The phone line clicked off.
Bastard.
“That, my friend, is none of your business,” I said at the microphone. I straightened, donned a smile, and thought happy thoughts. My claws around Cormac’s throat. My hands itched.
A couple of days later I was still trying to clean up that same pile of crap on my desk when I got a phone call.
“Hello. How are you, Ms. Norville?”
It was the CDC guy, Paranatural Biology, whatever flavor of government spook he was. I should have expected him to call again.
“Hello, Mr. Throat.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. I’d just like to talk.”
“The last time you called to have a chat, you hung up on me.”
“I have to be careful. I don’t think you quite understand my position—”
I huffed, exasperated. “Of course not; you haven’t told me what your position is!” At this point, I was betting he was a wacko with delusions of grandeur trying to incorporate me into his paranoid fantasy. Then again, he might have been that and some kind of government spook.
He made an annoyed sigh. “I wanted to talk to you about your revelation. I’d wondered, of course. About your identity. This is a very brave move you’ve made.”
“How so?”
“You’ve exposed yourself. But you’ve also created an opportunity. You might be making my job easier.”
“You still haven’t told me what your job is.”
“I think you know more than you’re letting on.”
He’d mentioned the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. He must have been involved with that project, involved with reporting the findings to the government.
“Let’s check that,” I said. “The publicity my show is generating in some way lends weight to the research that’s going on. You’re trying to bring attention to that study, and my show is opening the door to that. Doing the legwork for you. Before too long, people will be demanding that the study be exposed.”
“That’s a distinct possibility.” He sounded like he was smiling, like he was pleased.
“Can I ask a couple of questions?”
“I reserve the right not to answer.”
“Oh, always. Why wasn’t that study given more publicity to begin with? It’s over a year old. It wasn’t classified, but it was just . . . ignored.”
“Ironically, classifying it would have drawn more attention to it, and some people don’t want that. As for publicizing it—secrecy is a powerful tool among some communities.”
Like vampires. I had my own streak of paranoia in that regard. “Next question. How did you get your test subjects to participate? Based on that secrecy you just mentioned, why would they submit to examination?”
“May I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“If there were a cure, would you take it?”
A couple of months after the attack, when I’d gotten over the shock and started finding my feet again, I did a lot of research. I read about wolves. I read all the folklore I could get my hands on. A lot of stories talked about cures. Kill the wolf that made the werewolf. I couldn’t try that one. Drink a tea made of wolfsbane under a new moon. That one just made me sick.