Kitty Takes a Holiday (Kitty Norville 3)

“How did you do?” What I meant was: how did his wolf do.

“I kept it together. But I hate how that place smells.”

I bet he did. I didn’t want to think about how it smelled. “So. What did you think of it?” I gestured to the manuscript in his lap.

Idly, he flipped through the top half of the pages, around the rubber band, wearing a studious expression. He made some noncommittal noises that might have expressed a positive or negative opinion. My anxiety increased. If the whole thing was crap, I wasn’t sure I could start over.

“I have to admit, I especially like the chapter called ‘Ten Ways to Defeat Macho Dickheadism.’ ” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Or if the joke was at my expense.

I felt like I was eight years old and begging. “But what about the whole thing? Did you like it? Is it any good? Should I just give it all up and go into accounting?”

He chuckled and shook his head. Then, he set his joking manner aside. “It’s good. It’s not what I was expecting… but it’s good. I think it’ll go over like gangbusters.”

It hadn’t turned out the way I was expecting either. The publisher came to me wanting a memoir, a look back at my past experiences. It had ended up being more about the present, and a little about the future.

“Thanks—I mean, thanks for reading it. I really needed you to read it since you and Cormac ended up in it, at least a little bit.”

“Yeah, that’s what I wasn’t expecting. But it’s subtle. You don’t use our names, but it’s all there. I don’t know how you got some kind of message, some kind of optimism out of that mess.”

“Don’t you know I’m an idealist?”

“God help us all.”

The producer from the station, a young woman, the usual public radio night owl staff, leaned in the doorway and said, “Kitty, you’ve got one minute. We have Dr. Shumacher on the line.”

“Thanks,” I said to her, and she ducked back out. To Ben I said, “You going to stay and watch

?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind.”

I didn’t. I was glad to have him around. I found the headphones, adjusted the mike, checked the monitor, found my cue sheet. I didn’t think I’d listen to Matt; I’d take as many calls as I wanted. Because when I got right down to it, everybody was right: I loved this. I’d missed it.

The on air sign lit, and the music cued up, guitar chords strumming the opening bars of CCR’s “Bad Moon Rising.” Sounded like angels. And there I was, just me and the microphone. Together again. Here we go—

“Good evening, one and all. I’m Kitty Norville, bringing you an all-new episode of The Midnight Hour, the show that isn’t afraid of the dark or the creatures who live there…”

About the Author

CARRIE VAUGHN survived the nomadic childhood of the typical Air Force brat, with stops in California, Florida, North Dakota, Maryland, and Colorado. She holds a master’s in English literature and collects hobbies— fencing and sewing are currently high on the list. She lives in Boulder, Colorado, and can be found on the Web at www.carrievaughn.com.

MORE KITTY

Here is a special sneak preview of Carrie Vaughn’s next novel featuring Kitty Norville!

Kitty and the Silver Bullet

Coming Winter 2007-2008

I hated the smell of this place: concrete and institutional. Antiseptic. But all the cleaning in the world couldn’t cover up the unhappiness, the sourness, the faint smell of urine. The anger.

The prison guard at the door pointed Ben and me to empty chairs by a table, between wall dividers, in front of a glass partition. Only a phone line would connect us to the other side.

I was shaking. I didn’t like coming here. Well, I did, and I didn’t. I wanted to see him, but even being here as a visitor made me feel trapped. The Wolf side didn’t handle it very well. Ben took hold of my hand, pulled it under the desk, squeezed it.

“You okay?” he said. Ben had been coming here once a week to see Cormac. I didn’t come quite as often—once a month. I’d never get used to this. In fact, it seemed to get harder every time, not easier. I was so tense, just being here exhausted me.

“I think so,” I said. “But this place makes me nervous.”