“You have an assistant,” Bernard asked, via way of stating the obvious. 

“Raspberry is a good friend,” Lars said, nodding and smiling at the little creature as she seat up the tea tray. “She’s been with me all my life.”

“Those things are expensive.” 

“Raspberry is not a thing. She’s a friend. I am happy to have you here,” Lars said. He crossed one leg over the other, tugged down on his waistcoat, “But I’ll not be having any insults towards Raspberry. I don’t care what others say. In this house, Raspberry is a person and a member of the family. Is that something you can live with?”

Bernard scratched his forehead, lips tightening, as the fruit shaped AI manifestation glared at him from the kitchen area, but only for a moment before she went back to making tea, to laying out tea cakes on the little gold toned trolly. 

“I can live with that. That’s easier than what I’m going to ask you to do.” 

Lars sat up and leaned toward the trolly that Raspberry brought over. A skinny man, it might be true when his critics said he lived on caffeine and academic spite. “And what is it you’re going to ask me to do, Mr. Hansen?”

“As you know, I am a private detective. About a year ago, I was contacted by a local charity to look into the disappearance of a couple of local shifters. I’m sure you know that the local police aren’t well motivated to look into the murders of shifters.” 

That was well known. In stories, shifters turn to their human form upon death. In reality, they take the form of their animal. There were debates, at least in academic circles were shifters were considered real, about why that was. Lars felt that, at least for him, it was just that his Raven self was his truest self. His human self revelved in clothes and trinkets, in degrees and having written papers on obscure poetic topics. His human self imagined himself safer and liking himself more if Brendan would smile at him. His raven self cared about none of that. With death, to be his raven forever more, would be a kindness.

Nonshifter cops did find investigating the murder of a raven more challenging than the murder of a man. Animal control would certainly arrest someone for killing a raven within city limits, but the consequenes for killling a raven or a wolf were hardly the same as for killing a person. “I am aware,” Lars agreed. “So you want to catch and punish this killer on your own?” 

“His kill count is six. I’d like to make sure he doesn’t make to seven,” Bernard said firmly. “I know this might feel like a dangerous thing to get involved in, but I won’t let any harm come to you. I promise.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, wolf,” Lars said firmly. They hadn’t said out loud that they knew the other was a shifter, but it was obvious they did. “I’ll help you, because it’s the right thing to do, but I want something in return.”

“What do you want,” Bernard asked. He poured himself a cup of tea, one sugar cube and a tiny splash of cream, mostly just to be polite, to look like he was negotiating. 

“I want a date. A real date, where we go out together, to get to know each other, hours long, a meal, an evening walk in the park.”

Bernard sipped his tea. The cup was awkwardly small in his hand. “Do you want to fuck as well? I would be perfectly fine with that. I like ravens.” 

“Well, now.” Lars coughed, set his tea down and patted his chest for a moment. “I’d like to be known and liked for myself, before we get to that particular experience, but it’s on the table.” 

“Or the floor or the bed. Do you have a kink for tables?”

“No!” Lars cleared his throat again, which nothing at all for the blush lighting up his cheeks. “Well, there was this one story, but it was just interesting, not a kink at all. I’m sure we’ll get to that,” he coughed again, took a quick drink that was the rest of his tea, “but let’s get to know each other first. I’m too old for one night stands.”

“You’re old? I’m two and a half centuries. You’re a baby. Do you even remember The Terror?”

“I have books,” Lars shot back. “I am familiar with the French Revolution, even without living through it. You’re not French, so don’t try to tell me you were afraid of the National Razor.” 

“I’m not French,” Bernard agreed before disappearing one of the tea cakes into his mouth, “but I had people who were. Just reading books does not really give you the full experience. My point is that I am experienced and I’ll take good care of you, in all the ways that we’ve discussed.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard,” Lars said as he tipped the pot to pour himself a bit more tea. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You don’t have me bent over the table yet!”

“One step at a time,” Bernard said, smirking. “For tonight, I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress for a club, nice club. No weapons. I’ll be your weapon.”

“I bet you will be,” Lars smirked. 

“See you soon,” Bernard said, giving Lars a saucy wink. 

Lars closed the door behind his very pretty neighbor and felt like he took the first breath in minutes. He hadn’t been holding his breath. He knew this, but it still felt like he had. Bernard was all that and shot of whiskey on top.

“Raspberry, draw me a bath,” he said. He loosened his cravat, toed off his shoes. Tonight wasn’t a date-date, but a practice date. He wasn’t worried about a killer being on the loose. He wasn’t a wolf, just a raven, but he was far from harmless, even without weapons.