“Mmm-hmm.” She gave me one more condemning glare and turned on her sensible heel, back up the aisle to her post.
I sighed and picked up the champagne, trying to ignore my seatmates, a middle-aged couple who stared at me with identical “what am I missing” expressions. We were on our way to Los Angeles, so they probably figured I was an actress or something. I wasn’t about to correct them—after all, I couldn’t exactly explain that the werewolf in first class wasn’t interested in dating me, or even getting his membership card in the mile-high club. He was just delighted to have me aboard, simple as that.
Well, maybe not quite that simple. The guy was relieved—literally. Ordinarily, the magic that infects werewolves never lets them really relax: the wolf part itches away at their psyches, making most werewolves restless and quick-tempered, especially in a small, enclosed area like an airplane…unless they’re around me. I’m a null, one of the very rare humans who neutralizes all the magic in a given area—which means that as long as they stay within around ten feet of me, vampires and werewolves become human again. Witches aren’t able to channel any magic. The werewolf in first class was just grateful to get some peace on the five-hour flight from New York to LA. He probably didn’t realize he was making me look like a bit of a whore.
When we finally got off the plane at LAX, I kept my head down and avoided eye contact with the other passengers as the herd moved en masse toward baggage claim. It was late, especially for those of us still on East Coast time, and we were all staggering zombie-style through the terminal, which was decorated with cheerful red-and-green-tinsel garlands. The touristy shops in Terminal 4 informed us, with festively threatening signs, that there were only seven more shopping days until Christmas.
I hadn’t checked a bag, which allowed me to break away from most of the group and head straight for the exit. I felt sort of a tug as the werewolf left my radius. He felt it too, and stopped his migration, pivoting to face me. He turned out to be a white-haired black guy, which probably explained why the uncle thing hadn’t worked. He looked like he was in his fifties, but the wolves age slower than humans do, so he may have actually been much older. I stood still for a second, unsure if I should go talk to him, but he just gave me a polite smile and a nod and was on his way again. I shrugged to myself. You’re welcome, I guess.
I had almost made my escape into the night when I heard my name. “Scarlett?” I lifted my eyes to see Detective Jesse Cruz leaning against a concrete pillar near the sliding doors. I froze, a mixture of happiness and anxiety further polluting my tired brain. Cruz worked with LA’s Southwest Homicide Division, and it didn’t look like he’d come just in case I needed a ride home. When our eyes met, he pushed off and took the few steps toward me.
“Who did she kill?” I said immediately. “Her doctor? One of her friends?”
A couple of my fellow passengers glanced at me, and I was suddenly very aware of the tinny rendition of “Jingle Bells” playing on the overhead speaker. Oops. Jesse took my carry-on in one hand and my arm in the other and led me toward the automatic doors. “It’s not Olivia,” he said quietly. “I’ve been watching for the names on your list, but there’s been no movement.”
The cool LA night hit my face like a splash of water. There might have been snow in New York, but even at this hour LA was a balmy fifty degrees. “Oh,” I said lamely, oddly deflated. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt, but I was sick of waiting for Olivia to come for me.
Once upon a time, Olivia had been my mentor. She was also a null, and had persuaded me to get involved in the Old World in the first place. It took me a long time to find out that she had done some terrible things, and by the time I did she was dying of cancer. Somehow, though, Olivia found a way to turn herself into a vampire—and then had made a couple of terrifying appearances back in my life. But no one had heard anything from her since September, though Jesse kept an eye out within the police department.
“If you’re not here because of Olivia, why are you here?” I asked. “And how did you know when I’d be back?”
“Molly gave me your itinerary,” he said shortly, without looking at me. “I need to show you something.”
“It’s almost midnight.”
“This can’t wait.”
Without another word, Jesse opened the sedan door for me, and I actually saw his hand twitch up for a second, as though he was about to guide my head into the car, perp-style, but he managed to suppress it. When we were situated on the on-ramp for the 405 North, I looked over at him, trying to adjust to the sudden turn of my night. A couple of months earlier, I had helped Jesse solve a murder case that connected back to the supernatural world, which calls itself the Old World. Afterward Jesse had made it known that he was interested in being, as the kids say, more than friends, but we’d gone on just one date that ended in enough of a disaster that I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be trapped in a car with him. And he definitely didn’t seem thrilled to be trapped in a car with me.
“So where are we going?” I finally asked.
“Crime scene.”
That got my attention. “What do you mean? A murder?”
He didn’t answer me, which wasn’t like him. Why was he taking me to a crime scene? And why the snappishness? At this point I probably should have just kept my mouth shut and let it play out, but I’m not known for my subtlety. Or my manners. “Dude. Have I done something to piss you off in the five minutes I’ve been back in the state?”
The line of his mouth quivered into a frown. I may have forgotten to mention that even in a town full of movie stars, Jesse is alarmingly gorgeous, with dark Latino good looks on a muscled frame. He makes those perpetually topless Abercrombie & Fitch guys look like homely wannabes.