“She was attacked last night,” Beatrice continued, “by the wolves—”

“Beatrice,” Will began to reproach her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

“He cares for her,” she insisted. “I do too, in my way. He needs to know.”

Jesse sighed and looked back. They were manipulating him with Scarlett again. He had to find a way out of that, but in the meantime, he couldn’t help but take the bait. “What do I need to know?”

“She’s the only one who can do this job right now,” Beatrice said calmly, walking toward him. “The only one who can clean up after this creature if it kills again. It can move in the day, which we cannot, and it can create another . . . scene, which the wolves can’t stomach.” Being around a lot of blood and meat could force the werewolves into a change, which was a very dangerous prospect in the middle of Los Angeles. “Scarlett is the only one. And she needs a cane to walk.”

Jesse caught the emphasis Beatrice put on this last sentence, but it had its effect. His stomach clenched with worry. “Help her,” Beatrice pleaded. “Help her keep this hidden, and she can help you find the one who’s doing it. Please.”

Jesse looked at Dashiell, who was motionless, expressionless. “There is no one else,” the vampire confirmed.

“What if I don’t?” Jesse challenged. “What if I call my supervisor and report the murder? Or what if I take Scarlett and run?”

The vampires were already very still, but suddenly it seemed like the room around them was frozen. Jesse expected Beatrice to speak next, to jump in with her placating tone, but it was Dashiell who said, in a cool, unaffected voice, “That would never happen. She would never go with you.”

Jesse’s brow furrowed. The vampire was too confident about what Scarlett would decide. “You have leverage, don’t you? What do you have on her?”

He didn’t realize he was meeting Dashiell’s eyes until the vampire sent a little shiver of pull in Jesse’s direction, just enough to remind him who had the power here. “More than enough,” Dashiell informed him.

“Then my answer is no,” Jesse said firmly.

There was a long, loaded silence. Then Dashiell stood up and strode over to the glass doors, staring out at the darkened patio with his hands clasped behind his back. Jesse could see his reflection in the glass, but the vampire’s expression was unreadable. “I could force you, you know,” Dashiell mused. He didn’t turn around. Jesse said nothing, and after a moment the vampire went on, his voice toneless and detached. “It is what I have done in the past, with other humans. But my wife has persuaded me to try something different in this situation. She believes you are different.”

Jesse glanced at Beatrice with surprise. As far as he’d known, Beatrice hadn’t given him another thought since the last time he’d been in front of her. But now the female vampire gave him a small, reassuring smile and a little nod.

“So I am going to make you an offer,” Dashiell said, turning to face Jesse, “and I suggest you take it, because you won’t get a better one from me.”

His tone clearly implied that Jesse could, however, get a worse offer. “What is it?” Jesse demanded.

“I will arrange for you to have a few days off of work, no questions asked. Make up whatever excuse you like for your coworkers. During that time you will help Scarlett find the perpetrator, with my support and authority behind you. You will report nothing you see or do to any other member of the LAPD. Nothing,” he added again, pushing power into the word so Jesse flinched. “Beatrice?” he said, turning to look at his wife.

She rifled through the stack of papers on the table and pulled out a single sheet, which she leaned over and handed to Jesse. He glanced at it and looked at Dashiell. “These are LAPD transfer papers,” he said incredulously. “And they’re already signed.” Jesse had known that Dashiell had contacts in the LAPD, and he’d seen the vampire wield power over the police force before. But this wasn’t a brief, unofficial word, this was . . . paperwork.

Dashiell nodded. “If you can solve this case, and show me that you can protect our way of life despite your misgivings,” he stated, “at the end of the week I will arrange for you to be transferred to Homicide Special.”

Jesse’s mouth gaped. Homicide Special was the LAPD’s elite investigative squad, with jurisdiction over the whole city. Homicide Special detectives had fewer cases and were able to spend more time cultivating each investigation. There were only a couple dozen detectives in the unit, and every time a spot opened up there were at least a hundred applicants.

“There’s more,” Dashiell continued. “If another case should come up involving the Old World, I will have it assigned to Homicide Special. You can work on it from there, in a relatively official capacity. Depending on circumstances, you might not be able to arrest a perpetrator—”

“It’s not what you proposed, we know,” Beatrice broke in softly. “But it’s a good start, Detective.”

Will, who had been silent throughout, nodded his agreement, though a troubled expression still stained his features.

Jesse looked away then, trying to pretend for a moment that he was alone. Homicide Special . . . That was the dream for any detective who didn’t want to end up spending every day behind a desk. He had hoped to apply himself in maybe a decade. And Dashiell was offering a shortcut.