The driver craned his neck to look at the huge white house. “Go ahead. I’ll just wait to make sure you get in safe and sound.” Great. We had managed to find the most helpful cabbie in Washington. I touched my thumb to my coral ring for calm and forced my voice to sound bright and steady. “No need. I’ve got my keys right here.” I jangled my own ring of house keys, pretending they would open the door to Maurice Richardson’s sanctum. For just a moment, I thought my ruse would fail. I wished that I had some of James’s cinnamon water, that I could exercise a vampire’s memory-erasing control over humans. Then, the cabbie shrugged and said, “Whatever.” I passed him money for the fare, making sure that I included an absolutely average tip. I didn’t want this guy to remember us, for any reason. I thanked him and waited for him to shove the car into gear. He seemed to take forever making his way around the great arch of the circular driveway.
