"How do you like your coffee?"
"Fix it the way you'd fix it for yourself."
I glanced back at him. "No preference?"
He shook his head, still resting against the couch arm.
"Okay." I poured the coffee into the mugs, added three sugars and a lot of cream to each, stirred, and sat them on the two-seater breakfast table.
"You're not going to bring it to me?"
"You don't drink coffee on a white couch," I said.
"Ah." He got up in one smooth motion, all grace and energy. He'd have been very impressive if I hadn't spent most of the night with vampires.
We sat across from each other. His eyes were the color of spring skies, that warm pale blue that still manages to look cold. His face was pleasant, his eyes neutral and watching everything I did.
I told him about Yasmeen and Marguerite. I left out Jean-Claude, the vampire murder, the giant cobra, Stephen the Werewolf, and Rick Zeeman. Which meant it was a very short story.
When I finished Edward sat there, sipping his coffee and staring at me.
I sipped coffee and stared back.
"That does explain the burn," he said.
"Great," I said.
"But you left out a lot."
"How do you know?"
"Because I was following you."
I stared at him, choking on my coffee. When I could talk without coughing, I said, "You were what?"
"Following you," he said. His eyes were still neutral, smile still pleasant.
"Why?"
"I've been hired to kill the Master of the City."
"You were hired for that three months ago."
"Nikolaos is dead; the new master isn't."
"You didn't kill Nikolaos," I said. "I did."
"True; you want half the money?"
I shook my head.
"Then what's your complaint? I got my arm broken helping you kill her."
"And I got fourteen stitches, and we both got vampire bit," I said.
"And cleansed ourselves with holy water," Edward said.
"Which burns likes acid," I said.