Kitty Goes to Washington

Chapter 9

He wanted the easiest prey in the area. I must have looked good. Small enough to be an easy target with enough meat to make it worthwhile.

That described me in so many ways I didn't want to think about.

He was pale, almost white, which made him glow in the moonlight. He was also big, one of the stockier wolves I'd ever seen: massive through the chest and shoulders, legs working, head low, like a battering ram. He'd plow into me and knock me over like I was nothing, then rip into me without a second thought.

But I'd survive the first few cuts. I already had lycanthropy, unlike Jeffrey and Roger. I was tough; I could take it.

Holy crap.

I dodged. At the very last possible moment I dodged and grabbed the wolf's tail. I was stronger than I looked. I kept hold of it long enough to change his momentum, to make him hesitate and look back, to pause before he adjusted the vector of his attack to where his prey had slipped.

His jaws were open, aimed at my shoulder, once again to try to shove me to the ground and hold me with his teeth. Swinging my body, I deflected his face away. Instead of locking a firm grip on my shoulder, his canines scraped down my arm. A couple of deep gouges on the bicep was better than losing a shoulder, right?

I couldn't slow down to think about how much it hurt. Jeffrey and Roger should have had enough time to get back to the car. Time to run away. I kicked the wolf's face before he could gather himself for the next attack. I had to convince him I wasn't as easy a catch as he first thought. This was a time I had to let a little bit of the Wolf into my mind. She was better at fighting than I was. Kick him, snarl at him, scare him off.

Do all that, and stay anchored to my human body as well. I didn't want to lose control of that part of myself. I didn't want to leave myself vulnerable while I shifted. And I wanted to be able to talk about this when it was finished. Assuming I was still conscious when it was finished.

The wolf hesitated. He was thinking about it. Probably because other, potentially easier prey attracted him.

"Kitty! Kitty!" A kid ran up the hill toward me—the young man I'd talked to before everything hit the fan, the one who'd just tried to join the church. "Help, I don't know what to do, you have to help me—"

"Come on." I grabbed the guy's shirt, shoved him so he was behind me, and shouted at the pale wolf. "Get out of here! Go on, get away!"

I backpedaled up the hill. "Run!" I said to the guy. "Get to the car."

I turned and followed him. I didn't dare look behind me.

We hopped the fence, first the kid, then me. Jeffrey stood by the car, holding open the passenger side door. He also held a Club—the attached to the steering wheel so the car doesn't get stolen kind of Club—in his right hand, ready to swing it like it was, well, a club. Just in case something was following.

I shoved the kid into the back and piled in immediately after him. Jeffrey jumped in the front seat and slammed shut the door.

The pale wolf crashed into the door, jaws open, slobbering on the window.

Stockton was filming it.

"Roger, would you put down that camera and drive?" I shouted.

The second time the wolf charged us, causing the whole car to rock on its wheels, Stockton put the camera down and started the engine. We pulled out onto the road a second later.

My straggler curled up in his seat. Hugging himself, he shook, sweat breaking out on his face. He mumbled, "Stop it… stop it…"

He was starting to Change. It began inside, a feeling like an animal clawing its way out. It hurt more when you tried to keep it from happening. When you couldn't stop the Change from happening.

I grabbed him, taking hold of his face and making him look at me. "Keep it together, okay? Take a deep breath. Slow breath. Good, that's good. Nice and easy, keep it together." His breathing slowed; he stopped trembling. After another moment, he even relaxed a little. Some of the tension left his arms.

He closed his eyes. He wouldn't look at me.

"What's your name?"

He needed a moment to catch his breath. "Ty. It's Ty."

"Nice to meet you, Ty." He nodded quickly, nervously, keeping his head down. I moved a hand to his shoulder—a light touch to keep him anchored in his body—and sat back.

Now maybe I could catch my breath.

I didn't want to think about the can of worms we'd opened. In the long run, Smith being gone could only be a good thing. But all those people were homeless now, and confused. And monsters. At least we were in the middle of nowhere. They could only hurt each other. Which was bad enough.

"Kitty, you're bleeding." Jeffrey stared at me between the two front seats.

Blood covered my right arm. Just looking at it sent waves of pain riding through my shoulder.

"It's okay," I said, gritting my teeth. "It'll be fine by morning."

"The rapid healing, that's true?" Stockton said. The reporter turned his camera onto me, holding it between the front seats with one hand while steering with the other and only half watching the road. "Can I watch?"

"No." I glared until he set the thing down. I took the charm off and handed it to the front seat. Roger accepted it, pulling the chain over his head. "Roger, your grandmother got you into this, didn't she? The fairy charms, the supernatural. Working for Uncharted World?"

He smiled wryly. "Some people think I'm on that show because I'm a crappy reporter. I could be on CNN if I wanted. Except I believe. No, I don't believe. I know. The supernatural—it's like any other mystery. You find enough evidence, you can prove the truth. This gig gets me closer to that." Just like Flemming. The search for truth. Stockton was just traveling a different road. "So—you sure you won't let me film you next full moon?"

"No."

"How about you, kid?"

"What?" Ty looked woozy.

"No," I said.

Stockton chuckled, entirely too amused. "Hey—where are we going?"

I found my phone in my pocket, turned it on, and hesitated, because I didn't know who I could call for help. I hated to say that my first impulse was to call Cormac. He'd know what to do with a couple dozen rogue vampires and werewolves rampaging the countryside. Unfortunately, his solution would involve lots of silver bullets and stakes, and we'd end up with a bunch of corpses. I was trying to avoid that.

My next idea was to call Ahmed. I didn't have a phone number for the Crescent, so I called information. They were able to get me through to the restaurant side. A cheery-sounding hostess whose voice I didn't recognize answered the phone.

"Good evening, this is the Crescent. May I help you?"

"Hi, yeah—is Ahmed there?"

"Who?"

A sinking feeling attacked my stomach. "Ahmed. The guy who owns the place."

"Oh! Just a moment. May I tell him who's calling?"

"It's Kitty."

She set the phone aside. I could hear the murmur of generic restaurant noises—voice talking, tableware clinking—in the background. The moment stretched on. I started tapping my foot. I didn't have a lot of time here.

A familiar, robust voice picked up the line. "Kitty! How are you?"

Situations like this made it so hard to answer that question. "I need some help, Ahmed. What would you do with a couple dozen vampires and lycanthropes who'd lost it and you wanted to get them under control so they didn't get hurt?"

I grit my teeth. When I said it out loud like that, this mess sounded ridiculous.

He hesitated for a long time, so that I had to listen to the restaurant white noise again. Then he said, "I would leave the area, and wait until morning to return to see what was left."

"But the vampires will die without shelter."

"That would not be my concern."