I dropped him off at a cute, suburban home, its front yard littered with children's playthings. I saw no sign of the children themselves, much to my disappointment. Seth gathered up his haul of books, gave me another scattered smile as he voiced his thanks, and disappeared into the house. I was almost back to Queen Anne when I realized I'd forgotten to ask him for my copy of The Glasgow Pact.
Annoyed, I entered my building and immediately heard the front desk attendant solicit me. "Miss Kincaid?"
I walked over to him, and he handed me a vase of flowers teeming with shades of purple and dark pink. "These came for you today."
I accepted the vase with delight, inhaling the mingled scents of roses, irises, and stargazer lilies. They had no card. Typical. "Who brought them?"
He gestured beyond me. "That man over there."
CHAPTER 7
I turned and saw Roman sitting over in a corner of the small lobby. He looked striking in a deep green turtleneck, his dark hair brushed away from his face. He smiled at me when I caught his eye, and I walked over to sit near him.
"Jesus, you really are a stalker."
"Well, well. Aren't you presumptuous. I only came for my coat."
"Ah." I blushed, feeling foolish. "How long have you been waiting?"
"Not too long. I actually tried the bookstore first, thinking that might be a little less stalker- ish."
"It's my day off." I looked down at the riotously colored blossoms in my arms. "Thanks for the flowers. You didn't need to bring them to get your coat back."
Roman shrugged, those blue-green eyes wreaking havoc with me. "True, but I figured they might induce you to go out for a drink tonight."
So he did have another motive. "Not this again—"
"Hey, if you'd wanted to avoid 'this,' you shouldn't have lured me in last night. Now it's too late. You might as well avoid the long, drawn-out pain and get it over with quickly. Sort of like taking off a Band-Aid. Or cutting off a limb."
"Wow. Who says there's no romance left in the world?" In spite of my sarcasm, I found Roman's easy repartee a refreshing change from the halting atmosphere with Seth.
"So, what? Does that mean you finally concede, general? Truly, you've fought a worthy battle in eluding me thus far."
"I don't know. You showed up at my home. I apparently didn't do that much eluding." When he only waited expectantly, my smile faded. I sighed, studying him and trying to figure out his motivations. "Roman, you seem like a nice guy and everything—"
He groaned. "No. Don't start that with me. It's never a good sign when a woman says 'you're a nice guy' It means she's getting ready to let you down easy."
I shook my head. "I'm just not interested in getting serious with anyone right now, that's all."
"Whoa, 'get serious'? Slow down there, sister. I'm not asking you to marry me or anything. I just want to go out with you sometime, maybe catch a movie, have dinner and drinks, that's it. Kiss at the end of the night if I'm lucky. Hell, if that still freaks you out, we'll just shake hands."
I leaned my head back against the wall, and we stayed like that a moment, each of us sizing up the other. I knew it was perfectly possible for men and women to go out on dates without automatic sex, but my dates generally didn't work that way. My instincts drove me to seek sex out, and looking at him, I realized that urge might be strong independent of any sort of succubus need to feed. I liked the way he looked, the way he dressed, and the way he smelled. I especially liked his goofy attempt at courtship. Unfortunately, I couldn't turn off the destructive succubus absorption, even if I wanted to. It would happen of its own volition, probably strongly with him. Even the kiss he joked about would still steal some of his life away.
"I don't know anything about you," I said finally, realizing I'd been quiet too long.
He smiled lazily. "What do you want to know?"
"Well... I don't know. What do you like to do? Do you even have a job? You must have lax hours to be able to hang around me all the time."
"All the time, huh? You're being presumptuous again, but yes, I do work. I teach a couple of community college linguistics classes. Short of when I'm there, I get to make my own hours with grading and stuff."
"Okay. What's your last name?"
"Smith."
"No way."
"Way."
"That hardly goes with Duke Roman." I tried to think of another appropriate screening item. "How long have you lived in Seattle?"
"A few years."
"Hobbies?"
"I've got some." He paused and cocked his head toward me when no more questions came. "Anything else you want to know? Should I dig out my college transcripts perhaps? A full curriculum vitae and background check?"
I waved a hand of dismissal. "I have no use for inconsequential information like that. I only need to know the really important stuff."
"Like?"
"Like... what's your favorite song?"
The question obviously caught him by surprise, but he recovered immediately, just as he had last night. I loved that. "The last half of the Beatles' Abbey Road.’
"The last half of Abbey Road?"
"Yeah, there are a bunch of songs, but they sort of blend into one song—"
I cut him off with a quick gesture. "Yeah, yeah, I know the album."
"So?"
"So, that's a pretty good answer." I tugged at my ponytail, wondering how best to navigate this. He nearly had me. "I— no. I'm sorry. I can't. It's just too complicated. Even the one date. It'll turn into a second date, then another, then—"
"You really do jump ahead. What if I gave the super-secret Boy Scout promise to never bother you again after one date?"
"You'd agree to that?" I asked skeptically.
"Sure, if that's what you want. But I don't think you will once you've spent an evening with me."
A suggestive tone in his voice did something to my stomach I hadn't felt in a very long time. Before I could fully process this, my cell phone rang.
"Sorry," I apologized, digging it out of my purse. Glancing at the Caller ID display, I recognized Cody's number. "Yeah?"
"Hey, Georgina. Something weird happened tonight..."
Lord. That could mean anything from another death to Peter shaving his head. "Hang on a second."
I stood up and looked at Roman, juggling the vase of flowers as I did. He rose with me, looking concerned. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I mean, no. I mean, I don't know. Look Roman, I need to go upstairs and take this call. I appreciate the flowers, but I just can't get involved right now. I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. Honestly."
He took a few steps toward me as I started to walk away. "Wait." He dug in his pockets, pulled out a pen and piece of paper. Hastily he scrawled something and handed it to me. I looked down and saw a phone number.
"For when you change your mind."
"I won't."
He simply smiled, inclined his head slightly, and left the lobby. I watched him only a moment before heading upstairs, anxious to hear Cody's news. Once inside, I set the flowers on my counter and put the phone back to my ear.
"Still there?"
"Yeah. Who's Roman and why'd you use the old 'it's not you, it's me' line on him?"
"Never mind. What's going on? Is someone else dead?"
"No... no. It's just, something happened, and Peter doesn't think it's a big deal. Hugh said you thought there might be more going on than we think."
"Tell me what happened."
"I think we were followed last night."
Cody related how, not long after leaving my place, he'd kept hearing footsteps following him and Peter on the street. Whenever he'd turned around, no one was there. Peter had written the matter off, as they had sensed no other being present.
"Maybe you don't know what a vampire hunter feels like."
"I'd still have felt something. And Peter certainly would have. Maybe he's right, and I was imagining things. Or maybe it was just a regular mortal, wanting to mug us or s
omething."
I doubted that. We couldn't sense mortals the same way we could sense immortals, but one would be hard-pressed to sneak up on a vampire.
"Thanks for telling me. You did the right thing."
"What should I do now?"
A strange, anxious feeling played through me as I thought about some freak stalking Peter and Cody. Dysfunctional they might have been, but I loved them. They were the closest I had to family anymore. I couldn't let anything happen to them.
"What Jerome said. Be careful. Stay with others. Let me know immediately if anything happens."
"What about you?"
I thought of Erik. "I'm going to clear things up, once and for all."
CHAPTER 8
Paige was all smiles when I went in for the early shift the next day.
"Nice work with Seth Mortensen," she told me, glancing up from the neatly stacked paperwork on her desk. The desk Doug and I shared in the store's back offices tended to look like an apocalyptic war zone.
"How so?"
"In convincing him to write here."
I blinked. With our assorted U District and Krystal Starz adventures, I'd never said a word about him becoming our resident writer. "Oh?"
"I saw him upstairs in the cafe just now. He said he had a great time yesterday."
I left her office, baffled, wondering if I'd missed something from yesterday. It hadn't seemed like that stellar of an outing, but I supposed he felt pleased and grateful over the discounted books. Had anything else notable happened?
Unbidden, the memory of touching Seth's hand suddenly rushed back to me, the odd shockwave of familiarity it had sent through me. No, I decided, that had been nothing. I had imagined the moment.
I went up to the cafe for a mocha, still puzzled. Sure enough, Seth sat in a corner, laptop spread out on the table in front of him. He looked much the same as yesterday, save that his shirt today sported Beeker from the Muppets. His fingers moved furiously along the keys, his eyes locked on the screen.
"Hey," I told him.
"Hey."
He offered no more. He didn't even look up.
"Are you working?"
"Yes."
I waited for elaboration, but it never came. So I kept going.
"So, um, Paige told me you're moving here."
He didn't answer. I didn't even know if he'd heard me. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes sharpening. "Ever been to Texas?"
That took me by surprise. "Sure. Which part?"
"Austin. I need to know what the weather's like there."
"When? This time of year?"
"No... more like spring or early summer."
I racked my brain. "Hot. Rain and storms. Some humidity. The edge of tornado alley, you know?"
"Ah." Seth turned thoughtful, then nodded smartly and returned his attention back down. " Cady'll love that. Thanks."
It took me a moment to realize he meant one of his characters. Nina Cady's dislike of inclement weather was notorious. My stomach suddenly dropped out of me and hit the floor. It was a wonder he didn't hear the thud.
"Are you... are you... writing something with Cady and O'Neill? Right now?"
"Yeah." He spoke very casually, like we were still discussing weather. "Next book. Well, next-next book. The next one's already queued up for publishing. I'm about a quarter through this one."
I stared in awe at the laptop, like it was a divine golden idol from days of old, capable of performing miracles. Providing rain. Feeding the masses. Now I felt speechless. That the next masterpiece was being created right in front of me, that I might say something that could influence it was too much to bear. I swallowed heavily and dragged my eyes away from it, forcing calm. After all, I could hardly be excited about another installment when I had yet to read the current one.
"A Cady and O'Neill book. Wow. That's really—"
"Um, so, I'm kind of busy here. I've got to run with this right now. Sorry."
The words stopped me cold. "What?" Was I being dismissed?
"Can we talk later?"
I was being dismissed. I was being dismissed without even being looked at. Heat flushed my cheeks.
"What about my book?" I blurted out ungracefully.
"Huh?"
"The Glasgow Pact. Did you sign it?"
"Oh. That."
"What's that mean?"
"I'll send you e-mail."
"You'll send me—so you don't have my book?"
Seth shook his head and kept working.
"Oh. Okay." I didn't understand the e-mail bit but wasn't going to waste my time begging for his attention. "Well. I'll see you later then. Let us know if you need anything." My voice was stiff and cold, but I doubted he even noticed.
I tried not to storm downstairs. Where did he get off acting like that? Especially after I'd shown him around yesterday. Famous author or no, he didn't have the right to be a jerk to me. I felt humiliated.
Humiliated over what, being ignored? chided a reasonable voice inside me. It's not like he made a scene. He was just busy. After all, you were the one complaining he didn't write fast enough.
I ignored the voice and went back to work, still feeling put-out. Business didn't allow me to nurture my wounded ego for long, however, as the afternoon and lack of staff ensured I stayed busy on the floor. The next time I managed to return to my office, it was only to grab my purse at the end of my shift.
As I was about to walk out, I saw a message from Seth in my e-mail's inbox. I moved to the computer and read.
Georgina,
Have you ever paid much attention to real estate agents—the way they dress, the kinds of cars they drive? Truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. Last night, I expressed interest in living in the University District to my brother, and he called up this real estate agent friend of his. She arrived in something like two minutes flat, no small feat I guess, since her office is in West Seattle. She pulled up in a Jaguar, whose shiny whiteness was rivaled only by the day-glow white of her Miss America smile. While gushing nonstop about how exciting it was to have me here, she hacked away at a computer, searching for appropriate residences, typing with nails long enough to impale small children on. (See? I remembered how much you liked the word "impale.")
Each time she found a place that might work, she'd get really excited: "Yes—yes. Oh yes! This is it! This is it! Yes! Yes!" I confess, by the time it was through, I felt kind of sleazy and exhausted, like maybe I should have tossed some cash on the pillow or something. Her theatrics aside, we did end up finding a nice condo not too far from campus, brand new. It was as pricey as you insinuated, but I think it's exactly what I want. Mistee — yes, that's her name—and I are going to look at it later tonight. I'm kind of afraid to see her reaction if I bid on the place. No doubt the thought of the commission will lead straight to multiple orgasms. (And to think, I always thought missionary position was what inhibited women from true fulfillment.)
Anyway, I just wanted to give you the update since you were the one who first showed me the U District. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk earlier; I would have liked to pick your brain about restaurants over there. I still don't know the area that well, and my brother and sister-in-law are too busy with their suburban life to recommend any restaurants that don't serve children's meals.
Well, I guess I should get back to writing, so I can afford said new lodging. Cady and O'Neill are impatient mistresses— er, that is, an impatient mistress and master—as you observed earlier. Speaking of which, I haven't forgotten about your copy of The Glasgow Pact. I intended to write something semi-original in it last night, after our nice day together, but the real estate vortex caught me up. My apologies. I'll bring it to you soon. Later, Seth
I reread the letter twice. I felt pretty confident that in the short span I'd known Seth, I'd never heard him utter aloud as many words as he'd just written. Not only that, they were funny words. Entertaining words. Like a mini Cady and O'Neill novel, addressed just to me. A far cry from his hal
ting attitude this morning. If he'd said anything remotely comparable in person, I probably would have passed out.
"Incredible," I muttered to my screen.
Part of me felt mollified by the letter, though another part felt he still could have been a bit more tactful in his earlier treatment, busy or no. The rest of me pointed out that all of these "parts of me" probably should be in therapy, and besides, I really needed to leave and go see Erik about the vampire hunter thing. I quickly sent back a response:
Thanks for the letter. I suppose I'll make it another day without the book. Good luck with the real estate agent, and be sure to wear a condom when you make an offer. Other good places to eat in that area are Han & Sons, the Plum Tomato Cafe, and Lotus Chinese. —Georgina
I left the store, promptly forgetting about Seth, happy there'd be no traffic this early in the day. Driving up to Lake City, I easily found the intersection the girl at Krystal Starz had indicated. Locating the store itself proved more of a challenge. Strip malls and assorted businesses packed the area, and I read through myriad billboards and storefronts in the hopes of finding something promising. Finally, I spotted a small, dark sign tucked away in the corner of a less-frequented cluster of stores, arcana, ltd. That had to be it.
I parked in front, hoping it was actually open. No one had posted hours or anything on the door, but it gave way without resistance when I pushed on it. Sandalwood incense burned in the air around me as I entered, and faint harp music played from a small CD player set up on the counter. I couldn't see anyone else in the room, and so I wandered around, admiring the sights. Real books on mythology and religion—not the flashy fluff Krystal Starz sold—lined the walls, and carefully arranged display cases held handcrafted jewelry I recognized from a few different local artists. Assorted ritual items—candles, incense, and statuary—filled in the nooks and crannies, giving the whole place a sort of jumbled, pleasantly lived-in feel.
"Miss Kincaid. It is an honor to see you again."
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