Theory of Resonance

By Shannon A. Hiner

“Einstein, Edison, Curie, they’re immortal.”
Errin’s eyes took on a new gleam, something that caused her stomach to do a strange sort of flip. “Imagine if they had more time.”
She was inexplicably breathless. “Unstoppable...”

She doesn’t believe in the fantastic.

Bree O’Quinn’s life is a strict schedule of college courses, work, and research. The only thing that matters is earning her degree with top marks and going on to cure diseases. She doesn’t have time for distractions. And an attractive young man who’s studying science, has impeccable manners, and seems interested in her? Too good to be true.

He is the fantastic.

Errin Kaye has made his entire immortal life about helping others, and his medical practice has grown over the decades to serve immortals of all species. Lately, his work has put him on the radar of some deadly people, and being his friend isn’t as safe as it once was.

What is magic anyway, but that which hasn’t been explained yet?

Though he’s always tried to stay on his leader’s good side, Errin is no stranger to bending Hadrian’s Laws when it suits him. What’s one more transgression in favor of Bree’s warmth and humanity? But this time, he’s not just gambling with his own life, and when the vampire leader finds out, Bree and Errin face an ultimatum from Hadrian. Is what’s between them love or mere fascination? Is it worth risking everything for? Is it worth dying for?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shannon A. Hiner
• Release date: Jul 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463001141

Shannon A. Hiner

Shannon A Hiner lives in the mountains of Northern California where, she claims, there is a vampire city, a pack of werewolves, and plenty of faeries. She occupies a small parcel of land with her trusty cat, Pangur Ban and a computer fondly known as Raphael. She does not travel without pen and journal.She has an Associates Degree in Language Arts from Butte College, in Oroville, CA.Upon publishing her first novel, Submerged In Darkness, in 2009, Shannon discovered that she had written the last book in an epic series. Since then, she has embarked upon a quest to write and publish all preceding books.

Book preview

Theory

of

Resonance

The Immortal World Book 5

BY SHANNON A. HINER

Theory of Resonance

Book 5, The Immortal World

Copyright © 2019 Shannon A. Hiner. All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9780463001141

Cover Design By FuelingtheFire Industries

Image By DC Studio licensed through Shutterstock

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations and products depicted herein are either a product of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously.

The Immortal World

Only the Stars Know

Shadows on the Wall

Die For Me Again

Tears You Apart

Theory of Resonance

~Novellas~

The Eleventh Light

The White Lady’s Song

Coming in 2020

Weaken the Knees (Book 6)

In fond memory of

Charlie D. Gardemeyer.

1950 – 2016

The man for whom time stopped to listen.

Also, for Kate –

The Jenny to my Bree,

the Bree to my Jenny.

Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove

At Recess – in the Ring –

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –

We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –

The Dews drew quivering and chill –

For only Gossamer, my Gown –

My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground –

The Roof was scarcely visible –

The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses' Heads

Were toward Eternity –

(479)

Emily Dickinson

PROLOGUE

1878

THE CLICK OF THE CARRIAGE DOOR was louder than it ought to have been. I hadn't slammed it, my temper was still that much under control, at least. Still, that brief click then snick seemed to echo off the cobblestones. Blue eyes stared out at me from within. Accusing. As if she too noticed the finality of that click. One of my hands curled into a fist as the other one reached out to tap my walking stick against the roof. The driver snapped the reins gently and the horses lifted their hooves in unison. Long moments passed as I watched the door with my family's crest disappear around a corner. Soft puffs of March snow danced in the lamplight, falling with graceful finality. Behind me, the sounds of a party drifted from within the Mayfair house. We hadn't left so early as to cause a stir, but if I lingered at the foot of the stairs much longer, there would be questions.

Why wasn't I in the carriage? Why had I allowed myself to argue with her?

Sighing, I tugged my gloves farther up my wrist and turned toward home. Winter wasn't showing any sign of abating, despite how the ladies all sighed for an early spring. My overcoat was new, thankfully. A gift from my mother over Christmas. She had joked it would be the last Christmas she didn't have to share me. I smiled at the warm memory, but it deserted me as I remembered how happy she was over my engagement. She was not going to be pleased when she heard about the events of the evening.

After a few minutes of walking, I realized I was no longer alone. Beside me walked another gentlemen, one I vaguely recognized. He was attired as if he too had come from a Society party, though I hadn't seen him at the one I'd just left. I'd seen him at the gentlemen’s club a few times, though we'd never actually met. He strolled beside me as if we were old friends, swinging his own walking stick errantly and gazing up at the buildings we passed. I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he'd been drinking that evening and mistook me for one of his acquaintances. I'd heard his name before, but couldn't bring it to mind now. Something foreign, eastern European.

Suddenly he looked away from the buildings, meeting my gaze with his own dark one. His eyes were like ink in the night, bottomless, but not empty. They had a strange quality to them. His face looked no more than five and thirty, but those eyes…They had seen too much of life to be in that young a face.

Nik, his thickly accented voice said. Nikolai Vasilev, if you prefer the formalities of this time.

Oh. His name. He didn't seem drunk now that he was looking and speaking to me. Evidently he did realize that we weren't acquainted.

Kaye. I didn't give him my Christian name, not nearly as comfortable with him as he seemed to be with me.

He nodded. Why aren't you in the carriage?

I looked at him sharply. How long had he been walking with me? Was he following me? The vague sense that I should feel threatened by him rose in the back of my mind. His presence seemed designed to put others on edge. He was too direct, too sure. But oddly, I never sensed any danger from him.

I thought about his question as we continued to walk. The question I was still trying to answer for myself. He waited patiently, until the words began to pour from me. I spoke as if he was a priest and I a Catholic. He became my confessional.

"How can a man be born into so much privilege, so much wealth and distinction, only to be handicapped by it? Shouldn't I be the freest of men? Should I not be able to pursue that which my very soul clamors for most? Humanity, the body and soul in concert, we are a miracle. But we are also science. There are people who know this to be fact, people who are constantly working to understand. All I want is to be one of them. All I hunger and thirst for is that knowledge and the ability to exercise it, to help my fellow man.

But I am disallowed. I'm told that it is my duty to be idle, useless, empty. That I am of a different class, a higher class, a class that does not dirty their hands with blood, their minds with the concerns of those below them. I cannot live that way. I abhor the very idea. To pursue medicine, I betray my family, my future wife. But to ignore it, I betray myself.

The expectations of those around weighed heavy on my shoulders. The ultimatum she set on me. I could feel it already: My life would lose all meaning. The drive, the hunger, gnawed at my insides. Made me sick. Pricked at the back of my eyes and stole my words away again.

That carriage, the woman inside it, the crest on the door, was the center of it all. The woman I'd asked to marry me would be the iron manacles that kept my hands forever clean. Why hadn't I realized that before proposing? Blinded by those laughing midnight eyes and softly teasing words, I hadn't heard the bite in them before tonight. Hadn't realized she thought it was all a joke, every one of my dreams.

At last we came to the steps of my house, and I stared up at the door. It was no longer the carriage that represented my prison, but the door of my very own home.

I've been observing you for some time, Kaye, he finally said, breaking the heavy silence. Your life is compassion. You have a potential I have seen in very few. You are wasted on this world in your current form. I looked away from the door to find his dark gaze resting on me once more. My current form? I was suddenly concerned once more that he might be under the influence of some mind-altering substance, might be a danger to me. Why hadn't I thought of this before spilling my life's story to a stranger?

If you wish to be more, I can help you.

How? Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he was part of some medical or scientific society that wanted pull with the aristocracy. He was probably going to petition me to sponsor them. Name and money, the only things a man with my birthright were good for.

He smiled like he knew what I was thinking, but the smile didn't linger as he leaned against his walking stick and glanced up at my house. You will have to make a very difficult decision, Kaye. You can leave your current life, this world, behind. Your loved ones will carry on without you. You will watch from a distance as they live and age and pass onto the next world, but you will remain. In exchange for this agony, you will receive time. The most valuable resource in the world. Not only will all your hours belong strictly to you, they will be endless. You will have the financial support of your new family, and in return, your work shall benefit not only the living, but the dead as well.

He was insane. I had no experience in dealing with madmen, but it struck me as oddly fitting that he should appear so lucid and reasonable. Someone under the influence of drink or drug would have railed and leered, but his straight-faced seemingly sober delivery made it clear he truly believed his words.

He went on, Kaye, I am offering to give you the opportunity to see all the medical breakthroughs, inventions, and cures the future has to offer. I am offering to make you an active part of that future. Hundreds of years after you should have been dead, you will still be learning and healing.

Even if this were possible, I said, shaking my head, even if you are not insane, I'm engaged to be married. At least, if I gave up on what I really wanted, I was.

You must decide, finally, what's most important to you. This world will not allow you to have both.

I stared at him, doubting.

Nikolai nodded as if I had posed a question, then motioned to the front door. Won't you invite me in?

My brows shot up, and I couldn't help taking a step back.

He sighed, Fine, I'll do it here, and pulled a small pistol out of his coat. He held his other hand up to halt my rapid retreat. You're under no threat from me, Kaye. Quite the opposite. Holding the pistol by the barrel, he offered it to me. When I didn't move, he smiled. Afraid I'll make you commit some awful act of violence?

In fact, that was exactly what I feared.

So be it. He sighed again and corrected his grip on the weapon, keeping the barrel toward himself. No, he placed its end against his chest, shifting it to the right with a wince. No sense in risking the heart.

My own heart thundered as I realized what he intended. I lunged for him, shouting, No! Wait—

The gun's report interrupted me, echoing in the cold, quiet street. He had squeezed the trigger without a flinch and only now grimaced with distaste. Damn, but that stings, he muttered.

What have you done? I moved forward to catch him before I realized he hadn't swayed. Only reached into one of his coat pockets to remove a dark blue kerchief which he proceeded to wrap the gun in before placing it back in his coat. I glanced about; hadn't anyone heard that? But the street was deserted. It was the middle of the night and the lower class was abed, the uppers contained within homes filled with lively music and dancing.

Moving stiffly, Nikolai motioned to my front door. Now might I come in for a few minutes?

How was he moving? Let alone speaking calmly? He'd just administered a bullet to his own chest. Not knowing what else to do, I rushed up the steps to my door and wrenched it open. Yes, of course. The shock muddled my mind and I found myself saying, We must clean your wound.

Nikolai moved up the steps behind me, smiling faintly as if he found my concern endearing. Let's not tarry, I don't want you to miss the action.

What could he possibly mean by a cryptic statement like that? I didn't dwell on it. Instead I ushered him in. Still waiting for him to stagger, collapse, I had one hand behind him and one in front, fluttering like a hen. He never wavered. He stayed my hand when I reached for the bell pull to summon the housekeeper, shaking his head.

No. No witnesses but you.

Another warning sounded in the back of my mind, but his tone wasn't threatening in the least. Directing me to take him to the kitchen, he shrugged off his coat as we moved, abandoning waistcoat and shirt once there as well. The sight of torn, bullet-ravaged flesh didn't disgust or frighten me as it did most people. Instead, a calm entered me and I began cataloging what I needed. Boiled water. Clean cloth. Antiseptic ointment. Bandaging.

Again, Nikolai stopped me. Wait. Be patient. Watch.

I briefly entertained the idea that blood loss was making him incoherent, but then he hadn't made much sense before the gunshot wound either. That, and he didn't appear to have lost as much blood as I would have expected. Frowning, I stepped closer and discovered his blood flowed slower than it should. It was so thick, it clotted faster. The kitchen was lit only by the dying embers of the fireplace, but now as I looked more closely, I realized his blood was darker than normal too. It had already stopped flowing from the wound. As I watched, something shiny appeared at the bullet hole in his chest, pressing outward until it dislodged entirely and bounced to the floor. It rolled toward the fireplace, glinting as it came to a stop in the scant light.

The bullet.

My entire body went still except for my head as I turned slowly back to stare at him, at the gaping hole in his chest that was now shrinking. Muscle reknit, veins stretched out searching fingers to reconnect, skin grew anew, pulling the edges of the wound together. The process was both excruciatingly long and unbelievably fast. I couldn't look away.

I didn’t know how much time passed before it was over. It could have been two minutes or two hours. In the end, the only evidence remaining was the blood on his shirt, the surrounding skin, his hands, the kitchen floor. Thick as it was, most of it hadn't even dried yet.

He flexed his shoulders back and sighed. Another shirt ruined. His tone was mildly annoyed, as if he had gotten ink on his shirt, not what should have been his life's blood.

How? I asked hoarsely. How has this happened? A miracle. It's not possible.

He rebuttoned his shirt. The seared and bloodied hole in the cotton lay against pink, new flesh. Not possible for a human.

Dread filled me even as my face drained. What are you? Demon. Angel. Something otherworldly I had no business knowing about.

In short, I am neither dead nor alive. I was once human, but no longer require food or water to survive. I cannot bear the sun on my skin, and every few days I must refresh the supply of blood in my body. I do not age. I cannot die. In this language, I believe I would be called a ‘vampire.’

Leaning against the island counter, arms crossed over his ruined shirt, he assessed me calmly. For my part, I didn't know what I was more shaken by: his miraculous healing powers, or his undead status.

After a few minutes where I neither ran, screamed, nor fainted, he said, Well, Kaye?

Why did you show me this? What do you want from me?

I told you already; I'm offering this to you.

The power to heal? This miracle…?

The side of Nikolai's mouth kicked up in a half-smile. No. I'm offering you something better, something infinitely more valuable. Time.

Time, I echoed him, unsure how that was better than the miracle of instant healing. Why me?

"I make it my business to find talent, to find goodness, and cultivate it. There is a good in you the world needs more of. It is in my power to give you infinity. All the time the world has to offer to research, experiment, study, heal."

And in return?

"That is the return, Kaye."

Too good to be true. There had to be a catch.

The catch is this: you leave all this behind. Family, friends, status. All of it. We don't exist. Neither will you.

I thought of my family, my fiancée, the life I had. Could I leave it all?

What say you, Kaye?

CHAPTER 1

PERPETUALLY PUNCTUAL, BORINGLY reliable, invariably prepared, Bree O'Quinn, was about to walk into her last class of the night a full fifteen minutes later than she’d planned.

On the first day of the semester, fifteen minutes meant the difference between getting a good seat and ending up in the front row, or squeezed between someone who believed in showering only weekly (if ever) and a person who smoked one of any number of offensive smelling substances.

Ever since some technical problem with the three alarms on her phone prevented every single one of them from going off at 4:30 that morning, Bree had been struggling—and failing—to make up lost time. She'd arrived only ten minutes early for work (normal being eighteen minutes), exactly on time for her internship, and two minutes late to her first class.

She should have been able to make up time once on campus—and in fact, had managed to take back seven minutes—but the class before ran over by five minutes, forcing her to try to traverse the entire campus with the heavy throng of students at mass effect. Apparently, the professor was very concerned about his students' understanding of an assignment that wasn't due for another two weeks. The group's lack of questions about it, rather than set his mind at ease, had evidently implied they were struck dumb with misunderstanding. He'd waxed at length about the particulars, seemingly oblivious to the students' twitching glances to the clock, to their phones, to the door.

Now it was time to pay the piper. She reached the door of her last class out of breath and feeling a sheen of sweat over her temples despite the chill of winter hugging the halls. Once in, she took a quick survey of the room. Five minutes to the start of class. The professor was sitting at his desk at the front of the room, reading through notes and taking no notice of the classroom. A steady hum of conversation covered the room. Her heart dropped as she looked over the remaining seats. Only two left.

This was precisely what she'd feared. The first day of a new semester was always like the Hunger Games. Every student for himself, rushing the cornucopia to take what they needed to survive; in this case, seats. One of the remaining open spots was in the back, closest to the door and Bree's current position. It was sandwiched between a group that appeared to be stoned out of their minds and a couple of young men currently engaged in a serious discussion from which she caught the words 'orc' and 'elf.'

Bree shuddered. No, please, anything but that.

Behind her, the door opened, admitting a burst of cooler air and three more students. Late adds, she guessed. Students who tried to join the class after it was already filled. They sat through the first few weeks of a class, waiting for the people who weren't serious to drop it and make room for them. Vultures who eyed the filled seats with hungry eyes and the hope that others would fail so they could succeed.

Bree stopped debating and made for the other remaining seat. It was on the left side of the room, halfway to the back. The row seemed to consist of relatively normal-looking people. She knew well by now appearances were deceiving. Some of the nicest looking people in her classes turned out to have the most disturbing minds.

She slid into the seat and allowed herself a sigh of relief. The guy to her left smiled easily at her.

Cut that kind of close, didn't you?

Too close. She smiled back, forgetting her natural reserve for a brief moment.

He was actually kind of cute. Nothing flashy, he obviously wasn't a sports star or the future Sexiest Man Alive, but when you took a bunch of science and medical classes, you learned to appreciate a more subtle kind of handsome.

His ashy blond hair had a slight wave to it and showed signs of starting to darken with age. His eyes were light, but she couldn't quite discern the color, maybe gray, or a light blue. They rested on her with an intensity that made her feel like he could see straight through her soul.

It was that intensity which froze her in place, a wide-eyed doe staring down an eighteen wheeler barreling down the highway straight for her.

Hi… she said. Had she whispered? She felt breathless.

He had well defined cheekbones and a jaw that might have seemed severe if he hadn't continued to smile.

Hello. He held out his hand.

Was that strange? A little formal? Bree bit her upper lip and reached to shake his hand. Instead of a normal handshake, he only grasped her fingers and bowed toward her slightly. It should have seemed awkward—who did that anymore?—but instead, he made it look both natural and graceful.

If I might presume to introduce myself, I'm Errin Kaye.

Oh, she breathed out in sudden understanding, you're British. People from other countries had different customs, right? Even someone from England—sharing a language and so much history with America—could be expected to behave differently, more formal than she was used to, right?

Bree was babbling. In her head, yes, but she was babbling. She needed to stop.

His smile warmed. I am. And you are? His accent wasn't super noticeable, it was most apparent in the vowels and his crisp enunciation. As if it was starting to fade over time, but couldn't quite be shaken completely.

American, she blurted out. I mean, sorry, of course I am. She laughed—God, she as such an idiot—and took a deep breath. Calm, be calm. Why was she so worked up? Bree O'Quinn.

He squeezed her fingers gently, then released them.

Very nice to meet you, Bree O'Quinn`. That's a lovely Irish name for an American.

She laughed again. Well, I'm not entirely sure my family ever left the 'old country.' What part of Britain are you from?

England. London, to be precise.

Isn't your name also a little Irish to be from London?

Errin shrugged, a graceful roll of his shoulder blades that made her take notice of the excellent cut (good God, was it tailored?) of the gray collared shirt he wore. My mother, he said, as if that was the only necessary explanation.

Bree nodded as if she understood, though she wasn't sure she did. How long have you been in America?

He stopped to think. A while now. Years.

The professor chose that moment to call the class to order. Pursing her lips, Bree tried to rein in her annoyance. Her insatiable curiosity had been engaged. With at least another ten questions lined up for Errin Kaye, those questions would likely inspire countless more. She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Perhaps it was a good thing the professor called a halt to their conversation. She had a tendency to come on a little strong when she met new people.

Bree only wanted to know what made them tick.

Errin smiled apologetically and turned his attention forward.

With a quiet sigh, Bree did the same. But it didn't stop her from examining him out of the corner of her eye.

He sat very still in his dark wash jeans and button down shirt. He didn't have a coat, which was strange, because it was pretty cold outside. She wondered if he was one of those guys who was too tough to ever be cold.

His sneakers were a well taken care of but unremarkable black. He wore no jewelry, except for a large silver ring on his right hand. It made her think of the class rings some guys had from their high schools. There was a large green stone in the middle and what appeared to be some sort of Celtic design around it. She shuddered to think, what if the stone was real? A person had to be pretty confident in their ability to protect themselves to walk around with an emerald on their hand.

She studied his musculature. He seemed fit enough without being a gym-rat.

Briigh…id? O'Quinn?

Bree flinched as the professor butchered her name. Fourteen years of teachers destroying it and she still flinched every time.

Bree, please, sir. Just Bree. Present.

The professor muttered what sounded like thank God under his breath and then said louder, Thank you, Just-Bree. Cassandra Parker?

Bree couldn't suppress another shudder. Her parents were sadistic. Her eyes moved of their own will to see Errin grinning.

Shut up, she muttered in his direction.

He shook his head, saying so only she could hear, That never would have happened in England.

She grimaced again.

* * *

Tapping the pencil eraser softly against the college ruled pad of paper, Errin considered the weight of the brown eyes currently boring sidelong into his face. The owner of said eyes didn't seem all that well-versed in the art of being stealthy. Oh, she was trying, but the fact that she took nearly as few notes as he did was a bit of a giveaway. Also, every time he looked at the professor's board, her eyes were staring straight ahead in so studious a fashion that no one, save perhaps a five year old, would've believed it.

Maybe he could have ignored her, had her thoughts not been so overwhelmingly clear. She was, quite literally, fit to burst with all the questions she held in.

The side of his mouth quirked up at the thought. Most people he made polite conversation with were clearly looking to end the discussion as quickly as possible. They would find the clearest route to their objective, engage, and then execute the exchange.

As close as he could tell, Bree O'Quinn's main objective would be to figuratively take him apart and piece him back together again. Was she a scientist in the making, or a mechanic?

Halfway through the class, she pulled something out of her bag and bent forward as if she was trying to hide her actions.

Errin couldn't help it, he stopped paying any attention to the professor. It didn't worry him too much. Having read the syllabus twice, he knew nothing new or of interest to him was being covered for a few weeks yet. Bree's dark curls formed a curtain around her face for a moment, too thick to see through. When her face emerged again, a small pair of purple rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

Her relief was so immediate, he thought she might gasp from it. It was only at that moment Errin realized she had a fierce headache, her thoughts coming crisper as the pain began to ebb away. A small curse flew from her lips as she looked at the professor's whiteboard and back down at her tablet. She started backspacing immediately and then typed anew. Errin's mouth quirked again; she had misspelled a term apparently. She rubbed her forehead absently, as if trying to work the pain out of her head.

He couldn't help but wonder why she hadn’t just worn the glasses from the beginning of class. And why was she so secretive about retrieving them?

Bree's eyes stole toward him again. He couldn't quite get rid of his small smile before she saw. Her cheeks were a lovely shade of rose pink as she looked away quickly and made more notes.

At the end of class, the professor announced the first lab, causing Bree to remove a yearly planner book and make a note. Errin eyed it with some amusement, noting the myriad of colors blazoned within, detailing what he presumed were the many appointments she had to keep. Not only was she a planner, she also appeared to be a gross overachiever.

Errin packed his pad and pencil into his satchel and, standing, swung it over one shoulder. Bree was still finishing her notes and only glanced at him quickly. He started to turn, then stopped.

No, it simply wouldn't do. He was too intrigued to end it there. Well, Bree O'Quinn, it was very nice meeting you. I suppose I will see you at the lab tomorrow?

Her espresso colored eyes met his smile and she blushed again. Oh, yeah. Yes. I mean, she seemed to breathe deeply through her nose before allowing herself to continue, I'll see you then.

He held out his hand. Errin knew very well that it was out of fashion, but he couldn't quite get behind the lack of manners these days.

She looked surprised, but set her small delicate fingers in his. He squeezed them very gently between his own and bowed. Until then. Errin released her hand and left without embarrassing her further. He smiled to himself as she remained in her seat, wondering about him, once again nearly bursting with questions.

It didn't take long to navigate the hordes of college students, not for him. Errin might not be the tallest specimen there, but he was by far the most agile. Once he was out on the street, he breathed in the fresh January air gratefully. Being pressed by so many warm, breathing, blood-pumping bodies was enough to put him on edge. Not like it used to, of course, but it was still much more comfortable to be out of the squeeze.

He walked a few blocks away from campus, toward downtown, taking in the post-holiday scenery. The twinkling lights were out of the windows, the wreaths had been taken down from the light poles, it was no longer the season 'to be jolly,' it was just winter. The students on the street were bundled in warm coats, their breath frosting the air. Young ladies wearing bright scarves shivered and shuddered and held onto their beaus and bosom friends.

Errin frowned and looked down at himself. He wore only a button down. How odd he must look, without a coat or scarf and gloves. He resolved to fix that once he returned home; it wouldn't do to stand out.

Tinkling bells sounded from his pocket and Errin fished Jane out of his jeans. Pressing the little green button, he held the phone to his ear. Errin Kaye.

Errin, where are you? The voice of his closest friend and leader said in a misleadingly polite tone.

I was on my way back to my shop. Errin mentally checked his appointment book. He didn't believe he had any prior commitments this evening.

Good, Hadrian said. Hurry. The line went dead.

Errin took the phone from his ear and frowned at it. Jane, dear, he said, I really wish you could make him sound just a tad more agreeable.

Hadrian had no good reason to sound so abrupt. He had spent the last six months falling in love with a nice girl and bringing her into their clan. Wasn't love supposed to make a person more pleasant? Errin sighed and turned down an alley. He listened for footsteps as he made his way to the back. When he was sure no one was around, he put Jane back in his pocket and shimmered home.

CHAPTER 2

Jenny was doing the dishes when Bree got home that night. Bree could see her roommate through the second-story window, dancing and singing as she scrubbed a pan. It didn't matter how many times Bree pointed out how easy it was to see her from the street at night, Jenny never closed the curtains, never stopped dancing.

They'd been roommates for two years, since Bree responded to the ad online for a roommate to share rent during undergraduate school. Jenny had stayed in the city after getting her BA, and Bree continued on toward her master's.

The deli on the ground floor was dark; they closed up shop at about four o'clock every day. Bree found the side door unlocked and rolled her eyes. How many times had she told Jenny to lock the door at night? Especially when she was home alone.

Locking the