Kitty Raises Hell (Kitty Norville 6)

When I returned, Ben was running his hands through his hair. “Do I look too ratty? I should probably comb my hair.”

Aw. I touched his cheek. “Yeah, but you usually look like you need to comb your hair. You’ll be fine.” We kissed, and for that moment I really did think we’d be all right.

“I’ll meet you at KNOB in time for the show.”

We said our usual “be careful” version of goodbye.

Twilight fell, evening came. I grew more nervous, because the disasters always happened at night, like the world really was divided into light and dark, good and evil. I always tried to give the world the benefit of the doubt and pay attention to the shades of gray that seemed painted everywhere. Times like these, though, it was easy to feel an inexplicable black darkness rising against me. Easy to feel the monster that dwelled inside me and believe myself doomed.

Willpower. Had to keep going. In a world that seemed determined to turn us all into monsters, I had to keep making the list of reasons to keep fighting, to keep myself whole, to stay human, sane, and good—or at least the best I could. My family, my career, chocolate. Blazing Colorado sunsets, The Clash, Jimmy Stewart and Harrison Ford movies. My friends, which I counted more of every day. And Ben.

In that mood, I slung my bag over my shoulder and went outside to my car.

On the sidewalk, I stopped abruptly as I caught a scent. Smoke, smoldering, fire waiting to burst forth. Brimstone.

My skin flushed hot. Looking around, desperate to catch a sign of it, to see a figure outlined in flame or to hear ghostly laughter, I waited for fire to consume me. I’d caught the smell as soon as I left the protective barrier the blood and ruin potion formed around the building. It had been waiting for me. But the smell was everywhere, without source.

I’d had the feeling that someone was watching me for weeks now, and not just Peter. No matter where I looked, nothing presented itself. I couldn’t spot anything. I swallowed back a whine.

“Stop stalking me!” I called, feeling like an idiot, but I could either yell at it or scream incoherently. “You want to come after me, then come after me! Face me! You could burn me to a crisp, so why don’t you?”

A grating voice chuckled.

This was what I’d been reduced to: yelling at air in my parking lot. The demon was trying to drive me crazy, and it was succeeding.

“What are you?” I said, my voice low, like a growl

. I’d attack it, I really would. If I had any idea how.

Something grabbed my wrist. I’d have sworn it was a hand, a strong, rough hand, four fingers and a thumb wrapping around me and squeezing hard, like it meant to drag me away. Gasping, I jerked away, scrambling back, cradling my hand to my chest. That chuckle sounded again, amused, mocking.

Red burn marks shone on my skin, like a sunburn, in the shape of fingers. Like a red-hot hand had grabbed me.

I managed not to scream, though I really wanted to. The only thing that kept me from running, as fast as I could without thought to direction, was my car sitting thirty feet away. I really needed to get to my car, like someone in a bad horror movie, fumbling with the keys, trembling. Except I had this feeling that a creature made of invisible fire and the scent of ashes stood between me and it. To move forward was to move toward doom.

I retreated until I pressed myself flat against the wall of the building, behind the invisible barrier. Here, the air smelled safe. I stared out. I couldn’t see anything, but my heart was racing.

I could stay here forever, lock myself inside the house and never come out. But I wanted to get this thing. I tried again, moving cautiously, paralleling the building as I set out toward my car.

The feeling of heat and the oppressive scent of danger confronted me immediately. I nearly dropped to my knees, overwhelmed, convinced that I was going up in flames. My breath came out in a sob. I clutched my chest.

What would it feel like to burn from the inside? Is this what Mick felt?

Turning, I stumbled back to the building, back behind the safe barrier, thinking, Yeah, okay, I could stay inside for the rest of my life. No problem.

A strong voice called across the parking lot in a foreign language. In a panic, I tried to think—was this the voice that channeled itself through Tina? Was the language, the words, the same? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t tell—the alien words slipped in my mind like water, I couldn’t recognize or hold them. But the meaning was clear: a command, filled with authority and anger. Like a priest performing an exorcism.

Maybe exactly like a priest performing an exorcism.

Roman marched across the parking lot. He almost seemed to be marching toward me. But his approach veered—he was talking to a space in front of me. To a thing that wasn’t there. He called to the space, his eyes blazing, his hands clenched into fists. I’d never seen a vampire so ready to do physical battle like this.

He repeated the words again, pointing this time, arms outstretched.

A roar like a flamethrower sounded, but without fire. Because it wasn’t flame, it was this thing’s voice, a scream of protest. The sound of a creature made of fire giving voice to rage.

I thought: What had I ever done to deserve this thing’s anger?

At least it wasn’t directed at me now. Roman had really pissed it off. The demon roared again, and Roman actually seemed affected, stepping back, turning his face aside, as if he had encountered a blast of fire. Fire was supposed to be one of the things that could kill a vampire. I wondered if that was true, if they burned as well as anything else organic.