Damn, this was for real. I could see Carl standing there saying, I told you so . I hoped he wasn't listening. Then again, if he was, maybe he could come rescue me.

Over the line I heard the ping of the elevator on the ground floor, the slide of the doors. It was a scare tactic, calling me on the phone and walking me through my own assassination. It was a good scare tactic.

"Okay, you're coming to kill me while you warn me on the phone."

"It's part of the contract," he said in a strained way that made me think he was grimacing as he spoke.

"What is?"

"I have to do it on the air."

Matt made a slicing motion across his neck with a questioning look. Cut the show? I shook my head. Maybe I could talk my way out of this.

"What makes you think I'm a lycanthrope, Cormac the Assassin Who Specializes in Lycanthropes?"

"My client has proof."

"What proof?"

"Pictures. Video."

"Yes, I'm sure, video taken in the dark with lots of blurry movement. I've seen those kinds of TV shows. Would it hold up in court?"

"It convinced me."

"And you're obviously deranged," I said, flustered. "Have you considered, Cormac, that you're the patsy in a publicity stunt to get me off the air? Certain factions have been trying to push me off for months."

This time of night, Matt and I had the studio to ourselves. Even if some sharp listener called the police, Cormac would be at the booth before they arrived. He'd counted on it, I was sure.

Matt came into the booth and hissed at me in a stage whisper. "We can leave by the emergency stairs before he gets here."

I covered the mike with my hands. "I can't leave the show."

"Kitty, he's going to kill you!"

"It's a stunt. Some righteous zealot trying to scare me off the air."

"Kitty—"

"I'm not leaving. You get out if you want."

He scowled, but returned to his board.

"And grab one of the remote headsets out of the cupboard for me."

Matt brought me the headset and transferred the broadcast to it. I left the booth, removing myself from direct line of sight of the door. The next room, Matt's control room, had a window looking into the hallway. I moved to the floor, under the window, near the door. If anyone came in, I'd see him first.

Cormac would need maybe five minutes to ride the elevator and get from there to here. So—I had to talk fast.

"Okay, Cormac, let me ask you this. Who hired you?"

"I can't say."

"Is that in the contract?"

He hesitated. I wondered if he wasn't used to talking and resented that part of the job he'd taken on. I didn't doubt he really was what he said he was. He sounded too controlled, too steady.

"Professional policy," he said finally.

"Is this one of those deals where I can offer you more money to not finish me off?"

"Nope. Ruins the reputation."

Not that I had that kind of money anyway. "Just how much is my life worth?"

A pause. "That's confidential."

"No, really, I'm curious. I think I have a right to know. I mean, if it's a really exorbitant amount, can I judge my life a success that I pissed someone off that much? That means I made an impact, right, and that's all any of us can really hope to accomplish—"

"Jesus, you talk too much."

I couldn't help it; I grinned. Matt sat against the wall, shaking his head in a gesture of long-suffering forbearance. Getting pinned down by an assassin definitely wasn't in the job description. I was glad he hadn't left.

Thinking of everyone who had it in for me was an exercise in futility—so many did, after all: the Witchhunters League, the Right Reverend Deke Torquemada of the New Inquisition, the Christian Coalition…

The elevator pinged, one, two… two more to go. "So let's back up a bit, Cormac. Most of your jobs aren't like this, are they? You go after rogue wolves. The ones who've attacked people, the ones whose packs can't control them. Law-abiding werewolves are pretty tough to identify and aren't worth going after. Am I right?"

"That's right."

"You have any idea of how few wolves actually cause trouble?"

"Not too many."

Cormac's assertion about my identity, on the air, demanded some response. Denial. Claims of innocence, wrongful accusations—until he shot and killed me. Or until he tried to shoot me and I defended myself. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He probably expected me to make denials—you can't shoot me, I'm not a werewolf. But it was a little late for that. Denials now would sound a bit lame. And if he really did have photographs—where could he have picked up photos? Only thing left was to brazen it out. So this was it. The big revelation show. My ratings had better pay off for this.

"So here I am, a perfectly respectable law-abiding werewolf—must be kind of strange for you, tracking down a monster who isn't going to lift a claw against you."

"Come on, Norville. Go ahead and lift a claw. I'd like the challenge."

There it was. I'd said it on national radio. I'm a werewolf. Didn't feel any different—Cormac was still riding the elevator to my floor. But my mother didn't even know. I heard a series of metallic clicks over the headphones. Guns, big guns, being drawn and readied.

"Is this really sporting, Cormac? You know I'm unarmed. I'm a sitting duck in the booth here, and I have half a million witnesses on the air."

"You think I haven't had to deal with that kind of shit before?"

Okay, wrong tack. I tried again. "If I shut down the broadcast, would that void the clause in your contract saying this has to be on the air?"

"My client believes you'll stay on the air as long as possible. That you'll take advantage of the ratings this would garner."

Damn, who was this client? Whoever it was knew me too well. Maybe it wasn't the usual list of fanatics. Somebody local who had a grudge.

Arturo.

Carl hadn't made me quit the show. Maybe Arturo decided to take care of me himself. He couldn't do it directly. A vampire attacking a werewolf like that would be an act of war between the two groups. Carl and the pack would take it as a breach of territory at the very least. Then Arturo would have to deal with them.