"You did drink too much. Besides, I'm not smart enough to figure out what Jerome isn't telling us unless... there aren't really succubus or imp hunters out there, are there?"

 "Have you ever heard of one?"

 "No."

 "Neither have I. But I have heard of vampire hunters—independent of pop culture." Hugh reached for his cigarettes and changed his mind, remembering I didn't like smoking in my apartment. "I don't think anyone's going to put a stake through us anytime soon, if that's what's bothering you."

 "But you do agree we're being left out of the loop?"

 "What else do you expect from Jerome?"

 "I think... I think I'm going to go see Erik."

 "Is he still alive?"

 "Last I knew."

 "That's a good idea. He knows more about us than we do."

 "I'll let you know what I find out."

 "Nah. I think I'd rather stay ignorant."

 "Fine. Where are you off to now?"

 "I've got to go put in some after-hours time with one of the new secretaries, if you catch my meaning." He grinned, dare I say, impishly. "Twenty years old, with breasts that defy gravity. I should know. I helped install them."

 I couldn't help but laugh, despite the grim atmosphere. Hugh, like the rest of us, had a day job when not furthering the cause of evil and chaos. In his case, the line between occupations was a little thin: he was a plastic surgeon.

 "I can't compete with that."

 "Not true. Science can't duplicate your breasts."

 "Praise from a true connoisseur. Have fun."

 "I will. Watch your back, sweetie."

 "You too."

 He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and left. I stood there, alone at last, staring idly at my door and wondering what all this meant. Jerome's warning probably had been overkill, I decided. As Hugh had said, no one had ever heard of imp or succubus hunters.

 Still, I clicked my deadbolt and fastened the chain on my door before going to bed. Immortal I might be, but reckless I was not. Well, at least not when it counted.

 I woke up the next day, determined to go see Erik and get the truth about vampire hunters. Then, as I was brushing my teeth, I remembered yesterday's other crisis.

 Seth Mortensen.

 Swearing, I finished up in the bathroom, earning a disapproving look from Aubrey for my profanity. There was no telling how long this tour thing with him might take. I might have to wait until tomorrow to see Erik, and by then, this vampire hunter or whatever could have struck again.

 I set out for Emerald City, wearing the most nonattractive outfit I could muster: jeans and a turtleneck, with my hair pulled severely back. Paige, all smiles, approached me as I waited for Seth in the cafe. "You should show him Foster's and Puget Sound Books while you're out," she told me conspiratorially.

 Still waking up, I took a sip of the mocha Bruce had just made me and tried to reason out her logic. Foster's and Puget Sound Books were competitors of ours, though not major ones. "Those places are dives."

 "Exactly." She grinned at me with her even white teeth. "Show him those, and he'll be convinced we're the best place for him to do his writing at."

 I studied her, feeling seriously out of the loop. Or maybe I was just distracted still about the Duane thing. It wasn't every day one had his immortality revoked.

 "Why... would he do his writing here?"

 "Because he likes to take his laptop and write in coffee shops."

 "Yeah, but he lives in Chicago."

 Paige shook her head. "Not anymore. Where were you last night? He's moving here to be closer to his family."

 I recalled Seth mentioning his brother, but I had been too caught up in my own mortification to pay much attention. "When?"

 "Now, as far as I know. That's why this was his last stop on the tour. He's staying with his brother but plans on finding his own place soon." She leaned close to me, eyes gleaming predatorily. "Georgina, if we have a famous author hanging out here regularly, it'll be good for our image."

 Honestly, my immediate concern wasn't where Seth would be writing. What freaked me out was that he would not be departing for a different time zone anytime soon, a time zone where he could then forget about me and let us both get on with our lives. I could run into him every day now. Literally, if Paige's wish was realized.

 "Won't that be distracting to his writing if his presence is widely known? Annoying fans and whatnot?"

 "We won't let it become a problem. We'll make the most of this and respect his privacy. Careful now, here he comes."

 I drank more of my mocha, still marveling at the way Paige's mind worked. She could think of promotional ideas that never would have entered my head. Warren might have been the one to invest capital in this place, but it had been her marketing genius that made it a success.

 "Good morning," Seth told us, walking up to the table. He wore jeans, a Def Leppard T-shirt, and a brown corduroy jacket. The lay of his hair did not convince me he'd brushed it this morning.

 Paige looked at me pointedly, and I sighed. "Let's go."

 Seth silently followed me outside, that awkward tension building between us like a solid barrier. He did not look at me; I did not look at him. It was only when we stood outside on Queen Anne Avenue and I realized I had no plan for today that conversation had to occur.

 "Where to start? Seattle, unlike Gaul, is not divided into just three parts."

 I made the joke more to myself, but Seth suddenly laughed. "Seattle peninsula est," he observed, playing off my observation.

 "Not exactly. Besides, that's Bede, not Caesar."

 "I know. But I don't know very much Latin." He gave me that quirky, bemused smile that seemed to be his trademark expression. "Do you?"

 "Enough." I wondered how he would react if I mentioned my fluency in Latin dialects from various stages of the Roman Empire. My vague answer must have been interpreted as lack of interest because he looked away, and more silence fell. "Is there anything special you wanted to see?"

 "Not really."

 Not really. Okay. Well. The sooner we got this started, the sooner it would end and I could see Erik.

 "Follow me."

 As we drove off, I sort of hoped we might naturally flow into meaningful conversation, in spite of our bad start yesterday. Yet, as we traveled, it seemed clear Seth had no intention of carrying on any discourse. I recalled his nervousness in front of the crowd yesterday and even with some of the bookstore staff. This guy had serious social phobias, I realized, though he had made a valiant effort in shedding them during our initial flirtations. Then, I had gone and turned on the back-off vibes, undoubtedly scarring him for life and undoing whatever progress he had made. Way to go, Georgina.

 Maybe if I could broach some compelling topics, he would muster his earlier confidence and bring back our rapport—in a platonic way, of course. I attempted to recall my profound questions from last night. And once again, they eluded me, so I switched to mundane ones.

 "So your brother lives around here?"

 "Yup."

 "What part?"

 "Lake Forest Park."

 "That's a nice area. Are you going to look for a place up there?"

 "Probably not."

 "Do you have another place in mind then?"

 "Not really."

 Okay, this wasn't getting us anywhere. Annoyed at how this master of the written word could be so short on spoken ones, I finally decided to cut him out of the conversation altogether. Having him involved was too much work. Instead, I chatted on amiably without him, pointing out the popular spots: Pioneer Square, Pike Place Market, the Fremont Troll. I even showed him the shoddier representatives of our competition, per Paige's instructions. I neglected anything closer to the Space Needle than a brief nod, however. No doubt he'd seen it from Emerald City's windows and could pay the exorbitant fees to visit it up close if he really needed the tourist experience.