I woke up with a start, suddenly thinking being so entwined with him wasn't such a great idea. Of course, I was apparently the only one who had a problem with it. Seth slept on peacefully and heavily, like I wasn't even there, no doubt having properly chaste dreams. A paradigm of virtue and resolve.

I watched him for a long time, admiring the way the soft lighting fell across his features. The fit muscles of his upper body. Eyelashes I wished I could have had as a mortal. Biting my lip, I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. It was lust and something else, something that just wanted to be close to him. It scared me. Maybe he wasn't the only one who could walk away from this with a broken heart.

I wiggled my own weak self away to the other side of the bed, putting what space I could between us. As I lay there, my back to him, Aubrey jumped up and lay next to my stomach. I stroked her black-speckled white head and sighed.

"They were all wrong, Aub," I whispered. "There's at least one guy in this world not trying to get laid."

One thing about working in a bookstore is you have immediate access to print media:

Nocturnal Admission is a treat for the senses, one of those rare jewels that emerges from the dark obscurity of small clubs and restaurants. Of course, after last night's performance at the Verona, it's unlikely they'll be playing shoddy venues again. Nocturnal Admission is well on its way to becoming a household name—not only at the local level, but the national one as well.

The opening staff and I oohed and aahed over the concert review in the Seattle Times, all of us clustering around the information desk, rereading our favorite quotes over and over. The writer had even provided a few words of Doug's bio— after several other lines praising his voice and onstage persona—adding that he worked at a "local bookstore." We loved that; the nondescript reference almost made us feel like celebrities too.

I let them chat on a bit longer, reveling in my own pride and pleasure for Doug, before finally breaking things up. "All right, kids, I hate to crack the whip, but I see customers at the door. "

They dispersed reluctantly, but I saw Andy smirking when he thought I didn't notice him whispering something to Casey. The only word I caught was "whip." Charming. One would think having a dominatrix reputation would at least make me a more formidable authority figure, rather than a source of ridicule.

And today, I was the only authority figure. Paige was out sick again, so I had to unofficially work both her job and my own. At least the staff was in good form despite the late night, which made things easier.

Casey seemed unaffected by last night, which I found remarkable. Maybe it was the resilience of youth. After drinking and smoking that much, I doubted I'd have been in as good a shape as she was—and I had the advantage of supernatural healing and recovery. My misgivings about Alec must have been premature, I decided, considering what a good mood she appeared to be in.

She smiled every time I saw her during the day and was always ready with a friendly comment to customers and coworkers alike. When I stopped by to take something from a neighboring register, I heard a customer ask her if she knew offhand whether his books would total under twenty-five dollars or not. She flipped through the stack expertly and had an answer within ten seconds.

"With tax, $26.57. Put this one back, and you'll be at $22.88. Closest you can get without going over."

"Did you do that all in your head?" I asked her later.

Dimples showed in her pretty cheeks. "I'm an accounting major."

"Yeah, but my accountant sure as hell doesn't do my taxes in his head."

"Of course not. But this stuff's easy."

Doug came in at noon, much to the delight of the others. Practically strutting, he couldn't stop crowing about the review and kept asking me if I'd read such-and-such in the article. I had to assure him repeatedly that I'd read it all.

Like Casey, he too acted untouched by last night's partying. He worked and bounced around with what was becoming his trademark energy. Compared to the two of them, I felt downright curmudgeonly, not to mention inadequate. Sheesh. What were immortality and shape-shifting next to superhuman computations and dazzling stage performances?

When I returned from my lunch break, he practically sprinted up to me. "Kincaid, Kincaid—you gotta help me out."

"What's wrong?"

He inclined his head toward one of the registers. Alec stood leaning against it, flirting with Casey. She smiled and nodded enthusiastically at something he said.

"Alec came by to tell me he got us a major audition over at the Blue Gallery. We have got to go practice. Stat."

"Good grief. Slow down on the italics."

"Kincaid, I mean it! You have to cover for me. No one’ll know I left. These guys don't care, and Paige and Warren won't be in."

"How long do you need?"

"The rest of the day."

"The rest of the—that's going to be over twelve hours for me! Besides, I can't close. I'm going to a play downtown." Seth had just secured us some last minute tickets.

"Then…stay as late as you can. Janice’ll handle closing."

I hesitated. Warren preferred that the manager or one of the assistant managers close, but Doug was right. Janice could handle it.

"Kin -caid," he begged. "Please. I need this. You know I do."

Doug had always been charming and irresistible. Something about him today particularly appealed to me. A master working another master, apparently. When I gave in to his pleas, he picked me up and spun me around in a most undignified way. Two minutes later, he and Alec left, and I settled in for a long day.

When it finally neared its end, I felt certain the store would burn to the ground in my absence. Dragging myself away at last, I drove downtown, found parking, and sprinted into the theatre just as the lights were going down. Breathless, I slid into a seat between Seth and his thirteen-year-old niece Brandy. On the other side of him, Seth's brother and sister-in-law waved to me.

Brandy grinned. She'd been shy the first time we met but now seemed to regard me as the older sister she didn't have. I adored her too. If Seth and I ever split up, I wasn't sure I was going to be able to handle keeping away from his family.

"I didn't think you'd make it," she told me, her features faintly discernible in the dim lighting. In days long past, people would have said she and her mother had "flaxen" hair, but no one really used that term anymore. Still, I always thought it appropriate when I saw that pale shade of gold.

"Just making a fashionably late entrance," I whispered back. "Remember that when you're older. It keeps men guessing. Once they start presuming anything, there's no living with them."

Brandy giggled. Seth only smiled, but his eyes radiated approval, as he assessed me. I wore wine-colored silk and had my hair in a French twist. His eyes, I'd long since discovered, could be as eloquent and expressive as his pen. The messages they sent me now hardly seemed decent for a public setting. He moved his hand over to cover mine, so that both rested on my thigh, and as the night progressed, I found myself thinking more about that hand placement than the excellent play.

Afterward, he and I stood with his family in the lobby for a while, catching up. Terry and Andrea Mortensen were great people who always treated me with genuine kindness. From what I'd learned of Seth's antisocial habits, I think they regarded me as some sort of last hope for him. Brandy affirmed as much when she and I dashed to the restroom together.

"Dad told Uncle Seth not to screw things up," she informed me as we washed our hands. "He said even if Uncle Seth is famous, him getting a woman like you defies belief."