We retreated to the living room. Ben and I sat on the sofa, and Rick found a chair to pull across from us. He sat, then leaned forward, elbows on knees. He seemed casual, almost friendly, at odds with the usual vampire sense of sophistication. Most vampires liked to be the coolest thing in the room. Rick usually didn’t bother with the pretension. The BMW notwithstanding.
He hesitated, studying me and Ben both, sizing us up. I didn’t look straight back at him. Didn’t meet that hypnotic gaze.
“I need your help,” he said.
I couldn’t guess what he could possibly need from me that would drag him all the way out here from Denver. “What kind of help do you need that you couldn’t just call?”
He said, “I’m going to move against Arturo. I’m looking for backing.”
He surprised me into staring back at him. He wanted to stage a coup and take over Denver? I hadn’t thought he had that kind of ambition in him. Hell, he’d told me he didn’t have that kind of ambition. Something had changed, obviously.
“Why?”
From an inside pocket of his overcoat, he drew out a folded piece of paper—a newspaper article. After unfolding it, he offered it to me. It showed a front-page story about a series of attacks that had taken place at a downtown nightclub. No one had been killed, but at least three people had been taken to the hospital with severe bite wounds. The victims claimed vampires had attacked them—though the vampires must have been pretty sloppy if the people even remembered being attacked. According to the article, the authorities were skeptical, but in this day and age they were considering all options. The article also included a quote from the CDC assuring people that a simple bite from a vampire would not infect them with vampirism. That didn’t stop people from freaking out.
The fact that Rick was showing me this suggested it really had been vampires.
“I’m afraid he’s losing control.”
Part of a city’s Master’s job was to keep things like this from happening. Keep the city’s vampires under control. If they weren’t controlled, people could die. When people died, the authorities got interested, and vampires didn’t want that kind of attention if they expected to maintain their little empires.
“There’s more,” Rick continued. “If he’s perceived as weak by outsiders, others could move in to take control. He’s in danger of losing his authority. If he seeks help from outside, he’s in danger of losing his autonomy entirely.”
“Other Masters are moving in? Besides you?”
“It’s complicated. But I don’t want to see control of the region fall into the wrong hands.”
“And your hands are the right ones?”
He presented those hands in a gesture of offering.
My gut feeling liked Rick. But I didn’t know much more about him than that. Not enough to feel confident that his hands were the right ones. But I trusted him more than I trusted Arturo. Arturo hated my show and had tried to have me killed to get me to stop. Just on that basis I’d rather have Rick in charge.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“The Denver werewolves will side with Arturo. Arturo has Carl and Meg’s allegiance.” Carl and Meg, the alpha pair that headed the Denver pack. Not my favorite people in the world by a long shot. In fact, I’d be happy if I never heard their names again.
I did not like where this was going.
Rick said, “If you could take over the pack—”
“No,” I said.
“You’re strong enough. Especially with help.” He glanced at Ben suggestively. Like he thought we would make a good alpha pair.
This was crazy.
“No. No way. I lost that fight. I’m in exile, and you know what? I like being in exile. I don’t want to go back. They can keep the damn pack. I’m sorry, Rick, but you’re going to have to find another way to get the werewolves on your side.”
“The situation’s changed since you left. Degenerated. How long have you been gone, six months?”
“Eight. Nine, maybe.”
“Three more from your pack have died in that time. Carl and Meg killed them. You and T. J. stirred up the rest of the pack, and those two are barely maintaining control. It’s unhealthy, Kitty. It’s on the verge of anarchy. It needs help to make it safe for its members again.”
I couldn’t save the world. I couldn’t solve everyone’s problems. I was barely keeping my own life together.
“What makes you think I could do that?”
“Because you almost did it eight months ago. You’ve grown stronger since then. I can tell just by looking at you.”
“No.”
Ben took my hand, squeezed it. His turn to comfort me, now. He said, “Kitty’s right, this isn’t the best time to talk about this.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m running out of time,” he said. “The city is running out of time. Some vampires don’t care about control.”
I shook my head. “Rick, I can’t save everyone. The thing is, I like being a rogue. I like being on my own. I like not having to worry about a pissy alpha looking over my shoulder all the time, or worrying what a dozen other werewolves are doing behind my back. I get to have my own life.”
“Your own life—with your mate.”
Pack of two. I kept forgetting. “That’s right.”
“What would it take to bring you back to Denver?” Rick said.
I glared. “Nothing will bring me back to Denver. I’m sorry.”
“Well. Thanks for your honesty.” He stood and shook out his coat.
I walked him to the door, with Ben lurking behind us, trying to be menacing and unobtrusive at the same time. It made him look surly.
To Rick I said, “It’s awfully trusting of you, telling me what you’re planning. There’s a lot of people in Denver who’d like to know about it.”
“If you were on good terms with any of them, I might be worried.” He smiled a crooked smile. “You’re trusting enough to invite me into your home. I’m returning the favor.”
I wouldn’t have thought twice about inviting a friend into my home. But Rick gave the action gravity. In his world, one couldn’t take such invitations for granted. I wondered: Had he expected me to say no? Would he have turned around and driven away if I hadn’t offered the invitation? Had he only told me his plans after I passed that test?
“When’s it happening?” I asked, testing this new trust we’d apparently established.
He shrugged. “I’m still marshaling forces. Soon.”
“How do I find out how it all turns out?”
“Come to Denver in a month or so. See if anyone tries to kill you.” That smile again.
“I hate you people. I hate this crap.”
“Then stay in Pueblo.” With a sarcastic edge he added, “I’m positive no one will bother you here.”
That was some kind of dig, I was sure.
He was halfway down the walk to his car when I leaned out the doorway. “Rick? Good luck.”
He glanced at me over his shoulder, buried his hands in his pockets, and continued on.
Ben came up behind me, body to body, and put his hand on my hip. “I don’t have to tell you that guy made me nervous, do I?”
“Yeah, well, let’s hope you never meet the guy he’s trying to replace.”
“That’s the guy with a file on Cormac.”
“Denver’s Master vamp.”
“I didn’t know Denver even rated a Master vampire. You’ve met him? What’s he like?”
“Let’s just say Rick has his work cut out for him.”
I squirmed out of his embrace just enough to close the door, then pulled myself back into his arms. The beer hit me all at once, and I was about to fall asleep on my feet. I tugged at his shirt and hoped my voice wasn’t too slurred. “Let’s go to bed.”
The getting drunk worked, because I fell asleep without thinking of babies, miscarriages, blood, vampire wars, or much of anything at all.
My cell phone, sitting on the bedstand, rang. I jerked awake, fe
eling like someone had hit a gong over my face. Then the headache struck. I groaned and burrowed under the pillow.
“Are you getting that?” Ben sounded annoyed.
“What time is it?”
“Early.”
And the damn phone kept ringing. I grabbed it and checked caller ID. My parents’ number showed on the display. It was Tuesday, not Sunday, Mom wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t Sunday. Unless something was wrong.
I pressed the talk key. “Hello?”
“Kitty?” My father answered.
I sat up. Something was wrong. I loved my dad, and we got along great—at least since I’d moved out on my own. But he never called me. A sudden wave of gooseflesh covered my arms.
“Dad, hi.”
Ben propped himself on his elbow, watching me, his brow creased with concern. He’d probably sensed something in my voice, and in the way my whole body went rigid.
“Can you come up here today? This morning?”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Your mother’s checking into the hospital.”
“What?” My voice came out too high-pitched. “Why, what for?” Ben’s hand moved to my leg, a comforting pressure.
“Did she tell you she went in for a mammogram last week?”
“No. Wait a minute—how long has she known about this?” She’d known something was wrong during our phone call on Sunday and didn’t tell me. My eyes stung, suddenly, painfully.
Dad took a deep breath—a calming breath, preparing for exposition. It couldn’t have been that bad, I told myself. If Dad could be calm, nothing could be that wrong.
“She went in because she found a lump,” he said. “It could be nothing, it could be benign. They’ll remove it and run the tests. She’ll only stay there overnight. It’s perfectly routine.”
Was he trying to convince me, or himself?
Dad continued. “She didn’t want me to tell you. She said she didn’t want to be a bother just in case it turns out to be nothing. But I think it would mean a lot to her if you could be here.”
If not for her, then for him. Maybe the weight of fear and uncertainty would be easier to bear if there were more of us to carry it.
“Yeah, sure I’ll be there. What time? Where?” I took the phone to the next room in a search of pen and paper. Found it, scribbled down Dad’s instructions. Repeated them all back. Mundane details kept the brain numb.
“Sorry about waking you,” he said. “I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t think it was important.”
“No, it’s fine, I’m glad you called. Dad—how are you doing?”
“It’s going to be fine. We’ll go in and get this taken care of, and everything’ll be fine.” He spoke with an edge of desperation. He said the words as if he thought speech would make them fact.
“That didn’t really answer my question.”
After a pause, he said, “I’m holding up. Mom’s the important one right now.”
“Yeah. I’m coming up. I’m leaving right now.”
“See you soon.”
We hung up. I set down the phone and returned to the bedroom. I started pawing through the closet for clothes. My hands were shaking.
“Kitty?” Ben said, watching me from the bed.
“I have to go to Denver. I have to go right now.”
“Just like that? Exile over?”
“Ben—it’s my mother.”
“I know, I heard.”
I thought about taking a shower, to wake myself up. No, too long. Clothes—jeans, T-shirt. No, something nicer. Blouse. I dressed quickly. Put my hair up.
Ben dressed as well. He followed me to the front of the house, watched me scoop up my bag, rush around looking for shoes—then he took my car keys out of my hand.
“I’m driving,” he said.
“You don’t have to go.”
“Kitty—you’re a wreck. I’m driving.”
I started crying. Ben held me. It only lasted a minute, then I pulled myself together. No time to panic. No time for despair.
In ten minutes we were heading north.
chapter 3
Fighting with morning traffic, it took us three hours to get to Denver. Ben knew where the hospital was and drove us straight there. “I’m not just a lawyer,” he’d explained, grinning. “I’m an ambulance-chasing lawyer.”
Good thing he came along. The parking garage was packed, but he patiently wound our way up each level until we found a spot. Then I couldn’t figure out what button to push on the elevator to get us to the hospital lobby, and once in the lobby I stood at the end of intersecting corridors and froze, uncertain where to go. Ben steered me in the right direction each time, finally pointing me to an information desk.
I held my stomach, which still hurt. Cramps still gnawed at me. My insides emptying themselves out. I was still sick.
“Don’t say anything,” I said, walking close to Ben. “Don’t tell them about it. The miscarriage, I mean.”
“Okay.”
I leaned on the information desk. “I’m here to see Gail Norville, she was supposed to check in this morning.”
The receptionist took way too long to type in the name and search in her database. Almost, I was ready to believe that it had all been a mistake. Mom wasn’t really sick, she wasn’t here at all, it was a big misunderstanding, and I’d get to throttle Dad over it later.
“Here she is,” the receptionist said brightly. “In the outpatient ward, she’s scheduled for surgery in an hour, but right now she’s in room 207, one floor up, then turn right.”
I was already away from the desk and on the move toward the elevator. Ben said, “Thank you,” behind me.
The elevator moved too slowly. I wanted to growl at it. Ben and I stood together, side by side, arms touching. The touch calmed me a little. At the very least, it kept me from screaming.
One floor up, the elevator opened into a standard institutional corridor: off-white floor and walls, faintly humming fluorescent lights, doors and hallways branching off. I saw people moving, things happening, but only focused on the numbers above the doors. Turn right, 201, 203 . . .
The door to room 207 stood open. I had no idea what I’d find inside. I crept in, shoulders bunched up, so tense I thought I’d break.
Everybody was there—my whole immediate family. Mom, Dad, big sister Cheryl, her husband Mark, their two kids. Mom lay in bed, wearing a cloth hospital gown. The bed was cranked up so she was sitting up, and she had my sixteen-month-old nephew Jeffy in her lap, entertaining him with a stuffed tiger. Three-and-a-half-year-old Nicky was with her father, sitting in a chair in the back. She was red-eyed, face squished up, crying and unhappy, like she could sense that the grown-ups were upset but couldn’t understand why—only that something was wrong. Mark was trying to distract her. Cheryl sat in a chair next to the bed, hovering over Jeffy, and my father, Jim Norville, hovered over her.
“Hi.”
Everyone looked at me. For a moment, the smiles stopped being so forced.
“Kitty!” Mom said, laughing.
I practically fell on top of her in my rush to hug her, however awkwardly, with me leaning over her and her pushing off from the bed. “You’re here, you’re really here!” she mumbled into my hair.
“Why didn’t you tell me? You should have told me,” I muttered at her.
“That’s exactly what your sister said,” she answered.
“Mom!”
She shrugged, unapologetic.
Jeffy blinked at us, kind of blankly, and batted the tiger. We regarded each other. “Um, he’s gotten bigger, hasn’t he?” He was barely sitting up by himself the last time I saw him.
“Well, duh,” Cheryl said, grinning at me.
I had to hug everyone then, moving around the bed to get to my sister and Dad.
“Thanks for coming,” he whispered.
“Had to,” I said.
I waved at Mark and Nicky. Mark waved back, and Nicky stared. My arrival seemed to disrupt her
blubbering, and now she seemed as blankly fascinated by the new arrival as her brother. She hadn’t doubled in size like Jeffy had—I actually recognized her from our last visit. But she clearly didn’t remember me. I wasn’t enough a part of her life for her to remember.
Kids. Dammit. Those two were as close as I was ever going to get.
No tears, not here. I stood back and took a good look at my family. My first family. We looked like a family—all of us relatively athletic, fit, like some kind of country club advertisement. Mom and Dad met on their college tennis team and still played a couple times a week. Dad’s brown hair was going a rather distinguished gray. The girls all had the blond hair, though Mom’s had almost turned the color of ash.
For a moment, Mom didn’t look like Mom. She hadn’t put on makeup, her chin-length hair was straight, unstyled, and the hospital gown left her looking lumpy, untailored. Mom was an extremely put-together woman. This version of her was unmistakably ill. She had no overt symptoms. She smiled easily enough. But the anxiety was there, in the tension of her jaw and hands.
Dad saw Ben first. Ben had slipped in quietly and leaned against the wall by the door. Dad’s gaze drew everyone else’s attention.
Well, I hadn’t quite planned this to happen this way. Nothing to do but plunge ahead.
“This is Ben,” I said. I went to grab him and pull him forward, guiding him by the elbow. I pointed and introduced. “Ben, this is my mom and dad—Gail and Jim. Cheryl, married to Mark over there, and the rug rats are Jeffy and Nicky.”
“Hello, Ben,” Mom said with a rich smile and insufferable smugness. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person.”
Ben very politely shook hands with my parents. “Mrs. Norville, Mr. Norville.”
“God, this is so high school,” I muttered, suddenly feeling sixteen years old. Weren’t things like introducing your significant other to your parents supposed to get easier?
“Please, call me Gail,” Mom purred, looking pleased as anything.
The room was almost cheerful, the walls painted rose, the blanket on the bed a happy yellow. They’d tried to add some brightness to the institutional setting. But it still smelled like a hospital. And Mom was still sick.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” I said.