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I looked up, and sure enough, Zee had finished installing the floor to ceiling, shiny silver pole.

“It’s art,” Zodiac said, strutting up to our table. His hand rested on the back of my chair and his wings spread, claiming his space, with me inside of it.

“As you say, demon.” Reynard kept his smile pinned to his face.

Zee grinned back. “Stay and watch, maybe you’ll fucking learn something?”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

Zee’s smile faltered some. Invisible electric tension sizzled between us, the wards firing up, ready to slap them both down should either of them act on their murderous impulses.

I sucked in a deep breath and loudly cleared my throat.

Reynard slow-blinked and rose gracefully from the chair. “Good evening, Adam.” He adjusted his shirt cuffs, and snarled. “Demon.”

Zee smiled, and waited until he strode halfway across the bar before saying, “Fuck you too.”

Reynard probably heard. I’d read in the guide how vampires could hear a pin drop from a mile away.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” I said. “Nobody attacked anyone. I’d say that’s progress.”

“The day he sets foot in Runo is the day that vampire gets his ass handed to him.” The way Zee’s glare narrowed to pin-sharp slits suggested he didn’t mean in the fun way. But what happened outside the SOS Hotel was not my concern, although Zee’s safety was. Hopefully he’d cool off, and I doubted Reynard would so much as glance at Runo. There was no way a creature of poise, grace, and professionalism would venture into Demontown.

“Adam? Adam!” Madame Matase glided over, her all-black gown rippling around her ankles like oil. She checked nobody was within earshot, and whispered, “The police are here.”

Zee blinked. “Fuck.”

“Now?”

“Yes, a Detective Somers, from the SFPD Special Dept. He’s asked to speak with you.”

“Did he bring a warrant?” Zee asked, hackles rising. “He can’t search the hotel without a warrant.”

“It’s fine, Zee. There’s nothing to worry about. We haven’t done anything illegal.” I stood and caught Zee’s slightly alarmed face. Of course, there was the dead body he’d disposed of, but we hadn’t killed that person, just hidden the evidence.

I walked with Madame Matase and met the detective in the lobby. A short man, with close-set eyes and a neck so thick, he likely worked out when he wasn’t policing. Maybe he had some gargoyle in his family.

“Let’s go into the conference room,” I told him, after we’d exchanged greetings. The conference room wasn’t much more than a plain, dull, dark room with a large table and mismatched chairs. We’d sort of forgotten about it during the renovations, since not many Lost Ones had conferences, or meetings. We sat, and the detective brought out a clipboard with a form attached, clearly prepared for our analogue ambience. “A few obligatory tick boxes before we begin,” he said, then clicked his pen. “Are you of sane mind and will, Mr. Vex?”

“Uh, I suppose?”

Those narrow eyes flicked up. “You’re not being coerced by the Lost Ones in any way?”

“Not that I know of. But strictly speaking, I wouldn’t actually know if I were being . . . coerced.” He raised an impatient eyebrow, and I smiled a helpful smile. “No, I’m not being coerced in any way by any Lost Ones.”

“You have wards here that protect against violence?”

“Yes.”

“Your ward weaver is licensed?”

“Yes. Madame Matase is all above board.”

“Gypsy, that correct?”

“I think the correct term is Romani. The Romani people have a long history of helping Lost Ones.”

“Right. But I’m not here for a history lesson.” He scribbled some more. “Those wards don’t influence your guests in any other way?” he asked.