“I already gave a copy of this recording to the Dublin Gardai. They’re working to track down the man she was involved with.” There goes her gaze again.

“Give me your phone.”

“Not a chance. But I’ll put it on speakerphone.”

She plays the message. Never takes her gaze from my face. The things I could teach her … if she could survive them.

“Did you know my sister?”

I slice my head once to the left in silent negation.

“You were both after this ‘exceedingly rare book’ yet never ran into each other?”

“Dublin is a city of a million-odd people inundated daily by countless commuters and besieged by a never-ending wave of tourists, Ms. Lane. The oddity would be if we had encountered each other. What did she mean by ‘you don’t even know what you are’?”

“I wondered that myself. I have no idea.”

“None?”

“None.”

“Hmm. This was all she left you? A message?”

She nods.

“Nothing more? No note or package or anything of the sort?”

She slices her head once to the left in silent negation. I scan her eyes. Deep but there, a hidden mirth. She just mocked me. My dick gets harder.

“And you had no idea what she meant by the Sinsar Dubh? Your sister didn’t confide in you?”

“I used to think she did. Apparently I was wrong.”

“Who did she mean by ‘them’?”

“I thought you might be able to tell me that.”

“I am not one of these ‘them,’ if that is what you’re inferring. Many seek the Sinsar Dubh, both individuals and factions. I want it as well, but I work alone.”

“Why do you want it?”

“It is priceless. I am a book collector.”

“And that makes you willing to kill for it? What do you plan to do with it? Sell it to the highest bidder?”

“If you don’t approve of my methods, stay out of my way.”

“Fine.”

“Fine. What else have you to tell me, Ms. Lane?”

“Not a thing.” She jerks a frosty look from me to the door.

I laugh. “I do believe I’m being dismissed. I can’t recall the last time I was dismissed.” Let her think I’m leaving. It’s time to close the door.

I’m nearly past her, nearly at the door, when I grab her and slam her back against my body. The back of her skull thuds into my chest. Her teeth clack together. She makes a wordless sound, protest, and another more guttural sound that is not protest at all. I band an arm beneath her breasts.

I can smell when a woman wants to fuck. I smelled it in my store. I smell it now. She can’t see herself yet, she certainly can’t see me, can’t admit what she wants. But her body knows. Lust is a thing of the blood. Doesn’t need head or heart. Her flesh is soft and pink. Her blood is red hot.

“What are you doing?”

“Need a fucking manual?” I press hard against her ass.

“You’ve got to be kidding! You’re totally not my type and you’re … you’re … how old are you anyway? Eeew!”

“Your scent says otherwise.” I inhale. So much sweeter this close.

“My scent? Like you think you can smell—you think I—Oh! Let me go! Now! Get off me! I’m going to scream.”

“You will most certainly scream. I promise you that.” Beneath my arm, her heart hammers, she breathes quick and shallow. Sexual excitement alters the lines of her body, fuses it into new lines against mine. A woman’s spine changes when she wants to fuck, a subtle, supple shifting at the base, a sharper curve at that hollow where back meets ass. Breasts tighten and lift, the slant of jaw changes as the mouth prepares and muscles draw tight. I have studied humans for a small eternity. Intent infuses their every movement. Road maps to their inner navigation, plastered all over their skin. Born to be slaves.

“You’re delusional. I don’t want you. Get out of my room.”

“So you can crawl back into bed, weep for the sister you lost and brood about your own ineptitude? Scribble down your silly plans and plot vengeance? You don’t even know what the word means.” But she could learn. “Are you in such a hurry to be alone with your grief? Is it such a grand bedmate? When’s the last time you lost yourself in a good, hard fuck, Ms. Lane? Have you ever? I think it’s always been gentle, nice and sanitary, and when it was over you lay there wondering what all the fuss was about.”