“Scar?” There was a light knock on my door.

“Come in.”

The door swung open and Jesse shuffled a few steps into the room with his hands covering his eyes. “You decent?”

I laughed. On our last case, he’d accidentally walked in on me while I was close to naked. “Yeah, I guess.” He took his hands down and gave me a warm smile. Don’t blush, Scarlett, I told myself sternly. You’re better than that. But the awkward silence unnerved me, and finally I looked down at what I was wearing. “What? You think it’s wrong?”

“No, I think you look great,” he said earnestly. “Do you ever wear your hair down?”

I stuck out my tongue and blew a raspberry at him. “What is this, a teen comedy in the nineties? If I just take off my glasses and take out my ponytail, I’ll be instantly pretty?”

“You don’t wear glasses, and you’re already pretty,” he said matter-of-factly. Then his voice softened. “You’re beautiful.”

I flinched. I never had learned how to take a compliment. Impatient, I turned back to my mirror and jerked the ponytail holder out of my hair. “Yeah, well, so’s your girlfriend,” I snapped. I reached up and braided my hair upside down, twisting the ponytail holder onto the end and letting the long braid settle down my back. “Happy?” I asked, turning back to him.

But Jesse’s face had stiffened. “I have something for you,” he said. He picked up a large paper bag from the hallway floor and thrust it toward me.

I immediately felt like an ass. Why couldn’t I ever say the right thing, just once? I reached into the bag and pulled out…a small, black bulletproof vest. “Uh…you shouldn’t have…?” I said uncertainly.

“There’s more.”

I peeked into the bag and saw a black leather cup with a snapping lid, the size of my two hands. “What is it?” I asked, pulling the thing out. Jesse didn’t answer, but I figured it out myself. I looked up to meet his face. “Jesse, this is for a gun,” I said stupidly. “This is a holster for a gun.”

“I know.” He reached around his back and pulled out a small chunk of black metal. “It’s the same model we used at the shooting range,” he said. “I think you should take it along tonight.”

I dropped the holster on the floor and backed away, as though it had burned my fingers. “No way. I am not carrying that. Put it away.”

“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.