Kitty Raises Hell
Page 32
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“That’s what I asked. He wants to settle in Denver, it sounds like. Rick doesn’t want him here.”
“Is it a real offer? Do you think he can really help?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s he like?”
“Vampire. Rick says he’s older, but he’s different than the old ones I’ve met. I was under the impression they tend to stay put, become Master of a city. Get pompous as hell. This guy seemed... I don’t know. Driven. Like he was on a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever met a vampire on a mission. Not like this. Maybe he’s just a really dedicated demon hunter, like he says.”
“But then he wouldn’t be asking for something in return,” Ben pointed out.
“This is why I’m glad I have a lawyer around,” I said. “You don’t trust anybody.”
He shrugged. “I trust you.”
He said it with such earnestness, I almost got teary-eyed. “Thanks.”
We leaned into each other for a long, warm kiss that made the day’s tension melt away. Eventually—about when the shirts came off and the groping started in earnest—we made our way to the bedroom.
“Can you do something for me?” he murmured between kisses and catches in his breath. My imagination rolled on for a moment, anticipating what he’d ask, wondering if it would be something I hadn’t already thought of involving him, his body, my body, and the bed. I made an affirmative noise while nuzzling his neck.
“The next time you’re gone all day, or you run into that vampire, or anything like that happens, will you call me?”
Well, that wasn’t very sexy. I pulled back enough to see his face, which was tired and anxious-looking. “You sound worried.”
“I guess I am. It was getting late, and I just kept thinking about what would happen if this thing attacked you and I wasn’t there.”
We hadn’t spent much time apart since we hooked up, almost a year ago now. When we had been apart, either one or both of us had been in trouble. We were a pack, and we wanted to be together. Being alone wasn’t safe.
“You want to watch my back for me?” I said.
“Don’t you think it needs watching?” Watching, or feeling up, one or the other. His hands pressed into my skin, kneading my muscles, locking me close to him.
I pressed up to him and curled my legs around him. “You tell me.”
With that, we returned energetically to the business at hand. I for one felt much better come morning.
Chapter 11
Researching demons went about the same as researching every other supernatural topic I’d ever delved into. Much of it was vague, paranoid, filled with warnings and hysteria. There seemed to be a higher degree of religious nuttery than usual. The most generally accepted way to repel demons was to find a priest to conduct an exorcism. In fact, the Catholic Church had an accepted, approved set of procedures for exorcising demons. It was usually for exorcising them from people. All too often, examples presented as demonic possession were in reality more mundane cases of severe mental illness. Those people needed medical help, not holy water and Latin chants.
Nearly any word for monster or supernatural creature in any language could be translated as “demon” in English, which still left a world of possibilities. I hadn’t learned very much more than when I started.
This thing’s attacks were getting worse, striking new targets, so I made a new, bigger batch of the protection potion. Then I went to my parents’ house.
They weren’t home, which was good. I was still hoping not to draw them directly into this, but I wanted the house—and them inside it—to be safe, so I made a circle around it with the potion. I hid it in the grass and shrubs, ran it through the gate in the fence around the backyard, then back up the other side. In front of the house, a concrete walk led to the front door. Wasn’t any way I could hide the potion on the concrete, so I painted a sticky black line across it to finish the circle. Maybe they would think it was dirt, or the trail of a weird insect or something. Maybe they wouldn’t notice it at all. I finished and left as quickly as I could, and no one called the police on me, which was even better.
At my sister Cheryl’s, however, I got caught.
The problem was the golden retriever running loose in the fenced backyard. It was named Bucky or something. I didn’t really remember, because I avoided the beast like the plague. He could sense what I was, had decided that I was a threat, and let his displeasure be known every time I appeared. When I came over to visit, Bucky was exiled to the backyard. Maybe he was just resentful.
I had spread the potion in the front of the house, then got to the gate in the fence. I opened it an inch and was met by the growling, slavering jaws of Bucky. Weren’t golden retrievers supposed to be stupid and friendly? This thing was acting like a Doberman.
I slammed the gate shut and held it closed while Bucky threw himself against it. Oh, if I could just let Wolf loose to have a go at him, we’d shut him up real quick—
“Bucky, what the hell’s the matter with you?” That was my sister, approaching from the backyard side of the fence. I heard a commotion, presumably her grabbing the dog by the collar, and the dog whining in frustration, trying to tell her what was wrong. What is it, Lassie? There’s a werewolf trying to break in? She murmured admonitions at him, but he kept making noises like he was struggling to break free and have at me again.
So much for stealth.
“Hey, Cheryl?” I called. “It’s me.”
After a moment she said, “Kitty? What are you doing here?”
I winced. “Long story. Can you put the mutt inside? Then I’ll tell you all about it.” Well, I’d tell her some of it.
“Mutt?” she said, indignant. “He has papers!”
Whatever. But the commotion was moving away as she presumably hauled Bucky into the house.
Cheryl was my older sister. I’d idolized her when we were kids, even though we’d fought like heathens. Now she had settled into suburban bliss, with the nice house in a new subdivision, the swell husband, the two kids, and the dog, all with names out of a 1950s sitcom. But she still wore jeans and band T-shirts and listened to punk when the kids were napping. I loved my sister. We still occasionally fought like heathens.
When the backyard was quiet, I opened the gate and continued spreading the blood potion. Cheryl met me halfway across the backyard. Bucky was at the sliding glass door, barking at us, spitting dog slobber on the glass.
“Is it a real offer? Do you think he can really help?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s he like?”
“Vampire. Rick says he’s older, but he’s different than the old ones I’ve met. I was under the impression they tend to stay put, become Master of a city. Get pompous as hell. This guy seemed... I don’t know. Driven. Like he was on a mission. I don’t think I’ve ever met a vampire on a mission. Not like this. Maybe he’s just a really dedicated demon hunter, like he says.”
“But then he wouldn’t be asking for something in return,” Ben pointed out.
“This is why I’m glad I have a lawyer around,” I said. “You don’t trust anybody.”
He shrugged. “I trust you.”
He said it with such earnestness, I almost got teary-eyed. “Thanks.”
We leaned into each other for a long, warm kiss that made the day’s tension melt away. Eventually—about when the shirts came off and the groping started in earnest—we made our way to the bedroom.
“Can you do something for me?” he murmured between kisses and catches in his breath. My imagination rolled on for a moment, anticipating what he’d ask, wondering if it would be something I hadn’t already thought of involving him, his body, my body, and the bed. I made an affirmative noise while nuzzling his neck.
“The next time you’re gone all day, or you run into that vampire, or anything like that happens, will you call me?”
Well, that wasn’t very sexy. I pulled back enough to see his face, which was tired and anxious-looking. “You sound worried.”
“I guess I am. It was getting late, and I just kept thinking about what would happen if this thing attacked you and I wasn’t there.”
We hadn’t spent much time apart since we hooked up, almost a year ago now. When we had been apart, either one or both of us had been in trouble. We were a pack, and we wanted to be together. Being alone wasn’t safe.
“You want to watch my back for me?” I said.
“Don’t you think it needs watching?” Watching, or feeling up, one or the other. His hands pressed into my skin, kneading my muscles, locking me close to him.
I pressed up to him and curled my legs around him. “You tell me.”
With that, we returned energetically to the business at hand. I for one felt much better come morning.
Chapter 11
Researching demons went about the same as researching every other supernatural topic I’d ever delved into. Much of it was vague, paranoid, filled with warnings and hysteria. There seemed to be a higher degree of religious nuttery than usual. The most generally accepted way to repel demons was to find a priest to conduct an exorcism. In fact, the Catholic Church had an accepted, approved set of procedures for exorcising demons. It was usually for exorcising them from people. All too often, examples presented as demonic possession were in reality more mundane cases of severe mental illness. Those people needed medical help, not holy water and Latin chants.
Nearly any word for monster or supernatural creature in any language could be translated as “demon” in English, which still left a world of possibilities. I hadn’t learned very much more than when I started.
This thing’s attacks were getting worse, striking new targets, so I made a new, bigger batch of the protection potion. Then I went to my parents’ house.
They weren’t home, which was good. I was still hoping not to draw them directly into this, but I wanted the house—and them inside it—to be safe, so I made a circle around it with the potion. I hid it in the grass and shrubs, ran it through the gate in the fence around the backyard, then back up the other side. In front of the house, a concrete walk led to the front door. Wasn’t any way I could hide the potion on the concrete, so I painted a sticky black line across it to finish the circle. Maybe they would think it was dirt, or the trail of a weird insect or something. Maybe they wouldn’t notice it at all. I finished and left as quickly as I could, and no one called the police on me, which was even better.
At my sister Cheryl’s, however, I got caught.
The problem was the golden retriever running loose in the fenced backyard. It was named Bucky or something. I didn’t really remember, because I avoided the beast like the plague. He could sense what I was, had decided that I was a threat, and let his displeasure be known every time I appeared. When I came over to visit, Bucky was exiled to the backyard. Maybe he was just resentful.
I had spread the potion in the front of the house, then got to the gate in the fence. I opened it an inch and was met by the growling, slavering jaws of Bucky. Weren’t golden retrievers supposed to be stupid and friendly? This thing was acting like a Doberman.
I slammed the gate shut and held it closed while Bucky threw himself against it. Oh, if I could just let Wolf loose to have a go at him, we’d shut him up real quick—
“Bucky, what the hell’s the matter with you?” That was my sister, approaching from the backyard side of the fence. I heard a commotion, presumably her grabbing the dog by the collar, and the dog whining in frustration, trying to tell her what was wrong. What is it, Lassie? There’s a werewolf trying to break in? She murmured admonitions at him, but he kept making noises like he was struggling to break free and have at me again.
So much for stealth.
“Hey, Cheryl?” I called. “It’s me.”
After a moment she said, “Kitty? What are you doing here?”
I winced. “Long story. Can you put the mutt inside? Then I’ll tell you all about it.” Well, I’d tell her some of it.
“Mutt?” she said, indignant. “He has papers!”
Whatever. But the commotion was moving away as she presumably hauled Bucky into the house.
Cheryl was my older sister. I’d idolized her when we were kids, even though we’d fought like heathens. Now she had settled into suburban bliss, with the nice house in a new subdivision, the swell husband, the two kids, and the dog, all with names out of a 1950s sitcom. But she still wore jeans and band T-shirts and listened to punk when the kids were napping. I loved my sister. We still occasionally fought like heathens.
When the backyard was quiet, I opened the gate and continued spreading the blood potion. Cheryl met me halfway across the backyard. Bucky was at the sliding glass door, barking at us, spitting dog slobber on the glass.
