Kitty Raises Hell (Kitty Norville 6)

Jules answered in a patient, humoring-toddlers voice. “Society for Psychical Research. The oldest and most respected group of its kind.”

“Except for maybe the Catholic Church,” Tina said.

“That’s different,” Gary said.

I leaned forward. “Slow down. What’s the Catholic Church have to do with paranormal investigation?”

Again, the humoring-toddlers voice, from Gary this time. “We hunt ghosts, they hunt demons.”

This conversation just went around the bend for me. But I’d sort of asked for it. I sat back and let it happen.

Jules said, “The society has always tried to bring scientific reasoning to bear on the subject of the supernatural. With varying degrees of success . . .”

“They believed the fairy photos, didn’t they?” I said.

“Only some of them,” he said, almost pouting.

“The society represents a lot of experience,” Gary said.

Tina, I noticed, had started staring off, distracted, through the French doors to the main area of the restaurant.

“Tina,” I said. She flinched a little, startled. “Are you okay?”

She looked at me, looked back through the door. Pursed her lips and furrowed her brow like she was trying to figure out a problem. “Yeah. It’s just this place is really . . . I don’t know. There’s something weird here.” She shook whatever thought it was away. “Do you know if there have been any reports of activity?”

Like, besides all the activity that goes on in a busy restaurant? “You mean ghosts? I’m not sure.”

“It’s just . . .” She set her jaw, and I caught her looking out at the dining room again. Specifically at a couple sitting at the bar, and another by a table in the corner. Back and forth, then at me. Like she was comparing.

I had a lightbulb moment. Tina was looking at all the other lycanthropes, werewolves who were members of my pack who were here. She was looking at them the way she’d looked at me earlier—nervous, tense. Could she see what we were? I’d have to find a way to get her alone and ask her about it.

“I think it’s just this building,” Tina said dismissively. “It looks old. I bet it’s haunted.” She looked around at her colleagues hopefully for confirmation.

“I don’t know,” Gary said. “You know the history of this place?”

“Not a clue,” I said. I wasn’t about to blow my friends’ cover by announcing that it was popular with werewolves. “Now. Tell me what I have to do to get you guys to come on my show. Hey, I’ve got a great idea. You’ll still be in town Friday, right? How about this . . .”

Two birds with one stone. I’d come along on one of their haunted-house trips, broadcast my show remotely, and talk to them about paranormal investigation. At the same time, they’d interview me as part of their show—the supernatural’s take on the paranormal, if that wasn’t too confusing.

Jules looked across the table at Gary. It was a sinister look. “How ’bout we take her to Flint House?”

Gary gave a low chuckle. “Oh, that’ll be perfect.” Tina nodded in agreement. They all had eager gleams in their eyes.

“What? What’s Flint House?” I was starting to feel like the butt of a joke. “I’ve seen that look on people’s faces before a really brutal hazing.”

“Tell her,” Jules said.

Gary said, “It’s an old house, an old neighborhood. It has a long history of well-documented activity. Somebody died there—”

“I thought that was one of the prerequisites for a haunted house,” I said. “Somebody died there. Ergo, ghost.”

“This is different. This was just a few years ago, and the person who died was a paranormal investigator. Some of us think the house killed him.”

And I couldn’t complain, because I’d asked for it.

Our plans set, I saw the PI crew off and headed for home.

I’d parked a couple of blocks down from the restaurant. Night was full dark now, and the air had turned cold. I kept looking over my shoulder as I walked. It had occurred to me more than once over the last week that maybe no one was out to get me. Maybe the Band of Tiamat hadn’t sent anyone to kill me, they’d just gotten someone to burn that message on the door, and that was all. I’d done the rest myself, assuming it was a warning, an opening salvo, and that something worse would be along soon.