Kitty and the Midnight Hour (Kitty Norville 1)

“I’m attached to a government agency—”

“Which one?”

“Never mind that. I shouldn’t even be talking to you like this—”

“Oh, give me a break!”

“I’ve wondered for some time now what your motivations are in doing your show.”

“Let me at least take a guess. Are you with the NIH?”

“I’m not sure the idea would have occurred to someone who didn’t have a . . . personal . . . interest.”

A chill made my hair stand on end. This was getting too close.

I said, “So, are you with the CDC?”

A pause, then, “Don’t misunderstand me, I admire the work you’re doing. But you’ve piqued my curiosity. Ms. Norville—what are you?”

Okay, this was just weird. I had to talk fast to fend off panic. “What do you mean, ‘what am I?’”

“I think we can help each other. An exchange of information, perhaps.”

Feeling a bit like the miller’s daughter in Rumpelstiltskin, I took a wild stab. “Are you with the CIA?”

He said, “See what you can find on the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology.” Then he hung up.

Great, I had my own personal Deep Throat.

Hard to focus on work after that. I kept turning the conversation over in my mind, wondering what I’d missed and what someone like that could accomplish by calling me.

I couldn’t have been brooding for more than five minutes when the phone rang again. I flinched, startled, and tried to get my heart to stop racing before I answered. I was sure the caller would be able to hear it over the phone.

I answered warily. “Hello?”

“Kitty? It’s your mother.” Mom, sounding as cheerful and normal as ever. I closed my eyes and sighed.

“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”

“You never told me if you were going to be able to make it to your cousin Amanda’s wedding. I need to let them know.”

I had completely forgotten. Mostly because I didn’t, under any circumstances, want to go. Weddings meant crowds. I didn’t like crowds. And questions. Like, “So when is it going to be your turn?” Or, “Do you have anyone special?”

I mean, define special.

I tried to be a little more polite. Mom didn’t deserve aimless venting. I pulled out my organizer.

“I don’t know, when is it again?” She gave me the date, I flipped ahead to next month and looked. The day after the full moon. There was no way I’d be in any kind of decent shape to meet the family the day after the full moon. I couldn’t handle being nice to that many people the day after the full moon.

Now if only I could think of an excuse I could tell my mother.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got something else going on. I’ll have to miss it.”

“I think

Amanda would really like you to be there.”

“I know, I know. I’m really sorry. I’ll send her a card.” I even wrote myself a note to send her a card, then and there. To tell the truth, I didn’t think Amanda would miss me all that much. But there were other forces at work here. Mom didn’t want to have to explain to everyone why I was absent, any more than I wanted to tell her why I was going to be absent.