Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

I raised a brow. What the hell was Cormac doing that had Ben and Brenda chasing after him? And why hadn’t I heard about it? And why. . . The questions could go on forever.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“I bet it is. And what’s Evan’s story? He another client?”

“No, he’s the competition. Works out of Seattle. Though I guess Cormac doesn’t have competition anymore.”

“I used to figure Cormac was one of a kind, or one of maybe a half dozen, tops. How many vampire and werewolf hunters are there? There’s Evan, Brenda, Boris, Sylvia—” I counted on my fingers. This was already too many.

He shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s a tough group to keep tabs on. People disappear, people retire, and no one really announces anything. It’s like Evan said, it works pretty much on gossip and rumor. But that’s how you know where the vampires and lycanthropes are, and where the work is.”

“How many of them were sitting in that bar?”

“Maybe a dozen,” Ben said finally. “I recognized a lot of faces, even if I don’t know them well.”

“Don’t you find that disturbing?”

“I suppose,” he said. “I used to hang out with people like that a lot. I guess I’m having trouble thinking of myself as the enemy.”

That was his old world. It didn’t matter if he was the target now. However much he might want to, he couldn’t go back to the way he was. His wolf must have been telling him that.

I squeezed his hand back and walked closer, so our bodies brushed. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair. There’d be time for that when we got to the room.

“What happens when they find out about you?” When they found out he was one of the bad guys now, nominally.

“They probably won’t shoot me on sight, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “You stood in that bar a whole ten minutes and no one took a shot at you.”

“But I imagine there was a lot of visualization going on in a lot of minds.”

He chuckled, but the sound was sad. Then he said, “I think they’d feel sorry for me. But I’d really rather they didn’t find out.”

Outside the elevators, from a side corridor, a shadow stepped in front of us to block our way. I jumped and caught a growl in the back of my throat. Ben touched my arm, and I could feel us both poised between flight or fight, staying together to protect each other or separating to confuse our enemy—

The shadow turned into Odysseus Grant, looking down on us with a stern gaze. He was tall, with a face like chipped stone. I hadn’t realized how tall he was. I’d attributed his height to stage presence. He wore his tuxedo, with jacket and bow tie, like he’d just come from his own show. Maybe he’d always been there, and my imagination had turned him into a shadow, made him appear out of nowhere. Maybe he’d been waiting for us.

“Mr. Grant,” I said, catching my breath and trying to slow my heart. I had to call someone in a tux “mister.”

“Ms. Norville. Mr. O’Farrell.” He nodded at Ben, and I didn’t have to wonder if he knew that Ben was a werewolf, or if he could tell. He knew and took in the knowledge with a slight nod. But how had the magician known Ben’s name? “I’m sorry if I startled you. I wanted to tell you—I watched your show. I’m almost sorry I didn’t take part. But about the gentleman inviting you to Balthasar’s show—don’t go. Don’t have anything to do with them.”

“Why? What’s the story?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It always is.”

He quirked a smile. “Have you met any other lycanthropes here? Have you seen any sign of a pack here, besides those two this evening?”

“No. I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Balthasar does not tolerate rivals.”

“I’m not a rival.”

“Of course not. But he might see you as something else. A possession, maybe?”

I laughed. “I don’t think so.” Ben wasn’t laughing, though. He’d curled his hand around my arm.

“I wanted to warn you.”