Kitty Goes to Washington (Kitty Norville 2)

I probably didn’t look too fresh, blonde hair plastered to my face with sweat. It wasn’t summer, but the city was having a balmy fall. A sticky humidity dampened the autumn air.

I hadn’t even thought about the distances involved. Most tourists would probably think it was crazy, trying to cram a

s much as I had into that little time. But I wasn’t even tired. It was one of those times when being a werewolf had its advantages. I could run for miles.

“This place is incredible,” I said. “I ran to the Air and Space Museum to see the Wright Flyer, the Natural History Museum to see the Hope Diamond and the dinosaurs, and the American History Museum to see the Star Spangled Banner. They also have Mr. Rogers’ sweater, did you know that? One of them, at least, the guy must have had like a hundred. This has got to be the most culturally valuable square mile in the U.S.” I’d hit the highlights in the big museums, making a sprint out of it. I didn’t know when I was going to get another chance to sightsee this week.

He stared at me, wearing a mocking smirk.

“What?” I said with a whine, a little put-out.

“You actually got teary-eyed when you saw the Star Spangled Banner, didn’t you? You been to Arlington Cemetery yet? You see Kennedy’s grave?”

I had teared up. I wasn’t going to admit it. “Not yet. I was going to do that tomorrow after the hearings.”

“That’ll push you over the edge, I bet. Bring Kleenex.”

I pouted. “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“Why not? You’re a sentimentalist. I didn’t know that before.”

“So I’m a sentimentalist. So what? What does that make you?”

“A lawyer.” He didn’t even have to think about it. He continued straight to business. “You know who’s chairing this committee you’re testifying for?”

I didn’t. I’d been busy with the show, the chance to interview Flemming, and traveling. I had Ben to worry about the rest, right? “No.”

“You aren’t going to like it.”

How bad could it be? “Who is it?”

“Joseph Duke.”

I groaned. Senator Joseph Duke was a witch-hunting reactionary. Literally. As in, in a world when such things were still mostly considered myth and fairy tale, Duke ardently believed in witches, vampires, werewolves, all of it, and felt it was his God-given duty to warn the world of their dangers. An earnestly religious constituency kept him in office. I’d had him on the show a few weeks ago. He’d promised to pray for my soul. It shouldn’t have surprised me. He probably saw these hearings as vindication, his chance to declare to the world that he was right.

“It could be worse,” I said hopefully.

“Yeah. You could be a communist werewolf.” He gestured to the opposite chair. In front of it, as requested, was a mostly red steak on a plate. I sat and didn’t feel much like eating.

“What’s your story?” he said.

I told him. I tried to make it sound not quite so dangerous. But he gave me that frowning, are you crazy? look anyway.

He huffed. “The Master vampire of the city decided to make you her personal houseguest? I don’t have to tell you that’s creepy, do I?”

“I know. But she isn’t all that bad.”

“Kitty. She’s a vampire.”

“Yeah, and I’m a slavering werewolf. I get it.”

“Listen, they’ve cobbled these hearings together at the last minute. I couldn’t get the staff to give me a schedule of when witnesses are testifying. They’re probably not going to call you tomorrow. I’m thinking they’ll spend a couple days grilling Flemming. We should go and sit in, to see what kind of tone they set. Get a feel for the room, that sort of thing.”

And it wouldn’t hurt hearing what Flemming had to say. See if his answers to the senators were any less evasive than the ones he gave me.

“What do we know about Flemming?” I asked Ben.

“Whatever’s been in the news. He’s a doctor, he’s been on the fringes of some pretty whacked-out research. You probably know more than I do.”