Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville 10)

She was short and fiery, with a round face and a spark in her gaze. I recognized the family resemblance in those eyes. She wore jeans and a beaded tunic shirt, and her long dark hair lay braided over one shoulder. She smelled of jaguar, like Luis.

We made all the introductions, shuffled a bit around the table,

jockeying for seats as Ben pointedly insinuated himself between me and Luis, which meant I ended up sitting next to Esperanza. Ben may have wanted to make sure I wasn’t sitting next to the charming jaguar, but it meant I was across from him, and he winked at me, dark eyes flashing. Oh dear. I had suddenly forgotten how to flirt. Cormac ended up stuck at the end of the table, probably by design. He could watch us all, and the rest of the restaurant. He’d probably go the whole evening without saying a word.

“So you’re the wolf with the big bad mouth,” Esperanza said in a quick voice with a lilting accent. I liked her already.

“That’s me. I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” I said, and we both looked at Luis.

“I said you’d get along well because you’re both crusaders.”

“What’s your crusade?” Ben asked her.

“Loggers think half the jungles in Brazil are haunted, because of me. They can’t get anyone to work in some sections.” She smiled with pride.

“Any of them sue you yet?”

She glared. “What are you, a lawyer?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Don’t you dare give anyone that idea,” she said, pointing.

He held up his hands. “Never.”

“What do you do for a living?” Esperanza looked at Cormac.

He hesitated a moment before saying, “I’m a consultant.”

“In what area?” Luis asked.

He twitched a smile. “Usually when nobody knows what the hell is going on, they call me.”

“So can you explain British politics to the rest of us?” Esperanza asked.

“I have limits,” he said.

We ordered a bottle of wine; Luis and his sister argued over labels. We ordered food—all of us wanted steaks, rare as the chef would make them, and the server looked at us funny but didn’t say anything. I wondered how many lycanthropes from the conference had eaten here this week. The evening progressed nicely after that as we discussed the conference and whether or not we thought it was accomplishing anything, the protests, and the state of public recognition and acceptance of the supernatural in our respective countries. Regarding the conference, the jury was still out—while it was nice that everyone was getting together and talking with relatively little fur flying, so to speak, we’d have to wait until it was over to see what came out of it. The protests bothered us all but we were relieved that no actual violence had come of it, so far. Recognition of the supernatural—that was a stickier question.

“It’s turning things upside down,” Esperanza said. “We’re at what’s meant to be a scientific conference, trying to apply logic and science to these questions. And back home attendance at religious services is up over forty percent, and people say the reason is that they’re scared. If there’s magic and monsters in the world, they want some kind of protection against it, and they’re going to church to get it.”

Ben said, “One of the sessions I went to yesterday was a presentation by a lawyer from Tanzania who’s been involved in prosecutions of murderers of albinos. Some people there believe the body parts of albinos have magical properties, so people with albinism are killed and dismembered and sold off for potions and good-luck charms. The trade’s apparently gotten very profitable over the last few years. He said they’ve had a tough time getting convictions, but got some help when a well-known traditional healer came out and declared that albinos aren’t any more magical than anyone else. He also said that not everyone listens to the guy. Magic’s real, people say. Why shouldn’t this be, too? As if that justifies killing someone for their hair.”

“We think we’re solving one problem and five more rise up,” Esperanza said.

What a topic for dinner table conversation. I was horrified. I pursed my lips, staring into the ruby depths of my wine.

“Kitty?” Ben prompted.

“I’m trying to figure out how to gracefully change the subject to something a little more cheerful,” I said. “Like I wonder if there are any fairy rock bands? Surely if they’re eating in restaurants they’ve got rock bands.”

Ben said, “Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places. Have you seen Prince’s videos?”

“No, I think a real fairy rock band would be a little more subtle than that. Like Jethro Tull, maybe.”

“You call that subtle?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”