Kitty Raises Hell (14 page)

“Telepathy,” he said.

“Wait a minute. That’s a joke, right? Because if it was telepathy, you wouldn’t need cell phones.”

He just smiled. Sometimes I really hated vampires.

I pulled into the alley behind the restaurant. Yellow caution tape was stuck over the back door, waiting for the inspections
and repairs that would get the place back on its feet. I hadn’t noticed any strange figures lurking around. I climbed out
of the car and took a deep breath.

I could still smell the fire, a tinge of wet soot coming from the building. But I didn’t sense anything else. Rick, however,
marched straight around the side of the building without hesitation. Again, I had to scurry to keep up.

At the front of the building we found a man standing at the door, regarding it like he was considering breaking it down. Frustration
tightened his already sharp features. This, I decided, was a man who was used to getting his way. He wanted into New Moon,
and he couldn’t cross that threshold, and not because the door was locked. He acted like that wasn’t what was stopping him.

He was a vampire. On a cool night like tonight, warm bodies made something like rivers through the air, trails of heat, living
smells left behind. But a vampire was an island of cold. Almost, I couldn’t sense him at all. Even the clean, dead smell I
associated with vampires was muted on him, as if his scent had faded over the years.

I found that idea terrifying.

He turned to watch Rick and me approach. He was tall, thin, his face craggy. His whole body was probably lanky, but it was
hidden under a long overcoat, turtleneck, slacks. Expensive shoes. His dark hair was very closely shaved, giving him a severe,
stern appearance. He frowned at us.

“You’re Kitty Norville,” he said, looking each of us over. Sizing us up. His expression revealed no conclusions. “What have
you done to block the door?” His voice was nondescript. Steady, not particularly deep. Not particularly conversational.

Rick said, “May I ask: Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

He looked at Rick, taking him in in a glance, then gave me the same cursory look-over. Rick may have considered himself more
laid-back than the average vampire Master, but he bristled at the perfunctory attention.

“I can help with your problem,” the stranger said to us.

“How do you know we have one?” I said.

“The demon sent by the Band of Tiamat. Your problem.” He turned his gray-eyed gaze on me. I avoided meeting that gaze.

How did he know this? My back went stiff, like hackles. This guy wasn’t suave, blasé, bored, arrogant, or any of the other
things I was used to seeing in vampires. Not even constantly, vaguely amused, which even the nice vampires were, like they’d
seen it all and viewed the world as a humorous diversion. This guy was impatient, almost. On a mission.

“Demon?” Weird, having a name for it, an identification, whether or not he was right. “Are you some kind of demon hunter?”

“I suppose I’m an investigator. Of a sort.”

“And I suppose you’re trying to get inside to investigate?”

A single nod answered.

Rick said, “Who are you?”

“Roman,” he said. He traced the door, running his hand along the hinges. “I noticed the blood around the outside, but that
isn’t what’s blocking me. You haven’t done anything specific to the entrance, have you? You’ve simply filled this place up
with you and yours. Made it your own, keeping people like me out.” He almost sounded admiring. Almost.

“There’s really not much to see here. Not anymore. There was a fire,” I said.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, do you?” he said, sounding amazed, like he couldn’t believe we really were that
stupid.

“If you’re trying to endear yourself to us, it’s not working.”

“And you might want to think about endearing yourself. At least to me,” Rick said.

“Ah. Yes. You must be Rick. Or is it Ricardo?”

“I don’t stand on ceremony. Rick is fine.”

“Is there someplace we can talk? Since you don’t seem inclined to invite me in.”

“There’s my place,” Rick said. “A club, it’s not far.”

Rick wanted to get this guy on his home turf and thereby get some kind of advantage. I didn’t argue.

The vampire Roman looked like he might want to try. When he gazed at Rick, eyes narrowed, he seemed to be calculating. Weighing
the cost of refusing the request against his need to get what he wanted. I for one definitely wanted to find out why he was
here, what he knew about demons, and what he knew about what the Band of Tiamat had released on me.

At last he said, “Fine. Shall we?”

He gestured sideways, across the street—in the direction of Rick’s club, like he already knew where it was. He’d scoped the
place out already. This guy was a real player.

Rick stepped off the curb and walked on. Roman fell into step beside him.

What could I do but follow?

I
did
not
want to walk for six blocks with these two glaring at each other, sizing each other up, while I trailed behind like a stray
dog. I
knew
that’s what would happen, them marching together and posturing, and me prowling off to the side. I could holler at them and
say that I was taking the car. Then again, I didn’t want to miss anything good.

So, I skulked along, listening hard to catch everything they said. Except they didn’t say a word. By nature and profession,
I could not abide silence.

“So. Roman. Where’s home for you?” Like I was trying to strike up a casual conversation with just anyone. But hey, that was
my motto, wasn’t it? Vampires and werewolves are people, too.

Too bad some of them didn’t go along with my attempts at normality.

He didn’t answer. Not a word. Silly me, I couldn’t let it go. Had to keep poking until I got a reaction. “Come on, just a
little hint?” I said. “You don’t have to tell me where you’re from originally. It took me years to get that out of Rick. I’m
just asking where you hang your hat lately. Can I guess? San Francisco? Miami? Although I can’t imagine a vampire enjoying
someplace like Miami.”

Vampires didn’t need to breathe, but I could almost hear Roman’s exasperated sigh before he said, “I don’t appreciate vapid
attempts at conversation.”

Now what did I say to that? “Huh. Vapid. That’s a new one. I usually just rate irritating.”

Rick chuckled.

We arrived at Psalm 23.

Along with Arturo’s blood, control of the city, and a slew of vampire minions, Rick inherited God knew how much property around
town in the form of corporations and holding companies, which formed the basis of his predecessor’s wealth. Places like Obsidian.
Another of those places was the trendy nightclub Psalm 23. It was dark, stylish, with a reputation as a hip young nightclub,
a place to see and be seen. A meat market for the cool people. Maybe even a literal meat market. The place had a lot of shadowy
corners and sheltered booths, and after dark, a few vampires could always be found lurking there, drawing in prey. Like spiders,
as Rick had said.

I usually wasn’t dressed well enough to get in without an argument. Or maybe it was the fact that some of the bouncers were
vampires and didn’t like me on principle. Not that I ever spent any time there for fun.

Tonight I was really not up to dress code in my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, but Rick waved us through and guided us to an
alcove behind the bar, containing a small table and several chairs. This was his equivalent of my table in the back of New
Moon. Impromptu office and vantage point. Rick offered me a drink; I took a soda. He did not offer Roman a drink.

While Rick and I sat, Roman remained standing a moment, surveying the main space of the club.

The place was surprisingly hopping for a Sunday night. Two bars, a large one in front and a small one in back, had people
lined up, hip and well-dressed twenty-somethings in packs and in couples, most of them flirting. A DJ booth presided over
a dance floor, which was empty now. Small tables here and there held another dozen people, nibbling on appetizers and sipping
cocktails. Martini glasses glowed with a rainbow of concoctions smelling of alcohol. The air was heady with it. Some terrible
hip-hop remix of an old eighties song thumped in the background.

We were quiet for a moment, watching Roman. He watched us in turn, and none of us twitched, none of us revealed a flicker
of emotion.

Roman sat. “Hunting grounds for you and your people, I suppose?”

Rick didn’t blink, didn’t react. He regarded him with his thin, amused smile.

The stranger continued. “I suppose you even have your regulars, the ones who come here again and again, who’ve fallen under
your spell and offer themselves to you. Your own herd. Like milk cows.”

Vampires could draw blood from a person without killing, and I never asked too much about where Rick and his followers acquired
the human blood that maintained their existence. They could even use a strange hypnosis to lull their prey and make them
want
to be bitten and fed on, which could be erotic for them both. They could also make their prey forget entirely what had happened.
Clubs like this became prime feeding grounds. A suave, alluring vampire could come here, attract a young, vibrant creature
who was also on the prowl for some kind of fulfillment, and if all the victims remembered was that they’d had a really good
time, they’d probably come back for more. The parasitic circle of life—or undeath—was complete.

It was a pretty obvious setup when you knew what to look for. And the club made a hefty profit by overcharging for alcohol.

“Typical,” Roman said, contemptuously. “Conventional. I’m sure you’re aware, being conventional makes you predictable.”

“That’s not what we came here to discuss,” Rick said.

“She called me a demon hunter. I suppose that’s close enough. I’ve tracked one here.”

“Demon,” I said. Matter-of-fact, skeptical. “Horns, hooves, pitchfork. That kind of demon?”

“No,” Roman said. “When it appears, you may not even see it, but it smells of fire, brimstone. You feel a sense of overwhelming
dread. Of evil. The Band of Tiamat sent it to destroy you.”

So, it was a demon. The thing had a label now. I almost felt better, like I was finally getting a grip on this. I could start
searching the Internet.

It couldn’t possibly be that easy.

“You know a lot about it,” I said. “About the Band of Tiamat. About me.”

He gave a wry smile. “You aren’t exactly secretive about who you are and what you do. Five members of the Band were killed
during your stay in Las Vegas, and soon after you are afflicted by . . . something. Obviously, they blame you for whatever
happened.”

“And you’ve arrived to do something about it,” I said.

“For a price,” Rick added. Roman inclined his head, a barest nod.

Of course for a price. Of course for an ulterior motive. He was a vampire. They didn’t have any other kind of motive.

The way Rick was watching the guy—frowning, body straight and tense—I could tell he didn’t trust Roman. He didn’t like having
this mysterious vampire of unknown power camping in his territory and dropping implications. Really, we had no reason to even
believe him.

Once you started seeing the world in terms of conspiracy theories, such theories became darned easy to formulate. They were
everywhere.

I said, “Here’s the thing. There’s a certain kind of con, where the con artist shows up someplace and conveniently he knows
exactly what the problem is and how to solve it. This is because he created the problem for the express purpose of arriving
in the nick of time to solve it. For a price.”

“There’s another alternative,” Rick said. He glanced at me; I raised a questioning brow. Our silent conversation didn’t exactly
impart any information. “The priestess of the Tiamat cult—did you know she’s a vampire?” Roman made a noncommittal gesture
indicating that he should continue. No hint of yes or no. Rick continued. “Are you working with her?”

Ah, the great vampire conspiracy. I should have known Rick would take that route. I wanted to argue, because there was yet
another alternative: Maybe Roman was telling the truth, and maybe he really could help.

“You’re both right not to trust me, of course,” Roman said. My alarm bells were still ringing because even that line was part
of the con. Now he’d pull out a résumé and references from the mayor showing what a great demon hunter he was. He didn’t,
though. “You think I’m working for the priestess of Tiamat? Then why would I offer to end these attacks, when all she wants
to do is destroy the werewolf and wreak havoc in your territory? Or you think that this doesn’t involve the Band of Tiamat
at all, and that I’m merely using them as an excuse to play my little trick on you? Did my research, found a likely rube with
a likely story I could use to divert blame from myself . . . you’re right. It’s a very good con. I wish I’d thought of it.
But you need my help. I’m here to remove that creature from the face of the earth, and I guarantee you don’t have the skills
or knowledge to do it yourself.”

“You’re not telling us everything,” I said, and thought, well, duh, he’s a vampire, they never tell everything.

“I tell you everything, you no longer need my help,” he said. So much for altruism.

“And the price?” asked Rick.

“For banishing the demon, for preserving the sanctity of your territory, I want permanent free passage in Denver,” he said.
“Not so large a price, really.”

This made his offer feel like even more of a setup. He’d been planning this. Now the question was: Would Rick allow a powerful
demon-hunting vampire to set up shop in his territory?

Rick looked him over. They might as well have been a couple of guys playing poker, and for a moment I flashed on an imagined
scene from Rick’s Old West past: sitting across the table from Doc Holliday, sizing him up, wondering who was the fastest
draw. Rick smiling just a little because he didn’t need to be the fastest draw—a bullet wouldn’t knock him down. Now that
was the way I liked to gamble.