Page 45 of Dead Beat

But Dawes held up her hand, warning Alex off.

“Tripp,” she repeated. “You’re scaring everyone. You’re scaring me.” She put her hands on her hips. “You’re acting like Spenser.”

Tripp released a yelp like a kicked dog. His body uncurled from the banister. His teeth receded. He blinked slowly, as if awakening from the dreams he said he didn’t have. “I’m sorry,” he said. He began to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

A long moment passed.

Turner holstered his weapon and sat down on the stairs. Alex let the leash of flame dissolve.

Dawes offered Tripp her hand and Alex tensed. She knew how fast these things could move, how quickly he could have his teeth buried in Dawes’s throat, how easily he could snap her neck.

But Tripp just wiped his hand across his mouth and nose. He reseated his hat on his head, wiped his palm across the canvas exterior of his peculiar salt suit. He looked like a child recovering from a tantrum.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, unable to meet Dawes’s eyes.

She knelt and Alex drew in a breath. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t, okay?”

He nodded but said nothing.

“I need help cleaning up in the kitchen, Tripp.”

“Dawes—” Darlington said warningly, but the look she cast him was so severe he went quiet.

Alex wasn’t sure what to say.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Dawes demanded. She sounded like she was out of patience, but she didn’t sound scared.

“Yeah,” Tripp managed and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the hand she offered, either afraid to touch her or embarrassed he needed the help.

“Great,” said Dawes. “You finish clearing; I’ll get going on the dishes.” She started to follow him out of the room.

“Dawes,” Alex whispered. She crouched on the landing and through the spokes of the banister said, “At least put on some salt pearls or something.”

Dawes tugged the collar of her sweatshirt down, revealing a lacy salt necklace. “I’m not stupid. I know what he is.”

“It isn’t safe to be alone with him.”

“I’m alone with him all the time. This is not his first … outburst.”

“Dawes—”

“Figure out what the pilgrims left for us. I can handle Tripp.” She met Alex’s gaze, then looked at each of them in turn, her head moving like the ticking second hand of a clock. “His soul is still in there. It still has the upper hand. And until that changes, I’m not giving up on him.”

“It’s dangerous,” Darlington said.

“So is going to hell. So is visiting a demon at his beach house. So is everything we do at Lethe no matter how many roasts and tea sandwiches I make. It would be rational to get rid of Tripp. It would be expedient. It’s what every member of the Lethe board would recommend.”

“But we’re not them,” Alex said.

Dawes gave a firm nod. “That’s right. I could resign as Oculus tomorrow. I could finish my dissertation at my sister’s house.” She pressed her fingers to her tired eyes. “And I think about it a lot. Daily, honestly. But I’m not giving up on you, so don’t ask me to give up on him.”

She strode out of the room.

Turner rested his hands on his knees. “I feel about two feet tall.”