We had planned the sting for Sunday, allowing Father William to sneakily make extra holy water “for Mass.” Not everyone in the church still believed in literal demons.

Most of them would stop going if they knew what he was doing. Saturday, I had another shoot. It was winter clothing, so I was glad there was no lingering heat. It did, however, mean I wasn’t wearing anything sexy. Martin would be disappointed.

Because, yes, he somehow tracked down the shoot, and was in the cluster of people watching. We were shooting in a park, autumn leaves on the ground. Of course it was attracting attention. For a while. Most of them lost interest and went away – really, a modeling shoot isn’t interesting to watch. A movie or TV shoot is, but modeling is people sitting or standing around and moving their elbows an inch that way.

A few did stay, though. And I noticed a couple of cell phones coming out. Not Martin’s. He stood there in a masculine stance, smirking as he watched. He’d dialed down his apparent age to about 18 or so.

Wasn’t risking me pointing out I wasn’t legal yet, apparently. Once I was out of that series of shots, I rolled my eyes and shot him a look in which I tried to say everything I wanted to say, most of which was less polite variants on go away.

“You got a stalker?” one of the other girls asked. She was Hispanic and had long black hair that many would have envied.

“Yeah, I do.” I glanced at her. “I keep hoping he’ll get bored and wander off.”

“Yeah. This is boring enough to do, and he’s been there a couple of hours now. Just the regular wants in your pants?”

My shoulders slumped. “Yeah. I’m tempted to try telling him I’m a lesbian.”

“I could kiss you,” she offered, jokingly.

“Nah. He’d probably want to watch. Isn’t that a thing with some straight guys?” She did look quite kissable, but I wasn’t kissing somebody just for a joke like that.

I almost heard Loki comment “Why not” but I was pretty sure it was in my head. Of course, he could easily be here. He could be one of the cameramen or something.

Had it been him in Southeast? No. Not his style. He’d have done something else, and I don’t think he would have killed Mr. Clem.

Why kill the guy? I had wanted him dead, but it occurred to me now that the mysterious person had no real reason to other than I did, and they hadn’t done it for me in that sense.

Maybe because he’d been more dangerous than I thought. Or maybe they’d been as disgusted with his implications, with the line he was about to cross, as I was.

Tyr? No, he’d have gift wrapped him for the cops. Tyr was all about following all of the rules.

I forced my mind, again, back to the present.

“Your loss.” A pause. “Are you a lesbian?”

“Not sure yet,” I quipped.

“Oh…got it.” She grinned. “Well, if you ever get sure, or decide to settle into the middle somewhere…”

I laughed. “Now who’s stalking.”

“Difference is I’ll take no for an answer.”

That kind of was the difference, but I shook my head, “Not really interested. But I’ll take it as a compliment.”

It was. It felt like that, from her. But it also felt like it from Martin, too, demon or no demon.