Trail of Dead (Scarlett Bernard #2)(62)

“Scarlett…” He sighed. “Look, sending you into that party was my idea, okay? And Kirsten won’t let me come in and keep an eye on you. I’ll be all the way out in the car, by the street. Just do this for me, okay? I’ll feel better if I know you can defend yourself.”

“No,” I said. “No guns.”

“Scarlett—”

I shook my head. “No guns.”

He tried a few more arguments, but I just shook my head and waited him out. Finally he threw up his hands. “At least tell me why not,” he said, frustration all over his face.

I swallowed and tried to figure out what the hell to tell him. I didn’t actually disagree with anything Jesse had said. Being armed seemed perfectly logical when you were going up against a vampire who’d been crazy before she’d turned undead. But still…”Look, Jesse,” I began. “What I do for a living—and what I just am—it’s all about undoing damage.” I held up a hand, warding off his next words. “I know, I know, you think erasing crime scenes is causing damage. But that’s just not how I see it. I undo things that were done in violence, whether it’s cleaning a crime scene or humanizing a werewolf or vampire. But guns…what they do is forever. There’s no unshooting someone. And accidents happen, and I might miss, and it’s just so permanent.” I took a deep breath. “So shut the hell up about the gun, okay?”

I met his eyes for a long, searching moment, and something in my stomach turned over. Finally he relaxed, sighing. “Would you at least wear the vest?” he asked.

I smiled. “Fine. But I’ve got to change again.”

It took a while to find a top with a high enough collar, but when we finally left Molly’s I was wearing the vest under a purple crewneck sweater Molly had reluctantly lent me. After a moment’s thought, I’d discarded the flats in favor of my knee-high leather boots, which were reasonably noncasual, but better for running or getting dirty. I couldn’t wear my beloved coat-o’-nine-pockets over the whole situation, which meant I had to leave my Taser at home. That was somewhat deflating, but at least I was bringing along my very own armed police escort.

At any rate, I figured I had better not get shot, because vest or no vest, if I got bullet holes in her cashmere sweater Molly would probably just finish me off. Or I could ask Jesse to shoot me as a mercy kill. Either way.





Chapter 22


Kirsten’s house in Sherman Oaks isn’t a mansion the way Dashiell’s is, but it’s big and perfectly kept: expansive manicured lawn, beautiful landscaping, white picket fence that’s really only decorative. The whole neighborhood is like that, and in my darker moments I’ve wondered if it’s a witchcraft thing: Could she be using magic to keep her street planted firmly in perfect fifties suburbia? Probably not…right?

I didn’t want to miss anyone who came and left early, so we arrived half an hour before the party was supposed to start. Jesse found a good parking spot on the street where he could see Kirsten’s front door without being completely obvious about it.

“You’ve got your phone? Battery charged?” he asked before I stepped out.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Mom. Cab fare too, in case my date drinks too much.”

He shrugged unapologetically. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the gun?”

“No. No way.”

Jesse nodded, resigned, and reached over to squeeze my hand. “Good luck. I’ll be right out here.”

I got out of the car and walked briskly up to the front porch, wiggling a little at the itchy bulletproof vest. Damn, I should have put a tank top on under it instead of just a sports bra, I thought, but it was way too late to go back. It was a cool night, but between the vest and the sweater I was comfortable.

Kirsten’s front door was framed by a decorative pillar on one side and a porch swing on the other. As I walked up I winced when I saw the swing—Eli and I had once had kind of a moment there. I was so distracted by the memory that I completely missed the witch sitting placidly behind the decorative pillar. I didn’t even feel him enter my radius.

“Uh, boo?”

The voice had been quiet and mild, but I was still so startled I almost fell off the porch steps. When I spun to face him, the witch stood up, grinning at me. He was a balding man in his late forties with a small paunch under his sweater-vest and slacks and one of those affable, saggy faces that was not handsome but instantly likable. “Hi,” I said, clutching my chest and trying to still my breathing. “You scared me.”

“Sorry about that. I’m Kevin.” He looked like a Kevin. “You must be Scarlett.” He held out a hand, and I shook it without thinking. I gave him a friendly smile and concentrated on my radius. He was a low-level witch, not particularly powerful. I suddenly felt a spark of magic come from him, and I let go of his hand, raising my eyebrows. He grinned again.

“You felt that, huh?” he said sheepishly. “Sorry, I was just trying a simple wind spell. I’ve never met a null before.”

“Well, I’ve never met a male witch before,” I said without thinking. “So we’re even.”

His head bobbed up and down. “We’re a rare breed, aren’t we? There are only a handful in Kirsten’s organization.”

“You’re on bouncer duty tonight?” Either that or he had a serious thing for scaring the shit out of people.