Kitty Rocks the House (Kitty Norville 11)

“Why?” Rick said finally.

“We need more allies. When you became Master of Denver, you came to our attention. You are already fighting for our cause—think of how much more you could do as part of our order.”

“And what of Denver?”

“Surely others can look after one city.”

“You know of Roman? Dux Bellorum?”

“We have known of him from the beginning.”

“And you couldn’t stop him before now?” I blurted.

Columban gave me the kind of look he’d give a small child who’d just brought a frog into the house. Disgusted, dismissive. Obviously, I didn’t know what I was talking about. So I looked to Rick for an answer.

“Roman has allies,” Rick said, still regarding the other vampire. “We’ve always known that. Obviously, they’re powerful allies, to stand against the Catholic Church.”

Columban couldn’t exactly admit that out loud, could he? Well then. “So what you’re saying,” I said to him, “is that you need all the help you can get.” He didn’t twitch a muscle in response.

After another long pause, Rick said softly, “This war just keeps getting bigger, doesn’t it?”

“You know how much good you could do with us,” the priest said.

“I always thought I was doing some good here,” Rick said.

“You are,” I said. The priest glared at me.

“The battle is larger than this one city.” Columban rose and smoothed his coat. “Your faith is strong. It could not be otherwise, to last so long. Think about what I’ve said. I’ll give you time,” he said, and turned to the door.

Rick stood with him, raising his arm, as if he might reach out to the other vampire. “Stop. Wait. I have so many questions.”

“I will answer them, in time.” He glanced at me, Ben. The werewolves. He wasn’t going to say anything in front of us.

“How can I reach you?” Rick said.

“Think about it. You’ll know where to find me.” Columban smiled, touched his forehead in a salute, and walked out.

Rick started pacing, back and forth along the length of the bar. He made three passes before I asked, carefully, “Rick?”

“I am astonished,” he said, stopping, giving a short laugh. His cheeks were almost flush, whatever blood he had borrowed rushing through him. “It’s been five hundred years, but when I close my eyes I can smell the incense, hear the chanting voices echoing off the stone walls.” And he did so, closing his eyes, tipping his head back, his nostrils flaring as if he really could take in the scene he described—the inside of a church.

“Then you think he’s telling the truth,” I said.

“Who would lie about something like that?” Rick said, his tone wondering. “No one would believe it.”

On the other hand, I didn’t want to trust anyone who could walk in here and get Rick so agitated. This couldn’t be that simple, that straightforward. I looked at Ben—what did the lawyer think?

“In any other case I’d say do a background check on the guy,” he said. “But I have a feeling that isn’t going to be too helpful here. You can’t exactly call up the Vatican and ask for references.”

If only. Rick was staring into a far distance. He looked like someone who’d just had a religious experience. Which might not have been too far off. He murmured, maybe to himself, not intending anyone to hear, “This is what I get for isolating myself for all this time. I cut myself off because it was the only way to maintain some kind of … of morality. I’d never considered an alternative. That there might be others. My God.”

Was that a curse or a prayer? “I wish I could offer you a drink,” I said.

“I wish I could take it.” He shook his head a little, as if waking up from a dream, and strode back to the table, slumping into the seat. “I’m sorry. I suddenly have a lot on my mind.”

“What are you going to do?” Ben asked.

He hesitated a long time, hands resting lightly on the table. “I don’t know. Do—do you mind if I sit here, just for a little while? I need to think.”