Page 31 of Fang Fatale

He doesn't say he's sorry.

He doesn't pry.

He simply nods once, as though I've handed him an important piece of evidence.

"I think he picked well."

I blink.

"What?"

"You."

Barnaby lets out a satisfied sigh, blissfully unaware he's just become the emotional center of an awkward conversation.

I clear my throat.

"You know why you're really here."

"Yes."

"Leland hired you."

"He did."

"You'll take me back eventually."

Silence stretches between us.

Finally, Alaric answers.

"I haven't decided what I'm going to do."

I frown.

"I thought detectives always knew."

"No."

A faint smile touches his lips.

"We just get paid to pretend we do."

I stare at him, searching for the catch.

There always used to be one.

But all I find is a vampire standing politely outside a magical boundary with pastries growing cold at his feet.

"I don't have enough money to change your mind," I say quietly.

His expression softens.

"This was never about your money."

Before I can ask what that means, he tips an imaginary hat toward Barnaby.

"Take care of the old man."