He smiled at me, those unexpected dimples forming in the creases of his smile. “I can be discreet.”

I flushed and cleared my throat. “Um . . . yeah, no doubt. But it’s complicated. She’s, um, actually kind of my boyfriend’s sister.”

“Or more accurately, her kind-of boyfriend’s actual sister,” Jen added, not entirely helpfully. I shot her a quick glare. She responded with a “What?” face.

“As you wish, Hel’s liaison.” Thank God, Stefan chose to ignore our silent but not exactly subtle interplay. “The decision is yours, of course. When it’s convenient, there’s another matter I would discuss with you.”

“Oh, right.” Belatedly, I remembered that Cooper had mentioned it last night. “Sorry, I’ve been distracted.”

“For obvious reasons,” he acknowledged. “Call me when you’re less distracted.”

Sometimes the whole cryptic eldritch thing could be a bit much. “Can’t you just tell me now?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s not something I can tell you, Daisy. It’s something I wish to show you. I believe it will help in the work we undertook together.”

Oh. “Okay. Will do.”

He inclined his head again. “Until then.”

Jen and I watched him return to his Vincent Black Shadow, straddling it with easy grace before putting his wraparound sunglasses back on, kick-starting the motorcycle, and chugging away.

“Damn,” Jen said. “Just . . . damn! You weren’t kidding.”

“Nope,” I said. “I was not.”

She punched me in the arm. “I think he’s into you. So what’s this work you’re doing together? What’s his story anyway? I thought ghouls—excuse me, Outcast—were all gross redneck bikers that fed on the pathetic emotional dregs of skanky meth-heads.”

“Ow!” I rubbed my arm. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me his story yet. But he doesn’t allow drugs on his turf. And he told me once that ghouls in America tend to come from areas where . . . I can’t remember exactly, but something about a conjunction of extreme ignorance and extreme faith. I think it’s different for some of the old ones from back in ye olden times.”

“Huh.”

“He said he could teach me to deflect my emotions,” I said. “That’s what we were working on.”

“I think he’s into you,” Jen repeated. “Did you even bother to ask him what his story was?”

“Yeah, I did,” I admitted. “It was, um, a little too soon in our acquaintance. That’s a big question, you know?”

“I guess. So, Mr. Ludovic,” she intoned, “tell me, exactly what did you do to get kicked out of heaven and hell?”

“Something like that,” I agreed.

“I wonder, though,” she mused.