"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 something."

 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."

 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