Kitty’s Big Trouble Carrie Vaughn (top rated books of all time txt) 📖

Narrow alleys showed a forest of steel balconies and fire escapes. A couple of blocks had round, red paper lanterns strung over the street; I couldn’t tell if they were there for the tourists or if they meant something. After dark now, the crowds were thinning, and many shops were closing up, steel grates pulled over their storefronts. We kept a lookout for Roman’s werewolves, but no one was tracking us. I could humor myself that we’d scared them off, but I thought it more likely that they’d be back once they gathered reinforcements.

In true classic vampire fashion, Anastasia had given a complex set of instructions to find her in an obscure meeting place. The address was on Grant, in the heart of the touristy section of Chinatown, and led us to a storefront. The shop—a discount import place that was part souvenir shop, part dollar store—was an island of bright light on the street.

Inside, shelves were crammed with Chinese-style embroidered silk shirts, baskets of slippers, fancy lacquered chopsticks and tea sets, bags of candy labeled in Chinese, open jars of fresh ginseng, bamboo trays, porcelain rice bowls, paper lanterns, and so on. The smells here were rich and varied, both familiar and odd: cardboard, dust, old linoleum tile, too many people; and also strange teas, incense, scented tissue paper, and silk. I had an urge to touch everything, to stop and explore.

The Chinese woman—thin, short, her hair graying—behind the counter and cash register only glanced at us. All tourists coming into the shop must have looked this awestruck. Well, I was awestruck. Ben and Cormac stayed alert, gazing around, searching for trouble.

Stairs led down to even more shelves, boxes, and baskets filled with stuff. I wanted to look for tea sets to buy and bring back as presents. My mother and sister could use a Chinese tea set, right? Cute little pot and tiny matching cups, painted with stylized bamboo. Or maybe some silk jackets. Ooh, sake sets. Wait a minute, weren’t those Japanese? I pulled my attention back. We were on a quest. Shopping later.

Anastasia told us to come to the far end of the basement, that she would be waiting for us there. The place was cluttered, floor-to-ceiling shelves preventing a clear view, making it impossible to judge the room’s size or layout. The only exit seemed to be the stairs. Which meant it would be far too easy to stage an ambush here.

“Wait here,” I said to Ben and Cormac. “I’ll check it out.”

Instead, Ben followed me. “Cormac can watch the stairs,” he said. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

He brushed against my shoulder. Together, we moved forward into the maze of shelves and boxes.

Even with fluorescent lights on the ceilings, the stacks of goods cast shadows, making the room seem dim. My nose worked hard, taking in the air, searching for a chill, the scent of living cold, incongruous against the common background.

We turned the last corner, reaching the back wall, which had a plain door, maybe to a storage closet or another room. When we appeared, so did Anastasia, opening the door and emerging from behind it.

Her black hair was twisted into a bun at the back of her head. She had Chinese features, skin as smooth as ivory. Her clothing was expensive without being ostentatious—a perfectly draped burgundy silk blouse over tailored black slacks, high heels, diamond stud earrings, and a simple beaded choker. She wasn’t tall. Slender, elegant, and wary, she gazed at us with dark eyes and a thin frown.

“You came,” she said.

“I said I would. Ben, this is Anastasia. This is Ben O’Farrell, my husband.”

She studied him; he tensed.

“Hi,” he said flatly.

“It’s good to finally meet you. Kitty speaks well of you.”

He gave me a wry glance, and I managed to look innocent. “We need to talk,” I said. “Roman’s wolves attacked us.”

“Yes, I know. You’re covered in dried blood.” She brushed the collar of my shirt, and I managed not to flinch away from her. I wouldn’t meet her gaze—that hypnotic vampire gaze. “We should talk in private. Would you like to call your friend over?”

I’d been about to gloat that Anastasia hadn’t known Cormac was there, standing watch. But of course she’d known about him—she could sense his beating heart and warm blood.

Without being called, Cormac appeared from around the last row of shelves. He was tall, lean, a stereotypical tough guy in jeans. I couldn’t guess what Anastasia saw when she looked at him. After all our history together, I just saw Cormac.

He held his left hand at his side, closed around some small object. An amulet, probably. Maybe even a cross—defense against vampires. He hadn’t done that sort of thing before going to prison. He’d depended on brute force and firearms, before. Whatever amulet he held belonged to Amelia, really.

“And who is this?” Anastasia asked.

“Cormac Bennett. He’s a friend.” She must have noticed that he held something, maybe even suspected that he was a hunter with experience killing vampires. If she didn’t, I wasn’t going to volunteer the information.

Anastasia waited a moment, but Cormac didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect him to. He’d staked more vampires than he’d conversed with.

Finally, Anastasia nodded. “You have your own entourage, I see. The tables are turned this time.”

When I first met Anastasia, she was flanked by a young vampire protégé and her very handsome human servant. They were both dead now. I certainly hoped the tables weren’t turned. Not like that.

I masked my discomfort with a smile and an offhand shrug. “Yup. My own little wolf pack. I guess I expected you to have a friend or two along for this.”

“No,” she said. “Not anymore. From now on I think it’s best if I have only myself to look after. Why don’t we step inside?” She gestured through the doorway to what looked like an adjoining warehouse.

“Is there another way out of there?” Ben asked.

“Of course,” she said, arcing an offended brow as she led us inside.

Cormac took one