He scowled. “You whammied him. First step: stop messing with his head. More than you already do normally.”
I winced.
“Wait—” Harris stared at me. “That’s a good question. Why wouldn’t you just mind-fuck him into telling you whatever you want?”
“That defeats the purpose of a date,” I said, dancing around the fact that Doctor De La Cruz was somehow impervious to my hypnotic powers. “I’m taking Eli to Disneyland tonight.”
Harris blinked rapidly. “Disneyland? You’re going to Disneyland?”
“It’s been a while since I was there,” I nodded. “About thirty years, give or take. Last time I was stalking a guy who liked to hurt kids. It was his hunting ground.”
“Please tell me you caught him.”
“Of course, Detective. And I dragged him off park grounds before I tore his throat out, so no children would witness it. I’m not an asshole.”
Harris rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. “Okay, but you’ll need to back up and let me process this. Why did you buy the house next door? And why does he need you to keep an eye on him?”
“The vampire attack might’ve been random,” I said. “Or it might not have been. It might’ve been a message for me. If so, anyone too close to me is in danger. I bought the house next door so I could protect him. Just in case.”
“Good to know where I stand,” Harris sighed.
“Oh, don’t take it personally. Your survival instincts are sharp. And you’d actually call me if you saw something odd. If it’s a message, whoever sent it is drawing me out.” I paused. “But it’s probably nothing, of course.”
“If it’s nothing, maybe you should leave Eli alone.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Poor guy,” Harris said.
“Detective, know that I have no intention of harming him or his sister. Nor will I let anyone else harm him. Ever.”
Harris’s eyes widened—presumably at the vehemence in my voice. “You don’t—you couldn’t possibly—what?”
“Is this a low-blood-sugar thing?” I demanded, frowning. “You humans are so fragile. I knew I should’ve brought donuts.”
“It’s not a low-blood-sugar thing!” Harris snapped. “But you can’t possibly care about what happens to him!” Then he paused, searching my expression. Some of the outrage drained away. More quietly, he asked, “Do you?”
“He’s amusing. And I don’t want him harmed.” True, yes—but not the whole truth.
Harris didn’t miss it. “If we’re doing radical honesty, it should be a two-way street.”
“The idea of anything bad happening to him is… uncomfortable,” I admitted. “And the idea of him being unhappy is even worse.”
“Are you falling in love with him?”
“Don’t be absurd. I can’t love anyone.”
Harris didn’t seem convinced. He studied me, then abruptly grabbed a notepad, flipped it open, and penned a list. I watched quietly.
After a moment, I asked, “What are you doing, Detective?”
“I’m helping you,” Harris said, sighing. “For the record, I never thought I’d agree to be your human wingman.”
He tore the paper off and handed it to me. “Memorize this list. Ask him these questions. And do your best to actually listen to him. I know you like talking, but a conversation is give and take.”
“I’m offended,” I said, taking the paper.
Then I grinned as I read the questions—they were excellent.
