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“It’s not a genie. It’s the Human Torch,” Mike from Austin said.
“As in the superhero? From the movie?”
“No, I’m talking about the Golden Age Human Torch. He was a scientific experiment that got out of control, escaped the confines of his underground tomb, then became the archenemy of the Sub-Mariner, and—”
“So what you’re saying is the Human Torch is fictional,” I said, wincing.
“Yeah, but he could totally do everything you described.”
“Except that he isn’t real. And if he was, wasn’t he a hero? Didn’t he help people, not burn them down?”
The guy huffed. “The Wolf Man isn’t real, either, but you’re still sitting there, aren’t you?”
“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t know where to start. Next call, please. Hello.”
I was definitely grasping at straws here. But at least it was entertaining.
“Hi—could it be a phoenix? Because I think of fire and I think phoenix. Maybe it’s like a were-phoenix . . .”
“. . . or a will-o’-the-wisp. Like they say happens with burning swamp gas . . .”
“. . . a thunderbird spirit . . .”
“Pyrokinesis is a well-documented phenomenon, and I believe it’s more widespread than anyone imagines . . .”
Most of what we got wasn’t entirely helpful.
“You’re supposed to put genies back in their bottles, right? So that’s all you have to do.”
“And how would you suggest I do that?” I said the fourth time someone made that recommendation.
“Uh, I don’t know. You just kind of stuff it in?”
“Hard to do when you can’t even see the darn thing,” I said, frustrated, and hung up.
By the last half hour of the show, we hadn’t gotten anything substantial. I was getting frustrated, and Wolf was pushing against the inside of my skin. Then one of the calls listed on my monitor said “Nick from Las Vegas.” What were the odds? I punched up the call to find out.
“Hello, you’re on the air.”
“Kitty, baby, I expected to hear from you about this days ago.” The voice was male, suave. So full of himself there was obviously little room in there for tact, or raw intelligence.
I recognized the voice. It called up a picture in my mind of a young man with a Chippendale physique, sun-baked
blond hair, a sultry smile, and the strong scent of lycanthrope—were-tiger, specifically, sleek and feline. The new alpha of the Band of Tiamat.
“Nick,” I said, speaking as brazenly as I could. I put a smile on my face and sugar in my voice, no matter how angry I felt. I curled my hands into fists and squeezed tight, because I could feel claws trying to break out. “What an unpleasant surprise. Listeners, I have here as my sudden unexpected guest Nick, a real genuine were-tiger and the star of the King of Beasts show at the Hanging Gardens Hotel and Resort in Las Vegas. Bet you didn’t know the whole act is made up of lycanthropes, did you? Well, now you do.” To think, when I’d first met them I’d been so sensitive about revealing their true natures. Keeping their secret. If only I’d known. I felt no compunction about blathering on about them now.
“If you think that kind of exposure bothers me, you’re wrong,” Nick said. “I always thought we should go public. I suppose I should thank you for getting rid of Balthasar. He was holding us back.” Balthasar, their old leader, who was killed in the course of my escape from them.
“You may have called in to taunt me, but I don’t actually have to let you talk at all.”
“But you will, because you like talking. Tell me, how’s life been for you? Getting a little hot?”
Ha, so it was the Band of Tiamat and not Roman who summoned the genie. Rick was wrong. Unless of course he wasn’t, and the two were working together. No time to think about it now.
“Well, Nick, since I’ve got you on the line, maybe you could help me out with that. I’m really curious about where you dug up this thing. Do you have some kind of grimoire of evil demons? You flipped through and decided this one looked like more fun than a plague of locusts? Or is there a mail-order catalog that will deliver underworld creatures to an address of your choosing? I have to tell you, if that’s the case I think you got ripped off, because their gift-card option sucks.”
He laughed, which aggravated me. I refrained from growling. I tried not to growl on the air.
