QUINN BARELY MANAGED TO MUFFLE A SCREAM, and would have danced back as the spiders skittered over the floor if Cal hadn’t gripped her.

“Not real.” He said it with absolute and icy calm. “It’s not real.”

Someone laughed, and the sound spiked wildly. There were shouts of approval as the music changed tempo to hip-grinding rock.

“Great party, Cal!” Amy from the flower shop danced by with a wide, blood-splattered grin.

With his arm still tight around Quinn, Cal began to back off the floor. He needed to see his family, needed to see…And there was Fox, gripping Layla’s hand as he wound his way through the oblivious crowd.

“We need to go,” Fox shouted.

“My parents-”

Fox shook his head. “It’s only happening because we’re here. I think it only can happen because we’re here. Let’s move out. Let’s move.”

As they pushed between tables, the tiny tea lights in the centerpieces flashed like torches, belching a volcanic spew of smoke. Cal felt it in his throat, stinging, even as his foot crunched down on a fist-sized spider. On the little stage, the drummer swung into a wild solo with bloodied sticks. When they reached the doors, Cal glanced back.

He saw the boy floating above the dancers. Laughing.

“Straight out.” Following Fox’s line of thought, Cal pulled Quinn toward the exit. “Straight out of the building. Then we’ll see. Then we’ll damn well see.”

“They didn’t see.” Out of breath, Layla stumbled outside. “Or feel. It wasn’t happening for them.”

“It’s outside the box, okay, it’s pushed outside the lines. But only for us.” Fox stripped off his jacket and tossed it over Layla’s shaking shoulders. “Giving us a preview of coming attractions. Arrogant bastard.”

“Yes.” Quinn nodded, even as her stomach rolled. “I think you’re right, because every time it puts on a show, it costs energy. So we get that lull between production numbers.”

“I have to go back.” He’d left his family. Even if retreat was to defend, Cal couldn’t stand and do nothing while his family was inside. “I need to be in there, need to close down when the event’s over.”

“We’ll all go back,” Quinn linked her cold fingers with Cal’s. “These performances are always of pretty short duration. It lost its audience, and unless it’s got enough for a second act, it’s done for tonight. Let’s go back. It’s freezing out here.”

Inside, the tea lights glimmered softly, and the hearts glittered. The polished dance floor was unstained. Cal saw his parents dancing, his mother’s head resting on his father’s shoulder. When she caught his eye and smiled at him, Cal felt the fist twisting in his belly relax.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d really like another glass of champagne.” Quinn blew out a breath, as her eyes went sharp and hard. “Then you know what? Let’s dance.”

F OX WAS SPRAWLED ON THE COUCH WATCHING some drowsy black-and-white movie on TV when Cal and Quinn came into the rental house after midnight. “Layla went up,” he said as he shoved himself to sitting. “She was beat.”

The subtext, that she’d wanted to be well tucked away before her housemate and Cal came up, was perfectly clear.

“Is she all right?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, she handles herself. Anything else happen after we left?”

Cal shook his head as his gaze tracked over to the window, and the dark. “Just a big, happy party momentarily interrupted for some of us by supernatural blood and spiders. Everything okay here?”

“Yeah, except for the fact these women buy Diet Pepsi. Classic Coke,” he said to Quinn. “A guy has to have some standards.”

“We’ll look right into that. Thanks, Fox.” She stepped up and kissed his cheek. “For hanging out until we got back.”

“No big. It got me out of cleanup duty and let me watch…” He looked back at the little TV screen. “I have no idea. You ought to think about getting cable. ESPN.”

“I don’t know how I’ve lived without it these last few days.”

He grinned as he pulled on his coat. “Humankind shouldn’t live by network alone. Call me if you need anything,” he added as he headed for the door.

“Fox.” Cal trailed behind him. After a murmured conversation, Fox sent Quinn a quick wave and left.

“What was that?”

“I asked if he’d bunk at my place tonight, check on Lump. It’s no problem. I’ve got Coke and ESPN.”

“You’ve got worry all over you, Cal.”

“I’m having a hard time taking it off.”

“It can’t hurt us, not yet. It’s all head games. Mean, disgusting, but just psychological warfare.”

“It means something, Quinn.” He gave her arms a quick, almost absent rub before turning to check the dark, again. “That it can do it now, with us. That I had that episode with Ann. It means something.”

“And you have to think about it. You think a lot, have all sorts of stores up here.” She tapped her temple. “The fact that you do is, well, it’s comforting to me and oddly attractive. But you know what? After this really long, strange day, it might be good for us not to think at all.”

“That’s a good idea.” Take a break, he told himself. Take some normal. Walking back to her, he skimmed his fingers over her cheek, then let them trail down her arm until they linked with hers. “Why don’t we try that?”

He drew her toward the steps, started up. There were a few homey creaks, the click and hum of the furnace, and nothing else.

“Do you-”

He cut her off by cupping a hand on her cheek, then laying his lips on hers. Soft and easy as a sigh. “No questions either. Then we’d have to think of the answers.”

“Good point.”

Just the room, the dark, the woman. That was all there would be, all he wanted for the night. Her scent, her skin, the fall of her hair, the sounds two people made when they discovered each other.

It was enough. It was more than enough.

He closed the door behind him.

“I like candles.” She drew away to pick up a long, slim lighter to set the candles she’d scattered around the room to flame.

In their light she looked delicate, more delicate than she was. He enjoyed the contrast of reality and illusion. The mattress and box spring sat on the floor, covered by sheets that looked crisp and pearly against a blanket of deep, rich purple. His tulips sat like a cheerful carnival on the scarred wood of her flea market dresser.

She’d hung fabric in a blurry blend of colors over the windows to close out the night. And when she turned from them, she smiled.

It was, for him, perfect.

“Maybe I should tell you-”

He shook his head, stepped toward her.

“Later.” He did the first thing that came to mind, lifting his hands to her hair. He drew the pins out, let them fall. When the weight of it tumbled free, over her shoulders, down her back, he combed his fingers through it. With his eyes on hers, he wrapped her hair around his fist like a rope, gave a tug.

“There’s still a lot of later,” he said, and took her mouth with his.

Her lips, for him, were perfect. Soft and full, warm and generous. He felt a quick tremble from her as her arms wound around him, as she pressed her body to his. She didn’t yield, didn’t soften-not yet. Instead she met his slow, patient assault with one of her own.

He slid the jacket from her shoulders, let it fall like the pins so his hands, his fingertips could explore silk and lace and flesh. While their lips brushed, rubbed, pressed, her hands came to his shoulders, then shoved at his jacket until it dropped away.

He tasted her throat, heard her purr of approval. As he eased back, he danced his fingers over the alluring line of her collarbone. Her eyes were vivid, alight with anticipation. He wanted to see them heavy. He wanted to see them go blind. Watching them, watching her, he let his fingers trail down to the swell of her breast where the lace flirted. And watching her still, glided them over the lace, over the silk to cup her while his thumb lightly rubbed, rubbed to tease her nipple.