Dead Spots (Scarlett Bernard #1)(12)
My turn to be shocked. “Who am I, Jiminy Cricket? You don’t even know for sure that those killings were related to the Old World.”
“Maybe not. But you do. After all, you were there.” I felt his gaze on me without looking over. “Why were you there?”
I changed the subject. “What do I get out of this?”
He smiled smugly. “I won’t arrest you, and I won’t tell a soul about you or your world. When the case is solved, you just go back to your life.”
I thought this over. I could point out that telling anyone about the Old World would end up getting him killed, but I didn’t think it’d be such a good idea to threaten him. At the same time, though, I don’t work for free, and running around town playing detective sounded like a lot of work. It could even interfere with my TV schedule.
On the other hand, if he really set his heart on it, Officer Cruz could really put the big suck on my life. Having a cop follow me around forever would pretty much guarantee that I’d lose all my freelancing gigs, not to mention my retainer.
This is what I get for saving his goddamned life. “Fine. Deal.”
Chapter 5
It was nearly midnight when I finally pulled into Dash’s driveway. Dashiell and his wife, Beatrice, owned a gorgeous Spanish-style mansion in the richest part of Old Pasadena. I know that movies and TV shows always depict vampires as these suave, debonair seducers, and Dashiell is probably the vampire I know who is closest to that persona—rich, kind of mysterious, definitely suavish. He’s got the sophisticated killer thing down pat, which I suppose you’d need to run a big city, even a dumpy (supernaturally speaking) city like LA. In my experience, though, most of the vampires are more like Molly—frozen in time, trying to cling to the person they were while alive. If they can even remember that person.
But if any of them give me hope, it’s Beatrice. She’s one of my favorite vampires—both a gracious hostess and the only vamp I’ve ever met who seems sympathetic to my strange situation. Once, at the lavish Midsummer’s Eve party that Dash throws for the supernatural community, she found me sitting by myself in the backyard, playing with the fringe on my dress and wondering what had possessed me to come. “Oh dear, you don’t really fit in anywhere, do you?” she’d said, getting close enough to pat my shoulder. She’d taken my hand, pulled me up, and said, “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some fascinating vampires who will be thrilled to be in your presence.” Even then, I’d liked that she didn’t treat me as either something scary or a hired-help cockroach, which are the two vibes I usually get from the undead.
I got buzzed through the gate—yes, most of the things that would actually attack Dashiell could get past the gate easily, but maybe it had come with the house—and drove up to the circular parking area, while Cruz let out a whistle at the sight of the house. I had to admit, it was a view worth admiring. The house is pure Spanish elegance, with long, regal columns and flower boxes at every window. Beatrice loves geraniums and tends to favor the bloodred color for some reason. I parked the van on the imported Spanish tiles, next to three or four other cars. I frowned. Dashiell always has underlings around, but it seemed excessive even for him.
I turned in my seat to look at Cruz. “Look, I know this probably seems really...whatever...but you need to stay in the car, okay?” I said again, searching his face. “It’s important.”
“Why?”
“Because when you’re with me, you’re safe from all things Old World. But when you’re away from me, they can...do things.”
“Like what? Fly?” he asked, eyes big.
I couldn’t help but grin. “No, not that I’ve ever heard of. Or change into bats or mist, that’s all nonsense. They evolved like any other species; it’s just that they evolved ways of controlling their prey—like they can mess around with your head. Make you do things, or forget that they just fed on you. It’s hard for them to get humans to do anything truly against their nature, like going on a killing spree or falling permanently in love, but they can still do tons of damage.”
“You’re serious,” he said skeptically, but there was real fear in his voice. Finally.
“Yes. You should be fine if you stay here and keep quiet,” I said. I had my hand on the door handle, but he was still giving me that distrustful look. I refrained from smacking him. “Cruz, look at it this way: if you were a bloodthirsty creature of the night, don’t you think you would enjoy stumbling across a police officer to be your very own puppet?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ If for some reason you get confronted, be polite and submissive, and do not make eye contact under any circumstances. Just ask for me. Got it?”
“Got it,” he said, suddenly meek.
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and stepped outside the car, leaning back in to hand the keys to Cruz. “Lock the doors when I’m gone, and don’t open them for anyone, okay?”
He nodded soberly, and I closed the car door.
It’s my habit, when calling on vampires, to do an abbreviated version of “ding-dong-ditch.” I walked up to Dashiell’s front door, rang the bell, and then turned and dashed into the middle of the yard, moving so the door was well outside my radius. It was undignified as hell, but I’ve learned that it’s a good idea to give vampires the option of staying away from me if I can swing it. Better to look silly for a minute than to piss someone off by forcing them to age. Beatrice opened the front door, looked around, and spotted me in the shadows. “Scarlett,” she called pleasantly, smiling at me, “you may come closer. It is all right.”