Again that half smile appeared. It gave his almost stern features a softer edge, but didn't ease the impression of . . . not menace—not exactly. Perhaps it was more an underlying sense that the urban exterior was little more than a veil concealing a darker, more deadly soul.
I cannot enter your home, if that is your concern.
Surprise rippled through me. So the vampire threshold rule applies on the astral plane?
Yes. He hesitated. I tail you everywhere else, though.
Everywhere else? I repeated, a little mortified by the thought.
He cleared his throat, and I had an odd sense that he'd swallowed a laugh. This Cazador did not fit the image I'd created of them. But then, neither did Uncle Quinn. Well, bathrooms are out of bounds, of course. As are boudoirs.
Oh, thank God.
This time, he did laugh. It was a somewhat harsh sound, as if he didn't do it often. You're an interesting person to talk to, Ms. Jones.
Thanks. I think.
He bowed again. You'd best return to your body. The weakness grows in you.
Odd that he could sense that and I couldn't. But then, I'd become very good at ignoring my needs of late. Chat with you later, Markel.
Undoubtedly, he said.
I closed my eyes and imagined my body, and suddenly I was back there. I gasped at the shock of it and opened my eyes, but I didn't move, wary of causing a repeat of the sickness that hit me last time.
"Well," Rhoan said, voice impatient. "What happened?"
"Give her time to regain her full senses," Elga said crossly. "In fact, go get her coffee and chocolate. This poor girl needs some fat on her body; otherwise she's going to be of no use to anyone."