"Somehow that doesn't reassure me." Jerome disconnected.

I hunted down Grace and Mei's number. I waited for the tone, punched in my call-back number, and hung up. A minute later, a Fourth of July worthy shower of sparks appeared in my living room and the two demonesses stood before me.

For having chosen two very different bodies, the pair looked remarkably alike. Grace was slim in an all-business, non-nubile sort of way, enhanced by the designer black skirt and jacket she wore. She had pale blond hair cut bluntly at chin length, brown-black eyes, and skin that never saw the sun. The only true color on her was the fire engine red lipstick she wore.

Mei dressed exactly the same, down to the red lipstick. Her hair, also chin-length, was a deep blue-black. Despite the softer lines, higher cheekbones, and delicate almond shape of her dark eyes, she radiated no more warmth or friendliness than her counterpart.

The two always stuck together, and I assumed they must be friends. Sort of. I had no doubt they'd claw each other's eyes out—or Jerome's, for that matter—if an opportunity for power or promotion was on the line.

"Georgina," said Mei.

"Long time no see," said Grace.

Both watched me expectantly. Aubrey watched them from the back of my couch, her hair on end and tail poofed out.

"Hey guys," I replied uneasily. "Thanks for coming over so fast. Slow day?"

They both stared at me.

"Um, so, okay. Jerome said you keep records of immortals who pass in and out of the city. Immortals who are outside of our…"

"Game?" suggested Grace.

"Pantheon?" suggested Mei.

"Yeah. Sure. So…do you?"

"Who are you looking for?" asked Mei.

"What kind of immortal?" asked Grace.

"That's the problem."

I told them everything I knew about him, which mostly included appearance and other encounters when I'd felt that weird sensation. Describing his signature was harder. I couldn't exactly say he felt like an incubus or an angel or a nymph or an oni. I hadn't run across his type before.

The demonesses processed this information, glanced at each other, and then shook their heads.

"He doesn't sound familiar," said Grace.

"But we can double-check the records," said Mei.

"Thanks," I told them. "I'd really appreciate it."

They nodded curtly and turned as if to leave. Mei suddenly glanced back at me.

"You should hang out with us sometime," she said unexpectedly. "Cleo's in Capitol Hill has great specials on Ladies Night."

"There are so few of us girls around here," added Grace. "We need to stick together."

They smiled and disappeared. I shivered. Going to a bar with those two sounded only marginally more appealing than stamping with Dana's CPFV friends.

Speaking of which, I decided to visit Bastien later that afternoon. I hadn't heard from him in a few days.

"Do you have any idea how much I don't care about your mortal friends?" he snapped when I told him about the whole bizarre situation surrounding Doug, Alec, and the mystery man. "I have real problems here. I'm dying. I'm getting nowhere with Dana. I keep seeing her, she's nice, and that's it! It's like she only wants—"

"To be friends?"

He stopped pacing around his kitchen and cut me an arch look. "Women are never just friends with me." He leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. "I just can't think what else to do. If I don't act fast, one of our superiors is going to find out how bad things are."

I decided not to mention Jerome's "high and dry" comment just then.

"Well, jeez, take a break and do something fun. Peter's having another poker game. Come over and play with us. I'm going to bring Seth."

"I thought you said this was going to be fun."

"Hey! Who was that a dig at? Peter or Seth?"

"Pick one, Fleur .Although, admittedly, Peter does make a pretty decentsouffle. What can the author do?"

"I wish you'd stop picking on Seth. You don't even know him."

Bastien shrugged. "Sorry. You just make it so easy."

"You're jealous."

"Hardly," he snorted. "I've had my share of mortal infatuations, thank you. So have you, if memory serves. And you've also had a number of immortal boyfriends you seemed to have liked reasonably well. None of them ever gave you as much grief as this guy."

"Seth's different. I can't explain it. Being with him just feels so…right. I feel like I've known him forever. "

" Fleur , I've known you forever. You've only known this guy for a couple months."

We had gotten involved pretty quickly, and it did bug me sometimes, but I truly believed in the strength and depth of my feelings for Seth. They were neither superficial nor transient—I hoped.

He had once told me there was no one else in the world for him but me. When I'd pointed out that was a bold statement in light of how long we'd known each other, he'd simply said, "Sometimes you just know."

It was remarkably similar to what my husband, Kyriakos, had told me when we'd first met, back in my long-ago, dust-covered days as a mortal. I'd been fifteen at the time, and my father had sent me down to the docks of our town with a message for Kyriakos’ father. Sending me alone was a bit unorthodox, but my father hadn't thought much about it since he was only a short distance away at the market. Nonetheless, I found it a frightening walk.

Sweaty, dirty men worked ceaselessly, unloading and loading in the hot sun while the turquoise Mediterranean shimmered beyond them. I got directions from a short, bald man who leered up at me when he finished.

"You're a tall girl," he observed. "Bet that might bother some men, but not me. You're just the right height as far as I'm concerned."

He laughed, and some of his companions laughed too. The man's face came up right to the height of my chest. I hurried past them with lowered eyes, honing in on the indicated ship. Relief flooded me when I found Kyriakos checking lines and talking to some of the workers. I'd never spoken to him, but I knew who his father was and knew he was trustworthy. He looked up at my approach and smiled.

"You're Marthanes’ daughter, right? Letha?"

I nodded. "I'm supposed to tell your father that the shipment can be ready this evening if he wants it early."

"I'll let him know. He's not here."

"All right." We stood there awkwardly for a moment. I could sense him studying me out of the corner of his eye while pretending to study the workers. He looked like he wanted to say something, but when nothing came, I made motions to go. "Well, thanks. I should get back."

"Wait, Letha." He reached out a hand to stop me from turning, then shyly pulled back before actually touching me. "You…didn't walk here by yourself, did you?"

"My father said it wasn't that far. And that I wasn't in much danger of attracting interest. "

Kyriakos made a harsh sound in his throat. "Your father's a fool. Let me walk you back." He hesitated. "But don't tell your father I called him a fool."

He exchanged a few curt words with one of his men and then set out back to town with me. He was older than me, his face tanned from sun and sea. His hair was black and messy, about chin-length, and he stood almost—but not quite—as tall as I did.

"I saw you at that wedding a few days ago," he said after a long stretch of silence. "You were dancing with some other girls. You know…you're really good."

The compliment surprised me. "I think the wine helped."

"No. The wine helped the other girls—or hindered, maybe. I'm not sure." He glanced over at me, and I nearly stumbled at the intensity in his dark eyes. "But you…dancing lives inside of you. The music spoke to you, and you understood it."

"You were playing a flute," I recalled, trying not to blush at the regard in his voice.

"Yes." He sounded happy that I remembered. Silence fell again. We were almost to the market; the sounds of people and commerce drifted down to us. Kyriakos clearly wanted us to keep talking. "So…I heard your sister got married last spring."