I realized I’d just bossed around a cop about how to, essentially, be a cop. I was glad that it was dark enough to hide my blush. But Cruz only looked amused, not insulted, which was kind of nice. I seem to spend a lot of time around people who take politics and insults very seriously. Cruz was kind of refreshing.

We made our way to a table that held only one person, a very young woman in a tight black dress. She was a little overweight, but expensively made up, and someone with enviable skills had pulled her dark-blonde hair into an elaborate fishtail braid. She looked around tentatively and played with an empty water bottle, which showed off the ugly chain of bite marks clustered on each of her wrists. A lot of vampires don’t bite at the neck anymore. It’s too clichéd, even for them.

I plopped down in the seat next to her, and Cruz sat down on her other side. Her eyes widened with what I thought might be recognition.

“Hi,” I said with a smile. “Do you know who I am?”

She was nodding her head before I had finished. Her eyes were huge now.

“What’s your name?”

“Stacia Carlson.”

“Well, Stacia, do you know any of these people?” I passed her the list of the dead vampires’ respective human servants. She started to shake her head no, but then stopped and stabbed at the second name on the list with a long purple nail that matched her dress. “Um, I met this guy at a party once. He has a tattoo here.” She gestured to the right side of her neck. “It’s weird. It’s like one of those dinosaurs from that movie. A T-rex.”

Okay, that was a new one.

“Seriously?”

She nodded.

“Okay. Is there anything else you remember about him?”

She shook her head.

“Anything about the other two?”

No again.

I looked at Cruz.

“How old are you, Stacia?” he said gently.

“Nineteen.”

Jesse gave me a look, but I just shrugged. There’s no law against being vampire food, and I wasn’t a save-the-poor-victim kind of gal.

“Stacia, this is my card,” he said to her, blatantly ignoring my instruction to not tell anyone he was a cop. “If you ever need any help, you just give me a call, okay?”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on him.

We repeated the process, sans the business card, at three more tables. Cruz and I were falling into a nice interview style, courtesy of his police training and Molly’s obsession with Law & Order. We learned that Victoria Grottum was African American and that she and Jason Myles had an on-again, off-again relationship. The two of them belonged to the dead vampire couple, Demetri and Joanna. I tried not to think about what double-dating would look like for that crew. The dinosaur guy, Freedner, belonged to Abraham.

“I don’t get it,” Cruz whispered after the fourth person had stammered and stared as we walked away. We were sitting at an empty table that had quickly been surrounded by more empty tables. “Why are they afraid of you? I mean, vampires I get, but these are humans.”

I shrugged. “Olivia thought the vampires tell ghost stories about us. I think maybe it’s a fear of the unknown. All I know is, the less powerful vampires and the human servants are scared of me.”

“You know, you could be helping these people,” Cruz said, a little peevishly.

“Huh?” I said, stopping to look at him.

“None of them seem all that aware of what they’re playing with. They’re like junkies. Or prostitutes.”

Now I felt like Molly. “So?”

“So, hookers are afraid of their pimps, but they still talk to us sometimes because pimps are afraid of the cops. You respect what your boss fears. And if the vampires are afraid of you...All I’m saying is, you could be trying to talk people out of doing this.”

I was flabbergasted.

Before I could work up a good response, though, a cultured tenor voice rang out over the music. “Scarlett Bernard!”

I stood up to see the crowd part and the DJ turn down the speakers, as if choreographed. A vampire stepped out of the throng of people, having taken another entrance to the rooftop.

Jeez, did he climb the friggin’ fire escape?

“Hello, Gregory,” I said evenly.

He made his way toward us, his large, regal nose seeming to lead his entire body through the crowd. That nose always makes Gregory look like a snob, which works out really well with his personality. As did the honest-to-goodness smoking jacket he was wearing over dark slacks and one of those blousy pirate-type shirts.

Cruz had stood up, too. I felt the vampire enter my space and saw his white face come back to life. Gregory is the kind of vampire who makes a fuss about proving he isn’t afraid of me, which probably means that he is. He didn’t stop strutting toward me, but there were a few gasps around us as he lost his glow and some of his grace. None of his manners, though.

“Darling,” he said, kissing my cheek, “you should have let me know you were coming. I would have warned the sheep.” He waved a hand toward the human servants milling about the rooftop.

They were whispering among themselves, looking at me jealously. Talking to the master! Oooh!

Gregory looked closely at me, examining my bruises. “My dear, what happened to you?”

“I hit one of Dashiell’s guys with my face,” I said lightly.

Gregory’s voice had been calm, but now he looked annoyed to see me. Like being on a hot streak at the roulette table and then having the cooler walk up and bum you out.