Kitty's House of Horrors (kn-7) by Carrie Vaughn (christmas read aloud txt) 📕

even went out with her on the last full moon. And I’m like pointing at the sky, pointing at the moon, going, ‘Look, you haven’t turned into a wolf—you’re not a werewolf!’ And she’s all like, ‘But I am on the inside. I have the soul of a wolf.’”

These potpourri shows were great for when I didn’t have anything else planned. Just let people call in with all the problems that have been brewing over the last few weeks. Great—in theory. But it meant I couldn’t complain about what calls I did get.

I had so much going on in my personal life right now I had a hard time focusing on the call. Cormac’s parole hearing was scheduled at the same time I was supposed to be in Montana taping what SuperByte Entertainment was now calling Supernatural Insider. I wouldn’t be here to give him or Ben moral support. That pissed me off. But I was also so darned excited over the prospect of Cormac getting out of prison. Apparently, he’d been a good boy, and that shaved enough time off that now, with almost half of his four-year sentence completed, he was eligible for parole, and Ben said it was all but a done deal. Cormac had friends and family in the area, a place to live, and a plan to look for a job. By all appearances he was completely reformed and repentant. At least, he’d convinced the prison psychologist of it. And what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during those sessions…

So in as little as a month from now, he could be out. A free man. I was excited—and more than a little anxious.

I didn’t know what to think about Cormac anymore. The first time I met him, he’d tried to kill me, but I talked him out of it. The next time I met him, we traded information, because we were both after the same bad guy. The third time, we’d almost fallen into bed together. We didn’t, because he had a thing against werewolves. After that—we were friends. We acted like it, mostly. We’d come to each other’s rescue often enough.

I met Cormac before I met Ben. Cormac referred me to Ben—his cousin—when I needed a lawyer. Then Cormac brought Ben to me right after Ben had been bitten and infected with lycanthropy. I took care of Ben, and Ben and I—well, we bonded, and Cormac was left out in the cold. Then he came to our rescue, shot and killed a very bad person on our behalf—and was convicted of manslaughter for it. And each of us thought it was our own fault. We had a bumper crop of guilt between us. Not to mention the sparks still lingering between me and Cormac, though I’d gone and gotten married to his cousin and best friend in the meantime. And in the middle of all that I had this sensationalist TV show to deal with.

I needed a radio advice show I could call in to.

Audra was still talking. “… and I know she listens to your show, too, and I just want you to tell her that she’s so full of it.”

I leaned in and turned on my snotty voice. “And why should I tell her that?”

“Because she’s totally deluding herself. She’s not fooling anyone.”

“Maybe she isn’t trying to fool anyone. Maybe she really honestly feels this way, and if it helps her feel better about herself, and she isn’t hurting anything, who are we to argue? As her friend you ought to be a little more supportive, don’t you think? She’s not actually hurting anyone, is she?”

“Well, no. But it’s just so stupid!”

“I think you’re being a little judgmental.”

“But you’re a real werewolf—why are you standing up for her?”

“Because I think, based on what you’ve told me, that she’s right and you’re wrong.”

Audra made an offended grunt. “That’s so not fair!”

Lots of people called in to the show. Lots of people claimed to be fans. Yet they always seemed surprised when I gave them the same smackdown I gave ninety percent of my callers.

“Let me ask you a question, Audra. Why are you so threatened by this? Why does it bother you so much that she calls herself a werewolf when she physically isn’t one?”

“Because she’s wrong. And she’s just such a snob about it. Like she’s all better than me because she’s a werewolf when what she really is is crazy.”

I straightened. “Why does this girl even hang out with you when you’re so mean to her?”

“I’m not mean to her! I’m trying to get her to wake up to reality!”

“To which you’ve applied a narrow definition.”

“And she can’t face up to the fact that I’m a vampire.”

“Huh?”

“The only reason she keeps going on about being a werewolf is because I’m a vampire, and she’s jealous.”

I blinked, my brow furrowed in confusion. My lack of a poker face was another reason I was better off on radio than TV. Which was something else that was going to make Supernatural Insider interesting.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You’re a vampire? Really?” ’Cause right then I would have laid money that she wasn’t.

“Well…” she said. “I have the soul of a vampire.”

I didn’t know what it was that made people bare their souls and tell me the truth when I had no way of knowing whether they were vampires, lycanthropes, or the Queen of Sheba. Maybe it was that radio was simultaneously so personal and anonymous. They could speak, I could hear them, hear the tears in their voices. But they could stay alone, no one had to see them crying, and as soon as they hung up the phone the confession might never have happened. But I was happy for the confessions, because they made for great entertainment.

“Audra, Audra, Audra,” I said. “You know some people believe that vampires don’t even have souls?”

“But I do, I understand, I have the innate sense of style and superiority! I feel the music