CHAPTER 21

 I had no boyfriend. Despite all the uncertainties in my world, that at least was one thing I could feel confident about. Unfortunately, this nephilim apparently had a more optimistic view of my love life.

 "I don't know who you're talking about," I shouted to my empty office. "Do you hear me, you son of a bitch? I don't know who you're fucking talking about!"

 No one responded.

 Paige, passing by a moment later, stuck her head inside. "Did you call me?"

 "No," I grumbled. She wore a dress that clung distinctly to her swelling belly. It didn't help my mood any. "Just talking to myself." I closed the door after she left.

 My immediate impulse was to run for help. Carter. Jerome. Somebody. Anybody. I couldn't deal with this alone.

 Fail— or involve any of your immortal contacts— and no amount of "safekeeping" will do him any good.

 Damn it. I didn't even know who "he" was. Frantically, I tried to figure out who among my mortal acquaintances could have been mistaken by the nephilim as something more. As if it wasn't hard enough being my friend already.

 Surprisingly—or perhaps not—my thoughts promptly strayed to Seth. I thought about our recent rapport. Censored and proper certainly, but still warm. Still right and natural. Still occasionally making me catch my breath when we touched.

 No, that was stupid. My fascination with him was shallow. His books made me suffer from hero worship, and our friendship had become a sort of rebound from Roman. Whatever crush or minor attraction he'd had for me had to be fading fast. He'd shown no other indications of more-than-friends feelings, and my distancing had to be having an effect. Besides, he still kept disappearing for mysterious meetings, probably for some girl he was too shy to tell me about. It was presumptuous of me to even consider him in a boyfriend category.

 Yet... would the nephilim know any of that? Who knew what the bastard was thinking? If it had observed Seth and me having our coffee chats, it might assume anything. Fear clenched me, making me want to immediately run upstairs and check on Seth. But no. That would be a waste, for now at least. He was writing, in public, surrounded by people. The nephilim would not attack him in such a setting.

 Who else then? Warren perhaps? That voyeur nephilim had watched us have sex. If that didn't count as some sort of relationship, I didn't know what did. Of course, the nephilim would have also observed that Warren and I almost never interacted in any other intimate way. Poor Warren. Sex with me had already wiped him out; it would be beyond cruel if he became a target for the nephilim's bizarrely misplaced humor. Fortunately, I had already seen Warren come in today. He was busy in his office, but perhaps that still counted as safe. Alone he might be, but any screams from a nephilim attack would immediately draw attention.

 Doug? He and I had always had a perky flirtation. Certainly one might consider his sporadic pursuit of me indicative of something more than friendship. Yet, in the last few weeks, he and I hadn't talked very much. I'd been too distracted by the nephilim attacks. Those, and Roman.

 Ah, Roman. There it was, the possibility that had been hovering in the back of my mind. The reality I'd been avoiding because it meant contacting him, breaking the silence I'd tried so hard to maintain. I didn't know what was between us, other than a scorching attraction and the occasional tug of solidarity. I didn't know if it was love or the start of love or whatever. But I knew I cared about him. A lot. I missed him. Cutting myself off completely had been the safest way to recover, to get over my longing and move on. I feared what reinitiating contact could do.

 And yet... because I cared about him, I could not let this nephilim prey upon him. I could not risk Roman's life in this because, really, he probably was the most likely candidate. Half the bookstore staff still considered us an item; why not the nephilim ? Especially in light of how touchy-feely we'd been on a number of outings. Any stalking nephilim would be well justified in reading that as romantic attachment I picked up my cell phone and called him with bated breath. No answer.

 "Shit," I swore, listening to his voice mail. "Hi Roman, it's me. I know I wasn't, uh, going to call you anymore, but something's come up... and I really need to talk to you. As soon as possible. It's really weird, but it's really important too. Please call me." I left him both my cell and the bookstore numbers.

 I disconnected, then sat and pondered. Now what did I do? On impulse, I glanced at the staff directory and dialed Doug's home number. He had the day off.

 No answer, just like Roman. Where was everybody?

 Shifting my attention back to Roman, I tried to figure out where he would be. Work, most likely. Unfortunately, I didn't know where that was. What a negligent pseudo-girlfriend I was. He'd said he taught at a community college. He referred to it all the time, but it was always "at school" or "at the college." He'd never mentioned the name.

 I turned to my computer and did a search for local community colleges. When the search returned several hits for Seattle alone, I swore again. More existed outside of the city too, in the suburbs and neighboring sister cities. Any of them could be possibilities. I printed out a list of all of them, with phone numbers, and stuffed the paper in my purse. I needed to get out of here, needed to take this search to the field.

 I opened my office door to leave and flinched. Another identically written note hung on my door. I peered around in the offices' hallway, half hoping to see something. Nothing. I pulled the note down and opened it.

 You're losing time and men. You've already lost the writer. You'd best get a move-on with this scavenger hunt.

 "Scavenger hunt indeed," I muttered, crumpling the note. "You're such an asshole."

 But... what did he mean about losing the writer? Seth? My pulse quickened, and I raced up to the cafe, earning a few startled looks along the way.

 No Seth. His corner was empty.

 "Where's Seth?" I demanded of Bruce. "He was just here."

 "He was," concurred the barista. "Then he suddenly packed up and left."

 "Thanks."

 I definitely needed to get out of here. I found Paige in New Books.

 "I think I need to go home," I told her. "I'm getting a migraine. “

 She looked startled. I had the best track record for attendance of any employee. I never called in sick. Yet, for that very reason, she could hardly refuse me. I was not a worker who abused the system.

 After she'd assured me I should go, I added, "Maybe you can get Doug to come in." That would kill two birds with one stone.

 "Maybe," she said. "I'm sure we'll manage, though. Warren and I are here all day."

 "He's here all day?"

 When she reiterated that he would indeed be there, I felt somewhat relieved. Okay. He was off the list.

 As I walked home to my apartment, I called Seth's cell phone.

 "Where are you?" I asked.

 "Home. I forgot some notes I needed."

 Home? Alone?

 "Do you want to get breakfast with me?" I asked suddenly, needing to get him out.

 "It's almost one."

 "Brunch? Lunch?"

 "Aren't you at work?"

 "I went home sick."

 "Are you sick?"

 "No. Just meet me." I gave him an address and hung up.

 As I drove to the rendezvous, I tried Roman's cell again. Voice mail. I pulled out the community college phone numbers and started with the first one on the list.

 What a pain. First, I had to start with campus information and try to get to the right department. Most community colleges didn't even have linguistics departments, though almost all had at least one introductory class taught through some other related area—like anthropology or humanities.