Kitty in the Underworld (Kitty Norville 12)

“You know what’s at stake,” the magician said. “If this doesn’t work, all is lost.”

The dynamic here was strange. The vampire was obviously the one in charge. But during the day, when he was asleep, who among his followers was leader? That seemed to be up for debate.

I didn’t want them tranquilizing me again. But I also didn’t want to just give in. My brain was starting to misfire over the dilemma. I was hungry, but even if I had food I didn’t think I’d be able to eat, I was so anxious. I might have whimpered a little.

“Regina Luporum is awake,” said the were-lion, Sakhmet.

They fell silent, listening. I imagined us, me on one side of the door, them on the other, listening close. Waiting for somebody to do something.

I called, “My name’s Kitty.”

“You see? She’s not ready,” hissed the magician, as if I couldn’t hear.

“We can’t wait forever,” Enkidu hissed back. “She has friends, and she’ll be missed.”

Damn straight. But if I could get out of here without dragging them into this mess, I’d do it. Just open that door …

I heard movement, and Sakhmet stepped close to the door—I could smell her. Inches from me now, she said, “Regina Luporum, are you hungry?”

“Kitty,” I murmured, on principle. I knew what this was—they’d keep calling me Regina Luporum until I answered. I wouldn’t play along.

But I really needed some water.

I backed away from the door. A bolt slid open, and the door pushed inward. I was a good girl and didn’t do anything crazy—all three of them were there, blocking the way out.

Sakhmet crouched and offered me a bottle of water. I took it and smiled a thanks. Probably drank it down a little too eagerly and with less dignity than I would have liked. Dignity, ha. These people had all seen me naked, who was I kidding? My hair itched. I scratched it back, trying to brush it out with my fingers as well as I could.

The three of them watched me apprehensively, waiting to see which way I would jump. So I didn’t jump. I sat quietly, clutching my bottle of water, and gazed up at them with big, harmless eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here talking to her like this,” Zora muttered at Enkidu. “You’ll ruin everything.” He glared at her, but didn’t argue. Even in the faint light, I could see the lines of indecision marking his face.

I focused on Sakhmet, who was closest to me, at my eye level, and regarding me with something like pity. She would talk to me, I bet.

“How did you all meet?” I asked softly, nonthreateningly. I was doing the show, trying to coax a story from a reluctant interview subject. Invite her to tell me her story, assume that she secretly wanted to tell me her story. Most people only needed a sympathetic ear to start talking about themselves. “You and Enkidu—you’ve known each other awhile, I can tell. How did you two meet?”

She didn’t talk, not right away, so I shrugged, played gee-whiz naïve. “It’s just you’re an interesting group of people, you know? People usually stick to their packs, but here you all are, working together.”

Sakhmet gave a thin smile, glancing over her shoulder at the others. “I met … Enkidu, first. When we were younger. I was a college student in Cairo.” She seemed about thirty—my age. Enkidu was probably a few years older. So this might have been ten years ago, maybe less.

“Were you already a lycanthrope?” I asked gently.

“Yes, but not for long. I was attacked. It was stupid, being out by the river after dark,” she said, wincing at the memory. “I survived, and there were those who took care of me—”

“Sakhmet, come away from her, we should not be talking to her!” Zora hissed.

“We’re just talking, we’re not hurting anything,” Sakhmet shot back.

“What about you, Zora? How’d you hook up with this crowd?” I asked.

“It’s not important,” Zora said. “Our stories—irrelevant.” She stomped toward the door, sat on the floor with a huff, crossed her arms, and stared at us. Baby-sitting, it seemed like. Zora was a bit of a freak, wasn’t she?

Sakhmet sat with her legs folded, graceful, her skirt splayed around her. Her smile was thin, serene. “What happened to me, what you call lycanthropy—it isn’t a curse, I came to realize. It’s a blessing. Thousands of years ago, my people worshipped gods and goddesses with the faces of animals. Those of us who are both human and animal—who is to say we’re not messengers of those gods? We share their images, we are part of them.”

Easy to persuade her then that she was an avatar of the lion-headed goddess Sakhmet. She was Egyptian, and in ancient Egypt she might have been a priestess, draped in fine cloth and jewels. I wondered where those animal-headed gods had come from. Had the ancient Egyptians known about lycanthropes?

Had everyone known, once upon a time, and then just forgotten? People stopped believing the stories were true.

If Zora was baby-sitting, Enkidu was standing guard, lurking near Sakhmet, shoulders stiff like raised hackles. As if he expected me to leap at her, snarling, even though I was acting as unthreatening as I knew how, without going so far as to roll onto my back and show my belly. My gaze was lowered, I sat with my knees to my chest. Just people telling stories.