There was, however, a pack of matches lying on the ground.

Kneeling down, I picked the book up and examined them. Mark’s Mad Martini Bar. I’d been there a long time ago. It was in Upper Queen Anne, not too far away if you didn’t mind trekking up the hill. It wasn’t unreasonable that a pack of their matches would find their way here. What was weird was that the matches showed up right when I needed them.

Behind me, I heard the store’s door open. “Georgina?”

I rose and turned sharply around. Seth.

“Hey,” I said, hoping for blandness. The smothering feeling returned.

Light from inside the store lit up his features in the twilight, and I ate up every line and angle of his face. His eyes looked dark in the dimness, but in full light, they were brown infused with amber. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and his gaze wouldn’t meet mine. It was painfully reminiscent of how he’d been when we first met, too shy to look directly at me.

“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he said after several awkward moments.

I turned the matches over in my hand a couple of times and then placed them in my purse’s outer pocket. “I’m fine,” I said, keeping my voice cool and distant.

“It’s just . . .” He relaxed slightly and gave a small, rueful laugh. “When you’re vague about your activities and mention ‘family,’ it usually means immortal business. And immortal business always means trouble.”

I started to smile, then immediately squelched it. “Yeah, it does, and believe me, it’s a great one this time.” Even after everything that had gone down between us, there was such a comfort and familiarity with him that I immediately wanted to launch in and recap the story for him. I could already see us both laughing at the idea of Canadian Satanists. I could perfectly picture the way Seth would shake his head in exasperation. But it wasn’t to be. I was too hurt and too proud to even allow him friendship, so I just shrugged and said, “But it’ll work out. It always does.”

“Yeah . . . but usually not without a lot of hassle. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to be.” Not anymore. “I’m not in any danger. Mostly just annoyed.”

He opened his mouth to speak, and I knew the gesture. He wanted to argue that there was still cause for concern—but times had changed. He swallowed and let the comment go. More silence fell. I knew I should leave, but somehow, I couldn’t make myself do it. He apparently couldn’t either. “You . . . you look really great tonight,” he said at last, still fumbling for conversation.

There was a catch in his voice. He knew my looks tonight had to do with more than just my body and outfit. The energy I’d stolen from sleeping with the therapist wreathed me. Life and its power were irresistible to all creatures, mortal and immortal alike. Immortals could literally see that life glowing around me. To mortals, I simply looked beautiful. Unearthly. Perfect.