Kitty Raises Hell (25 page)

“Yeah. What for?”

“I’m going to use it as proof that your buddy Nick is psychologically harassing you and that the harassment is continuing,
in violation of the restraining order. We convince the Vegas cops the harassment is dangerous and establish just cause for
a search of their place for evidence linking them to the fires.”

“Will that actually work?”

“It might. If it doesn’t, we haven’t really lost anything.”

Nothing but time. “You’re the lawyer,” I said.

He started packing up his laptop and collecting a few papers from the file rack on his desk.

“I’m going to go try to get the police reports about Mick and New Moon. It may take me a few hours to get it all together,
then get the files to Peter. Will you be okay?”

I smiled. “Yesterday you didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“But you don’t need to go anywhere today, right? You’ll head to the radio station this evening, but you’ll be here the rest
of the time, and the building’s got all that blood gunk around it, right? So you’ll be fine.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure, because I was worried about Ben out there by himself, unprotected, where the demon could get to
him. And maybe I was nervous about being alone, too. But I nodded. “I’ll be fine. Will you be fine?”

“Yeah, I think so. I hope so. I’ll probably bring a jar of that gunk along, though.”

“I’ll go find one,” I said and went to the kitchen, where I had a box of the stuff. I’d never get the smell of it out of my
nose, would I?

When I returned, Ben was running his hands through his hair. “Do I look too ratty? I should probably comb my hair.”

Aw. I touched his cheek. “Yeah, but you usually look like you need to comb your hair. You’ll be fine.” We kissed, and for
that moment I really did think we’d be all right.

“I’ll meet you at KNOB in time for the show.”

We said our usual “be careful” version of goodbye.

T
wilight fell, evening came. I grew more nervous, because the disasters always happened at night, like the world really was
divided into light and dark, good and evil. I always tried to give the world the benefit of the doubt and pay attention to
the shades of gray that seemed painted everywhere. Times like these, though, it was easy to feel an inexplicable black darkness
rising against me. Easy to feel the monster that dwelled inside me and believe myself doomed.

Willpower. Had to keep going. In a world that seemed determined to turn us all into monsters, I had to keep making the list
of reasons to keep fighting, to keep myself whole, to stay human, sane, and good—or at least the best I could. My family,
my career, chocolate. Blazing Colorado sunsets, The Clash, Jimmy Stewart and Harrison Ford movies. My friends, which I counted
more of every day. And Ben.

In that mood, I slung my bag over my shoulder and went outside to my car.

On the sidewalk, I stopped abruptly as I caught a scent. Smoke, smoldering, fire waiting to burst forth. Brimstone.

My skin flushed hot. Looking around, desperate to catch a sign of it, to see a figure outlined in flame or to hear ghostly
laughter, I waited for fire to consume me. I’d caught the smell as soon as I left the protective barrier the blood and ruin
potion formed around the building. It had been waiting for me. But the smell was everywhere, without source.

I’d had the feeling that someone was watching me for weeks now, and not just Peter. No matter where I looked, nothing presented
itself. I couldn’t spot anything. I swallowed back a whine.

“Stop stalking me!” I called, feeling like an idiot, but I could either yell at it or scream incoherently. “You want to come
after me, then come after
me!
Face me! You could burn me to a crisp, so why don’t you?”

A grating voice chuckled.

This was what I’d been reduced to: yelling at air in my parking lot. The demon was trying to drive me crazy, and it was succeeding.

“What are you?” I said, my voice low, like a growl. I’d attack it, I really would. If I had any idea how.

Something grabbed my wrist. I’d have sworn it was a hand, a strong, rough hand, four fingers and a thumb wrapping around me
and squeezing hard, like it meant to drag me away. Gasping, I jerked away, scrambling back, cradling my hand to my chest.
That chuckle sounded again, amused, mocking.

Red burn marks shone on my skin, like a sunburn, in the shape of fingers. Like a red-hot hand had grabbed me.

I managed not to scream, though I really wanted to. The only thing that kept me from running, as fast as I could without thought
to direction, was my car sitting thirty feet away. I really needed to get to my car, like someone in a bad horror movie, fumbling
with the keys, trembling. Except I had this feeling that a creature made of invisible fire and the scent of ashes stood between
me and it. To move forward was to move toward doom.

I retreated until I pressed myself flat against the wall of the building, behind the invisible barrier. Here, the air smelled
safe. I stared out. I couldn’t see anything, but my heart was racing.

I could stay here forever, lock myself inside the house and never come out. But I wanted to get this thing. I tried again,
moving cautiously, paralleling the building as I set out toward my car.

The feeling of heat and the oppressive scent of danger confronted me immediately. I nearly dropped to my knees, overwhelmed,
convinced that I was going up in flames. My breath came out in a sob. I clutched my chest.

What would it feel like to burn from the inside? Is this what Mick felt?

Turning, I stumbled back to the building, back behind the safe barrier, thinking, Yeah, okay, I could stay inside for the
rest of my life. No problem.

A strong voice called across the parking lot in a foreign language. In a panic, I tried to think—was this the voice that channeled
itself through Tina? Was the language, the words, the same? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t tell—the alien words slipped
in my mind like water, I couldn’t recognize or hold them. But the meaning was clear: a command, filled with authority and
anger. Like a priest performing an exorcism.

Maybe exactly like a priest performing an exorcism.

Roman marched across the parking lot. He almost seemed to be marching toward me. But his approach veered—he was talking to
a space in front of me. To a thing that wasn’t there. He called to the space, his eyes blazing, his hands clenched into fists.
I’d never seen a vampire so ready to do physical battle like this.

He repeated the words again, pointing this time, arms outstretched.

A roar like a flamethrower sounded, but without fire. Because it wasn’t flame, it was this thing’s voice, a scream of protest.
The sound of a creature made of fire giving voice to rage.

I thought: What had I ever done to deserve this thing’s anger?

At least it wasn’t directed at me now. Roman had
really
pissed it off. The demon roared again, and Roman actually seemed affected, stepping back, turning his face aside, as if he
had encountered a blast of fire. Fire was supposed to be one of the things that could kill a vampire. I wondered if that was
true, if they burned as well as anything else organic.

Roman called out again, repeating the same forceful words. He commanded with the will and confidence of someone who was used
to having his orders obeyed, who wasn’t used to being questioned. No wonder he’d been annoyed with me.

This was a battle of wills. Roman stared ahead at his opponent, like he actually could see the demon’s shape.

The sound of billowing flame answered him again, but weaker this time. I still couldn’t see the form of the creature making
this sound. I kept thinking if I squinted, I would see a shimmering outline, a wavering humanoid shape, like a heat mirage.

He repeated the phrase one more time, and the sound of flame vanished. Roman’s head tilted back, his gaze flickering upward,
as if he watched something fly away. Then he frowned, flexing his hands, massaging them together, like they were sore, aching.

I ventured outside the safety of the protective circle; the brimstone smell was gone.

Roman glanced at me. His cold, frowning gaze made me flinch. “I just saved your life,” he said.

I took a deep breath before speaking, to keep my voice from shaking. Not sure if it worked. “Um . . . thanks?”

“This is temporary. It will kill you eventually if you don’t do something.”

“Do you know what it wants?” I said. “You can really tell what it wants? Then why don’t you tell me?”

He scowled, his chiseled face turning hard with frown lines.

When he kept silent, I continued. “What was that you said? What language?”

Now the stone face shifted to a smile.
“Per vi mei, averte.”

I heard the words, but I’d never remember them to look them up. I wished I had a tape recorder. “You going to teach me that
little trick?”

“Now that you’ve seen what I can do, will you let me help you?” he said.

That made me angry, the idea that he had the power to stop this thing, but he wouldn’t do it without me promising a big chunk
of my soul in return.

“This could all still be a show for my benefit,” I said. “The con game again. You could have staged all this in a last-ditch
effort to get me to agree to your terms.”

He turned away, muttering, but my hearing was good and I picked up what he said: “Stupid wolf.”

I so didn’t have the time or patience for this. Setting my shoulders, I stalked forward, past him, not sparing him a glance.

“You’re being foolish,” he said.

I turned, scowled. Knew better than to launch myself at him, fingers curled like claws, as if I could really do him damage
or even intimidate him. I’d seen a vampire drop a werewolf twice as large as I was without flinching. Roman might have been
just waiting for me to lose my temper.

“Here’s the thing,” I said in my calm, careful DJ voice, like I might use to explain dirt to an idiot. It was the best way
I knew to attack anyone. “You don’t care what happens to me. This demon could shred me limb from limb right now and you wouldn’t
care.” I refrained from glancing worriedly over my shoulder. That was just what I needed, to have the demon lurking nearby,
waiting for an invitation of the Murphy’s Law variety. “You could make this thing vanish anytime you want, and I believe you.
I also believe you don’t care about stopping it. You’re using it as a stepping stone to something else, taking advantage of
a difficult situation to get what you want. And that makes you a manipulative, amoral son of a bitch. Now tell me why I should
put myself in the position of owing a manipulative, amoral son of a bitch a favor?”

I expected a retort, something along the lines of usual smug vampire haughtiness. Or more accusations and name-calling. Either
way, I’d just turn around and walk away. I had nothing else to say.

But Roman didn’t reply right away. He regarded me with that annoyed curl to his lips and studied me, like he could see through
me. I turned and walked away because I couldn’t take that stare for another second.

“Kitty,” he said. I paused but didn’t turn around. I shouldn’t even have done that much. I should have kept walking to the
car, then driven away. Not that it would have helped any when he said in that same commanding exorcist’s voice,
“Lupus vincens.”

He spoke the words clearly and carefully, and this time I recognized the language. I could guess enough Latin to know what
it meant.

“What?” I said, turning, and he said the words again, stronger this time, and a cramp ran from my gut to my skull, dropping
me to my knees. Goose bumps broke out all over my skin, like needles pricking me. My bag fell off my shoulder as I hugged
myself. Another wave of cramps wracked my whole body this time, every muscle clenching.

Another body inside me was bucking, fighting to break free. I knew this feeling, I recognized what was happening, but it had
never happened like this before. Never so violent. Usually, shifting felt like Wolf was breaking out from the inside. Now
she was being ripped free from the outside.

I screamed a rage-filled denial. Was this supposed to scare me? Was this supposed to prove how much power he really had? My
muscles spasmed, teeth and claws trying to tear out of human skin. Hunched over, I tried to keep from hyperventilating. Looking
up, I expected to see Roman standing over me, gloating, sneering. He kept his distance, though, and didn’t smile. His frown
seemed almost disgusted. I couldn’t guess by what: this scene of torture he’d created? By the fact that I wouldn’t agree to
his terms? By the mere fact that I was an inferior, stupid wolf?

I could have fought it. I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t pull it back. I’d pulled back from farther than this before.
But I decided not to. I decided I needed to fly. At
him.

I ripped my shirt over my head and let
go.

N
ot for defense, not to hunt, not to flee on faster legs. Now, and for the first time, this part of her is driven by rage.
Vision is red. Kicking, writhing, saliva flying from bared teeth, she tears free of her tangled human skin. Thick claws scrape
against a hard, flat earth. Not forest, not safe. The air smells of too many people, alien, oily scents of the human world.

And this thing, the being who attacked her. The figure smells of death.

Fur bristles, rising stiffly along her back. Head lowered, tail straight behind her, she bares her teeth and glares. Her opponent
glares back, unmoving. Is it a challenge? Doesn’t matter. He smells wrong, and she must fight. Claws scrabbling, she launches.
She will pounce, put her jaws around his neck, topple him, and tear into his flesh.

The man of death merely steps aside. Grabs her foreleg at the shoulder. Wrenches. She slams against the ground, hits hard,
yelps, but doesn’t stop moving. Back on her feet, she leaps away, braces, facing him. Deciding how best to flank him.

“The alpha shows her colors,” he says.