“Good, very good.” The matter apparently concluded, Amanda Brooks hastened to usher us out of her office. “I’m glad we were able to come to consensus. Look, I’ve got a dozen fires to put out. I’ll leave it to the two of you to coordinate. Mr. Palmer, I promise I’ll see your license is granted. Go ahead and plan accordingly. The sooner you’re in operation, the better. Daisy . . .” She sighed. “Do whatever you can. Think pretty. Think sparkly. If they have to smile with their mouths closed, that’s fine. Just—”

“Unicorns and rainbows,” I said softly. “I get it.”

A fleeting look of gratitude crossed her face. “Good luck. Oh, and Daisy?”

I turned back. “Yeah?”

“I thought you might have a word with the powers that be out at the House of Shadows,” she said. “Ask them to lie low for a while. Make sure there are no vampires prowling the streets at last call.”

I sighed. “Really? Are you serious? You want me to dictate terms to Twilight Manor?”

“Really.” Amanda Brooks’s expression hardened. “You took on this role. While I recognize my limitations, I’m not entirely ignorant of what goes on in Pemkowet. I realize most vampires are looking for a long-term blood-bond relationship. But there are always paranormal tourists looking for a short-term thrill. And sometimes they find it. That doesn’t necessarily work out well for them, does it?”

“No,” I admitted.

She nodded at me. “So let’s take that off the table for now. Unless you think Hel would disapprove?”

“No,” I said honestly. “I don’t.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Thirty-one

Finding Stacey Brooks immersed in another phone call, I took the opportunity to make a hasty exit from the PVB office with Sinclair Palmer close behind me. Stacey’s gaze followed us jealously. Deprived of the chance to get in one last verbal dig, she lifted her right hand, hooked her fingers, and flashed a devil-horns sign at me.

Apparently in certain circles, that one never got old. I really, really didn’t miss high school.

Outside in the parking lot, I blew out my breath. “Sorry—that was a little messy. Welcome to Pemkowet.”

Sinclair shrugged. “Eh, it’s not so bad. Just a little cuss-cuss.”

I eyed him. “Are you really Jamaican?”

He returned my gaze evenly. “Why you think I’m not, sistah?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have to admit, pretty much everything I know about Jamaica comes from watching Cool Runnings, and I’m guessing a Disney movie about Olympic bobsledders isn’t the most accurate reference material.” I nodded at his hair. “But something about your commitment to dreadlocks strikes me as a recent development.”

Sinclair laughed. “I tell you true, you do the same?”

“Sure, I guess.” I figured he’d find out sooner or later. I’d prefer later, but I was curious about him.