Olivia suddenly went half-limp, clutching the door handle like it was the only thing keeping her out of deep water. She was still staring at me, but her eyes had gone baby-deer soft, and tears began to slide down her cheeks. She slid down to the floor, letting herself dangle helplessly from the cuffs. “Scarlett, you won’t let them kill me, will you? After everything we’ve been through together? Everything I taught you?”

I looked at Jesse for a long, foggy moment that felt siphoned off from the rest of the night’s timeline. And then I finally understood. If he turned Olivia over to Dashiell, in his own eyes, Jesse would be killing her. He’d be haunted forever, knowing that he’d compromised his deepest beliefs about order and justice and let a murderer die lawlessly. And in that way, Jesse would become another one of her victims.

I was not going to let that happen. I lifted Will’s revolver, which I’d retrieved from my back as I scrambled away from the pile of clay. And I shot Olivia twice in the chest.

It was loud. I dropped the gun and squeezed my eyes shut, listening to the ringing in my ears. I hadn’t looked at Jesse, and I was afraid to open my eyes and do so. I knew exactly what expression was going to be on his face—shock and disappointment that I’d let him down, that I’d demonstrated my complete lack of morals, ethics, or character yet again. I’d seen it before, and I didn’t even blame him, really. I just…wasn’t ready.

I don’t know how much time passed, but eventually I could hear again. The only sound in the room was a slow drip-dripping of water, probably coming from sprinkler heads. Then I felt a warm hand touch mine, and I opened my eyes. Jesse was crouched in front of me, turning my hand over to press a wad of paper towels into my palm. “They’re wet,” he said softly, “but they’ll work.”

I lifted my hands. They were shaking. “I—can you—”Jesse nodded and began wiping clay and blood from my face. I shivered with cold, wincing a couple of times when he found one of my new bruises.

“Why did you do that?” Jesse asked me quietly. “Why shoot her?”

I shrugged. “Bitch deserved to die. Dashiell was going to do it anyway, so I figured I might as well have the privilege.” My teeth chattered as I spoke. When had it gotten so cold?

Jesse sat back on his heels and studied my face. “You’re lying,” he said simply. “You did it for me.”

“Pshaw,” I said scornfully. “That doesn’t sound like me at all—” And I stopped talking then, because he was kissing me. His lips were warm, and as he pulled me into his lap I discovered that the rest of him was too. He smoothed my wet hair from my face, and I moved past the surprise and kissed him back with a hunger that would have scared me if I was anywhere in the vicinity of my right mind.

Chills spread through my chest, but I wasn’t cold anymore. The kiss went on and on. I couldn’t get enough of him. Our first kiss, on Molly’s porch, had been like a bubble bursting, tension breaking into passion. This was something else, though. This was…connection.

Then I heard a familiar voice behind us. “I believe the word you humans use is ahem.”

We broke apart, gasping for breath. Dashiell stood in the same doorway Jesse had come through, leaning against the doorframe and looking amused. Goddamn vampires. I scooted off Jesse’s lap, trying to keep the embarrassment off my face.

“Hey,” I managed.

Dashiell raised his eyebrows. “I found a dead witch in the hallway. Would that be Mallory?”

“Yes,” Jesse said. He climbed to his feet, putting one hand against the wall to steady himself.

“Ah.” Dashiell came forward and looked down at Olivia’s body. It hadn’t yet rotted the way a vampire corpse usually does as it dies. She had been human when I’d shot her, and died as a human. We all go back to human in the end. Dashiell looked at Jesse. “I see you managed to take care of Olivia.”

Jesse opened his mouth, but I spoke first. “Yes.” I stood up shakily. Dashiell didn’t need to know that it had been me. He’d respect Jesse more if he thought Jesse was secretly ruthless. “I can get her to my furnace guy, if someone can help me load her in…” I realized I didn’t have my van and stopped short, uncertain of what to do. I felt myself swaying.

“Scarlett,” Dashiell said, the amused tone back in his voice. “You’re about to pass out, and you look like you just crawled out of the grave during a downpour. I think you can have the rest of the night off.” He looked around, taking in the clinic with a newly focused eye. “Consider this one on me.”

“That’s nice,” I said, a little loopy, and sagged against a counter.

“Detective Cruz, I trust you can get her out of here?” Dashiell asked. Jesse nodded and came over to put my arm around his shoulders. He walked me down the hall without another word to my boss.

There was no sign of the witch’s body in the hall, so Dashiell must have already put it in a car. We paused briefly so Jesse could put his shoes back on, and then began plodding forward again. “You can’t drive like this, you know,” Jesse said in my ear.

“Of course I can,” I protested. Then I stopped in my tracks. “Jesse, the Transruah…if Dashiell gets it, it could start this whole big thing—”

“It’s okay,” he said. He reached into his jacket pocket and showed me the little piece of Jerusalem stone on its leather cord.