a first glance inside.
I strolled toward the boys, who were checking me out, whispering like twelve-year-olds. I sat down at the next table. It took all of five seconds for one to slide into the chair beside mine.
“Haven’t I seen you on campus?” he asked.
It was possible. I took courses now and then at the University of Toronto. But I shook my head. “I went to school overseas.” I sipped my beer. “Little place outside Sendai, Japan. Class of 1878.”
He blinked, then found a laugh. “Is that your way of saying you’re too old for me?”
“Definitely too old.” I smiled, fangs extending.
He fell back, chair toppling as he scrambled out of it.
I stood and extended my hand. “Zoe Takano.”
“You’re—you’re—”
“Lonely. And hungry. Think you can help?”
As the kid and his friends made for the exit, one of the regulars lifted his head from the bar, bleary eyes peering at me.
“Running from Zoe?” he said. “Those boys must be new in town.”
I flipped him off, took my beer to the bar and settled in.
“How about you try that with your stalker instead of hiding out here?” Rudy said.
“That could lead to a confrontation. Better to ignore the problem and hope it resolves itself.”
He snorted and shook his head.
The problem did not resolve itself. Which was fine—I was in the mood for some excitement anyway. It was only the confrontation part I preferred to avoid. Confrontations mean fights. Fights mean releasing a part of me that I’m really happier keeping leashed and muzzled. So I avoid temptation, and if that means getting a reputation as a coward, I’m okay with that.
When I got out of Miller’s, my stalker was waiting. Not surprising, really. We’d been playing this game for almost two weeks.
As I set out, I sharpened my sixth sense, trying to rely on that instead of listening for the sounds of pursuit. I could sense a living being behind me, that faint pulse of awareness that tells me food is nearby. It would be stronger if I was hungry, but this was better practice.
Miller’s exits into an alley—appropriately—so I stuck to the alleys for as long as I could. Eventually, though, they came to an end and I stepped onto the sidewalk. Gravel crunched behind me, booted feet stopping short. I smiled.
I cut across the street and merged with a crowd of college kids heading to a bar. I merge well; even chatted with a cute blond girl for a half-block, and she chatted back, presuming I was part of the group. Then, as we passed a Thai takeout, I excused myself and ducked inside. I zipped through, smiling at the counter guy, ignoring him when he yelled that the washrooms were for paying customers only, and went straight out the back door.
I’d pulled this routine twice before—blend with a crowd and cut through a shop—and my opponent hadn’t caught on yet, which was really rather frustrating. This time, though, as I crept out the back door, a shadow stretched from a side alley. I let the door slam behind me. The shadow jerked back. So the pupil was capable of learning. Excellent. Time for the next lesson.
I scampered along the back alley. Around the next corner. Down a delivery lane. Behind a Dumpster.
Footsteps splashed through a puddle I’d avoided. Muttered curses, cut short. Then silence. I closed my eyes, concentrating on picking up that pulse of life. And there it was, coming closer, closer, passing the Dumpster. Stopping. Realizing the prey must have ducked behind this garbage bin. Gold star.
A too-deliberate pair of boot squeaks headed left, so I ran left. Sure enough, my opponent was circling right. I grabbed the side of the Dumpster and swung onto the closed lid.
“Looking for me?” I said, grinning down.
Hands gripped the top edge, then yanked back, as if expecting me to stomp them. That would hardly be sporting. I backed up, took a running leap and grabbed the fire escape overhead. A perfect gymnast’s swing and I was on it. A minute later, I was swinging again, this time onto the roof. I took off across it without a backward glance. Then I sat on the other side to wait.
I waited. And I waited some more. Finally, I sighed, got to my feet, made my way across the roof, leapt onto the next and began the journey home.
I was peering over the end of a rooftop into a penthouse apartment, eyeing a particularly fine example of an Edo-period sake bottle, when I sensed