Kitty Steals the Show (Kitty Norville) (16 page)

Luis stood and leaned in to kiss my cheek before I could duck, though the gesture seemed cosmopolitan and harmless, even with the dark look Ben gave me. He and Luis didn’t shake hands. Neither did he and Cormac. The two regarded each other warily.

Luis presented his companion. “This is my sister, Esperanza.”

She was short and fiery, with a round face and a spark in her gaze. I recognized the family resemblance in those eyes. She wore jeans and a beaded tunic shirt, and her long dark hair lay braided over one shoulder. She smelled of jaguar, like Luis.

We made all the introductions, shuffled a bit around the table, jockeying for seats as Ben pointedly insinuated himself between me and Luis, which meant I ended up sitting next to Esperanza. Ben may have wanted to make sure I wasn’t sitting next to the charming jaguar, but it meant I was across from him, and he winked at me, dark eyes flashing. Oh dear. I had suddenly forgotten how to flirt. Cormac ended up stuck at the end of the table, probably by design. He could watch us all, and the rest of the restaurant. He’d probably go the whole evening without saying a word.

“So you’re the wolf with the big bad mouth,” Esperanza said in a quick voice with a lilting accent. I liked her already.

“That’s me. I’ve heard a lot about you, too,” I said, and we both looked at Luis.

“I said you’d get along well because you’re both crusaders.”

“What’s your crusade?” Ben asked her.

“Loggers think half the jungles in Brazil are haunted, because of me. They can’t get anyone to work in some sections.” She smiled with pride.

“Any of them sue you yet?”

She glared. “What are you, a lawyer?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Don’t you dare give anyone that idea,” she said, pointing.

He held up his hands. “Never.”

“What do you do for a living?” Esperanza looked at Cormac.

He hesitated a moment before saying, “I’m a consultant.”

“In what area?” Luis asked.

He twitched a smile. “Usually when nobody knows what the hell is going on, they call me.”

“So can you explain British politics to the rest of us?” Esperanza asked.

“I have limits,” he said.

We ordered a bottle of wine; Luis and his sister argued over labels. We ordered food—all of us wanted steaks, rare as the chef would make them, and the server looked at us funny but didn’t say anything. I wondered how many lycanthropes from the conference had eaten here this week. The evening progressed nicely after that as we discussed the conference and whether or not we thought it was accomplishing anything, the protests, and the state of public recognition and acceptance of the supernatural in our respective countries. Regarding the conference, the jury was still out—while it was nice that everyone was getting together and talking with relatively little fur flying, so to speak, we’d have to wait until it was over to see what came out of it. The protests bothered us all but we were relieved that no actual violence had come of it, so far. Recognition of the supernatural—that was a stickier question.

“It’s turning things upside down,” Esperanza said. “We’re at what’s meant to be a scientific conference, trying to apply logic and science to these questions. And back home attendance at religious services is up over forty percent, and people say the reason is that they’re scared. If there’s magic and monsters in the world, they want some kind of protection against it, and they’re going to church to get it.”

Ben said, “One of the sessions I went to yesterday was a presentation by a lawyer from Tanzania who’s been involved in prosecutions of murderers of albinos. Some people there believe the body parts of albinos have magical properties, so people with albinism are killed and dismembered and sold off for potions and good-luck charms. The trade’s apparently gotten very profitable over the last few years. He said they’ve had a tough time getting convictions, but got some help when a well-known traditional healer came out and declared that albinos aren’t any more magical than anyone else. He also said that not everyone listens to the guy. Magic’s real, people say. Why shouldn’t this be, too? As if that justifies killing someone for their hair.”

“We think we’re solving one problem and five more rise up,” Esperanza said.

What a topic for dinner table conversation. I was horrified. I pursed my lips, staring into the ruby depths of my wine.

“Kitty?” Ben prompted.

“I’m trying to figure out how to gracefully change the subject to something a little more cheerful,” I said. “Like I wonder if there are any fairy rock bands? Surely if they’re eating in restaurants they’ve got rock bands.”

Ben said, “Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places. Have you
seen
Prince’s videos?”

“No, I think a real fairy rock band would be a little more subtle than that. Like Jethro Tull, maybe.”

“You call that subtle?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“What did I tell you?” Luis said, leaning close to his sister. “Never a dull moment.”

“Hmm, I can’t wait for your keynote speech,” she said—purring, almost. “What are you going to talk about?”

I closed my eyes and rested a hand on my forehead, a gesture of suffering. “Oppression,” I said dramatically.

Dinner was good. Nice, mellow, out with friends, no pressure. Ben may even have stopped glaring at Luis for a few minutes. Naturally, the respite couldn’t last.

We’d finished eating and had moved on to coffee and more conversation when activity at the front door caught Luis’s attention. He stared, frowning.

“What is it?” I asked, glancing over to see.

“Friends of yours?” he said.

Three men, smelling distinctly of lycanthrope, had just entered and surveyed the restaurant. They were tough guys, in leather jackets, designer jeans, and boots. Two had beards, and all were broad through the shoulders. Moving like fighters, they were shoulder to shoulder, attention out—stalking, like predators. The one in front spoke to the maître d’, who nodded toward our table. He shook his head in response, and the trio moved to the bar, where they perched warily, uncomfortably.

“Werewolves?” Cormac said.

“Yeah,” Ben answered.

“Problem?” the bounty hunter answered.

They were here looking for me, obviously. But this wasn’t the place to start trouble. So far they were just watching.

“Let’s wait and see,” I answered.

We tried to pretend that the strangers weren’t obviously here to keep a watch on us.

Esperanza said, “When you first got here, those two girls at the bar—they were watching you, too.”

“No, that was just a coincidence,” I said, because I couldn’t cope with much more paranoia.

“Right,” Ben said. “Didn’t mean a thing, they were just fairies.”

Luis chuckled. “Really? Like leprechauns and pixies?”

“Not exactly,” I said, waving him off. “But yeah, sort of.”

His smile broadened. “Makes you wonder what else is hanging around the conference.”

I sighed. “Djinn, wizards, gods, goddesses.”

Esperanza leaned forward. “Did you say gods?”

My mouth opened to start an explanation, then closed again. Where did I start?

We paid our bill, collected our things, and went toward the door. When the trio of werewolves at the bar moved to intercept us in the restaurant’s vestibule, I wasn’t surprised. I caught the leader’s gaze and held it. His companions flanked him just as Ben and Cormac flanked me. Luis and Esperanza stood aside, wary.

“Kitty Norville,” he said. His accent was rolling, quick. French or Italian, maybe. His frown twitched, nervous.

“Yes?”

“I serve the Master of Venice. He sends a message—a warning.” I stepped forward, offended, ready to argue; he stepped back and looked away, a submissive move. A peace offering. He wasn’t here to fight. “A friendly warning. You do not know what you’re meddling with. You do not know the true situation among the vampires of Europe and you’d be better to stay away. Your enemies are powerful.”

Wasn’t anything I didn’t already know. The trick to facing off with another wolf pack was to stand your ground, not flinch, not let your gaze slip for even a moment. He was probably six feet tall, leaving me quite a bit shorter than him. I tried not to show it. “A message like that is a sure way to keep me interested. Like waving a red flag at a bull.”

“Please, that is not my Master’s intention—”

The front door opened again, letting in a cool breath of night air and a fresh wave of werewolf scent. Caleb and one of his wolves, a shorter man with close-shaven hair and a surly expression, entered, and frowned past me to the other wolves.

“You can step away from her now,” Caleb said.

The Italian wolf bared his teeth and his voice burred like a growl. “Stay out of this!”

“You’re not the one giving orders here, friend.” Caleb didn’t have to growl, or show his teeth, and he still managed to radiate anger. In response, the Italian wolf hunched his back, bracing his shoulders like hackles stiffening.

“Guys, stop it,” I said, putting myself between them, breaking the line of sight. “Everything’s just fine. You don’t really want to start something here, do you?”

People in the restaurant were staring. The maître d’ had been away from her stand, and hovered nearby, gripping her own hands, waiting for a chance to return.

“You want to take this outside?” I said, indicating the doorway.

Of course, no one wanted to be the first one to move, so I did, pushing past Cormac and Ben, then Caleb and his lieutenant, to finally reach the sidewalk outside. I didn’t know how we’d managed to all squeeze into that space. The city air smelled fresh and wild after the closeness inside.

The standoff re-created itself on the sidewalk: the Italian wolves attempting to stare me down, Caleb and his wolf staring
them
down, Ben and Cormac tensed for some kind of action, and Luis and Esperanza lingering on the edges, cautiously watching. We were all anxious, but no one was resorting to overtly aggressive movement. It should have been comforting—it didn’t matter where we came from, we all spoke the same body language.

I turned to the alpha of the Italian wolves. “What’s your name?”

He hesitated before answering, “I serve the Master of Venice.”

“Oh, come on, what’s that supposed to mean?”

He shut his mouth, pressing lips into a line.

“Okay. Fine. So this warning … is it a generic ‘here be dragons’ kind of warning or is there something specific I need to be looking for?”

He said, firmly, “Don’t meddle. Stay at your conference where you belong. Protect yourself—your pack.”

“My pack?”

“Them,” he said, nodding at Ben and Cormac. “Your friends. Your army wolf.”

Tyler. “He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“You won’t get to decide that.”

I stepped up to him. “Is something going to happen? What is it? What do you know?”

He backed away, slouching—he hadn’t meant to push me, I gathered. He didn’t want to fight. He probably hadn’t expected me to stand up to him at all. “I—I don’t know anything. Just … we don’t know what’s going to happen, none of us do. But the situation—it’s dangerous.”

“I already knew that.”

“Please believe me—my Master sympathizes. He only wants to help.”

“I’m not sure he’s the kind of guy I’d want help from,” I said.

Recovering his confidence—his dignity—the alpha wolf bowed his head in a human gesture of respect. “Then I apologize for interrupting your evening.”

He nodded at his two companions, and the trio stalked away, moving gracefully along the street and into the night. We stared after them.

“They must think you’re pretty important to be sending you warnings,” Ben said.

“I think I need to call Tyler,” I said. Not for any particular reason. Just to make sure he was okay. I turned to Caleb and pointed. “And where did you come from? I don’t need you babysitting me, you know.”

“I wasn’t babysitting you,” Caleb said. “I was trailing them.” He nodded down the street where the Italian wolves had turned the corner.

“Then what were they up to, really?”

“Exactly what that alpha said, I think. Some of the vampires want you staying out of things but are polite enough not to actually bump you off. Nice, isn’t it?”

“Real nice,” I muttered. “Now I’m going to be worried about everyone for the rest of the week. Even more worried.” The shadows all held werewolf packs, vampires, fairies. Who knew what else?

“Think we should follow them, gov?” Caleb’s lieutenant said, hands shoved in pockets of his jacket, nodding after the Italians.

“Certaintly,” he said. “Might be educational.”

“You’ll call me if you find anything juicy?” I said.

The two British wolves started down the street after the others. Caleb tipped an imaginary hat at me. “Of course.”

We watched them leave, and the multitude of shadows left my spine prickling.

“This conspiracy needs a flow chart,” Ben said.