Kitty Goes to Washington (Kitty Norville 2)

Ben shrugged, unapologetic. “Just watch your back.”

Too many questions and not enough time to look for answers. I tossed him a mock salute before jogging out of there.

I turned my cell phone back on when I left the building. Caller ID showed three missed calls, all from my mother. I thought the worst: there’d been an accident. Someone had died. Quickly, I dialed her back.

“Mom?”

“Kitty! Hi!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

I rolled my eyes and suppressed curses. “Did you call me earlier?”

“Yes, I had to ask you, your father says he saw you on C-SPAN this afternoon at those hearings they’re doing on vampires. You were sitting in the audience. Now, I didn’t think that could possibly be right. You weren’t on C-SPAN, were you?”

I hesitated a beat. It wasn’t that she was going to be angry that I was on television. No, she was going to be angry that I didn’t tell her I was going to be on television so she could call all the relatives and set the timer on the VCR to record it.

“Dad watches C-SPAN?” I said.

“He was flipping channels,” she said defensively.

I sighed. “Yes, he probably saw me on C-SPAN. I was in the audience.”

“Well, isn’t that exciting?”

“Not really. It’s kind of nerve wracking. I’m supposed to testify at some point.”

“You’ll have to let us know when, so we can tape it.”

This wasn’t the school play. But I wasn’t going to convince her of that. “That’s cool, Mom. Look, I have someplace I need to be. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay—I’ll have to call your father and tell him about this.”

“Okay, Mom. Bye—”

“I love you, Kitty.”

“You, too, Mom.” I hung up. Why did I always feel guilty hanging up on her?

I didn’t have time to track Flemming down that afternoon. I had an appointment.

At 3:55, I was at the Crescent, sitting at the table by the bar, with a soda in front of me and a glass of schnapps in front of an empty chair. Right on schedule, the old man entered the club. He’d walked another three steps before he stopped, frozen in place, and stared at me.

I hadn’t asked how long he’d been coming here. Probably since long before Jack started working here. When was the last time someone had interrupted his routine? I could almost see his thoughts working themselves out on his furrowed, anxious face as he processed this new event, this wrinkle in his life.

I nodded at the empty chair in invitation, but I didn’t smile, and I didn’t look directly at him. Staring might have been a challenge; smiling might have showed teeth, also a challenge. I worked on being quiet and submissive, like a good younger wolf in the pack. If his body was sliding more to the wolf half, I had to assume his mind was as well, and that those were the cues he would read.

Slowly, watching me carefully the whole time, he came to the table and took the empty seat.

“What do you want?” he said in a pronounced German accent. His voice was gravelly.

“To talk. I collect stories, sort of. I’m guessing you have some pretty good ones.”

“Bah.” He took a swallow from the glass. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing at all?”