He smiled and slid off the bar stool. "Is anybody tired but me?"
Larry and I stared at him. The werewolf didn't look tired—more than I could say for us mere humans.
Jason wasn't going to answer my questions, and they weren't important enough to shoot him over. Stalemate.
"Fine; where are you sleeping?" I asked.
"If you trust me not to eat him, in Larry's room."
"No way," I said.
"You want me here, with you?"
"I told him he could stay in my room on the ride over," Larry said.
"That was before he pulled the werewolf crap," I said.
Larry shrugged. "You've got the Master of the City tucked into your bed. I think I can handle one werewolf."
I didn't think so. But I didn't want to discuss it in front of the werewolf. "No, Larry."
He was instantly angry. "What do I have to do to prove myself to you?"
"Stay alive," I said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're not a shooter, Larry."
"I was willing to shoot him." Larry pointed to the smiling werewolf.
"I know."
"Because I'm not trigger-happy, you don't trust me to handle myself?"
I sighed. "Larry, please. If Jason turned furry in the middle of the day and killed you, I couldn't live with myself."
"And if he kills you?" Larry said.
"He won't."
"Why not?" Larry asked.
"Because Jean-Claude would kill him. If he hurt you, I'd kill him, but I don't know if Jean-Claude would avenge you. Jason's more frightened of Jean-Claude than he is of me. Aren't you, Jason?"
Jason had sat down on the end of the couch on my blanket. "Oh, yes."
"I don't know why," Larry said. "You're the one who kills for Jean-Claude. He never seems to kill anyone on his own."
"Larry, who would you be more afraid of, Jean-Claude or me?"
"You wouldn't hurt me," he said.
"If you had to face one of us, which would you prefer?"
Larry looked at me for a long time. The anger drained away, replaced by something tired and old in his eyes. "Him."
"For God's sake, why?" I asked.
"I've seen you kill a lot of people, Anita. A lot more than Jean-Claude. He might try to frighten me to death, but you'd just kill me."
My mouth was open, just a little. "If you really believe that I'm more dangerous than Jean-Claude, then you haven't been paying attention."
"I didn't say you were more dangerous. I said you'd kill me quicker."
"That's why I'm not as afraid of Anita as I am of Jean-Claude," Jason said.
Larry looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"All she'll do is kill me, quick, neat. Jean-Claude wouldn't kill me quick, or easy. He'd make sure it hurt."
The two men stared at each other. Each one's logic was sound as far as it went. I was with Jason. "If you really believe what you're saying, Larry, then you haven't seen enough vampires."
"How am I ever going to see enough vampires if you keep me at arm's length, Anita?"
Had I really kept him out of it that much? Had I overprotected him? Let him see my ruthlessness but not Jean-Claude's?
"And I'm going to the master's tomorrow night. You are not leaving me behind anymore."
"You're right," I said. The answer seemed to surprise both of them.
"If you really believe that I'd kill someone quicker than Jean-Claude would, I have overprotected you. You have to understand how dangerous they are, Larry. How deadly, or someday I won't be around and you'll get killed."
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My stomach was tight with fear. Fear that Larry would get killed because I'd kept him out of it. It was something I hadn't anticipated.
"Come on, Jason," Larry said.
Jason stood up.
"No. Tomorrow you can be ass-deep in vampires with me watching. Until you understand how dangerous the monsters are, I don't want you alone with them."
His eyes were angry and hurt. I'd undercut his confidence, his self-esteem. But... what else could I do?
Larry turned abruptly on his heel and left. He didn't argue. He didn't say goodbye. He slammed the door behind him, and I fought an urge to follow him. What could I say? I leaned my forehead against the door, and whispered, "Damn."
"Do I get the couch?" Jason asked.
I turned and leaned against the door. I still had the Browning in my hand, though I wasn't sure why anymore. I was getting tired, sloppy. "No, I get the couch."
"Where do you want me, then?"
"I don't care; just not near me."
He ran his hands down the edge of the blanket, running the cloth between his fingers. "If you're really sleeping out here, I'd just as soon have the bed."