Kitty and the Midnight Hour
Page 21

"I'm not going on TV. I think you know why." My website didn't even have a photo of me.
"Yeah, yeah I do. Even so—you're going to be the country's first werewolf celebrity."
I had suspicions. "Only the first one to admit it. Thanks, Ozzie. Thanks for being nice to me."
"You're still Kitty after all, right? Hey, you look like you didn't get any sleep last night. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? After you call Howard Stern back."
I called T.J. as soon as I got home. The phone rang five times. I thought he'd gone out. Then he answered.
I said, "It's me. I'm going to Arturo's. Will you come with me?"
This was stupid, calling him. He'd tell Carl. There was no way he wouldn't tell Carl. Then I'd be in serious trouble. But I had to call. Who else could I call?
Maybe I was hoping he'd help me without any arguing.
"Have you quit the show?" I didn't answer. I think I even whined. He sighed. "You can't just pay Carl off, you know. This isn't about the money."
"No, it's not. You don't think that's why I keep doing it , do you?"
"No. I know how much it means to you."
"Then how can you ask me to quit?"
"Because it's changing you. You never would have argued with me like this six months ago. You've been picking fights, for Christ's sake."
I shut my eyes. My voice was hushed. "Is change all bad?"
"You're going to get yourself killed. And not because of people like that assassin."
"I'm an adult. I can take care of myself."
"No, you can't."
And that's what this was all about, wasn't it? Which one of us was right?
"Well, I guess we're going to find out."
I hung up.
I made it as far as the alley behind Obsidian.
Obsidian was a stylish art gallery that specialized in antiques and imports. The whole place was a front. Arturo lived in the lower levels below the basement. Under the posh downtown facade, the place was a vault where the city's vampires slept out their days.
Six months ago, the idea of going to Arturo's den by myself would have made me catatonic with fear. Now, at least, I could entertain the idea. But I couldn't walk those last few steps that would take me to the stairs leading to the basement door. I stood in the alley, my hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket. It was midnight, full dark. At any moment, a swarm of vampires would come crawling up those stairs. They'd take my being here as a territorial infraction and defend themselves accordingly. I could see the headline now: "Radio Show Host Murdered in Gang Dispute."
If I were lucky, if I stood here long enough, maybe Rick would show up and I could get his advice. Or get him to talk to Arturo. He owed me a favor for working on the Elijah Smith thing, didn't he?
In the end, fear won out over anger. I only stood there a minute before turning and walking away. I was still just a cub.
When I got to the corner, hands grabbed me. No, claws. Hands turning into claws. My vision flashed with stars as I was slammed against the wall, my head cracking on the brick. Someone held my shoulders in a viselike grip, pinning me to the wall, and the claws of his thumbs dug into my throat.
It was T.J.
His fingers were shortening, his hands thickening as his wolf came to the fore. He was strangling me. His face was inches from mine, his eyes flecked with gold. His teeth were bared, filtering a growl so low it rumbled through his limbs.
I stared wide-eyed, gasping for breath. Wasn't a whole lot else I could do.
He said, jaw taut, "You disobeyed. Every instinct I have is telling me to beat the fucking shit out of you. Why don't I?"
I swallowed. He could rip me apart, though he hadn't yet broken skin. I could fight him. I knew I could—Wolf was writhing, screaming for a chance to escape or fight I couldn't beat him in a fight. But that almost didn't matter. I wasn't whining. I wasn't going to just roll over for him.
That scared me. I didn't want to fight T.J. I had to concentrate to keep my own hands away from him. I managed to draw enough breath to speak.
"Because sometimes we have to listen to the human side."
He was shaking. His hands trembled on my shoulders. I didn't move. I held his gaze, saw the creases in his brow and at the corners of his eyes, like he was too angry to keep it in, but he was trying. Please, please . I hoped he saw the pleading in my eyes, that he was still human enough to read the human expression.
Then he let me go. I sagged against the wall. He stared at me, a snarl pulling at his lips. Sweat matted his dark hair to his brow. I tried to say something, but I didn't know what I could say, and my throat was tight.
He turned and ran. He pulled off his shirt and threw it away as he rounded the corner. A sheen of slate-gray fur had sprouted on his back. He was gone.
I sat hard and pressed my face to my knees. Fuck fuck fuck. How had I gotten myself into this?
So. I didn't talk to the vampires, and I didn't quit the show.
"… all I'm saying is that if this is a cry for attention, you should maybe talk to someone, a therapist or something, about your need to act out your aggressions…"
I leaned into the mike. "Hey, who's the pop-psychologist hack here? Frankly, I host a popular radio show. You think I want more attention? Next caller, please."
My stomach had been turning cartwheels all evening. Before the broadcast, I was scared to death. Not of Carl or T.J., though I hadn't seen either of them all week. Full moon was coming up. I didn't know what I was going to do. Go to the pack and get my ass kicked. Or spend it by myself.
No, it was because I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen during the show. I got Ozzie to postpone the guest who was previously scheduled. I wanted the full two hours to deal with cleanup. I was going to open the line to calls, anything and everything. I was going to have to explain myself—over and over again.
It wasn't so bad. It never is, I suppose. Anticipation is always the worst. Half the calls so far had been supportive, the rallying cries of devoted fans: "We're behind you all the way." I spent a lot of airtime saying thanks. Some disbelief, some threats, and some of the usual advice calls. Lots of questions.
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
Three different callers had asked that one. "No. I'm strictly a venison kind of girl."