He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. She had been warned time and time again by Sebastian that fame would mean the end of her freedom, being hounded in to the next lifetime by vampire and power seekers. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. “Have you dropped from the skies?” Sydney asked wonderingly. Sheppard. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. “Not a bit of it. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. Or else—Else it will be impossible that I can be his friend. .
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