In so many ways, the alpha of the pack was G.o.d to us. I remembered my first few months with them. I trembled whenever Carl came near. I cowered at his feet, worshiping him, adoring him. When had that gone away?

"Me, too," I said.

We slept for a time. I was only half-awake when he stretched his back and sat up. He paused, took several deep breaths, then brought his face close to me, smelling my hair, moving down to sniff my neck and shirt.

He said, his tone doubtful, "You smell like a police station."

I told him everything while he made bacon and eggs for breakfast. Even the smell of frying meat filling the kitchen couldn't make me hungry. We sat at his Formica table, plates of food in front of us, and neither one of us ate.

He picked at his for a while, breaking the yolks of his fried eggs and stirring them with bacon. He looked at me, and I stared at my plate.

Finally, he said, "This is what you get for going to the cops in the first place."

"It's because I went to the cops and got on their good side that I'm not in jail now." There I was, arguing again.

"I can't go to jail," he said. "Neither can you. You'll tell them I did it. That'll get you off the hook. And I'll run. I'll go into the hills, maybe go wolf for a while. That way I can hide."

I didn't like the sound of that. It wouldn't get him off the hook. We had no idea how long he'd have to hide. I wanted some solution that would let everyone believe T.J. was innocent. But he wasn't, really. That was the problem.

Any way we looked at it, I was in danger of losing him.

My voice cracked when I said, "Have you ever heard of someone Changing and not being able to shift back?"

"I've heard stories. It hasn't happened to anyone I know."

"I don't want you to go wolf. You're not a wolf."

"It can be a strength, Kitty. If it can help, I'd be stupid not to use it. That's something you've never learneda"how to use the wolf as a strength."

"I'll miss you. Who'll look out for me if you go?"

He smiled. "I thought you said you could take care of yourself."

I wanted to say something rude, but I started crying.

"You can always come visit," he said.

I went home. The police cars, coroner's van, swarms of people, and Zan's body were gone. A few sc.r.a.ps of yellow crime-scene tape fluttered, caught in the shrubs outside the building. A guy sat in a sedan parked across the street, sipping coffee. Watching. I ignored him.

I threw away the b.l.o.o.d.y towel and shirt that were still lying in the kitchen sink. I opened a window and let in some air, because the place felt like Cormac, Hardin, and the cops were still trooping through, making the room stuffy. I pulled O'Farrell's card out of my pocket and left it on the kitchen counter. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, looked at myself in the mirror. Red, puffy eyes. Greasy, tired hair. I looked pale.

I started to tell myself that I just had to wait for everything to get back to normal. Take it one step at a time, things would settle down, and I'd feel better. But I stopped, because I tried to think of what was normal, and I couldn't remember.

Shape-shifting once a month, waking up tangled with a half-dozen other naked bodies, sniffing armpits as foreplay. Was that normal? Letting Carl beat up on me, f.u.c.k me, tell me what to do, just because it felt right to the wolf half? Was that normal? Did I want to go back to that?

Normal without the Wolf was so long ago I couldn't remember what it was like anymore.

I had two choices regarding Carl. I could leave him, or challenge him. Leaving him meant leaving the pack. That made it hard. Too hard to think about.

Could I make it on my own?

Could I fight him and win?

Six months ago, I would have said no to both those questions. Now, I wasn't sure. I had to be able to answer yes to one of those, if I couldn't go back to being what I was six months ago.

Now all I had to do was decide which one I could answer yes to.

"a be kinda cool to look through a bunch of autopsy reports and find out how many of those people were shot with silver bullets."

"I'm going to add that to my list," I said into the microphone. "Do the police check bullets for silver content?"

"They ought to," the caller said with a humph, "Seems kind of obvious, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. Thanks for calling. This is Kitty, and in case you've just tuned in, I'm putting together a list of questions that law enforcement officials might want to start asking about certain crimes. Our topic tonight is law enforcement and the supernatural. I've got some national crime statistics here, a breakdown of murders that happened all over the U.S. last yeara"murder weapons, causes of death, that sort of thing. It says here that police reported that fourteen people died with stakes through their hearts last year. Of those fourteen, eight were also decapitated, and three were found draped with crosses. All were reported as, quote, ritualistic slayings, unquote. I should think so. My question is, did they check to see if those murder victims really were vampires? Could they check? Probably not. Some varieties of vampire disintegrate upon death. Though there exists a CDC report describing tests for identifying lycanthropes and vampires. Let's take a call. h.e.l.lo, Ray, you're on the air."

"Hi, Kitty. I just want to bring up a point you seem to be missing: If those fourteen 'murder victims,' as you call them, really were vampires, is it really murder?"

Ooh, controversy. "What do you think?"

"Well, I'd call it self-defense. Vampires are predators, and their only prey is humanity. Humanity has a vested interest in getting rid of them whenever they can." Sounded like a rancher talking about wolves.

"Gee, Ray. Some of my best friends are vampires. What if the vampire in question has never killed anyone? Let's say she only takes blood from voluntary donors, keeps to herself, never causes trouble. Then one day some crusading vampire hunter comes along and stakes her just because she's a vampire."

"That's been going on for hundreds of years. I think you're the first person to call it murder."

"Actually, I'm not. And at the risk of offending lots of people out there in lots of different ways, the n.a.z.is didn't call it murder either." I clicked him off the line before he could say anything indignant. "Let me present another thought experiment. We've got a werewolf, vampire, whatever. He's killed someone for no good reason. What should happen? If it were a normal person, he'd get arrested, go on trial, and probably go to jail for a really long time. Maybe be sentenced to death if the situation warranted. Now, let's take the werewolf. Can we put a werewolf in jail for a really long time? What are they going to do with him when the full moon comes along? Or the vampirea"do you realize how impractical it would be to sentence a vampire to life in prison? I've got Timothy on the line. h.e.l.lo."

The caller said in a low, smooth voice, "Of course it's impractical sentencing a vampire to life in prison. I think there'd be no other choice but to have a vampire hunter take care of the problem. That's what they're for."

"So you're saying law enforcement should stay completely out of it. Just let the vampire hunters loose w.i.l.l.y-nilly."

"Of course not. Unless the vampires are allowed to hunt the hunters, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, as you say."

I was guessing he was a vampire. He had that arrogant tone, and that clipped diction that usually meant someone had learned to speak in a culture that valued refined grammar, which meant not recent culture.

"Which is still outside mundane law enforcement. The supernatural underground should take care of its own, is that what you're saying?"

"I believe it is. If a werewolf kills another werewolf in the course of a pack dominance challenge, do you really want the police to become involved?"

Ouch. Double ouch. But I'd asked for it. That'd teach me to do a show on a personal topic I was worried about. Unfortunately, I wasn't the type to backpedal. I read a quote by Churchill once: If you're going through h.e.l.l, keep going.

"Let me turn that question back on you: What would you recommend to a police officer who did get involved in an internecine squabble? Let's say a mauled body shows up. The cop looks into it and in a particular show of brilliance and open-mindedness decides that the attacker couldn't have been an animal and thinks werewolf. What's more, he runs a couple of tests and discovers that hey, the victim was a werewolf, too." Maybe Hardin was listening. Maybe we'd both learn something. "What should he do next?"

"Buy lots of silver bullets," Timothy answered without hesitation.

"That is so not helpful." Yikes, I'd said that out loud. I hung up on him. "Okay, moving on. Are you a lycanthrope or a vampire or the like who has had an encounter with the law? What did you do? What's your advice? And as always, any comments on the issues we've been discussing throughout the hour are welcome. Next caller, you're on the air."

"Hi, Kitty. The best and only advice I can give when the cops are after you is to run like h.e.l.l. There's no way the cops can keep up. That's the beauty of ita"

"a if you're going to put vampires and werewolves under the jurisdiction of human law enforcement, then you absolutely need to put vampires and werewolves on the police forcea"

Vampire cops? Was she serious? Then again, they'd always have somebody to take the graveyard shift.

The calls kept coming.

"a the same laws don't apply. They never can, they never will. Death and murder don't mean the same thing to people who are immortal and nearly indestructiblea"

My head hurt. My callers were making me feel stupid. They kept taking me to the same place, that T.J. was right and I shouldn't talk to the cops anymore. Supernatural glasnost was impossible. I was the stuff that nightmare stories were made of and I should learn to live with it. Or shoot myself with silver.

I wondered what the statistics were on suicide among lycanthropes.

For the last few days, Hardin had people watching me.

I did nothing but travel between work and home. I didn't call anyone. I didn't tell Hardin anything.

I said, "True confession time. You know that I do it occasionally, take these questions out of the abstract and talk about how they apply to my own life. And what I'm thinking right now is, what's the point? If these two worlds, the supernatural and human worlds, are destined to be at each other's throats; if there's no way to compromise about things like who has the right to govern whom, then what am I doing here? Why should I even bother doing the show? I'm feeling an impulse to run to the hills and forget I was ever human. But you know what? I would miss chocolate. And movies. And the next alb.u.m by my favorite band. And I'm wondering if this is where the problem is, that lycanthropes and vampires might not technically be fully human, but they used to be, and they can't ever forget it. Or more to the point, they shouldn't ever forget it. When they do is when the problems happen."

The monitor was full of calls. I looked at Matt through the window, wanting some kind of guidance, not wanting to choose. I didn't want to hear about anyone's problems. I didn't want to hear any more righteous rhetoric from either camp. I just wanteda I didn't know. Maybe to play some music, like in the old days. Maybe I could do that for the next show, get a band on and talk about music for a couple of hours. Yeah, that was a plan.

Matt was leaning back in his chair, smiling at me. He'd stuck it out with me during the whole run of the show. That smile said he was happy to be here. I couldn't help but smile back.

He was my friend, and he was human. That said something.

I straightened and took a breath, making my voice lighter, to drag the show from its depressing low. "All right, it looks like I have a repeat caller on the line. I always appreciate the people who come back for more. James, h.e.l.lo."

"Kitty, I just want to tell you how much your show means to me. It'sa"you're this voice of reason, you know? You actually think these things through. It helps, it really helps. I hope you don't ever stop doing this." His voice sounded even more strained than it had the last time. If the show was helping him, I'd hate to think of what he'd sound like without it.

"Thanks. That means a lot. How are you doing?"

"I've been thinking about it. I think I'm okay. I think I'm doing what I was meant to do. Why else would this have happened to me, if not to be this way and be able to do these things?"

My stomach froze. "Do what things, James?"

"I have a confession, Kitty. I didn't much like being human, when I was human. So being a werewolf isn't much different, except I'm strong now. I'ma"I know what to do. When I can't decide what to do, the wolf tells me what to do."

James was psychotic. He'd probably been that way before he became a lycanthrope. So, what happened when a self-loathing, misanthropic psychotic became a werewolf?

Blood pounded in my ears when I double-checked the monitor. We collected first names and hometowns from the callers. I couldn't remember where he was from. I squinted to read the monitor.

Oh, my G.o.d. Denver. He'd been under my nose the whole time.

I covered the mike and hissed at Matt, mouthing, "Caller ID. Get his number. Now!"

Leaning into the mike, I tried to keep my voice steady. "What does your wolf tell you to do, James?"

"You know, Kitty. You know. What does your wolf tell you to do? You understand."

Use claws. Teeth. Get blood. Run. Yeah, I understood. But I'd won that battle.

"Do you ever stop to think that your wolf may be wrong?"

"But the wolf is so much stronger than I am." He said this admiringly.

"Might doesn't make right. That's the whole point of civilization. You called me a voice of reason, James. Where does reason come into all this?"

"I told you. If there's a reason that this happened, then this is it. For me to be strong."

I checked the clock. I still had fifteen minutes to go. I'd never let a show go unfinished. I'd never had a better reason to. But I didn't. I finished. I tried to sound normal, because I didn't want James to think anything was wrong. "Okay, we're going to break for station ID. We'll be right back with The Midnight Hour."

I switched off the mike and called to the booth, "Did you get the number?"

"Yeah," Matt said, walking through the door with a piece of paper in his hand. "And an address. Kitty, you've gone white. What is it?"

My mouth was dry, and my heart was beating so fast I was shaking. "I don't know yet. Justa"let's just finish this up. I have to make a call before we go back on."

Call the police! That was the right thing to do. Except it wasn't, because all this s.h.i.t, the supernatural, the claws and fangs and stuff that made us different, made right different. Maybe that would change someday.

James as a wolf wouldn't be a wolf. He wouldn't even be a psychotic human in the shape of a wolf. He'd be a little of both, and while I liked to pretend I had the best of both worlds, James seemed to have the worst. A wolf would run away when Hardin faced him down with a gun. James would attack. I couldn't call Hardin. She'd be killed. Or infected. I wasn't going to put her in that situation.

Once again, I called Cormac instead of the cops. The shadow law.

"Yeah."

"It's Kitty. Feel like going hunting tonight?"

He hesitated for a beat. "I don't know. What've you got?"

"I think I've got the rogue who's behind the maulings."

"You call Hardin with this?"

"No. This guya"he called into the show. He's local. He was talking insane. Hardin wouldn't know what to do with him. She'd try to arrest him, and he'd claw her to pieces."

"You don't mind if I get clawed to pieces, then?"

"I know you can handle it."

"Thanks, I think."

"I want to go with you."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll know his scent from the crime scenes. It's the only way I can tell if this is the guy."

"Fine. You at work now?"

"Yeah."