Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville 10)

I straightened, breathing more calmly and deeply to make sure I was right. Vampires smelled cold, lifeless. They didn’t have heartbeats, and I could usually spot one across the room, even in a crowd. I searched for the familiar chilled eddies, the hair pricking along my neck and shoulders, and sensed nothing. Everyone in the lecture hall was alive, with steady heartbeats and fresh flowing blood. Well, that was interesting. I found it hard to believe that not a single vampire would be interested in a topic like this. Apparently not. All the vampire-specific lectures had been scheduled after dark specifically so that vampires could attend. So much for that idea.

Many vampires I’d talked to insisted on telling me how they moved outside of human interests and didn’t concern themselves with such pedestrian matters. But … really? Not to mention the fact that this stuff was cool?

I’d ask Emma. She wouldn’t give me the runaround.

On my way out of the room, I caught the scent of a werewolf nearby. The conference had so many werewolf delegates the distinctive fur/skin smell had become almost invisible, part of the background. But this one, a middle-aged, brusque-looking man at the back of the room, looked out of place. He had a conference badge on a lanyard around his neck, but instead of a professional-looking suit, or even the geeky business-casual most of the delegates managed, he wore jeans, a rough corduroy coat, and had a scruffy, unkempt appearance. I hated to think it, but he looked too blue-collar for the conference. I thought I remembered him from earlier—also standing in the back of the main auditorium after the opening speeches. I only noticed him now because his gaze flickered my way, and he seemed to smile.

I kept my pace steady, not revealing discomfort as I walked away.

* * *

WE PLANNED to meet Emma in the front lobby of the convention center after the evening’s events. Ned’s vampire convocation was tonight, and she was our ride.

Ben approached me from the other end of the hallway. “How was your shindig?” I asked.

“Leave it to a roomful of attorneys to pioneer a whole new branch of law they can specialize in and charge extra for. I think I may have a new line to add to my letterhead.”

“Specializing in supernatural law? Really?”

“Yup. Did you know I’m not the

only werewolf lawyer in the world? I’m not even the first. Or second.” He seemed pleased at the prospect, and I wanted to give him an encouraging hug.

“So you had a good time?”

“It was just like law school graduation, we were all passing around business cards and sizing each other up.” His wry smile fell, and he put his arm around my shoulders when I sidled up to him. “Some of them are worried about where we could be headed, with legislatures taking up the status of supernaturals. Maybe even criminalizing it.”

“What? Making it illegal to be a werewolf?” Like we could even help it. Some people chose this life, but Ben and I had both been attacked.

“Yeah. It turned into an argument, the human lawyers saying it’ll never get that bad, the lycanthrope lawyers arguing that it already has in some places. Most of the lycanthropes think we need to do what we can to bring cases and establish precedents that make our status a civil rights issue rather than a criminal one. Make sure it gets decided in courts first.”

“What do you think?”

“That they may have a point? I don’t know. It’s surreal to be talking about it in the open. I know this stuff has been public knowledge for years, but it seems like such a no-brainer. I’m still a person, still a U.S. citizen, why are we even arguing about this?”

I squeezed him. “The way I understand the argument is that we regulate guns because they’re dangerous weapons, and werewolves are dangerous, therefore…” I waved my hand, leaving the rest of the statement open.

“It’s enough to make you want to run off into the woods and never come back,” he said.

The police had cleared out the protests after dark—we could safely leave through the front doors, now. Waiting for us on the front sidewalk, Emma looked as enthusiastic and hip as she had at the airport, in a silky blue dress with a hem that danced at her knees and a sweater over her shoulders. Her hair hung loose, shining.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Are we dressed for it?” I was business-casual, in khakis and a blouse, and Ben wasn’t wearing a tie with his suit jacket. I expected vampires would treat this kind of event like dressing for prom: a celebration of fashion, excess, and an exercise in one-upping each other. How did a couple of werewolves fit into that?

“You’re fine,” she said, smiling.

The car drove what felt like the long way around, but I was beginning to wonder if London had a direct route between any two points.

“I wanted to ask you—I went to a lecture on vampire physiology, and there were no vampires in the audience. Aren’t you guys interested in that sort of thing? I figured one of you was sponsoring a research lab somewhere.”

“There isn’t really a tradition of funding scientific research among vampires,” she said. “Was it interesting?”

“It was a little over my head. A sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic kind of thing. I took notes.”

“I think it may come down to vampires not really being interested in what mortals have to say about them.”

“Yeah, so I’ve gathered,” I said.