"Miss Kincaid, what an unexpected pleasure. And you have a friend." He rose and walked to us, extending his hand toward Seth.

"Erik, this is Seth Mortensen. Seth, Erik."

They shook. "A pleasure, Mr. Mortensen. You keep good company."

"Yes," said Seth, smiling in return. "I do."

"If we're lucky," I said silkily, "Erik will have time for tea. He only serves decaf, so that should make you happy."

"Of course I have time," said Erik. "I doubt there's any man who doesn't have time for you, Miss Kincaid."

I shot Seth a teasing look when Erik left to put the tea on. "Ah, now there's someone who appreciates me. You wouldn't see him shirking me for a book."

"If memory serves, you worship those books. Besides, how else am I supposed to keep you in the lifestyle you're accustomed to?"

"If memory serves, I paid the last time we went out."

"Well, yeah. I was just letting you play liberated so that you and Maddie wouldn't go vandalize my car."

When our tea party commenced around Erik's small corner table, I was surprised to hear Seth engage Erik in conversation on what it meant to be a mortal among immortals. Seth wasn't usually so forthcoming, and I wondered just how much immortal weirdness troubled him.

"It puts my sense of time awry," remarked Erik. "I see people like Miss Kincaid who stay young and beautiful forever. It makes me feel as though no time has passed. Then I look at myself and see the new wrinkles. I feel the aches in my bones. I realize I will be left behind…they will go on and continue to shape the world without me." He sighed, more with bemusement than sadness. "I wish I could see what will happen next."

"Yes," Seth said, surprising me. His eyes looked dark and solemn. "I know what you mean."

I glanced over at him, seeing something I'd never noticed before. I knew he must think about the future and his own death—all mortals did—but only now did I realize how much he really thought about those things. Looking at both men, I remembered they would eventually die, and it made something in my chest grow cold. For the space of a heartbeat, I could almost see Seth as wrinkled and gray-haired as Erik.

"Morbid much, you guys?" I asked, trying to affect a blasé air. "I didn't come here to bring everyone down. I've got to pick Erik's brain."

"Pick away," he said.

"Well…you know how I need, uh, life and energy to survive, right?" An idiotic statement. Of course he knew. "Yesterday morning, I woke up, and my entire stash was gone."

Erik considered. "That's normal, isn't it? It fades over time."

"Not this quickly. Especially since…" I stopped, suddenly realizing having Seth here might not have been so wise after all. "I, um, had just gotten a refill the night before."

Both men kept neutral expressions. "And you did nothing out of the ordinary?"

"No, Jerome thinks it was mental stress." I shrugged. "I don't think I was that stressed. I dreamed…a weird dream…but nothing stressful."

"Dreams are powerful," Erik said. "And sometimes stress can take more out of us than we realize. Unfortunately, I know little about dreams, but…" He frowned, and his gaze suddenly turned inward.

"But what?"

"I know someone who might be able to help. Someone who specializes in dreams."

"Who?" This sounded promising.

Erik took a long time in answering. When he spoke, he seemed unhappy to give up the words. "Someone who might as well be signed and sealed to your side. His name's Dante Moriarty."

I snickered. "That can't be his real name."

"It's not, though I'm sure some of your imp and demon friends would know him by any name. He's a con artist…among other things. Considers himself a magician too."

"I deal with corrupt people all the time," I pointed out. "Doesn't bother me much."

"True," agreed Erik. He still looked troubled, which I found puzzling. Although not evil himself, he interacted with me and others of my ilk on a regular basis without blinking. I wondered what it was about one human that would bother him so much. "I'll get you his contact information."

He sought out Dante's card, and I browsed around the store while Seth used the bathroom in the back. The old storekeeper handed me the card when he found it.

"I like Mr. Mortensen a great deal."

"Yeah. So do I."

"I know. I can tell."

I looked up from a display of bracelets, waiting for more.

"You talk and move around each other in a way you're probably not even aware of. It's like how lovers usually interact…but it's something more too. You have a continual sense of each other, I think, even when not together. There's a burning in the air between you."

I didn't know what to say to that. It sounded nice—but a little intimidating too.

"I've never met another of your kind who's exactly like you, Miss Kincaid." He hesitated, his normally wise-and-competent expression flickering into uncertainty. It was a rare look for him. "I don't know how this will turn out."

Seth emerged then, picking up that he'd interrupted something. He glanced between the two of us, and I rested a reassuring hand on his arm. "You about ready to go?"

"Sure."

I scanned the rest of the jewelry counter, only half-noticing the contents. Suddenly, I did a double-take and leaned over one of the cases. "Erik, where do you find this stuff?"

He and Seth looked over my shoulder.

"Ah, yes," said Erik. "The Byzantine rings. By the same artist who made your ankh necklace."

"Your artist has a real knack for historical detail. They look just like the originals."

He walked around the counter and lifted out the tray with the rings. I picked one up. It was an ordinary gold band. Rather than any sort of mounted gem on top, it bore a smooth and flat disc, almost the size of a dime. Greek letters were engraved into the metal.

"What do they mean?" asked Seth.

I tried to explain the long-lost custom. "It's a benediction. Like a prayer for the couple. This would have been a wedding ring."

I examined another depicting Christ and the Virgin; still another showed a tiny man and woman facing each other.

"I used to have a ring almost like this," I said softly, turning it over in my hands. Neither man said anything, and I finally returned it to its tray.

On the way home, Seth gently asked, "What happened to your ring?"

I stared out the window. "It's not important."

"Tell me."

I didn't respond, and he didn't ask me again. When we got back to my place, I saw no sign of Vincent and figured he was out investigating with Charlie's Angels. Newspapers were scattered across my kitchen table; he apparently liked to keep up on current events. Morbid events, at that. One of the headlines was a story I'd heard the other day about a crazy man who'd killed his wife after having a vision of seeing her with another man. Mortals did creepy things sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time.

Seth sat on my couch and leaned forward, hands clasped together. I'd sensed his mood shift when I wouldn't answer in the car.

"Thetis…"

"You want to know about the ring."

"The ring doesn't matter so much. It's just…well, I've seen you get like this. Something bugs you, something you remember. But you won't talk to me about it. There are days I feel like you don't tell me anything."

I sat down next to him, avoiding eye contact in a way he often did. "I tell you plenty."

"Not about your past."

"I have a lot of past, and I talk about it all the time."

"Yeah…I guess." He absentmindedly stroked my arm. "But you don't talk about your mortal past. Before you were a succubus."

"So? Does it make a difference? You're with me now. You know the kind of person I am now."

"I do. And I love that person. And I want to know what's important to you. What made you who you are. I want to know what hurts you so that I can help."