Standing behind DeLavine was a living vampire. The woman was nervous, an unusual emotion for a high-blood vampire. She was thin and graceful, which was a trick since she was kind of big on top and hippy. Her straight, unstyled long hair was graying, though she looked no older than me. If not for her worry, she would have been beautiful. Haunted-looking, her eyes constantly moved, landing on me more often than not. Clearly she wasn’t comfortable with this. Her hands were on the shoulders of a second, seated vampire. Peter?

He was obviously ailing, sitting as if trying to pull himself straight but not quite able to manage it. His vivid blue eyes were surprising against his black hair and dark complexion. Pain showed in the tension his pleasant expression carried, and I could smell a herb that should have been prescription only but wasn’t because humans didn’t know it was a massive painkiller when mixed with baking powder.

His slacks and casual shirt were as expensive looking as his mentor’s, but they and his coat hung on him as if he had lost a lot of weight. He seemed in full control of his faculties despite the painkiller, his gaze meeting mine with the look of someone seeing their savior.

I didn’t like that. If things went as planned, I was going to kill him. Shades of gray. Just this once. Gotta save the world and all that.

Nick edged in behind me, moving furtively to the kitchen, where he leaned against the sink with his arms crossed, the bulb over the stove making him even more gaunt. I imagined he was trying to stay unnoticed, but no one wanted to acknowledge his existence anyway.

Between Nick and the vampires, Jenks sat cross-legged on the couch beside the artifact. I had put the ugly thing in his keeping, and he took the task seriously. He looked odd sitting like that, but the hard slant to his eyes balanced out his prissy-boy image. Ivy’s sword across his knees helped too. The vampires were ignoring him. If I was lucky, they’d ignore me.

“DeLavine,” Ivy said respectfully, dropping her coat on the bed and inclining her head. She had the air of a favored messenger that was to be treated well. The undead vampire lifted a hand in acknowledgment, and she turned to Peter. “Peter,” she said more casually, gesturing for him to remain seated as she shook his hand.

“Ivy Tamwood,” the ailing vampire said pleasantly, his voice resonant for his narrow, disease-thin body. “I’ve heard much about your good works. Thank you for seeing me.”

Good works? I thought, then remembered the missing-person runs that had populated her schedule during the first three months of our firm’s existence.