard of Mercedes Cook?'

'Yeah. She's a legend on Broadway. Been playing leading roles for, like, forty years. Why do you think she's a good fit for my show?'

Jones's voice took on a tone of amusement, like she was telling a joke and wasn't going to reveal the punch line. 'Ms. Norville, I'm going to have to ask you to keep the rest of this conversation in strict confidence. Can you do that?'

Could I keep a secret? I always answered that question the same way. 'Sure. What's this all about?'

'People are starting to ask questions about Ms. Cook's career. As you said, she's been playing leads for forty years. Romantic leads. She hasn't aged a day since her first spot on the chorus line in the sixties.'

A chill crept up my spine. I hadn't thought of it. I wouldn't have thought of it. I'd have written it off to plastic surgery or a great makeup job. I'd have figured Mercedes Cook was one of those lucky people who hit twenty-five and didn't seem to age for the next couple of decades. But if that was so, Judy Jones wouldn't have been calling me.

I'd never been in the same room with Mercedes Cook to smell her, to be able to tell if she wasn't quite human.

'Go on,' I said.

'After all this publicity about the paranormal over the last year, which you might be aware of—' Uh, yeah, did she think? 'People are starting to ask the right questions about Ms. Cook and her remarkable career. The bottom line is we'd prefer to make this announcement on our own terms rather than have some reporter splash this all over the nightly news. What could be more perfect, Ms. Norville? America's first celebrity werewolf conducts a live interview with America's first celebrity vampire.'

Perfect, indeed. One of the country's most beloved stars of one of its most beloved institutions—a vampire? Oh, the conservative witch hunters were going to have a field day with this. She totally hadn't been on my list—my potential vampire list that included every celebrity who looked younger than plastic surgery could explain.

And I couldn't tell anyone. Jones was smart—she'd given me a very good reason to keep the secret. I had to, if I wanted to get the exclusive story. Breaking this kind of news on my show? Ha! This was too cool.

I took a breath and tried to sound nonchalant. 'That's quite intriguing, Ms. Jones. I think I can make the time to have Ms. Cook on for an interview.' I acted like I was poking through a calendar. 'Yes, I'm sure I can fit her in. When is she available?'

'Is this week too soon? She'll be in Denver for her concert tour.'

'This week is fine.'

'I can arrange for her to come to your studio for an interview. I'm assuming that would be convenient?'

'Yes, yes, of course. I'll make sure we're set up on this end.'

'That's great. Would you like tickets for her concert?'

Why the hell not? 'That would be great. Thanks.'

'I'll be in touch.'

She clicked off, and I had my show for the week all set up. Belatedly, I realized I had admitted that I was in Denver. But surely the publicist couldn't reveal that to anyone who would cause trouble.

After the show, I'd have to call Detective Hardin and tell her that Mercedes Cook had hundreds of publicity photos and several videos of her musicals. Vampires did appear on film, and something else had robbed that store.

Chapter 4

Judy Jones reserved tickets for me for the Thursday night concert. Not only that, but I had an invitation to visit Mercedes Cook afterward, with a backstage pass. I was starting to feel like some