—” The words stumbled over each other, trying to get out in time to tell him that I’d seen where

Graves went right after—

“Shh.” Benjamin made a quick shushing motion with his left hand. “I think something’s . . . no, I

guess not. Not yet.”

A hush fell over the assembled djamphir. The crowd had grown while I wasn’t looking. The glass

dome above filled with sunset, pink clouds and orange glow like a blind multicolored eye. Just fig-ures that the ceiling would be staring at me, too. Jesus.

Every time I looked around there were more djamphir. When there’s a whole sea of them looking at

you, you can get to see some faint similarities in bone structure, no matter the skin color. Bright

eyes, and whispering passed through them. The aspect went in waves over the crowd, fangs peeping

out and hair changing shades.

Have you ever heard a cornfield on a breezy afternoon? Or been out on the Great Plains and seen

waist-high grass when the wind moves over it, brushing it like hair? Watching the aspect in a crowd

is vaguely like both. I hunched my shoulders. But Christophe was right in front of me, leaning on

the barrier, and every once in awhile a stray breath of apple-pie scent would brush me.

I won’t lie. It was comforting. But my roving gaze kept getting snagged on the chair hung with red

fabric.

“Wulfen.” Leon was leaning forward, his arms crossed on the back of my pew. “They’re watching

closely, too. Want to bet why?”

“It’s insulting.” Benjamin’s jaw set like concrete, and the emo-boy swoop over his eyes ran with

auburn highlights.

“It’s not personal.” Leon actually snorted a little, laughing. “They don’t trust anyone. I don’t blame

them.”

I saw Zeke in a sapphire silk button-down, his blue eyes dark with worry. I actually lifted a hand

and waved at him a little and instantly regretted it. He actually blushed, dropping his eyes, and a

couple of his friends elbowed him. Someone laughed, and my cheeks were hot.

There went my Sunday coffee date. It wasn’t like I was really counting on it, but damn.

Leon laughed again, a weird choked chuckle, and I considered turning around and punching him in

the face.

“Who’s that?” Christophe wanted to know, but I just slumped down in the pew and rolled my eyes.

“Nobody. He’s from my history class.” I wish Graves was here, dammit. No matter how this ended

up, the first thing I was going to do when I got out of here was go looking for him. I was going to

slip out of here somehow, anyhow, and follow the touch until it led me to him. I was going to find

him and make everyone leave us alone long enough for me to tell him . . .

. . . what? What could possibly make this sort of thing better?