"What's the matter?" Fabrette demanded, reaching for the sheets.

"The organ was donated to the Madison Forrest Historical House Museum, here in Seattle," I said.

She cringed back a little. "So what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. It's just… The organ was in Seattle for twenty years, moved to Anacortes for ten, and then came right back to within three miles of where we're sitting."

"Does that mean you don't want those papers?"

"Oh, no. I want them and my client wants them and you've been very helpful to bring them to me." I shoved the papers into a drawer and pulled out a check I'd already prepared. I held it out to her. "That's the payment my client authorized. I just need you to sign this receipt for me," I added, pushing over the form and a pen.

She looked at the check, then stared at me. "That's five hundred dollars," she whispered. "Are you sure that's right?"

"Yes, that's right. Just sign the receipt, please."

Mute, she clutched the pen and scrawled quickly on the form.

She raised her eyebrows as she handed the paper back to me. "Are you sure?"

I took it and put it in the drawer with the donation receipt. I smiled at her. "Yes, I am. Thank you for coming down here, Lenore. You've been a lot of help."

She nodded, mute, and got to her feet, edging out the door as if I might turn on her and snatch the check away.

As the door clicked closed, I shook my head, swallowing pity she wouldn't have appreciated.

An hour later, I'd put Fabrette out of my mind as I plowed through routine chores. I was down in the lower drawers looking for more fanfold paper for my printer when I heard the door. "Just a second," I called, grabbing the paper and pulling it up with me. I knocked my skull on the bottom of the desk. I raised my head, shaking back momentary giddiness, and found a man standing just behind the client chair. I blinked at him.

He was still and cold as wax, wearing a very plain dark suit and a white shirt with a strange collar that was buttoned all the way to his throat, but no tie. He was skinny, but had a round face with broad, flat cheekbones and slightly tilted eyes in translucent skin. His hair was dark brown. He blinked back at me. His left hand fluttered up over his coat buttons and rested on his chest.

"I have startled you," he said. His odd accent gave him away.

"Mr. Sergeyev. I didn't know you were in town."

"For little time, only. You make progress? Of my request?"

I sat down and waved him to the other chair. "Well, yes, I have," I started. Some partially formed thought flashed into my brain and vanished before I could apprehend it. "I just spoke to the woman who had the information I asked you to authorize payment for," I said, trying to shake my brains back into their normal function.

"Ah. Good." Sergeyev sat very upright on the chair, not quite leaning forward, but stiff nonetheless. I wondered if the airline seats had hurt his back.

"I…" I trailed off, thoughts slipping sideways. The day and the night before were catching up to me; my stomach was clenching and my head throbbing again. Something flickered in the corner of my vision. I turned my head a little to find it, and Sergeyev vanished. "Huh?" I grunted and turned my head back toward him.

He was frowning at me. "Something is wrong? You do not feel well."

"It's nothing." I turned to my computer and tapped at the key-hoard a moment, buying time, feeling unsteady.

The thin world of the Grey flooded up in cold steam as I peered sideways at my client. He was there, layered on himself like a multiple exposure, the mist-world rippling around him. I yanked myself away from the flood, and it reduced to a trickle and a transient flicker. After last night, the figurative gum of the Grey must have been pretty thick on me, and I didn't want any more building up. And I wanted my unsettling client out of my office as soon as possible. "I have a further lead, which may be the last link in the chain of ownership."

"Then you know where is my furniture?" he asked. His voice rose with excitement.

"I might."

"Tell me." His voiced pushed on me, resonating in my chest and head. I pushed back against it. I'd been pushed on a lot lately, and I wasn't in the mood for it. I dug in my mental heels and resisted his demand for all I was worth.

"I want to be certain. It could turn out to be just another link and I don't want to get your hopes up for nothing."

He scowled and I shivered. "When will you know?"

I poked my computer, which showed me a picture of rolling static.

"I'll be blunt, Mr. Sergeyev. I can't do anything about your case until Tuesday. The party involved won't be available any earlier. Then I still have to confirm that it is the organ you want and see if the owner is even willing to negotiate on it. They might not be."

He seemed surprised. "They would not?"

"I don't know yet. Let me find out a little more, then we can discuss it. I'll do what I can. Trust me—I'll call you when I have something more to tell you."

"Ah, well. So be it," There was that push again, but I could taste anger and annoyance in it this time. "I expect hearing from you Tuesday evening." He rose to his feet like a piece of spring steel unbending.

I got up, beat him to the door, and opened it for him. He went out with a cold little nod to me. In the dim light of the hallway, he seemed bigger. The darkness swallowed him up as he descended the stairs. The bang on the back of my skull seemed to have rattled something loose in my head and I felt a little stupid. I went back to my chair behind the desk and stared at the computer screen.

The screen prompt asked if I wanted to view recorded video. I clicked on YES. I saw the room on the screen, the desk, myself at the desk, the empty chair on the other side. Maybe the last fifteen minutes had not been saved? I didn't like it. I'd have to call Quinton, but I had a feeling he wouldn't make me feel any better.

My head hurt, but the butterflies in my insides calmed. I wondered if I was just hungry. I trotted out for a bite. It was a little chilly and the evening breeze was kicking up, but I decided to sit outside for a few minutes while I ate, hoping to clear my head a bit. But I just got cold and wolfed my food, which made my stomach ache, and I wished I'd worn the jeans after all, instead of the skirt.

Cameron drifted into my office a few minutes before nine thirty. I noticed he didn't exude the halo and draining Grey effects of Carlos and Alice. Odd.

"How's it going?" I asked as he sat down.

"It's OK. Sarah and I worked out a sleeping arrangement at her house, but it's only temporary. I'm going to have to find something of my own before her boyfriend gets back."

"Any idea when that will be?"

He shrugged. "Not sure. Could be as early as June."

I gave him a faint, false smile. "We'll just have to work fast then. I told you I talked to Alice last night, right?"

"Yeah. How'd it go?"

"Scary. She thinks I should kill Edward, or incite the other vampires of Seattle to do it."

"Umm… you're not really thinking about it, are you?"

"No. But it did give me an idea. Alice mentioned that vampires have a pack mentality and they will attack their leader if they sense he's sick or weak. That's what Alice wants so she can step into the breach once Edward is down." "Oh, man… I thought she was my friend! That scheming—"

I interrupted. "Don't get too hot under the collar. A coup is fine for Alice, but for you to get anything out of this, Edward has to stay in charge. We can't trust Alice to do anything for you, but Edward has more to lose. So I'm going to stir up trouble, but not enough that it can't be allayed by the right sort of gesture—like showing that he's capable of being a nice guy by taking you back. Of course, anything else I can dig up which will help push him that direction, I'll take, but I'm not going to be handing it over to Alice."