Chapter 19

VECTOR

I woke up in a foul mood, ready to kick some ass. I started with Chip in Records.

"Hey, Kid."

"Okay, first thing: Don't call me Kid!"

"Jeez, Cal." Chip's big brown eyes looked hurt. "What's with you? Didn't get enough sleep last night?"

"No, I didn't. Something about Morgan Ryder living half a mile away kept me awake."

He blinked. "You did what now?"

I sighed as I sat down in his visitor's chair. I'd been practicing that dramatic line all the way here, and Chip was looking at me like I was speaking Middle Dutch. "Okay, Chip. Listen carefully. I found Morgan Ryder, my progenitor, the high-priority peep that you guys have been looking for since the day before yesterday. In the phone book!"

"Huh. Well, don't look at me."

"Um, Chip, I am looking at you." It was true. I was looking at him. "This is Records, is it not? You guys do have phone books down here, don't you?"

"Sure, but - "

"But you've been messing with me, haven't you?"

He raised his hands. "No one's messing with you, Cal." Then he leaned forward, lowering his voice a bit. "At least, no one in Records is. I can tell you that."

I stopped, mouth already loaded with my next sarcastic remark. It took me a moment to switch gears. "What do you mean, no one in Records?"

He looked over his shoulder. "No one in Records is messing with you."

The ceiling fan squeaked overhead.

"Who?" I whispered.

Chip took a breath and gestured me closer. "All I can say is, that case got lifted from us."

"Define lifted."

"Transferred to a higher level. High priority, like you said. After you found out her last name, certain individuals told us to track down the other three missing persons but to leave Morgan Ryder alone. They wanted to handle her special."

A little shudder went through me. "The Mayor's office?"

Chip said nothing, which said everything.

"Um, does that happen a lot?"

Chip shrugged unconvincingly. "Well..." He chewed his lower lip. "Actually, it doesn't happen that much. Especially not this way."

"Which way?"

He leaned even closer, his whisper barely audible above the squeaking of the ceiling fan. "With no one telling you about it, Cal. You see, we were supposed to be copied on any info that the Mayor's office found and then pass it along to you. But you weren't supposed to know that we'd been pulled off the case. And I'm not supposed to be telling you this now, in case you haven't figured that out yet."

"Oh." I leaned back heavily in Chip's spare chair, my righteous anger turning to mush. Yelling at Chip was one thing, but busting in to raise hell with the Night Mayor was something I couldn't visualize. Four-hundred-year-old vampires have that effect on me.

So this was a conspiracy. But the Night Mayor? He was the head guy, the big cheese. Who would he even be conspiring against?

All of us? The whole Night Watch?

Humanity?

I leaned over the desk again. "Um, Chip? Seeing as how you weren't supposed to tell me this, maybe we should pretend that you didn't?"

Chip didn't say a word, just pointed to the biggest of the many signs on his bulletin board - even bigger than the We Do Not Have Pens sign - and I knew absolutely that our secret was safe.

In large block letters were the words When in Doubt, Cover Your Ass.

Next, I went to see Dr. Rat.

If I could trust anyone at the Watch, it would be her. Unlike the Shrink and the Mayor, she wasn't a carrier. She hadn't been alive for centuries and didn't give a rat's ass about the old families. She was a scientist - her only loyalty was to the truth.

Still, I decided to proceed a little more cautiously than I had with Chip.

" 'Morning, Dr. Rat."

" 'Morning, Kid!" She smiled. "Just the guy I wanted to see."

"Oh, yeah?" I forced a smile onto my face. "Why's that?"

She leaned back in her chair. "Those peeps you brought in yesterday - did you know they can talk?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Sure, of course. Patricia Moore spoke to me."

"I've never seen anything like it before."

"What about Sarah? She talked to me."

Dr. Rat shook her head. "No, Cal, this is different. I mean, a lot of peeps become lucid for a few moments after you hit them with knockout drugs. But those two you caught yesterday have been having flat-out conversations."

I sat down heavily. "But they're husband and wife. What about the anathema? Shouldn't they start screaming at the mere thought of each other?"

"That's what you'd think." She shrugged. "But they've been calling from one holding pen to another. As long as they don't actually see each other, they're fine."

"Is it the drugs?"

Dr. Rat pursed her lips. "After one night? No way. And as far as I can tell, this isn't the first time they've had these conversations. I think they were living together down in that tunnel - sharing the hunting duties, talking to each other in the darkness. Damnedest thing I've ever seen. They're practically..." She trailed off.

"Sane?" I said softly.

"Yeah. Almost."

"Um, except for the cannibals-living-in-a-tunnel part?"

Dr. Rat shook her head again. "We didn't find any human remains in that tunnel, Cal. They were just eating pigeons. Come to think of it, those skulls in Sarah's lair dated at more than six months old. That's why it took so long to find her - she'd stopped preying on people, had switched over to eating rats."

"Eww. Ex-boyfriend sitting right here."

She flashed her don't-be-a-wuss look at me. "Yeah, well, rat consumption is a lot better than eating people. I think your strain is ... different."

"What about, 'So pretty I had to eat him'?"

Dr. Rat sat back down at her desk, spreading her hands. "Well, maybe the onset symptoms of the strain are just as bad as a normal peep's. But eventually the parasite settles down. It doesn't seem to turn people into raving monsters ... not forever anyway."

I nodded. That theory fit with what I'd seen of Morgan and Angela Dreyfus the night before.

"Maybe we caused this," Dr. Rat said softly.

"Huh? We who?"

"The Night Watch. It's hard for crazed peeps to run amok in a modern city, especially with us on the case. So this could be an adaptation to the Night Watch. Maybe you're part of a whole new strain, Cal, one that has a lower level of optimum virulence - the peeps are less violent and insane, the transmission usually sexual. It's more likely to survive in a city organized to catch maniacs."

"So more than one in a hundred people would be immune?"

"Sure." Dr. Rat nodded slowly. "Makes sense, really. Except for the cat-worshipping." She noticed the change in my expression and frowned. "You okay, Cal?"

"Um, I'm great. But did you just say 'cat-worshipping'?"

"Yeah, I did." Dr. Rat smiled and rolled her eyes. "Those two you caught yesterday will not shut up about the peep cat. Is kitty okay? Can they see it? Is it getting enough food?" She laughed. "It's like the anathema in reverse; like maybe they used to hate cats and now they love them - I don't know. Weird mutation, huh?"

"Mutation? A cat-worshipping mutation? One that appears at exactly the same time as a cat-infecting mutation?" I groaned. "Doesn't that seem like too much of a coincidence to you, Doctor?"

"But it's still just a coincidence, Kid."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because the peep cat isn't viable." She stood and walked to the far wall, where a pile of cages were filled with various cats, all of whom had the scruffy, streetwise look of strays. "See these little guys? Since yesterday I've been trying to produce transmission from the peep cat to one of them ... and nothing. Doesn't matter if they lick each other, eat from the same bowl. Zilch. It's like trying to force two mosquitoes to give each other malaria; it's hopeless."

"But what about transmission through rats?"

She shook her head. "I've been testing that too. I've tried biting, ingestion, even blood transfusion, and I haven't gotten the parasite to move to a single rat, much less from rat to cat. That peep cat is a dead end."

I had to bite my lip to keep from arguing. The peep cat wasn't a dead end; I knew about a dozen others. But how could I explain about them to Dr. Rat without telling her everything I'd seen the night before? If I told her about Ryder House, I'd have to mention Morgan and Angela, and how I'd found them ... which would mean bringing up what Chip had told me about the Mayor's office. And once I admitted my suspicions about the Night Mayor, I'd have to start my own counterconspiracy.

Suddenly my racing mind was halted by the smell of Dr. Rat's lair, a scent that had been conspicuously absent the night before: rats. Ryder House had been so clean. No piles of garbage, no reeking decay. No sign at all of a brood of rodents.

"What if rats don't matter?" I said softly.

She snorted. "You found a huge brood down in the tunnel, Cal."

"No, that's not what I mean. Those rats carry the parasite, sure. They were the reservoir. But what if they weren't the vector for the peep cat getting infected?"

"But I told you, it doesn't travel from cat to cat. So what else is left?"

"Humans."

She frowned.

"What if this strain really is like malaria?" I continued. "Except with cats instead of mosquitoes? Maybe it just bounces back and forth between felines and people."

Dr. Rat smiled. "Interesting theory, Kid, but there's one problem." She crossed to the cage where the peep cat lay calmly watching us and stuck a finger in through the bars.

"Um, Dr. Rat, I wouldn't do that..."

She chuckled; the cat was sniffing her finger, its whiskers vibrating. "This cat isn't violent. It doesn't bite."

My hand went to my cheek. "Are you forgetting what it did to my face?"

Dr. Rat gave a snort. "Any cat will attack if you get it mad enough. And anyway that's a scratch, not a bite." She turned back to the cat, rubbing its forehead through the wires of the cage. It closed its eyes and began to purr.

"But the cats are important somehow!" I shouted. "I know they are!"

She turned to face me. "The cats? Plural?"

"Oh." I cleared my throat. "Well, potentially plural."

Dr. Rat narrowed her eyes. "Cal, is there something you're not telling me?"

There were lots of things I hadn't told her. But at that moment a horrible thought crossed my mind...

"Wait a second," I said. "What if the strain spreads between cats and humans without biting? How would that work?"

Dr. Rat's suspicious expression didn't waver, but she answered me. "Well, it could happen in a few ways. Remember toxoplasma?"

"Who could forget toxoplasma? It's in my brain."

She nodded. "Mine too. Toxoplasma spores are airborne. Cats leave them in the litter box, then they go up your nose. But that would only work from cat to human, not the other way around. For two-way transmission, you and a cat would have to breathe on each other a lot at short range..."

I remembered something Dr. Rat had said the day before, and my stomach did a back flip. "You mean, if the cat stole your breath?"

She smiled. "Like in those old legends where cats were demons? Yeah. That might work." A frown crossed her face. "And you know, those old stories date from around the time of the plague."

"Yeah. Plague."

Dr. Rat's eyes widened. My face must have been turning odd colors. "What did I say, Cal?"

I didn't answer. A small but horrible memory had drifted through my mind, something Lace had said the night before.

"Yeah," I said softly, "really nice."

"What's really nice?" said Dr. Rat.

"I have to go now."

"What's wrong, Cal?"

"Nothing." I stood shakily. "I have to go home is all."

She raised an eyebrow. "Feeling sick?"

"No, I'm fine. This conversation just reminded me, though... My cat is, um, unwell."

"Oh." She frowned. "Nothing serious, I hope."

I shrugged, dizzy from standing up too fast. My throat was dry. What I was thinking could not be true. "Probably not too serious. You know how cats are."

The cab ride back to Brooklyn was the most unpleasant twenty dollars I'd ever spent. I stared out the window as we soared across the Williamsburg Bridge, wondering if I'd gone insane. Wondering if Cornelius had really contracted the disease from me.

The old cat had never bitten me, hadn't even scratched me in the last year.

Airborne, Dr. Rat had said.

That had to be nuts. Diseases transmitted by fluids didn't just suddenly become airborne. If they did, we'd all die from Ebola, we'd all get rabies from a walk in the woods, we'd all be carrying HIV ...

We'd all be vampires.

Of course, diseases change. Evolution never sleeps. But my strain was too well developed to be brand-new. It infected cats, turned its victims into feline-worshippers and carriers, created smarter and saner peeps. A whole raft of adaptations.

And those ancient legends about cats stealing breath - those stories were seven hundred years old. If this strain had been around for seven hundred years, where had it been hiding?

Then I remembered the pale rats below the surface, buried deep until the reservoir had bubbled up beneath the PATH train. Could they have been down there in the darkness for centuries, keeping an ancient strain of the parasite hidden?

And the foul thing I'd smelled but not encountered down there. What did a hidden strain of the parasite have to do with that unseen subterranean creature?

The ride took forever, my sweating palms leaving handprints on the vinyl seats, the sunlight flashing through the struts of the bridge, the taxi meter ticking like a time bomb, and the memory that had struck me in Dr. Rat's office replaying, Lace's voice saying again and again: "Except for not having any of my stuff, commuting all the way from Brooklyn, and having your heavy-ass cat lie on me all night. Other than that, it's been kind of... nice."

"Yeah. Really nice," I whispered again.

I picked up a flashlight at the dollar store on the way home.

"Here, kitty, kitty!" I called as the door swung open. "It's nummy-time."

For a moment I heard nothing and wondered if Cornelius had somehow figured out that I knew his secret and had escaped my apartment for the wider world. But then he padded out from the bathroom to greet me.

I switched on the flashlight, shining it straight into his eyes...

They flashed bloodred. He blinked at me and cocked his head.

I crumpled to the floor, dropping the flashlight. In addition to all my girlfriends, I'd infected my own cat. How much did that suck? "Oh, Corny."

He meowed.

After a whole year, how had I not noticed his eyes? Of course, with my night vision, I almost never kept the lights on. Cornelius came to rest his head on my knee and let out a soft meow. I rubbed him, stoking up a good purr.

"How long?" I wondered aloud.

Probably for most of the last year. Cornelius always slept with me on the futon, and I couldn't count the number of times I'd woken up with him perched on my chest, bathing me in Crunchy Tuna breath. He could have contracted the parasite even before I'd noticed the changes in myself.

Maybe it had been through him that Sarah had been infected. She'd always complained of his bladder-crushing weight in the morning.

Maybe the sex had been irrelevant. Maybe she'd been his peep, not mine. Maybe Lace was already ...

I stood up and fed Cornelius, going through the motions on autopilot, fighting off panic. She'd only spent one night here, after all. And even if she'd been infected, it wouldn't be as bad as Sarah. This was an early diagnosis. I just had to get her into treatment as soon as possible.

Of course, getting her into treatment meant going to the Night Watch and admitting that I'd committed a Major Revelation Incident. And telling them everything I'd seen out in Brooklyn, and that the Mayor's office was covering something up. And trusting them with Lace's life, when I didn't even trust them to use the phone book anymore.

I began to realize just how badly everything was about to crumble. The Night Watch had been corrupted and the parasite had gone airborne, helped along by Morgan Ryder - a new Typhoid Mary, with the added bonus of feline familiars.

Even if Lace wasn't already infected, I had to warn her. No matter how nonviolent Patricia and Joseph Moore might seem at the moment, someone had eaten the guy in 701 and turned his guts into graffiti.

I remembered the motivational computer simulations Dr. Rat had shown in Peep Hunting 101 - showing how we were helping to save the world. On their way to being epidemics, diseases reach something called critical mass, the point at which chaos begins to feed upon itself - roving peeps in the streets, garbagemen afraid to go to work, garbage piling up, rats breeding and biting - more peeps. Except that this strain would include nervous people getting cats to save them from the rats, and the cats making more peeps...

You get the picture. In the days and weeks ahead, the time bombs set by Morgan and Angela would begin to explode into temporary cannibals. New York City was going to get nasty.

I took a deep breath. I couldn't think about all that yet. The first thing I had to do was find Lace and test her for early signs of infection. I took her cell-phone number from where it lay on the table and dialed.

She answered on the first ring. "Lace here."

I swallowed. "Hey. It's me, Cal."

"Oh. Hi, Cal." Her tone sounded flat. "That was fast."

"Um, what was fast?"

"What do you think? You calling me was fast, dumb-ass."

"Oh, right," I said. "Well, I had to."

"You did?" Her voice gave a hint of interest.

"Yeah ... something's come up."

"Like what, dude?"

"Like..." You have contracted a deadly disease. Soon, you may begin to eat your neighbors - but don't worry, you will eventually switch to pigeons, or perhaps rats. "Um, I can't really talk about it on the phone."

She groaned. "Still with the top secret, huh? Need-to-know basis?"

"Yeah. But this is something you really need to know."

There was a long pause, then a sigh. "Okay. I was kind of hoping you'd call. I mean, maybe I was a little bit hard on you last night. But I was kind of angry with ... the way things are."

"Oh. Right." I had the feeling she was about to get angrier.

"Okay. So where and when?"

"Right now. Except I'm out in Brooklyn. Twenty minutes?"

"Okay. I'm hungry anyway. How about that diner where we ate before? Where was that?"

"Bob's? Broadway and Eleventh. See you there. And thanks."

"For what?"

"Not hanging up on me."

A pause. "We'll see."

We said good-bye and disconnected. Lace had sounded so normal, I thought, allowing myself to hope. Maybe it took a peep cat more than one night to spread the parasite. Or maybe I was grasping at straws. If she'd been infected the night before last, the only symptom Lace would display so far would be a slight increase in night vision.

I headed for the door.

"Meow," Cornelius cried. He was lying in my way.

"Sorry, Corny. Can't stay."

He yowled again, louder.

I slid him away from the door with my foot. "Move. I have to go."

He scrambled over my boot and back to the door, still yowling.

"You can't go out, okay?" I yelled and picked him up, planning to step out and then toss him back through from the other side. He started to struggle.

"What's your problem?" I said, pulling open the door.

Morgan and Angela stood there, grinning from ear to ear.

"How did you find me?" I finally managed.

"I don't forget the names of people I sleep with, Cal Thompson," Morgan said.

"Oh."

"And I thought that looked like you on the tapes, monkeying around in the basement of my old building, being all brave and daring." Morgan laughed and turned to Angela. "Cal's from Texas."

"Yeah, you told me," Angela said.

"And look, he has a kitty!" Morgan said, reaching out to tickle Cornelius's chin. "Isn't it cute?"

"Yes, he is," I answered, and threw Cornelius in her face.

I followed the yowling ball of cat through the door, whipping the knockout injector from my pocket. Angela's hands went up to defend herself, the injector hissing as the needle sank into her forearm.

"You Texas butt-head!" she shouted, then crumpled to the floor.

I ignored the squawling mass of cat and Morgan and headed for the stairs.

Halfway down, Morgan's voice echoed through the stairwell. "Stop, Cal! You're being a pain!"

I kept running, taking each flight of stairs with a single, bone-jarring leap.

"Your Night Watch isn't going to help you now, you know!" she called, her sneakers squeaking on the concrete steps behind me.

I'd already figured that much was true; I didn't trust the Night Watch anymore. But I wasn't about to trust the person who'd infected me either. From now on, I was on my own.

Reaching the last flights of stairs, I ran through the lobby and burst out the front doors of my building, hoping that by some miracle a cab would be waiting there. The street, of course, was empty of cabs.

But not of cats.

There were dozens of them, maybe a hundred, perched on postboxes and garbage bags, crowding the stoops across the street, all watching me with the same expression of mild amusement.

My knees grew weak, and the world went dizzy; I almost fell to the concrete. But Morgan was right behind me. I pulled my belt from around my waist and cinched it through the curving handles of the front door. Then I took a few deep breaths until the faintness passed.

The cats around me hadn't moved. Maybe Dr. Rat was right - they were nonviolent.

Seconds later, Morgan approached the other side of the glass door, grabbed the inside handles, and pulled. The belt held tight. It would take her a while to wear down the leather, or for some random passerby to let her out.

I stumbled back from the door.

"Cal!" she called, her voice muffled through the glass. "Stop!"

I shook my head and turned to walk down the street, ignoring her cries.

"Cal!" The sound faded behind me.

The cats watched placidly, no concern in their expressions. But somehow their collective gaze kept me from running - some threat implicit in their eyes suggested that if I disturbed the quiet street, they would turn into an angry horde and devour me.

So I walked slowly, feeling their red-flickering eyes with every step.

Another two blocks up was Flatbush Avenue, busy and normal and not overrun with cats. I stuck out my shaking arm and hailed a taxi to Manhattan.

Halfway across the bridge, my phone rang. It was the Shrink.

"Kid, we need to talk."

"Don't call me Kid!"

There was a long silence on the other end. Evidently, the words had surprised the Shrink just as much as they had me.

"Um, if you don't mind?" I added lamely.

"Certainly ... Cal."

I frowned. "Hey, wait a second. I thought you didn't like talking on phones."

"I don't, but the world is changing, Cal. And one must adapt."

I wanted to point out that telephones were so 1881 - not exactly cutting edge - but the Shrink's choice of words froze the remark in my mouth.

"The world is changing?" I said hoarsely.

"You hadn't noticed?"

"Um, I'd say there's been some weird stuff going on." I cleared my throat. "And I'm starting to feel like nobody's keeping me in the loop."

"Well, perhaps you're right. Perhaps we haven't been fair to you."

The cab slowed as the bridge descended into Chinatown, and a few moments of reception crackle interrupted the conversation. Ahead of me were crowds of workday pedestrians - all within arm's length of one another - a perfect breeding ground for infection and for sudden violence spinning out of control.

When the rattle in my ear subsided, I said, "And you're going to tell me what's going on?"

"Of course. I, for one, have always wanted you to know what's going on. I've always trusted you, Cal. But you see, you're so very young compared to the rest of us."

"The rest of the Night Watch?"

"Not the Watch. We carriers, Cal, with all those centuries behind us. And those of us in the old families. Some thought you wouldn't understand the way things were changing." She sighed. "I'm afraid we've been treating you as a bit of a human."

"Um, last time I checked, I was one."

The Shrink laughed. "No, Cal, you're one of us."

I groaned, not wanting to get into some weird semantic argument. "Could you just tell me what's going on!"

"I'll let her tell you."

"Her who?"

"Just get where you're going. Don't worry. She'll be there." Click. She'd hung up.

How did the Shrink know where I was going? I couldn't imagine the Mayor's office having tapped my phone. That was way too high-tech for them. Then I remembered Cornelius sitting by the door, yowling. He'd smelled Morgan out there, which meant that Morgan could have heard my conversation with Lace. I replayed it in my mind... Bob's on Broadway and Eleventh, I had helpfully said aloud.

She would be waiting? But who was she?

I dialed Lace's number on my cell, but there was no answer. Out of service, the recorded voice said. We were approaching Houston, the cars around us slowing to a walking pace. I paid, jumped out, and ran toward Broadway and Eleventh, trying to untangle the meaning of the Shrink's call.

The Shrink knew that I knew. My first thought was that Chip had broken his promise and talked to the Mayor's office, but then Morgan's words at my door came back to me: "I don't forget the names of people I sleep with, Cal Thompson."

Morgan knew that I had forgotten her last name, something the Shrink had always chided me about. But how would Morgan have known that, unless someone had told her?

They were all in it together - Morgan Ryder, the Shrink, and the Night Mayor, along with the other carriers and the old families of New York - all of them knew something about my strain of the parasite and what it meant. They had kept me in the dark from the beginning.

And if it hadn't been for Lace's detective work, I would still be in the dark.

Lace ... I thought, speeding up.

Rebecky greeted me at the door. "Hey, Cal! Hungry again already?"

I tried not to pant. "Yeah. Meeting someone."

"So I noticed." Rebecky winked. "I never forget a face. She's right back there."

I nodded and headed toward the rear corner table, still breathing heavily, still dizzy, still trying to put together everything I had to explain to Lace, so harried and distracted that it wasn't until I'd thunked myself down into the booth that I realized the girl sitting across from me wasn't Lace.

It was Sarah.