Sometimes it can be useful, living with a spy.
Without really thinking, I stepped forward into her room and wrapped my arms around her slender frame. “Thanks,” I said into her hair.
Surprised, she hugged me back. “You’re welcome.”
We managed to avoid the whole when-to-pull-away issue, because the doorbell rang. I trotted down the stairs. Remembering my idiocy from the day before, I focused on my radius for a moment before opening it, but there was nothing Old World nearby. I checked the peephole anyway, and then let Jesse inside.
“Oh, good, you’re ready to go,” he said, eyeing my jacket and scarf. I did the classic look-down-at-what-you’re-wearing double take. “Uh…I guess so,” I said doubtfully. Then I saw a smear of ash on my jeans leg. “Wait, just a second.”
I trotted up the stairs, hearing Molly exchange a few pleasantries with Jesse as I went, and burst into the room. What do you wear to a witch’s party? Not red or green, because it wasn’t Christmas oriented, and probably not a dress, in case I had to run toward or away from something. Someone. I pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Clothes, I reminded myself. The problem at hand was clothes.
After Olivia died I had mercilessly thrown out all of the clothes she’d bought me, all those brand-name dresses from Nordstrom and the fancy heels she’d taught me to walk in. I wasn’t anyone’s fucking puppet anymore. But that meant my wardrobe pretty much consisted of what I’d worn in high school, a supplement of jeans and T-shirts I’d chosen for comfort, and whatever Molly had forced me to buy via her famous excessive-whining torture method. I finally settled on clean jeans, silver flats, and a lightweight black V-neck sweater. Witches always appreciate black, right?
“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.