“Detective Cruz, Ms. Bernard,” he said to each of us in turn. His voice was low and cold as the grave, so to speak, but he gestured for us to come in.
“Jeeves,” I replied.
He wasn’t amused. “Laurence,” he corrected stiffly.
Jesse opened his mouth and closed it again. I was betting his cop superpowers were telling him to ask for Laurence’s last name, but by now Jesse knew that vampires rarely use them. The older ones have changed their official last names so often that some of them have actually forgotten the original, and the younger ones don’t want to give away how young and inexperienced they are. One of my life dreams is to be in a room with two vampires that have the same name, but somehow it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe they add “of Pasadena” or whatever town they live in, like Robin Hood. Or maybe when they meet they have a fight to the death, Highlander-style.
“Are we out on the patio?” I asked, already half-turned in that direction.
“No, the gathering will be in the recreation room. Mr. Dashiell”—I tried not to chortle at the Mr.; I really did—“was concerned about those of you who still get cold.” He said “get cold” the way you say “wet the bed.” “Right this way,” he finished. He turned on his heel and marched down the hall without glancing back to see if we were following. Jesse shot me a grin and mouthed “the gathering,” before turning to follow. I smiled.
I’d never been in the rec room—frankly I was amused at the thought of Dashiell having a rec room—but it looked more like the lobby of one of the classier Holiday Inns than a place where you goofed around and watched television. It even smelled impersonal, like furniture polish and leather. Usually Dashiell has meetings with me out on the patio because the giant oval table is big enough for him to stay out of my radius while technically still sitting with me. Tonight, though, he was throwing caution to the wind and getting inside my personal bubble. I supposed with Olivia running around killing people, we all had bigger things to worry about.
Dashiell was sitting erect in a poufy tan armchair, managing to make the whole thing look dignified as hell. Will and Eli, who was there as the pack’s beta, were on opposite ends of a long matching sofa. They were both leaning back into the couch, attempting to look relaxed, but both of their bodies were tight with tension. You could practically see their hackles up, although they both relaxed a centimeter when I got close enough to put them in my radius. Will shot me an appreciative smile, but Eli’s gaze was thoughtful, traveling back and forth between me and Jesse. I remembered the feeling of sleeping with him the night before, and then the feeling of Jesse’s arms around me at the shooting range, and blushed.
Jesse and I took two of the well-padded upright chairs that had been scattered around the couch set. I waited for a cue from Dashiell or maybe Will, but they were silent, clearly waiting for something. Or for someone. After about two minutes I heard the front door open and close and the sound of high, clunky heels striking the marble hallway floor. Jesse raised his eyebrows at me. “Kirsten,” I said quietly. He nodded.
She came in behind Laurence, looking even paler than usual, if that were possible, and weary. Her eyes were clear, but there was a rigidity to her posture that seemed out of character. She looked reluctant to sit, but finally dropped onto another padded seat near the door.
Dashiell allowed Laurence to offer all of us beverages (which we all declined, because there’s just something creepy about accepting drinks from the undead), and then waved him away. “Let’s begin,” he announced.
“Beatrice?” I asked.
“My wife is visiting some acquaintances in Seattle,” Dashiell said, and I felt something small and tight release in my chest. One less friend to worry about. At the same time, though, it showed how serious Dashiell was taking Olivia—it’s very expensive and complicated for a vampire to travel without a null along. With all the different things that can go wrong or cause delays, they can’t exactly fly commercial.
“Thank you for coming,” Dashiell continued, courteously implying that any of us had an actual choice when he summoned us. “Recent affairs have now escalated to a point where I thought it important for us to meet. To summarize, based on information gathered by Kirsten and our young police officer, Detective Cruz”—he paused and looked toward Jesse, who did kind of an awkward duck-head-and-wave maneuver—“we now suspect that Olivia has killed, or conspired to kill, at least two witches and two humans in the city in the last week. When I rose this evening I was also informed that she is likely working with a witch.” Now Kirsten nodded, still staring stonily at the table in front of her. “Have you figured out whom?” Dashiell asked her.
“No, I haven’t,” she growled, and Dashiell’s eyebrows rose. “As I told Scarlett and the detective, I know all of the witches that used Olivia’s services, one way or another, but none of them have the…audacity for this kind of thing.” She folded her arms defiantly.
“Well, Olivia can be quite persuasive,” Will said mildly. “Vampire or not, if she really set her mind to controlling someone, she’d find a way.” His face flushed the moment he’d finished, and I didn’t need my null superpowers to feel everyone at the table suddenly not looking at me. I tried not to squirm.
“It’s not about audacity, or controllability,” Kirsten said. “Most of my witches were extremely nervous around Olivia when she was alive.” Probably because she was psychotic. “At the time, I thought it was almost helpful, because if they didn’t want to have to call her in, they wouldn’t risk dangerous spells.” She reached up to run a hand over her blonde ponytail, smoothing back nonexistent stray hairs. “But if Olivia approached any of them now, as a vampire, they’d turn and run the other way.”