I got asked a lot if I was a vampire/lycanthrope/witch/whatever; from the skeptics the question was if I thought I was a vampire/lycanthrope/witch/whatever. I always said I was human. Not a lie, exactly. What else could I say?

I liked the research. I had a clipping service that delivered articles from all walks of media about anything pertaining to vampires, lycanthropes, magic, witchcraft, ghosts, psychic research, crop circles, telepathy, divining, lost cities— anything . Lots of grist for the mill.

A producer from Uncharted World called to see if I wanted to be on the show. I said no. I wasn't ready for television. I was never going to be ready for television. No need to expose myself any more than necessary.

I got fan mail. Well, some of it was fan mail. Some of it was more along the lines of "Die, you satanic bitch from hell." I had a folder that I kept those in and gave to the police every week. If I ever got assassinated, they'd have a nice, juicy suspect list. Right.

Werewolves really are immune to regular bullets. I've seen it.

Six months. I'd done the show once a week for six months. Twenty-four episodes. I was broadcast on sixty-two stations, nationwide. Small potatoes in the world of syndicated talk radio. But I thought it was huge. I thought I would have gotten tired of it by now. But I always seemed to have more to talk about.

One evening, seven or eight o'clock, I was in my office—my office!—reading the local newspaper. The downtown mauling death of a prostitute made it to page three. I hadn't gotten past the first paragraph when my phone—my phone!—rang.

"Hello, this is Kitty."

"You're Kitty Norville?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to talk to you."

"Who is this?"

He hesitated a beat before continuing. "These people who call you—the ones who say they're psychic, or vampires and werewolves—do you believe them? Do you believe it's real?"

I suddenly felt like I was doing the show, on the phone, confronting the bizarreness that was my life head-on. But it was just me and the guy on the phone. He sounded… ordinary.

When I did the show, I had to draw people out. I had to answer them in a way that made them comfortable enough to keep talking. I wanted to draw this guy out.

"Yes, I do."

"Do they scare you?"

My brow puckered. I couldn't guess where this was going. "No. They're people. Vampirism, the rest of it—they're diseases, not a mark of evil. It's unfortunate that some people use them as a license to be evil. But you can't condemn all of them because of that."

"That's an unusually rational attitude, Ms. Norville." The voice took on an edge. Authoritative. Decisive, like he knew where he stood now.

"Who are you?"

"I'm attached to a government agency—"

"Which one?"

"Never mind that I shouldn't even be talking to you like this—"

"Oh, give me a break!"

"I've wondered for some time now what your motivations are in doing your show."

"Let me at least take a guess. Are you with the NIH?"

"I'm not sure the idea would have occurred to someone who didn't have a… personal… interest."

A chill made my hair stand on end. This was getting too close.

I said, "So, are you with the CDC?"

A pause, then, "Don't misunderstand me, I admire the work you're doing. But you've piqued my curiosity. Ms. Norville—what are you?"

Okay, this was just weird. I had to talk fast to fend off panic. "What do you mean, 'what am I?'"

"I think we can help each other. An exchange of information, perhaps."

Feeling a bit like the miller's daughter in Rumpelstiltskin , I took a wild stab. "Are you with the CIA?"

He said, "See what you can find on the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology." Then he hung up.

Great, I had my own personal Deep Throat.

Hard to focus on work after that. I kept turning the conversation over in my mind, wondering what I'd missed and what someone like that could accomplish by calling me.

I couldn't have been brooding for more than five minutes when the phone rang again. I flinched, startled, and tried to get my heart to stop racing before I answered. I was sure the caller would be able to hear it over the phone.

I answered warily. "Hello?"

"Kitty? It's your mother." Mom, sounding as cheerful and normal as ever. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"You never told me if you were going to be able to make it to your cousin Amanda's wedding. I need to let them know."

I had completely forgotten. Mostly because I didn't, under any circumstances, want to go. Weddings meant crowds. I didn't like crowds. And questions. Like, "So when is it going to be your turn?" Or, "Do you have anyone special !"

I mean, define special .

I tried to be a little more polite. Mom didn't deserve aimless venting. I pulled out my organizer.

"I don't know, when is it again?" She gave me the date, I flipped ahead to next month and looked. The day after the full moon. There was no way I'd be in any kind of decent shape to meet the family the day after the full moon. I couldn't handle being nice to that many people the day after the full moon.

Now if only I could think of an excuse I could tell my mother.

"I'm sorry, I've got something else going on. I'll have to miss it."

"I think Amanda would really like you to be there."

"I know, I know. I'm really sorry. I'll send her a card." I even wrote myself a note to send her a card, then and there. To tell the truth, I didn't think Amanda would miss me all that much. But there were other forces at work here. Mom didn't want to have to explain to everyone why I was absent, any more than I wanted to tell her why I was going to be absent.

"You know, Kitty, you've missed the last few big family get-togethers. If you're busy I understand, but it would be nice if you could make an appearance once in a while."

It was her birthday all over again. That subtle, insipid guilt trip that only mothers are capable of delivering. It wasn't like I was avoiding the family simply for the sake of avoiding them.

"I'll try next time." I said that every time.