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“So I drove up here expecting to inherit part of a nightclub,” I say, “and instead I’ve inherited a job.”

“Both,” Lenart says. “The share is yours. The job is what keeps it yours.”

“Does the job pay?”

“Three thousand a week. It’s what Desmond was paid for the role. Corinne runs payroll on Fridays, so your first check will be this Friday. Distributions come later, once the estate settles.”

Three thousand dollars. A week. I write it down so I’ll be sure later that I didn’t make it up. It’s more than I used to make in a month.

It's not exactly a fortune, but it's going to get me an apartment. I just have to make it to Friday. My stomach picks that moment to growl, loud enough that everyone in the room hears it. The last thing I ate was a gas station burrito at ten o’clock last night.

Nobody says anything. Then Tav unfolds himself from his corner, picks up the bakery box from the desk, and sets it on the couch beside me. He lifts the lid with one huge finger. Inside are a dozen pastries, still warm enough that the box is fogged.

I look up at him.

“Eat, Boss,” he says.

“Boss?”

“You own part of it.” He goes back to his corner. “Eat.”

“Thank you,” I say.

His ears pin back flat against his head, and he looks at the far wall as if it’s done something interesting.

I take a croissant. Lenart, I notice, is very carefully not looking at the box at all, which is how I figure out who bought it.

“What do I actually do?” I ask, with my mouth full. “Nights, hours. Walk me through it.”

“Wednesday through Sunday, nine until three. You’re inside this building before we open, and you stay until we close.” Lenart glances at Merek. “For now, you’re present, and you learn the records. At midnight, the wards renew, and the Oathkeeper’s hand has to be on the ward stone downstairs when they do. I’ll teach you the rest. So will Corinne.”

“What happens if someone breaks an oath while I’m here?”

“Then you’ll see it, and our security will deal with it.” His eyes come back to me. “You won’t be expected to fight anyone. Regardless of what you did last night.”

Merek snorts.

“And if I just walk away? Right now?”

“Then you walk away,” Lenart says. “Nobody here will stop you.”

I look down at my legal pad. Under How much money? it says VAMPIRE, and under that, in a column, Treaty. Wards. Oathkeeper. Every night. Lammas. $3,000/week.

There’s a knock on the open door.

The woman who walks in is in her forties, I think, in a cream silk blouse and slim black trousers, with her blond hair in a smooth twist. She’s carrying a tablet and a leather folder, and she smiles at me the way you smile at someone you’ve been looking forward to meeting.

“You must be Tara,” she says. “I’m Corinne Vale. I manage operations. I’m so sorry about your uncle.”

“Thank you.”

“He was wonderful to work with. Exacting, but wonderful.” She hands me the folder. “I’ve kept his records up to date since he passed, as best I could. Payroll forms are in the front, and I’ve put a copy of the operating schedule in there for you, and the member roster. His office is down the hall. It’s yours now, whenever you’re ready for it.”

I open the folder. It’s organized. There are tabs. I could cry.

“Thank you,” I say again, and this time I mean it more than she can know.

“If there’s anything you need, anything at all, you come to me.” Corinne gives the men a quick, professional smile that takes in all four of them. “Lenart, the council called about last night. They’d like to speak with you this afternoon.”