“Can’t fool you.”
“I sensed it with my keen animal instincts.”
She actually chuckled. “Right. This whole legend about vampires and mirrors. That their reflections don’t appear. How much of that is true and how much is bogus?”
I shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. The uncertainty carried into my voice. “I don’t know, I haven’t really had a chance to test it.”
I should have. I should have been more observant. I’d met plenty of vampires, but at the moment I couldn’t remember any relevant details, like a reflection in a glass door or a distorted image in a piece of fine china. No doubt about it, vampires were weird, and powerful in ways they didn’t reveal to anyone. Had I simply failed to notice their reflective properties, or was there something about them that drew the eye, the attention, away?
“Why do you ask?” I said.
“I have to ask myself some questions: If they really don’t show up in mirrors, do they show up on film? Is there something about the way they reflect light, or bend light, that keeps them from appearing in mirrors that would affect how they appear on film?”
“I don’t know. I could ask around for you.”
“I’d appreciate it. I have surveillance camera footage from a convenience store robbery that happened downtown a couple days ago. It got handed to me because something about it isn’t right. You can see the perpetrators, right there by the register, collecting the cash. But they’re not really there. It’s like they’re ghosts, or afterimages. A double exposure, maybe. The clerk, the other customers, everyone else in the image is clear, except for these two blurs. And on top of that, none of the witnesses remembers what they look like. The clerk remembers being robbed, but she can’t describe the thieves, can’t remember what they said
, if they held a gun on her, or what. It sounds fishy to me.”
It was certainly an interesting bit of speculation, though I hadn’t ever heard of a vampire robbing anything. Most of them preferred to make their money with long-term investments. “I can’t recall ever seeing a photo of a vampire. But I never really asked.”
“Any lead will help. The department’s resident skeptics are suggesting that ‘vampire’ really means ‘I have no fucking clue.’ I’d love to prove them wrong.”
“So if I see a couple of vampires carrying bags of cash, I should call you.”
“You got it.”
She signed off, and I was grateful that she hadn’t asked when I was coming back to Denver, or asked to send me copies of the images from the surveillance footage so I could give her my opinion. I’d half expected her to.
That wasn’t the only call I had that day. Oh no, they always came in droves.
The next call came to the office phone, forwarded to me from KNOB’s main line. The answering voice was confident and saccharine—someone in show business. I recognized that tone. “Hi, Kitty Norville? My name’s Judy Jones, do you have a minute?”
“Sure. What’ve you got?”
“I’m a publicist here in New York City, and I have a client who I think you’d love to have on your show, if you’ll let me arrange it.”
I got calls like this all the time. My show didn’t have a huge audience, but for some people it had the right audience, which was more important. A quick interview on my show meant great free publicity for them.
I could always say no. My next question was the obvious one. “Who’s your client?”
“Have you heard of Mercedes Cook?”
“Yeah. She’s a legend on Broadway. Been playing leading roles for, like, forty years. Why do you think she’s a good fit for my show?”
Jones’s voice took on a tone of amusement, like she was telling a joke and wasn’t going to reveal the punch line. “Ms. Norville, I’m going to have to ask you to keep the rest of this conversation in strict confidence. Can you do that?”
Could I keep a secret? I always answered that question the same way. “Sure. What’s this all about?”
“People are starting to ask questions about Ms. Cook’s career. As you said, she’s been playing leads for forty years. Romantic leads. She hasn’t aged a day since her first spot on the chorus line in the sixties.”
A chill crept up my spine. I hadn’t thought of it. I wouldn’t have thought of it. I’d have written it off to plastic surgery or a great makeup job. I’d have figured Mercedes Cook was one of those lucky people who hit twenty-five and didn’t seem to age for the next couple of decades. But if that was so, Judy Jones wouldn’t have been calling me.
I’d never been in the same room with Mercedes Cook to smell her, to be able to tell if she wasn’t quite human.
“Go on,” I said.
“After all this publicity about the paranormal over the last year, which you might be aware of—” Uh, yeah, did she think? “People are starting to ask the right questions about Ms. Cook and her remarkable career. The bottom line is we’d prefer to make this announcement on our own terms rather than have some reporter splash this all over the nightly news. What could be more perfect, Ms. Norville? America’s first celebrity werewolf conducts a live interview with America’s first celebrity vampire.”