After finishing the editing of another video—a chapter of Tess of the d’Urbervilles—and scheduling it to be uploaded, July sat back in her desk chair to take a breath. She had been working all day, trying to catch up after some of her footage had gotten corrupted and she’d been forced to rerecord. After hours of nonstop work with her computer, she wanted nothing more than to sit down with pen and paper for the rest of the evening. She had a few different poetry submissions to work on, and since it was a Wednesday, there was no concern about Emma needing her any time soon. As usual, she had the night to herself.

“Sophi?” she called as she headed upstairs. “Here, kitty. Where are you?” But her cat didn’t respond, probably sleeping upstairs, sulking because July had been busy all day. Fair enough. She would come out when she was ready, surely.

July went into the kitchen, intending to make tea, but a glance out the window at the snow-dusted neighborhood stopped her. Snow wasn’t altogether uncommon for mid-January in Albany, but something about it in the setting sun was particularly charming today. Yes, I’m definitely in poetry-mode. Still, it was too nice out to stay at her desk for the rest of the evening. She’d been cooped up inside since Monday, so the prospect of fresh air and a change of scenery was especially appealing.

As she went to retrieve her coat from the closet, however, she second-guessed herself. Ever since her most recent encounter with Nytep, she hadn’t been able to go out without worrying she would run into him. Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from going out when necessary, but the thought always came to mind nevertheless.

She had called Valen that same day after he left, only to be sent to voicemail and receive a text of, Busy. I’ll call you back. Helpful as always. July had finished the shopping she needed to do for the wedding alone—somewhat grateful not to have her cousin hovering over her shoulder and critiquing all her choices—while trying to figure out what Nytep’s game was. Not once, not twice, but three separate times, he had shown up without warning, chatted to her for a few minutes, teased and prodded until he got a response, then strangely left without persisting any further.

Most of them would try to wear her down with one very focused attempt, then give up when they realized she wasn’t budging. Even the ones who tried multiple times tried until they completely exhausted themselves, or she went somewhere they couldn’t follow, or she called Valen to intervene. His strategy was something else entirely, and while she was sure it had the same unsavory ends, she was frustrated to not understand the means. Stranger still, when Valen had called her back, she’d lied and said that nothing was wrong. She still wasn’t sure why.

Trying to shake those thoughts out of her head, she swept one of her heavier coats out of the closet and onto her shoulders. She had promised herself years ago not to let the actions of any immortal keep her from living her life. This one was no different.

After checking her purse to be sure her usual Moleskine and pens were still inside, she took the next bus downtown to a small 24-hour diner she’d visited a time or two before. It wasn’t quite her style like her usual café choice, Organic Chemistry; their best tea offerings came in the form of Twinings tea bags and an electric kettle. But for one, they were open, and for another, the large windows on two sides of the building made it easy to admire the snowy atmosphere that had drawn her out in the first place. She took a booth in the corner, ordered a cup of Earl Gray, and took out her notebook to get to work.

She set an alarm on her phone for four hours so she wouldn’t sit there until midnight, but she got lost in thought quickly thereafter. Long periods of writing or reading tended to skew her judgment of time. Because of her sessions with Emma, she had found herself with more inspiration than usual but less time to exercise it, so this break in her workload was a welcome respite.

After finishing a first draft of one poem, a free verse piece she intended to submit for publication, she turned her attention to another that had been giving her trouble recently. It was an English sonnet, another she’d started for the sake of submitting it to a literary journal, but the form still seemed to disagree with her. July had never been particularly fond of writing form poetry, as she preferred to make her own structure in her work rather than adhering to someone else’s. But then, ‘sonnet’ was a part of the submission guidelines she wanted to meet.

A few minutes had passed with her pen hovering above her notebook without making contact. She had six lines but was struggling to finish her second quatrain. Being away from home helped her (or rather, forced her) to focus on only what was in front of her, but it didn’t make generating content any easier. She took off her glasses and glanced out the window to her right, hoping that taking a break for a moment might help refresh her mind. Concentration wasn’t usually a problem for her. Maybe the events of the past few months had given her more to think about.

“Coffee sounds fantastic, thank you.” The voice that broke through her distraction was one she begrudgingly recognized, and she knew she must have the absolute worst luck on Earth. She kept her eyes locked on the glass, hoping he wouldn’t see her. That he hadn’t approached her immediately was a surprise in itself. She chanced a look up and found her most recent stalker a few booths ahead of her, back turned. That was a relief, but it wouldn’t bring her guard down. And that certainly wasn’t conducive to her writing. Maybe if she was careful, she’d be able to slip out without his noticing. She put her glasses back on and took another sip from her second cup of tea, resolving to simply keep her eyes open for now.

“Anything else I can get you, hon?”

July went rigid when she was approached by the only waitress working at the time, but she tried to smile in response nevertheless. “No, thank you,” she said quietly, glancing back at Nytep’s table to see if he’d heard her. She knew her own voice was easily recognizable due to her pointed enunciation. In her videos, that was useful. Here, it was dangerous.

The woman noticed her darting gaze and asked, “Someone you know?”

“Unfortunately,” July muttered without thinking. “I mean. No, not really.”

“Oh, I see. It’s complicated.”

No, it’s pretty simple. He just doesn’t listen. “Something like that.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’ll be around.” Once she was gone, July turned her eyes back down to her notebook.

Focus.

ABAB rhyme schemes had always struck her as a little too much like a nursery rhyme, particularly in iambic pentameter. But that was part of the reason she was forcing herself to do this; she wanted to prove she could execute it in a way that didn’t come off as childish. She hadn’t proven any such thing so far.

“Thank you, my love.” His voice again, and she sneered by reflex. Why he chose to look Egyptian but present as English, she didn’t understand. Didn’t that cause some cognitive dissonance for his victims? Most American women might protest a stranger using such familiar language, but he was probably an inexplicable exception. A pest and a womanizer? It wouldn’t have surprised her in the least, especially after how easily he’d charmed Aniyah (who had grilled July about their nonexistent relationship while doing her hair before the wedding). Or that might’ve been, as he’d suggested, a bid to make her jealous, one that had fallen flat just like all of his other tactics.

All except one, maybe. Interesting that he hadn’t used any of those standbys—love, darling, my dear—on July herself but had set up and smoothly delivered that ‘Summer’ line instead.

Why was she still thinking about this? Because it’s easier than forcing myself to work. True as that might be, she had nothing to gain from sitting there analyzing him all night. She should go home. She could try working on this again in the morning. But she hated the idea of leaving because he was there. Part of her wanted to stay out of spite—not an uncommon motivation for her actions.

Ignore him! She looked back down at her writing.

The subject of her poem was (vaguely) the persecution by immortals she’d dealt with for the past nine years. No, ten now. As of November 28th, it had officially been ten full years since she’d first learned about this ‘gift’ of hers. Although she’d had the past few months free from most of its unfortunate side effects, she was still having a hard time adjusting to her new circumstances after so long used to being hunted. Used to having her guard up every time she left the house. Used to not leaving the house often for that reason. And the moment she’d started to get more comfortable with going out…

She gripped her pen tighter and raised her eyes to glare at Nytep over her glasses. He didn’t strike her as dangerous so much as annoying, and maybe he hadn’t asked for anything (yet), but his presence, his unwavering interest in her despite her rejections was taking away from her newfound sense of safety. Couldn’t she have one thing without them finding a way to ruin it?

As if he’d felt her gaze, he raised his head and surveyed the room around him. She turned her eyes back down and tried to banish him from her mind, hoping she hadn’t actually drawn his attention. No such luck.

“Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be out so late.” He slid into the booth in front of her, and her frown hardened.

Damn. But then, she supposed it was her fault for thinking about him so much in the first place. “I’m surprised you didn’t come to bother me sooner,” July muttered, keeping her head down.

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t recognize you right away with your hair down?”

Ah. That did make sense. She’d taken her braids out a few days before the wedding to let her hair rest, so her tight black curls were now fully visible. On one hand, she had come to see her natural hair as beautiful, a part of her identity, after years of compulsively straightening it. On the other, the volume and height of it often drew unwanted attention, hence her preference for protective styles. Even now, it wasn’t quite ‘down’; she had pulled it into a low puff at the back of her head.

“I don’t believe anything you say on principle,” she reminded him, and he laughed.

“It’s true. I wouldn’t have known you were here at all if you hadn’t been watching me so intently.”

She didn’t have to look up to know he was smiling smugly. Drawing her shoulders back in an effort to look calm and unaffected, she answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I’m sure. For future reference: you can’t direct so much attention at me all at once and expect me not to notice.”

July finally looked up, skeptical. “Right, I looked at you for a second, and you suddenly knew I was here?”

“I didn’t know it was you right away. But I could tell someone in the room was observing me closely, and when I saw you, it made sense. Who else could generate so much animosity before I’ve said a word?” He leaned back in his seat and took a drink of his coffee, seeming sure his evaluation had disarmed her. “I’m flattered to know I was on your mind, Summer.”

“Don’t call me that.” She turned her gaze down toward her notebook again, and his followed.

“What are you writing?” The tone of his voice changed from cocky to inquisitive as he leaned forward and tried to read what was in her notebook. “Those look an awful lot like stanzas. Is it poetry?”

“None of your business.” She snapped the book shut and put it back in her purse to his disappointment.

“But I’m so curious now. I didn’t realize you were a writer as well as a reader. And poetry, especially. I wouldn’t have expected it. You strike me as too objective to tolerate the sort of grandiloquence one expects from verse.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said, crossing her arms. “Or my taste in literature. Or my inclinations as a writer.”

“It’s apparent that I don’t—though not for lack of trying. Your refusing to tell me anything makes it difficult for me to learn.”

“Maybe you should learn to take a hint,” July said, glaring out the window rather than looking at him, but he remained supremely unbothered. “How many times do I have to repeat myself before you get the point?”

“Several, at least. I have a very short attention span,” he said matter-of-factly. The corner of her mouth twitched, but she refused to smile at him again. “If you would stop surprising me, I’m sure I would stop being interested.”

“So it’s my fault you’re still here.”

“To a point. After all, you could have told Desavi that I was still around when you saw me two weeks ago. Did you?” Faced with her silence, he took it further still. “You could call her right now, in fact. I hear she’s taken up residence in the area. She could probably be here in ten minutes to get rid of me for you.”

“Is that what you want?” Was this whole thing just a ploy to irritate Valen?

“What I want, I already have. You’re speaking to me, aren’t you? It might be nice if it weren’t peppered throughout”—he fluttered a hand absently over the tabletop—“with ‘go away’s and ‘leave me alone’s, but it’s still a conversation, one you haven’t run away from yet. Speaking of which!” He held up that same hand for her attention before she could respond. “What are you doing out so late, Miss Morgan?”

“Why shouldn’t I be, Mr. Black?”

“It is—” He pulled his phone from his pocket to check the time. “—ten twenty-four p.m. on a Wednesday. Tomorrow isn’t a holiday as far as I know. I would expect a young woman as conscientious as yourself to be at home and already in bed at this hour. Don’t you have to work in the morning?”

July smiled in a way that was almost sweet, but something ridiculing lurked beneath it as she realized she could use that presumption against him. “Why do you assume I have a job?” Despite the wickedness in that smile, her tone was innocent. He narrowed his eyes and looked her up and down.

“You have to be paying for all that brocade and silk somehow.”

“First of all,” she said, smoothing the vest that accented her silk blouse, “this is damask, not brocade.”

“Oh, excuse me.”

“And second, how do you know I’m the one paying for it? Why not my parents? You don’t actually know how old I am,” she pointed out with relish. “Maybe I buy the materials and make my own clothing. Or maybe I have a spouse who covers all my expenses.” She raised her left hand to adjust her glasses, showing that her ring finger was bare.

“Was I wrong, then, to assume that you work?”

“That’s not what I said. But maybe you were wrong about how. For instance, I could work part-time. Maybe my shift doesn’t start until sometime in the afternoon, so I can sleep in if I want. Maybe I work from home, so I don’t have set hours.” She let her eyes wander back toward the window as she continued to list off all the various ways she potentially spent her time. “I might be a full-time student, for all you know. Maybe these clothes were a Costume Design project. Maybe I work on campus so my hours are flexible.”

“All right, all right, I get it,” Nytep groaned. “I don’t know anything about you or your professional endeavors or lack thereof.”

“Exactly.”

“And does it matter at all if I remind you that statement can be reversed? How much more of me do you know than my name?”

“I didn’t even ask for that much.”

“My point,” he said, glaring at her, “is that you don’t know me well enough to be so patently against interacting with me.”

“I know as much as I need to just by looking at you.” Her attention fixed on the aura of golden light that silhouetted him as he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“What does that mean?”

How could he still not know? She’d thought it was something immortals could read on her, as she could read their auras. “If I explain why I don’t want you here, will you leave me alone?”

He looked away. “Ostensibly.”

Even if he had promised, she wouldn’t have believed him. Still, maybe explaining would dissipate the ‘mystique’ about her that seemed to be keeping his interest. “I’m a Seer,” she said plainly. Her arms were still crossed but loosely now; in the midst of her mocking him, she must have relaxed by accident.

“Aha.” Neither his tone nor his expression indicated much understanding.

“Do you not know what that means?”

Trying and failing to keep a straight face, he shrugged vaguely. “I have an idea? The definition that comes to mind involves visions of the future, but that doesn’t explain your attitude toward me. Though it might explain something else.” With an impish smirk, he gestured to her outfit. “Maybe you foresaw that coming back into fashion?”

“Okay, if you’re not going to take this seriously—” Even as she got up and started to leave the booth, she was fighting a smile.

“No, no, wait,” he said hastily, trying to stifle his own laughter. “Don’t go. Please, continue educating me.”

“I don’t know if you deserve it.” Still, she sat back down, resting her arms on the table to lean against it. “It has nothing to do with seeing the future. If it did, I would be able to avoid people like you and conversations like this. Seers are people who can recognize non-humans when we see them.”

“Hence the title.”

She shot him a glare. “Yes.”

“Do we look different somehow?”

She nodded. “You all have auras, different colors depending on your nature, whereas normal humans don’t. As for you, even without the aura, the lizard eyes would still give you away.”

Nytep scoffed. “Just to be absolutely clear: these are snake eyes,” he said, gesturing to them as he fixed her with a steady gaze, “not lizard eyes.”

“Excuse me,” she said, as if the mistake hadn’t been intentional.

“And that doesn’t explain your hatred for ‘immortals’—which, by the way, is a vague and inaccurate term to apply to all non-humans—so is there more to this story?”

July’s smile faded, and her eyes drifted away from his. For the first time since he had joined her at her booth, she was hesitating. Her distrust in immortals stemmed from years of nightmarish experiences, especially with immortals who happened to be men and threatened very specific forms of violence. It was trauma of a sort she didn’t care to share with anyone—and certainly not with him, yet another persistent male immortal. At least not in detail.

She hardened her gaze and told him coolly, “Another part of being a Seer is some innate magic in our blood, which makes a Seer’s soul particularly valuable. So immortals who care about that sort of thing pursue us. Aggressively.”

He read the change in her tone and winced. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. This is something I deal with literally every day,” July said pointedly, taking some satisfaction in how uncomfortable he suddenly looked. “Most of the ones who approach me want my soul, and they’ll try whatever they have to to get it. Even the ones who aren’t interested in that hate me for seeing through them, which often means they want me dead too. And then there are the ones like you: the ones who are ‘interested’ in my ‘condition’ and see me as a plaything.”

“I never said anything like that,” he protested quickly. “The fact that you’re explaining this to me now is proof that I had no idea you were a Seer when I approached you.”

“But it is the reason you were so curious about me, whether you realized it or not.”

“No-no-no-no.” He shook his head and sat forward to defend himself more firmly. “I noticed you because you noticed me first. Your responses to me are the reason I’m still interested.”

“Responses that stem from my being a Seer. I react to you the way I do because of my past experiences with immortals and because I can see you for what you are.”

“No,” he insisted. “That is false causation. You might as well say that you respond to me the way you do because of your past experiences with men, so my interest is purely because you’re a woman.”

“But—I’m guessing—you don’t pursue every woman you meet this way.” Her eyes narrowed as she challenged him, but there was no hostility in her tone. It was a matter of understanding and of making her point clear. “We’re talking about what makes me different from other mortals for you. What else is there?”

“What makes you think all other mortals—who aren’t you—are the same to me? You’re making assumptions again.”

“Then dispel them for me,” she suggested, calm as ever despite his earnest argument. “Is this something you do often? Choose a human to pester for months on end? Am I just your current interest between the last and the next?”

“No.”

“So why me in particular?”

“Because you make this so difficult,” he admitted finally, pressing his fingertips into his temples as he dropped his head. “Because of conversations like this one. You demand explanations. You fight me for every inch, when most people don’t bother. Many of them can’t! It’s a totally different game with you.”

“A game?” she repeated, not sure how to feel about that concept. It was better than a hunt or a trap, she supposed. “And you think you’ll win eventually?”

Nytep let out a heavy sigh. “Given that I’m still learning all the rules and you know them by heart, it seems unlikely. But it’s still the most fun I’ve had in years.”

Despite herself, she smiled again, this time more sincerely.

“That, I believe.”

“Then you must know that by forfeiting, you’d be letting me win,” he went on casually, stealing a sly glance at her. “Surely you won’t allow that to happen.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Before he could answer, the alarm she’d set earlier started to ring, and she silenced it.

“Let me guess, some excuse for you to run off now?” he sighed.

July shook her head as she put her phone into her purse. “I have a bus to catch.”

“Of course you do.”

“It is getting late, Mr. Black, and like you said, I may or may not have to work tomorrow,” she said, scooting toward the edge of the booth.

“Forfeit it is, then?” he asked, watching dolefully as she got up.

“I don’t think I can lose a game I didn’t agree to play.” Still, she didn’t leave immediately. “As for the next round, we’ll see.”

His eyebrows raised. “It almost sounds like you’re agreeing to speak to me again.”

“I’m agreeing that it’s probably inevitable.” As she started away, she added, “At least until I figure out how to get rid of you.”

July berated herself as she left the diner for her bus stop. What was she doing encouraging him? It was bad enough she’d stayed and talked to him for so long, but now she was practically asking him to continue seeking her out. Part of her almost worried that his deceitful magic was getting to her, but she dismissed the idea. If other immortals couldn’t affect her, why him? No, the reality was somehow even worse: he was just an engaging person. Easy to talk to. Entertaining even when they were arguing. Damn it.

If he did have some ulterior motive—something other than enjoying their conversations—she needed to find out what it was. To remind herself why he was dangerous before she ended up letting her guard down too much.