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told them to get away and stay away. Mason wasn't doing that.
    "No, no," I said hastily. God knew what Sinclair would do to the rent-a-cops. "Really, everything's fine. My… uh… friend was just leaving."
    "This is your supervisor?" Sinclair asked, barely glancing at Mason.
    "Ind-may your own usiness-bay. Bye!"
    Sinclair locked gazes with Mr. Mason. "Fire her."
    Mason's eyes went blank and shiny, and he actually swayed before Sinclair. He was like a bird being hypnotized by a cobra!
    I kicked the rat fink right in the ankle, bruising the hell out of my foot. "Don't you dare!"
    "Betsy… so sorry…" Mason slurred, "Cutbacks… budget… exemplary performance… really quite knowledgeable… but… but… regret… regret…" He was so distressed at being forced to do something against his natural instincts, I expected him to say "Does not compute!" and start sputtering smoke.
    "Go back to your cube and forget this ever happened!" I snapped. I whipped off my glasses—Macy's was divine, but the lights were fierce—and let the full force of my undead mojo, which was considerable, if I do say so myself, flare out. "Do it now!"
    Mason ran out. He did it stiffly, his arms never moved from his sides. I watched him go, appalled, and then rounded on Sinclair.
    "If you ever—
ever
!—do that again, I will kick your ass severe."
    "Do tell."
    "I mean it! Don't be coming into my workplace and making me say 'motherfucker' and hypnotizing my boss.
Now get lost
!" I could feel my face trying mightily to get red. Since my blood flowed sluggishly at best, all that happened was that I got a headache.
    "You'll need my help again."
    I made throwing up noises in response.
    "Oh, I think so," he said coolly, but his eyes were glittering in a way I didn't like. And where were
his
sunglasses? "Your very nature assures it. As always, I am at your service. But…" He rested a finger on my nose. I jerked away. "There will be a penalty to be paid."
    "Yeah? Will I have to listen to you whining about prophecies and concierge service? Because if that's the penalty, I'd rather eat glass than take your help."
    "Agreed." He gripped my arms and lifted me up until we were eye level. This was startling, to say the least. My heart was probably pounding at ten beats a minute! I heard a double
clack
! as my shoes fell off my feet. "Before I go…"
    He leaned in. I leaned back. It wasn't easy, since my feet were a good eight inches off the floor. "You put your face on mine, I'll bite your lips off."
    He shrugged. "They'll grow back."
    "Yuck! Put me down."
    He sighed and set me down. "Until you need me, then." He turned around and walked out of the shoe department.
    I yelled after him, "Don't hold your breath, loser!" Although he certainly could. For hours.
    Strong words. But it took me an hour to stop shaking. It hadn't been easy, pulling back from that kiss.
    Plus, believe it or not, I really hate confrontations.
    I turned back to help my customer, but she was long gone. In fact, the entire shoe department was empty except for me. Great.
    Damn you, Sinclair.

Chapter 6
    « ^ »
    "It's official," Marc announced. "We've got termites."
    "Jeez, let me take my shoes off, willya?" I tossed my keys on the hall table and kicked off my heels. "Good morning to you, too."
    "Sorry. I got the report this afternoon while you were snoozing, but I had to leave for the hospital before I could talk to you about it."
    I followed him into the kitchen. He was wearing his scrubs, and had probably only beaten me home by about half an hour. He was letting his hair grow out, I noticed. It wasn't quite so brutally short. And he was gaining weight, thank goodness.
    When I first met Dr. Marc Spangler, he was on a ledge ready to splatter himself all over Seventh Avenue. I talked him down and bullied him into moving in with me. He decided that living with a vampire was a small improvement over some cop scooping him up in a bucket.
    He had my tea all set up for me. I'd never had a roommate