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*****
Let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone.
  -Leonard Cohen, Dance Me to the End of Love
*****

   It was interesting, watching Blair move through the club. Normally Blair's strong suit was approachability. He was cheerful, warm ... attractive the way a park was attractive on a perfect summer day. Tonight, he had somehow turned off the sunlight ... and people still followed him helplessly, drawn to something else. Jim took a step back, tried to view Blair as a stranger, and was startled to discover that Blair's features were exotic. For the role he was playing tonight, he'd somehow called forth remarkable beauty.
   [Jesus, Blair ... if you can do that, why don't you do it all the time?]
   Well, why should he, if could just be himself and get most of the women he took a liking to? This other thing was probably too much like work. Jim sat down at a small table and shut his eyes.
   [Be yourself, Blair. I have a strange feeling and I can't stand this place and the last thing I need is you being weird. Or not weird. Or whatever is weird for you.]
   Jim concentrated on scent and hearing, trying to find anything abnormal. He picked out several controlled substances and astonishing amounts of hair dye, but nothing that said "vampire". As if he had any idea what a vampire smelled or sounded like. At least he knew it wasn't another Sentinel. That he had experience with. The chair beside him was pulled back, and Jim winced.
   "Headache?"a sympathetic female voice asked.
   "Uh ... yeah." Jim opened his eyes. Black hair, black fingernails, black lips ... he wondered what she'd do if he offered to buy her a bar of soap. Probably misunderstand.
   "You're after something," she observed. "Very focused."
   Jim was about to ask if she knew anyone with extraordinary hearing when she went on. "Passion can wear you down." Jim looked around the room. Blair and Tom were at opposite ends, asking questions. Vampire hunting. As Blair had pointed out, none of this was technically Jim's job. He relaxed a little.
   "Passion?"
   "Comes off you in waves. I can almost see it. And I understand."
   "Right now," Jim told her, "my passion is for going home."
   She didn't seem fazed by his flippancy. "Could be," she said seriously. "Passion can be for anything. I knew a man who had a passion for sleeping. My passion ... I'm not permitted to say."
   Just for practice, Jim checked her vital signs. She seemed excited about something, though no pheromones were in play ... but otherwise, perfectly normal. "Blood?" he asked, curious about her response. She smiled, revealing fangs over her eyeteeth which might almost look real to anyone else's eyes.
   "We were talking about you."
   Jim was scanning the room now, sending his senses back and forth. His uneasy feeling increased. "No," he said. "We weren't." "We were talking about hunger. That's what passion is. Unmanageable hunger. You feed it, when you can, but it just keeps eating you." God, something about this room, something in this room was definitely wrong. Felt wrong. Where was Blair? In that corner, still. Still so strange ... but perfectly safe. It was safe to close his eyes
  -- and reach out. Overheated air, moving over his skin in waves as people moved and spoke and breathed. The problem was here, in this. So many people and so much heat. These many people and this much heat.
   [Not enough.]
   Jim sat straighter, his eyes still shut. Not enough. What did that mean?
   [How many people? How much heat?]
   Not enough? His sense of touch was desperate now, looking for the coldness in the crowd. He might zone-out, was dangerously near it, but Blair was here. He wasn't afraid. And he was cold, suddenly, so damned cold he thought he'd never stop shaking.
   [Found him. Found him.]
   A hand was fire on his arm. A voice was thunder in his ear. "Feed the beast." Without thought, he swatted her away. His eyes opened, found a door closing on cold night air. Blair wasn't in the corner anymore. "Goddamn it!" There was nothing of consequence between him and that door. Nothing to slow him down. In the alleyway, not ten feet from the door, Blair was in the cold thing's arms, head thrown back as white points worried the red pool on his neck. His eyes were half-shut, lashes beating like wings against his pale skin. Such a lover's pose, if not for the pool of red, and for a crazy moment Jim thought the girl's words were still echoing out here, making their last lazy bounce between dirty brick walls.
   [Passion ...]
   Jim threw himself forward, without considering what would happen next. He was going to take Blair away from that thing, somehow. He was unprepared for the strength that met him, or the speed. More than by the blow of hitting the alley wall, he was unmanned by the casual way in which he had been thrown. Blair moaned softly. The scent of arousal was everywhere, much too sweet. His back arched to drive him forward. His heart was speeding blood to the monster's throat. Jim forced himself to stand, gripping the wall. He took a step forward ... And the monster screamed. It crumbled, fell away before Jim's eyes, `til Blair lay on the ground surrounded by a powder, fine as talc. Beyond him, toward the street, a heart was beating with the slowness of sleep. Jim looked up into perfectly clear green eyes. A man of about Blair's age was watching them both. He was china- pretty and small, but something about him made Jim want to cut and run. "Waste of my time, what I've done," he said with a voice unpracticed in speech, "Didn't do this for you to let him die." Jim moved to Blair. A crowd was spilling into the alley as Jim lifted Blair to rest against his shoulder. "Chief?" No answer. He hadn't expected one. "You. Green hair, black dress. Yes, you. Call an ambulance."She didn't move. God, civilians were terrible in emergencies. "Do it now!" She went. Jim returned his attention to Blair. In spite of his weak heartbeat, he was tense, trembling. Jim realized with a shock that Blair was still caught in that thing's spell. He pulled Blair desperately close and ran a hand down his hair. Blair moved against him once, violently, and was still. Jim brushed his lips against the top of Blair's head. "There. Now rest." What kind of creature could create such intense desire from the feel of life draining away? Jim was still thinking about that when the ambulance arrived.

*****
Whenever we experience death at close quarters, nature sends all these little messages down our body. They say "Death is all around, death is rampant. Make more babies, make more babies."Does that make you feel better?
  -Fitz, To Say I Love You
*****

   "You can't deny that I was right about the travel medical insurance. `What's going to happen on a three day trip?' you said. And I said, `Knowing you, Sandburg ...'" Jim stopped, realizing that Blair's eyes were open. "How're you feeling?" Blair opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He turned away from Jim, cheeks a dark red against his too-white skin. Jim went to the bed. "That answers my next question
  -- how much do you remember." "Not everything, actually," Blair said, his back still turned. "Nothing after he fell apart ... but that's enough."
   [Yeah ... I can get behind that.]
   Jim placed a hand on Blair's arm.
   [This can be one more thing for us never to talk about.]
   "Did you follow him to the alley?" "Yeah. But before you start yelling ..." Jim smiled. "Me? Yell?" "It wasn't exactly my idea. I *had* to follow him." He faced Jim, and Jim brushed hair from his cheek. "My god ... Jim ... there really are vampires." Jim nodded. "Apparently. Professor X is having a fit. His thesis is a mess ... and he's wondering if you're going to sue." "Just because we're American," Blair joked, light coming back into his eyes. "Ever lived in Canada?" Jim shook his head. "They have some pretty vicious ideas about
  -- never mind. Not important. Vampires ... now *that* is a closed society. That would make one hell of a doctoral thesis."Before Jim could speak, Blair grinned at him. "For someone other than me." Jim pressed his arm. "You may want to think about why no one has ever covered the topic before." Blair laughed. Jim rolled his eyes. "I used to think your ability to bounce back was a good quality. Now I just wish you'd learn." The cheerfulness dropped from Blair's face as though he had let go of a mask. "I'll be giving this some thought," he told Jim. There were dozens of nightmares in his voice, months of being afraid of the dark. Jim looked away, and Blair touched his hand. "I'm learning." His tone was light, but Jim got the message. He took to his chair again, pulled it closer to the bed. "I explained to them," he told Blair, "about how visiting hours don't apply to me." "Did they see reason?" "Yeah. I'm gonna stay here until daybreak. Then I have to take care of something." "Uh ... I have to disagree with you there. All we have to do is thank Tom for an interesting evening and *go home*." He was smiling a little, but his eyes were wary. This had definitely put a scare into him. Jim had a feeling he was going to be scared enough himself, as soon as he was actually able to believe it. He intended to put that off for as long as possible. "There's just something I want to do. After the sun comes up. That's true about vampires, right? They can't go out in the day?" "Yeah ... you ask because I'm obviously an expert." Blair shook his head. "I'm trying to tell myself that guy was just some psycho who's seen the Lost Boys, like, eighty times. I mean, he could've put me in a trance in the bar, somehow, and had me follow him outside ... but he was so fast and so strong and once the teeth were in there really wasn't any way to pretend ..." He looked exhausted. Jim moved to sit on the side of the bed. "Jim ... what does it mean if there really are monsters?" Carefully, Jim pushed him back against the pillows. "Get some sleep." Half asleep, Blair latched on to Jim's hand. "Don' go anywhere," he mumbled. Jim leaned back, getting settled. "Not tonight."
   Blair had one dream that night
  -- not a nightmare. Jim woke to a sigh in his ear, the feel of soft curls brushing his neck. He looked down to find Blair curled against his side. He lowered Blair to the pillows and watched him dream. Blair's face had that weird beauty again, animated by passion. It was hard to reconcile this with the man who'd shared a bowl of popcorn with Jim just three days earlier, watching something called "Robot Monster" and giggling like a preschooler. Jim didn't like it. "Blair ...wake up." He tilted his head back, still dreaming. His throat was an offering. He was saying something, but Jim couldn't make out words. He didn't want to. "*Blair* ... wake up, Chief." From the look in Blair's eyes when he finally did open them, he knew what he'd been saying ... and he'd sussed why Jim's hands were on his arms. He looked embarrassed ... deeply unsettled ... and not at all happy. "Sorry," he said, keeping his eyes on Jim's with an obvious exercise of will. Jim ruffled his hair and shrugged. He couldn't think of a thing to say. "I don't understand
  --" Blair stopped, tears making his voice unreliable. Jim sighed. "C'mon, Chief, don't do that ..." He tried to think of something, anything that he could say to comfort Blair. "Maybe you should try being objective." Blair stared at him. "*What?*" "You're a scientist. Maybe if you think like one, if you can make some sense of this ... pretend this is a case study, happening to someone else." Blair frowned, concentrating. "Well ... it's an involuntary reaction. People sometimes have an erotic reaction to the proximity of danger, but I
  -- the, uh, subject doesn't really have a history of that." Jim snorted. "The subject stalled on his dissertation for years because he liked the roller coaster. He once made a date from an airlift stretcher, shortly after being shot." Charmingly, Blair blushed. "The subject is telling you, this is *different*." Jim put a hand on his face. "I know. I know it is. Go on." "Well, if you want to look at the vampire as an evolved creature ..."
   [And you would ...]
   "... an advanced predator whose prey is people, you have to think they have abilities which support that. Obviously they have an ability to mesmerize ... they may use that to create an artificial arousal which incapacitates the victim."
   "Maybe they're like mosquitoes." Blair was alert, caught up in the problem. "How so?" "When a mosquito bites you, it injects an anaesthetic before it draws your blood. It's a kind of toxin, which is why you get the welt afterwards." "That," Blair said fondly, "is like you." Jim couldn't guess what that meant. "Huh?" Blair lay back and shut his eyes. "Describing desire as a toxin." "Oh." He closed his own eyes. "Well," he said sleepily, "has experience taught us anything different?" Blair didn't answer. Jim rested his head against Blair's shoulder and waited for sunrise.

*****
Gonna get me a little oblivion, baby. Try to keep myself away from me.
  -Counting Crows, Perfect Blue Buildings
*****

   Luckily, Blair was still asleep when Jim left, and therefore unable to put up an argument. Jim was tired, owly, and in no mood for pointless discussions. He stood in the alley, eyes closed, trying to pick up the scent of the strange man.
   [Wonder what Blair thinks happened to the vampire. I wonder how he thinks it happened. I wonder what he'll do when it occurs to him to wonder about that.]
   There it was ... skin oil, where he'd seen the man place his hand. And he could smell it farther up the street, on a newspaper box. Jim opened his eyes, but barely saw. That scent was the only vivid thing in the world. If a car pulled out when he began to walk, if the low hum of a certain engine was behind him all the way, Jim didn't know anything about that.
   The scent grew stronger as Jim neared the university. On one street he found it nearly everywhere.
   [You live here. Where?]
   He knew the heartbeat and switched senses easily, sorting through hundreds of rhythms to find his quarry.
   [You'd be proud of me, Sandburg, if I ever told you about this. Which I won't.]
   When he finally heard it, it was unmistakable. It popped up, louder than any other sound, impossible not to hear. Ridiculously easy to follow. It became louder at a pace that exceeded Jim's footsteps, and he was unsurprised to look up and find the stranger coming his way. "This isn't important to you," he said before Jim could speak. "I'll decide what's important to me. How did you do that last night?" "Things fall apart."He spoke slowly, his tone uniform and mild. Jim wanted to shake him. "Things do not fall apart. Not like that." "They fly apart. They're desperate to get away from themselves." "What the hell *are* you?" The stranger cocked his head, like an animal. "An accelerant." Jim's head hurt. "What does that mean? How did you do that last night?" "How? I told you what everything wants." "Don't give me that mystical bullshit. How did you do it?" He leaned against a tree trunk and looked up at the leaves. Jim noticed the neighbourhood for the first time and realized he wasn't far from Tom's house. "I was born," the stranger was saying, "with green eyes ... and other things. You were born with blue eyes ... and you found me here. Tell me how. Explain it." Jim ignored that. He couldn't think of a decent response anyway, not one that didn't call for his gun. "You followed us to the club last night." "You were bright. Possibility glows." "Why did you save my friend?" The stranger smiled. "Possibility glows." He turned and started to walk away. Jim took a step to follow, but stopped himself. He couldn't force anything from this person ... and what use would he have for the things he would learn if he could? The stranger stopped a few paces away and faced Jim again. "Can't you see that nothing exists in one piece? Can't you hear the decay of sound? With your gift, you should know that separation is natural. It takes effort to hold anything together." Jim was rapidly losing patience. "What is your point?" The stranger took time to answer, so much that Jim nearly gave up and left. "The end of the world," he said finally, "happens when you don't try anymore." Jim supposed he could've watched the stranger walk back to his home, but he was pretty sure there was nothing he wanted in that house. And Blair was probably up by now. Jim turned and walked away.

*****
I thought, "How far can you coast on charm?" Pretty far, actually.
  -Dave Foley, the Kids in the Hall
*****

   "I do believe in psychic abilities," Blair was saying as Jim approached the room. "I've seen some amazing things. I'm just saying that sentinel abilities--"
   "This sentinel business is malarkey and you know it," Tom replied. Jim stopped outside the door and listened. "Like hell it is. I--" "You built an academic career on something Burton probably more or less made up
  -- and I'm not denying you're smart; you've pulled it off this far
  -- but you've just taken the first subject with abilities that approach your description and you've declared him to be a sentinel. He's a sentinel because he fits your theory. Your theory is valid because here's this sentinel. I don't know if even *you* can make that fly." "I haven't found a sentinel yet." "Bullshit. You're way too close to that cop for no good reason." "That's none of your business." "The more defensive you get, Blair, the more you try to convince me that he's your date or something, the less I am going to buy it. Tell me something
  -- do you have any idea why his senses work? Have you had him under a CAT scan? Have you had someone look at his DNA? I didn't think so. You've just indoctrinated him into this crazy religion of yours--" "Just because you can't find a clairaudient--" "I've found plenty." "I bet they're not consistent." "What does that have to do with anything?" "Unlike sentinels, psychics are never consistent. I suspect it's a defining quality. *There's* a new thesis topic for you." "Eat shit."
   "That's clever. You planning on using that at your defence?" "You can say whatever you want about my research. I know it's important. You'd be very surprised to know who has--" A nurse moved past Jim into the room, stopping the argument in its tracks. Jim followed her. "You feeling better, Sandburg?" Blair was sitting on the bed, dressed, with his backpack beside him. Apparently Tom had brought it. Jim noticed his own duffel bag sitting by the night stand. "Yeah. They said I could go anytime." Jim offered a hand to Tom, who hesitated. "It's been an interesting trip." Tom laughed and shook hands. Blair jumped down from the bed and swung the pack onto his shoulder. "Vampires," he said to Tom. Tom nodded. "Who knew?"His smile stopped. "I'm sorry about this, Blair. If I had honestly thought--" Blair waved a hand. "It was educational. Don't worry about it."He gave Tom a wicked grin. "I'm not planning to sue." Before Tom could come up with a response, Jim put a hand on Blair's back. "Come on, Chief. I'll take you home."

*****
In my sweetest dreams, I would go out for a walk-- but I don't thinkI'm ready yet.
  -The Eels, Not Ready Yet
*****

   Jim's first impulse was to pick up the entire coffee table and just dump it in Sandburg's room. Let Blair figure it out. But Blair still looked a little
   [haunted]
   tired, and Jim didn't guess it would kill him to pick up after the kid this time. Most of the mess turned out to be essays. Jim blinked at the one on top of the pile. On the first few scattered pages, so much red ink he suspected he'd feel the weight when he lifted them. Then on the fifth page, the red ink stopped entirely, except for a note along one side in Blair's almost elegant professional hand.
   [See me.]
   A bit farther down was a second note, in the quick sketchy writing Jim knew from phone messages and grocery lists.
   [Don't panic-- you're not in trouble.]
   Jim almost laughed. Blair couldn't manage to be formal long enough to mark a paper. Oh well...it was Jim's understanding that Blair was a pretty tough marker and the kids still loved him, so he must be doing something right. "Looks to me like this person *should* be in trouble," he commented as he dropped the papers on Blair's already cluttered desk. Blair glanced up from a book. "I doubt it. She's a very good student. Something's wrong. I'm just going to remind her that Rainier has counseling services, offer to listen if she wants to tell me, and give her ten days to revise and resubmit. She should have asked for a damned extension. Everybody knows I'm fair about stuff like that." Jim shrugged. "Maybe she's scared to ask you."
   Blair raised an eyebrow. His hair had nearly made good its escape from his ponytail holder, and his glasses had slid to the end of his nose. There was a faint red pattern on his cheek which matched the nap of his favourite throw blanket. "Scared. Of me. Riiight...." "I admit that's hard to believe."Jim was about to leave when he noticed the book on Blair's lap. "Jesus, Sandburg." "What?" Jim took the book from Blair's hands. "A History of Vampires in Balkan Folklore?" They'd been back from Edmonton for over two weeks and Blair hadn't shown any real signs of being marked by the experience, other than a tendency to be home by nightfall. Jim had, foolishly, assumed it was a dead issue...so to speak. Blair sighed. "You know I need to understand. It's how I deal with things." That was true. One week after Lash had nearly killed him, Jim had been astonished to find Blair reading a thick text on the motivations of serial killers. Eventually he'd realized that Blair might talk a good game about being in touch with emotions, but in practice the kid wanted to pretend that all of his problems were...hypothetical. "Okay," Jim said, sitting beside Blair on the bed. "Just as long as you aren't considering any field research." Blair gazed at him with mild annoyance. "Please."He grinned, suddenly. "Do I look like a crazy fucking person to you?" Jim laughed. "Yes. Always have" Still grinning, Blair reached over Jim to set his alarm clock. "Six a.m.? I thought your first class wasn't until ten."
   "It isn't, but I have to post these grades." That seemed like a lot of needless trouble, and Jim said so. "Why not just go down to the campus tonight, post them, and sleep in tomorrow?" The body against his side tensed. Blair's temperature rose, and his pulse quickened. Jim braced himself for a lie. "I have some stuff I should take care of tomorrow anyway."
   [Why are you lying to me, Blair?]
   Jim looked at the book in his hands, and suddenly understood. It was dark outside. "Tell you what," he offered. "I have paperwork I left at the station. Come with me and help--" "You mean do it for you," Blair corrected. "If you insist. We can stop by your office, you can post the grades, and I will buy you dinner." Blair gaped at him. "Twice in as many months? Check my pulse
  -- I think my heart may have stopped." He was relaxed again, calm. Jim relaxed against him. "Your heart stopping, that could be arranged. Or we could get that paperwork over with and go to dinner." "I'll get my coat." Jim watched him and felt nearly defeated enough to cry.
   [As if my being there made anything better. As if there was anything I could do to protect you from him. You're too smart to trust me this much, Blair.]
   He got to his feet and dropped the book into the trash can beside the bed. Sure, Blair would find it and retrieve it later...but the gesture was the important thing.
   Accidents will happen--much more frequently with him. He's never been far from trouble; trouble is a trusted friend. It's like that old expression, "All roads lead to Rome."He comes from trouble, and he's always going home.
  -John Gorka,Always Going Home
   It was two nights later when Blair called from his office to say that he'd be a little late. "That student is coming in to see me about her essay. I could put it off 'til morning, but she's probably nervous. I don't want to stress her any worse than she already obviously is." Jim had asked if she was a *cute* student; Blair had laughed and asked if Jim was trying to get set up; Jim had been informed that Blair would be home by nine, and that had been the end of it. When Jim hung up the phone, he sat and thought for a minute So casual, that phone call, after two weeks of figuratively hiding under his bed. Jim simply did not understand Blair. Then again, he remembered when he was a child, how Stephen would claim there were monsters in his closer. He'd drag their father in to take a look...and once an adult had declared that the closet was monster- free, Stephen had been content. Jim had never bought it, personally. He's always figured his dad had just missed the monster somehow. On darker nights, he'd wondered if his father might not be in cahoots with the closet thing. But Jim was a suspicious person and Blair wasn't. It could be that having Jim escort him to his office at night had banished the monsters for Blair.
   [I wish it were that easy, Sandburg.]
   Jim felt uneasy now, apprehensive, and he idly wondered if Blair might have passed his skittishness along as he invariably did his colds and flus-- the day Blair felt better was the day Jim felt sick. "Witch doctor," Jim muttered, considering whether to tease Blair about this later. Jim had tried to relax in front of the TV, but he was restless. As the evening progressed it got worse, until he thought about going to the gym to work off his nervous energy. Too much trouble, he decided, and Blair would be home soon anyhow.
   [Milk's gone off.]
   That must have been a recent development, since Jim hadn't smelled anything when he opened the fridge to get dinner. He wandered into the kitchen to investigate and found that he'd moved the milk to the counter while reaching for the remains of last night's stroganoff, and had forgotten to put it back.
   [Senile. I'm going senile.]
   He poured out the milk, sealed the carton in two plastic bags, and poured dish soap down the drain to cover some of the smell. Then he called Blair's office, intending to ask that Blair pick up milk on his way home. With every ring, Jim's restlessness grew worse. It was al little after eight. Blair might be on his way home. He might be at the photocopier, or getting the junk food he claimed not to eat from the vending machine.
   [You buying this, Ellison?]
   Jim grabbed his truck keys and headed for the door.

*****
...at an exhumation in Croydon, Spilsburg arrived at the graveside dressed in his usual immaculate manner, and when the coffin was raised, he ran his nose along it, straightened up, and said, "Arsenic, gentlemen."
  -Browne and Tullet, the Scalpel of Scotland Yard
*****

   It was just possible for Jim to see the Volvo from Blair's office. He'd seen it already, as he approached Hargrove Hall at a dead run. "I leave you alone for ten minutes, Sandburg..." Jim was not impressed with himself. He was a trained detective. He looked for missing people all the time...was even uniquely equipped to do so. He should be able to get past his personal issues and deal with this situation in a professional manner. He should not be thinking about how he had known something was wrong and done nothing. He should not be going over and over the fact that Blair's car in the parking lot and absence from his office meant that Blair had not intended to go anywhere, because that was pretty basic deduction and didn't help find anyone. Most of all, he should not be wondering exactly what he had been doing while someone came in here and stole Blair away from him. He sat down in Blair's chair and noticed that it still held some body heat. Blair couldn't have been gone very long.
   [Maybe while you were pouring out the milk.]
   The last appointment in the book was someone named Sarah Naylor, and Blair had spilled mango dressing on this book sometime in the recent past, and Jim really needed to focus. Whoever had been here last had gone to some trouble to cover their tracks. Nilodor had been sprayed in here, so recently that the spray was still damp on the desk. Which meant that someone had figured on being tracked by a sentinel, and that could not be interpreted as good. He filtered it out, and came upon a perfume. Definitely left this evening. Doing pretty well so far, considering that Blair wasn't here to guide him through it.
   [Might have been while you were dialing. Might have been that close.]
   No signs of a struggle. That could mean that someone had drugged him. Could mean that someone had fed him a convincing line, and he had followed them.
   [Could've been a vampire.]
   Whoever it was, they hadn't left anything in the way of clues. Nothing but that perfume.
   [Remember what Blair said about that thing, how it (seduced) hypnotized him? Would've been pretty easy to lead him out of here.]
   Nice perfume, actually. Something like the stuff one of Jim's dates had worn a few weeks ago, although this didn't smell quite as...expensive.
   [But that would mean a second vampire tracking us down...or that first one coming back to life.]
   Sunflowers. That was the name of it. It didn't smell a thing like real sunflowers, which didn't smell of much until they started to rot.
   [Maybe that vampire didn't really die. Maybe it was some kind of (magic) trick. The green-eyed man, he could've set the whole thing up.]
   The smell of rotting sunflowers wasn't anything you'd want to wear as a perfume.
   [He knew about your senses. Maybe he read your mind and found out where you lived. He could be a (witch doctor) psychic. What does he want?]
   Jim shook his head to clear it, and the perfume hit him hard. He opened his eyes to find a woman in her early twenties standing in front of the desk. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I was looking for Professor Sandburg." "He's not here."She didn't look like a vampire...or any other kind of kidnapper.
   [Can't rule that out. Doesn't take dancing with the supernatural for Blair to get in trouble.]
   "Oh. I've seen you before." Jim scrubbed his face, trying to get alert. "Yeah," he admitted. "Probably. I'm his roommate. You are?" "Sarah Naylor. I'm one of his students." "You're Sarah Naylor."Well, that explained the perfume-- and left him with no clues. Jim gestured for her to sit.
   "You had an appointment with Professor Sandburg this evening." "Yeah. I came back because I forgot--" "What time was your appointment?" "Quarter to eight. Where is he? Is something wrong?" It wouldn't help any to panic this girl. Jim forced himself to relax. "No, I'm just trying to figure out where he went. Did you see anyone in here after you left?" "Yeah--some Canadian guy went in as I was leaving." "Was he wearing a toque?" The girl's laugh was quick, and a little harsh, as though she was surprised to be amused. She did look as if something were bothering her. "No. No toque. He had a Canadian flag sticker on his backpack, and a baggage ticket." "You're observant."Jim was starting to see why Blair had tried to accommodate this student. She shrugged. "I'm going to start field studies next semester." "Okay. Here's some more practice for you. What did he look like?" "Are you a cop? Someone said--" Jim wanted to bark at her, instruct her to answer the damned question, but he'd seen Blair with students enough to know that he really would get better results with honey. "Right now I'm just a guy looking for my roommate. That's all. Did you get a good look at the Canadian?" "You don't sound like nothing's wrong." Jim noticed his hands running over the surface of Blair's desk, from one end to the other and back again. He told them to stop. "Ms. Naylor, I'm a cop. I have sort of a dark view of the world. I worry when people are late for appointments, even when it's your highly distractible prof. It drives Blair crazy. Would you be willing to humour me, and just tell me what this guy looked like?"
   She smiled with obvious warmth. Jim didn't understand it, but he wasn't about to kick. "Sure. He was quite a bit taller than me, short dark hair-- almost as short as yours. Late twenties, probably. He had brown eyes and a leather jacket and jeans and dock shoes. Glasses, plastic rimmed. I think...I bet he wears contacts usually, because his jacket and backpack looked pricey, and his glasses looked cheap. Clean shaven. Well-built. Pretty average actually." Jim grabbed a pen from some weird piece of pottery and was surprised by the heft.
   [Expensive. Who gave this to you?]
   "If I can get your number, just in case we need to have a drawing made up..."The smile left Sarah Naylor's face, and Jim forced himself to relax. "Again, this is just to humour me." She looked uncertain, but she gave him her number. "Anything else?" Jim shook his head. She stood. "Your friend," she said gently, "is a very sweet guy." She didn't look happy, and Jim realized he hadn't fooled her at all. "He gave me an extension on this paper, and I--I really needed it. I have to resubmit in ten days. He's gonna be here, right?" Jim wished he were about anywhere else. "If there is a problem, it'll have my full attention." "I can see that. Okay." She took a deep breath, said "okay" one more time, and left. Directionless, unnerved and plagued by ridiculous thought about mythical creatures, Jim picked up the phone.