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“But—”
I hung up on her, sorry I had only a button to slam and not a whole handset, which would have been more satisfying. Not that I wanted to lose my temper. Not that I was feeling violent.
I couldn’t take another call right now. I couldn’t stand another call. I couldn’t deal with another not-problem. It was all I could do not to lean into the mike and yell, “Get a life.”
But I’d get over it.
“Sorry, people. My tolerance for bull seems to have gone way down lately. I hope you’ll understand and forgive me, but I think for tonight I’ve just about had it for calls. I’d like each and every one of you out there to consider your problems for a moment and consider that maybe they’re not as epic as you think they are. The solution may be staring you in the face. Or it may be you’ve let a mere a
God, I was going to start crying again if I kept this up. No crying. I was just having a bad night. Fortunately, Matt in the sound booth tapped his watch, telling me time was up. I took a breath, reset my mental state, and managed to sound cheerful when I gave my usual wrap-up.
“This is Kitty Norville, voice of the night. Stay safe out there, people.” The on-air sign dimmed, and I sat back, exhausted.
The mass murder I’d managed to escape had been all over the news. I’d spent the last show talking about it, fielding questions, condemning the kinds of people who perpetrated these crimes, but mostly talking about my friends who’d died. Begging the world, or whatever part of it listened to the show, not to let anything like this happen again. Be kind to each other.
The same message I tried to deliver every week: be kind. Not that it was helping.
“Kitty?” Matt said.
“I’m fine,” I said flatly, before he could ask the question.
He hesitated, then said, “Okay.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
And I wanted people to stop fussing over me.
The police, working with the FBI, had pieced together most of the story, and it wasn’t pretty.
Joey Provost really was a TV producer and really had been working for SuperByte Entertainment for several years. But he also had ties to a couple of whacked-out right-wing “clubs” that promoted various shades of fascism and gun mania, and the members all had impressive weapons collections stashed at home. Through those leads, he’d met Cabe and Valenti. Cabe was the hunter among them, with a fascination for the supernatural. He’d probably done most of the nitty-gritty pla
None of the three had prior criminal records, but their activities, known associates, and known obsessions were indicative. None of it raised flags until you put the three of them together and added lighter fluid. Individually, they never would have acted. Together as their own little army, they egged each other on to destruction. Their egos, their sense of superiority, had never let them think for a moment that they could fail. I remembered Valenti, in Anastasia’s arms, as the full realization of what was happening to him dawned. And maybe Anastasia was right, and they’d been encouraged by someone like Roman.
They’d pla
I’d called the families of Jerome, Lee, Ariel, and Jeffrey. Not that there was anything I could say. But I was one of the last people to see their loved ones alive and wanted to bear witness. My chattiness failed me, of course. All I could say was I’m sorry, which was so inadequate.
As far as I could tell, Gemma and Dorian didn’t have families. I couldn’t track them, except through Anastasia, and she already knew how I felt.
Like he often did, Ben picked me up after the show. I climbed in the passenger seat, and he didn’t say a word, for which I was grateful. He just leaned over, touched my face, and kissed my cheek, resting his lips there for a long time. I leaned into the touch.
It was going to be okay.
Tina survived. She got better. The first time I saw her back on her own show, I cheered. Her cohosts were babying her, I could tell. They wouldn’t let her carry any equipment and helped her out of their van. That she didn’t argue with them said a lot about how hurt she really was. But she was back in action, and it felt like a big middle finger to Provost and company. We talked often, but not about Jeffrey. When she was ready, she’d bring him up. Me—I had no doubt he was still around, looking out for her.
Conrad also lived, and so did his leg. I got e-mails from him all the time. Updates, pictures of his kids—at the pool, on the beach, playing ball. Conrad was still processing. For him, the only way to believe that it had all happened was to keep in touch with our insane little survivor group. Whatever worked. He was also pla
Grant came to see me at my office a couple of weeks after. He’d spent time in Montana recuperating and was on his way to Vegas to return to his magic show. Another middle finger to the bad guys. When he sat down in the chair across from my desk, he moved slowly. He still looked ill, which was disconcerting. He was one of the strongest people I knew, but his face sagged, shadows marking his eyes. He sat unevenly, favoring his left, injured side.
We studied each other for a long moment. Hunting for the nonvisible scars.
“Well,” I said. “We made it.”
Ducking his gaze, he hid a smile. “I admit, I had some doubts for a while.”
“Naw, I never did,” I said, gri
“How are you holding up?” he said, when I should have been the one asking.
I sighed. “I’m very, very angry. And I think Anastasia’s right. There’s a war brewing.”
“But Roman wasn’t involved with this.”
“Maybe not directly. Maybe not literally. But I think they’re both symptoms of the same thing,” I said.
“Good versus evil?” he said, brow raised.
I shrugged. “Let’s say order versus chaos. Kindness versus fear. No, never mind. False dichotomies, all of them.”
His smile quirked. “You’re learning.”
“Anastasia wanted you to have her card.” I handed him the copy I’d made of it.
He didn’t look at it but folded the page with scarred hands and tucked it in a pocket. “So Roman is recruiting his alliance, and Anastasia is recruiting hers. Do you wonder where this is all going to end?”