"Well, you do look pretty good." When I raised an eyebrow, Peter said grudgingly, "Okay, that is kind of suspicious... but it's almost too suspicious. Why would someone overtly leave a calling card?"

 Cody nearly jumped out of his seat. "It's some kind of psycho angel who likes playing mind games. Like in those movies where killers carve clues into their victims, so they can watch the police puzzle things out."

 I shuddered at that image as I thought over what I knew about angels in general, which really was nothing. Unlike our side, the powers of good did not have the same cryptic hierarchy of supervisors and geographical networks, no matter the stories about cherubim and seraphim. After all, we were the ones who had invented middle management, not them. I always had the impression that most angels and denizens of good operated like private investigators or field agents, completing assorted angelic missions in a very loosely organized way. Such an open venue would provide ample chance for someone to surreptitiously tackle a side agenda.

 Angelic involvement would also explain the subterfuge, I reflected. Their side was embarrassed. Typical, really. Little embarrassed our side anymore. They, however, would be shamefaced to admit one of theirs had turned rogue, and Carter, being so chummy with Jerome, had conned the demon into keeping quiet about the whole matter. All of his sarcasm and attempts to mock me were only more weak efforts at saving face.

 The more I considered this far-fetched theory, the more I liked it. Some disgruntled angel, wanting to be heroic, decided to turn vigilante and take on the forces of evil. The renegade angel theory would explain how any of us could be legitimate targets, as well as shed light on why no one could sense this being since we now knew higher immortals could hide their presence.

 Which made me wonder why exactly Jerome and Carter were also masking their presence. Were they hoping to catch this angel unaware? That, and...

 "Why'd this person let Hugh live then?" I looked from vampire to vampire. "An angel could take out any of us. Hugh said he wasn't winning, and no one interrupted. The attacker just got bored and took off. Why? Why kill Duane but not Hugh? Or me, for that matter, since this person knows what I am."

 "Because Duane was an asshole?" suggested Peter.

 "Personality aside, we all weigh in just as heavily on the evil side. Hugh maybe even more so."

 Indeed, Hugh was in his prime as far as immortals went. He no longer held a novice's inexperience like Cody, nor had the imp grown world-weary and bored like Peter and I had. Hugh knew enough now to be good at his job, and he actually liked what he did. He should have been a prime target for any angelic vigilante wanting to make the world a better place.

 Cody agreed with Peter. "Yeah. Evil or not, some of us are more likable than others. Maybe an angel could respect that."

 "I doubt an angel would find any of us likable—"

 I cut myself off. One angel did like us. One angel hung out with us a lot. One angel who seemed to be everywhere Jerome was lately when these attacks happened. One angel who knew us personally, who knew all of our habits and weaknesses. What better way was there to track and study us than to infiltrate our drinking group and pretend to be a friend?

 The idea was so explosive, so dangerous, I felt ill at ease just giving shape to the thought. I certainly couldn't utter any of it aloud. Not yet. Cody and Peter hardly believed the angel theory at all. I doubted they'd jump on board if I started accusing Carter.

 "You okay, Georgina?" Cody queried when I lapsed into silence.

 "Yeah... yeah... fine." I caught a glimpse at the time on the stove and jumped up from my chair, head still reeling. "Shit. I've got to get back to Queen Anne."

 "What for?" asked Peter.

 "I have a date."

 "With who?" Cody grinned slyly at me, and I blushed in response.

 "Roman."

 Peter turned to his apprentice. "Which one is that?"

 "The hot dancing guy. Georgina was all over him."

 "I was not. I like him too much for that."

 They laughed. As I picked up my coat, Peter asked: "Hey, I don't suppose you could do me a favor sometime?"

 "What?" My mind still clung to the mystery winding around us. That, and Roman. He and I had talked on the phone a few times now since the last date, and I was growing more and more amazed at just how well we clicked.

 "Well, you know how they've got those computer programs in salons that will show you what you'll look like with different colors and cuts? I was thinking you could be like a living one. You could morph into me and show me what I'd look like with different hairstyles."

 Silence hung in the room for a full minute as Cody and I stared at him.

 "Peter," I told him at last, "that's the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

 "I don't know." Cody scratched his chin. "For him, it's not bad."

 "We have too many other issues to deal with right now," I warned, having no patience to humor Peter with niceties. "I'm not wasting my energy on your vanity."

 "Come on," pleaded Peter. "You're still brimming from that good virgin guy. You can spare it."

 I shook my head, slinging my purse over one shoulder. "Succubus 101. The farther a transformation takes me from my natural form, the more energy it expends. Cross-gender changes are a pain in the ass; cross-species ones are even worse. Playing salon with you would burn through most of my stash, and I've got better things to waste it on." I eyed him dangerously. "You need some serious counseling for body image and insecurity, my friend."

 Cody regarded me with new interest. "Cross-species? Could you, like, turn into a Gila monster or... or... a sand dollar or something?"

 "Good night, boys. I'm out of here."

 As I departed, I could just barely hear Peter and Cody debating if it would take more energy for me to change into a really small mammal or a human-sized reptile.

 Vampires. Honestly, they're like children sometimes.

 I drove home in record time. I remembered to shape-shift my heels into sandals and walked up to my building's door just as Roman did.

 Seeing him banished any lingering thoughts of angels and conspiracies.

 He had told me to dress casually for this evening, and while he had done the same, he still managed to make jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt look like runway fashion. I apparently had the same effect on him because he caught me up in a giant bear hug and kissed my cheek.

 "Hey, gorgeous," he murmured into my ear, holding on to the embrace a bit longer than necessary.

 "Hey, yourself." I disentangled my body from his and smiled up at him.

 "You're so short," he noted, cupping my cheek in his hand. "It's cute."

 Those eyes threatened to engulf me, and I hastily turned away before I did something stupid. "Let's go." I paused. "Um, where are we going?"

 He led me to his car, parked just down the street. "Since you seem to be so good with your feet, I thought I'd take us somewhere to test the rest of your bodily coordination."

 "Like a hotel room?"

 "Damn. Am I that obvious?"

 Several minutes later, he pulled into a dilapidated establishment with a blinking neon sign reading BURT's BOWLING ALLEY. I stared in open distaste, unable to hide my feelings.

 "This is your choice of date? A bowling alley? Not even a nice one at that."

 Roman seemed unconcerned about my lack of enthusiasm. "When was the last time you actually went bowling?"

 I suspected it had been back in the 1970s. "Not in a very long time."

 "Exactly. You see," he began conversationally as we went inside and approached the counter, "I've got you figured out. You claim you don't want to get serious with anyone, but I still get the impression you go out a lot. Size ten, please."