A sign flashed, a placard someone waved above the crowd: a vertical acronym with the words spelled out horizontally. V.L.A.D.: Vampire League Against Discrimination.
That was a new one.
I closed my eyes. This was crazy. I should have just gone home. Mom wanted me to come home. I’d called her. I was right—she hadn’t turned off the TV like I asked. But she seemed to have disassociated the images entirely. Like she’d decided that wasn’t really me. All she knew, I was in trouble and she wanted me to come home, where I’d be safe. Where she assumed I’d be safe.
“Look,” Ben said, pointing out the car window to the front door of the building. “The cops are watching the crowd. You’ll be fine.”
Fine. Right. Just dandy.
The taxi stopped, and my stomach coiled.
Ben paid the driver and said to me, “Stay there, I’ll go around and get the door.”
I waited. The driver stayed turned, looking at me over the back of the seat. Staring at me.
A lot of people were going to be staring at me in a minute. Better get used to it.
Then he said, “Hey—can I have your autograph?”
I gaped like a fish. “Really?”
“Yeah, sure. How else are the guys going to believe this?”
I bit my lip. Autopilot took over. “You got paper and pen?”
He pulled them off one of those notepads that stuck to the inside of the windshield. I wrote against the back of the seat. I had to think for a minute how to spell my own name.
“That show last night? That was something else. Hey, thanks a ton,” he said as I handed back the paper. “And good luck out there.”
“Thanks,” I murmured.
Ben opened my door.
I looked up, and the crowd made a sound. Like an avalanche, it poured over me, cheering and cursing. I caught sight of two signs, quickly scribbled posterboard jobs their bearers shook wildly. One said, BURN THE HEATHENS!
The other said, WE * KITTY!
God, this was going to be weird.
A barricaded path led from the curb to the front door. That didn’t stop people from trying to lean over, hands stretched out, reaching for me. I forced myself not to cringe. Walk tall, chin up, eyes ahead. Ben had his arm across my back, keeping me moving, using his body as a shield. This was like something out of a movie, or a cop show, or Court TV.
“I love your show, Kitty!” someone screamed off to my right. I couldn’t see who, but I flashed a smile in that direction. Cameras clicked—by the door, the press corps waited. TV cameras, photo cameras, a dozen microphones and handheld recorders reached out for me.
“Kitty! Kitty Norville! What action are you going to take against Senator Duke and Dr. Flemming? Have you spoken to the senator since last night? What are your plans? What do you think the Senate committee’s response to this will be? Kitty!”
“My client has no comments at this time,” Ben said. A couple of police officers stepped forward and cleared a path to the door.
If I thought it’d be calmer inside, I was wrong. People in suits packed the hallway. They looked official, carrying papers and briefcases, rushing around with purposeful expressions. Everyone who passed me stopped and did a double take.
“Where’d all the people come from?” I said.
“I think half of Congress is turning up for this. It’s funny, the committee doesn’t have any real power. They can just make recommendations, but it’s like everyone’s waiting for the word of God.”
I thought people were just waiting for a clue, for an idea of which way to jump: if the authority figures decided I was dangerous, a threat to society, then people could react to that. They’d know to be afraid. But if they decided I wasn’t dangerous—maybe people could let it go.
“Thanks for being here, Ben.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”