"What happened, Sarah?"

"He—he turned… into… into a wolf. In the woods… behind our house. After he thought I'd gone to bed."

"And you had no idea he's a lycanthrope."

"No! I mean, I suspected. The business trips once a month during the full moon, eating his steaks rare. How could he keep something like this from me? I'm his wife! How could he do it?" The woman's voice quavered until she was nearly screeching.

"Did you confront him? Talk to him about it?"

"Yes, yes. I mean, I asked him about it. He just said he was sorry. He won't look me in the eye anymore!"

"Sarah, take a breath. That's a girl. I know this is a blow, but let's look at it together. How long have you been married?"

"Six—six years."

"And did your husband tell you how long he's been a werewolf?"

"Two years."

"Now, Sarah, I'm going to ask you to look at the situation from his point of view. It was probably pretty traumatic for him becoming a lycanthrope, right?"

"Yes. He was working the night shift alone, locking up the store, when it happened. He—he said he was lucky he got away. Why didn't he ever tell me?"

"Do you think maybe he was trying to protect you? You had a good marriage and he didn't want to mess things up, right? Now I'm not saying what he did was right. In a great marriage he would have told you from the start. But he's having to keep this secret from a lot of people. Maybe he didn't know how to tell you. Maybe he was afraid you'd leave him if he told you."

"I wouldn't leave him! I love him!"

"But people do leave their partners when something like this happens. He's probably scared, Sarah. Listen, does he still love you?"

"He says he does."

"You know what I'd do? Sit down with him. Tell him that you're hurt, but you want to support him if he'll be honest with you from here on out. Before you do that, though, you have to decide whether or not you can stay married to a werewolf. You have to be just as honest with yourself as you want him to be with you."

Sarah was calm now. She hiccuped a little from the crying, but her voice was steady. "Okay, Kitty. I understand. Thank you."

"Good luck, Sarah. Let me know how it turns out. All right, I've got lots of calls waiting, so let's move right along. Cormac from Longmont, hello."

"I know what you are."

"Excuse me?"

"I know what you are, and I'm coming to kill you."

According to Matt's screening, this guy had said he had a question about lycanthropy and STDs.

I should have cut off the call right there. But the strange ones always interested me.

"Cormac? You want to tell me what you're talking about?"

"I'm an assassin. I specialize in lycanthropes." His voice hissed and faded for a moment.

"Are you on a cell phone?"

"Yeah. I'm in the lobby of the building, and I'm coming to kill you."

Good Matt, he was already on the phone with security. I watched him on the phone, just standing there. Not talking. What was wrong?

Matt slammed the phone into the cradle. "No one's answering," he said loud enough to sound through the glass of the booth.

"I rigged a little distraction outside," Cormac said. "Building security is out of the building." At that, Matt picked up the phone and dialed, just three numbers after punching the outside line. Calling the cavalry.

Then he dialed again. And again. His face went pale. "Line's busy," he mouthed.

"Did you manage to tie up 911?" I said to the caller.

"I'm a professional," Cormac replied.

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.