Leif had already opened his door before Ezra had finished climbing the steps. The rain had saturated his coat. He shook it off before walking into the house.

"That was a fast trip. Didn't Wu keep you up reminiscing about old battles every night?"

"No, he wasn't there, just Ása. But she was only there for a couple weeks. They're back in Bali," Ezra replied off-handedly. Leif raised his eyebrows. Ezra didn't often volunteer so much information on the doings of other people, mostly Leif suspected because he didn't care.

"Was the trip fruitful?"

Ezra nodded once and then frowned. "I'm not sure yet, mostly vague descriptions of immortals that steal thoughts from humans and one about children who hide from the dead. I brought a few books back with me to translate. It will take some time to sort through it all."

"You brought some back with you?" Leif snorted. "How did you manage to get Ása to agree to that?"

Ezra frowned slightly, "It cost me my bottle of 1811 Chateau d'Yquem."

Leif laughed loudly. "That was your last bottle too."

Ezra ground his teeth. "There was a Greek translation about the Lord of Shadows trapping gods to hide their powers. But the translation was so badly done, I need to get my hands on the original... if it still exists."

"What language is the original?"

"Sumerian."

"Ah..." Leif sighed. "So you're off to Tunisia next?"

"No, that would be difficult right now."

Leif made a noise in the back of his throat. "And does this difficulty have blue eyes and spend a lot of time in cafés?" Ezra glowered. "I'm just saying," Leif replied.

"Well, I can't go for you, Ezra. Mathas and I had a bit of a run in the last time I was in Tunisia. He wouldn't be pleased to see me return."

"What did you do?"

"Why do you assume it was me?"

"What did you do?" he repeated.

"It was completely innocent. Besides, I had no way of knowing she was his daughter. How could I?"

"His daughter? What do you mean?" Ezra wrinkled his forehead in confusion.

"You know how Mathas is about his family. She was a descendant of one of his sons, or daughters, or something. Her parents died, and he took her in and raised her as his own... in typical Mathas fashion." Leif strolled into the kitchen and poured himself a Scotch. "Lovely girl she was too, with skin like silk."

"You seduced his daughter, and now you're banned from Tunisia?"

"North Africa actually, or anywhere close to any of his homes. Most of his family is still in Morocco," he answered. "I would have married her." Ezra turned a hard look on him. "I would have! She was enchanting. But Mathas said if I came near anyone in his family again, he'd kill me on the spot."

"Leif, you're making my ass twitch."

Leif just grinned at him. Ezra had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He couldn't count the number of times Leif's romps in the bedroom had caused problems.

"Regardless of anything I've done, if you're looking for a Sumerian text, you need to go to Mathas, and you're not going to get him to come to you. He hasn't left North Africa in centuries."

"I'll have to call him," Ezra replied after some thought.

"Good. You probably shouldn't mention me."

Ezra snorted. "Despite what you might believe, I don't usually spend much time discussing you with other people."

"Perhaps if you did, you wouldn't be so sour and cynical."

The sheets still felt damp from the rain the night before. I stayed in bed the next morning thinking about Ezra. His visit last night was completely unexpected. And I was surprised by how quickly I responded to him. I thought of Ezra and the way his voice sounded when he spoke to me. He was surprisingly appealing but also alarming in a way.

It was still early when I made my way downstairs and pulled open the main door. As I stepped outside the smell of ozone streamed toward me, followed by wisps of electricity. I jerked my head up and met Ezra's casual gaze. He was leaning against the passenger side of his Land Rover. He had two paper cups of steaming liquid in his hands.

"You speak Hungarian." I wasn't sure if it was a question or not. He said it like a statement.

"Yes." I stood on the steps, not sure what else to say.

"Do you speak any other languages?" he asked.

"Some German and some French... but I imagine you speak them much better than I do." What a random line of questioning.

"How about breakfast? I know a great place."

I walked down the steps toward him and accepted one of the cups as he held it out to me. "I could eat," I replied. I could feel the heat radiating through the paper against my fingers. He nodded and opened the car door for me.

As he drove, he asked me a random assortment of off-handed questions that I did my best to answer. I took a sip from the oolong. As we passed the edge of the city, the forest closed in around us. The sun hovered above the canopy, casting shadows between the trees. "I thought we were going to breakfast."

"We are."

"Where, Alaska?"

He chuckled, "Not quite that far."

We had driven about forty minutes, passing an army of trees gathering densely on either side of us. Their dusty brown bark formed a thick armor as they stood like sentinels, guarding the forest. Moss sloped down the hill to meet the road while thick branches joined and locked into a canopy above us. Ezra eventually turned up a narrow path.

The road curved to the right and Ezra pulled up a steep driveway, which ended in front of an old Victorian house. It was built of whitewashed stone with a steep roof, unfolding serenely along both sides of the driveway. Its lines were smooth and simple. The decorative ornamentation often seen in Victorian homes had been omitted. The stonework and seamless shape of the structure didn't need adornment. The most striking feature of the house was a round turret extending out the side with a conical witches hat roof. This tower was much larger than the rounded towers I'd become used to seeing on the Victorian homes around Portland. Most were more decorative than functional.

"Is this your home?" I asked nearly breathless.

"Yes," he answered. "Leif designed it for me." I was stunned for a moment.

"Leif? When?"

"1860 I think."

"It's beautiful," I said, a bit awed. He smiled, pleased, and led me up the front walkway. A pair of carved, heavy solid wooden doors guarded the entrance. They were most decorative part of the house, with wrought iron piping snaking from the hinges to the center.

Ezra opened the door and stood back as I stepped over the threshold. A broad stairway curved up to the second floor. He turned and guided me toward the kitchen on the left.

The kitchen was a perfectly balanced mixture of Victorian and modern elements. He pulled out a stool for me to sit. I placed my bag on the seat next to it and climbed up.

"You like omelets?" he inquired, pulling two pans from the cabinet.

He was going to cook? "Of course." I was dazed. I sipped my tea as I watched him crack and whisk the eggs.

"Why did you choose to study Hungarian?" He moved effortlessly, tilting and pushing the eggs back with a wooden spoon.

"My grandfather would tell me old stories when I was a girl. I made him tell me those stories, again and again, the way children do." I paused to take another drink. "I loved them. It seemed natural to keep studying them."

He sprinkled cheese and mushrooms over the eggs and covered each pan. "You were close to your grandfather." It wasn't a question. I nodded. "He took care of me after my parents died."

Ezra looked up, his forehead wrinkled. "Oh, then you were very close." I nodded again.

I wished I could call my grandfather and tell him everything that had happened to me. He loved stories about the mystical realm. He would have really loved this.

Ezra's phone buzzed. "Excuse me a moment," he said and reached into his pocket and looked at the screen. He answered it with one hand while tilting the pan with the other.

"Salam Mathas." I could faintly hear a thin voice through the speaker. Ezra responded in a rich, velvety sounding language. "Talide ikmannashe?"

I watched his hands move back and forth between the pans and listened to his voice trill between long vowels and consonants. He seemed to be negotiating something with the man, his voice both exasperated and amused. "Abinanite ayane," he said and paused. "Washe atkattade idyi taawnade?"

Ezra's voice sounded softer as he responded. Tension release from his shoulders. "Ake Issrebeh Moulana." He closed the phone and slipped it smoothly back into his pocket.

"What language is that?" I asked.

"Berber," he answered. "A friend is letting me have a look at a text I'm interested in."

Ezra reached around me and pulled two plates up from a shelf in the island. My skin prickled as he brushed past me. I took a sip of tea to cover my mouth as I flustered. I wasn't sure if it was a binding or not.

He tipped the pans over each plate, sliding eggs onto them. His grin was almost mischievous as he placed the plate in front of me and swiftly sat down on the stool opposite.

He watched me as I lifted my fork and took a bite. The eggs were a fluffy pale yellow color. Buttery eggs, herbs and cheddar exploded in my mouth. My eyes closed for a second as I savored the taste.

He nodded slightly and took a bite himself. I had to remind myself to eat slowly. I was hungrier than I thought.

"So, you translate English into Hungarian," he began, "but do you ever translate Hungarian into English?"

"Sometimes, but not as often." I rested my elbows in front of my plate and leaned forward slightly as realization struck me. "You want me to translate something."

"Yes."

"What?" I was intrigued.

"A couple books I brought back with me from Germany." He lifted the last forkful of eggs off his plate. "I know someone who could possibly translate them as well, but it will take much more time."

"What are they about?" I inquired, picking my fork up again and took another bite. The eggs were excellent. My adrenaline was rushing... I could smell the rosemary, and I had to stop myself from drifting into a fantasy of running wildly through endless fields of rosemary and lavender.

"I don't know," he answered. I had to stop and remind myself of the question I had just asked him.

I forced myself to focus. "What do you think they are about?"

"You," he replied.

I started and froze. "Not you specifically, Kaja, but information about what you are."

"Can I see them?"

"Of course," he said and stood up. Suddenly very thirsty I reached for the glass of water he had placed next to my plate and swallowed a few gulps before standing.

He led me out of the kitchen and passed the stairway. The floor was inlaid with patterns of different woods and an elegantly designed banister curved up along the stairs to a landing on the second floor overlooking where we were standing. We passed a long room that had vaulted ceilings with three sides. Two sides rose up at an angle to meet a flat ceiling at the top with dark wood beams spaced out along the length of the room.

I followed Ezra to a door to the right. It had been left slightly ajar, and I could just make out wooden paneling in the room behind. Just as we approached the door, Ezra wrapped his fingers around my wrist to stop me.

I looked up at him. "I'm sorry for barging in on you that first night. It seems no matter how old I get, I'm never free from sudden impulses."

"You're sorry?"

"For charging up to your building in the middle of the night uninvited, yes." He breathed softly. "For kissing you... no."

He stepped closer to me and placed his fingers under my chin, lifting my face to his. I felt my heart race deliciously. He bent down and slowing pressed his lips to mine. His kiss was slow and indulgent while his fingers slowly passed over my skin to the side of my face. He intensified the pressure of his embrace as my lips rose to meet his.

Gradually a light flashed in front of my eyes. I winced as I realized I was staring into the sun. I shifted my eyes to the ground and saw Ezra standing a few feet from me. He had long, thick hair tied at the base of his neck, and he was wearing a rough brown sleeveless tunic. Hanging in front of him from a strap around his neck was a large pointed conical basket. He was standing in front of grapevines crawling in a tangled arch over his head. In the distance, I could see many more tall arches of vines. Ezra raised his hand, and I spied a small curved knife in his palm as he moved to cut a clump of dark purple grapes.

It was strange. I could see Ezra. I could feel the sun on my skin and smell the damp earth while at the same time, I could feel Ezra's hand slide lightly over my skin and softly grip the back of my neck. I could feel his lips moving and molding against mine. I opened my eyes. Ezra smiled down at me as he pulled away.

What was that?

He sighed. "You shouldn't be here."

"What, why?"

"Because I don't like the alternative."

"What alternative?"

He couldn't decide if they wanted to smile or frown. "The one with you not here."

I blinked, confusion etched across my face as Ezra grabbed my hand and pushed the door open. The room was curved into a nearly complete circle. Its ceiling soared at least twenty feet above us. The walls were paneled and lined with bookshelves up to the ceiling. Spaced between some of them were curved windows with cushioned boxes beneath each one. Off center of the room to the right was a large desk, strategically placed to take advantage of the flood of natural light. On the opposite side of the room was a fireplace. A dark red sofa with a small table and chairs were placed in a semicircle in front of it.

This room was the tower I had seen from the outside and had wisely been transformed into a library. It had been designed to take advantage of space and was larger even than it had looked from the outside.

On one open wall, I spied a collection of antique weapons, their silvery metal polished to a shine. I walked toward them. They were ancient. On a table in front were a couple of helmets. One had ears molded into the sides and what looked like feathers designed all around it. The other had eye-shaped holes on the brow ridge and wings flaring out over the cheeks. I saw a long thin curved blade-shaped almost like a sickle a little longer than my forearm on the wall. Next to it was a simple axe. The largest weapon was a wide spearhead with a lion carved onto its surface.

"Were these all yours?"

"Some. Most were given to me, or I bought in the last few hundred years," he answered. "But I used blades just like these." He was watching me, weighing my reaction as I took in the wall of weapons.

"They're beautiful. Which were yours?"

He pointed to what looked like a short curved sword. It was thin where it met the hilt and ballooned out widely in the center before tapering quickly to a point. The handle curved around just short of a full circle before ending in the shape of a horse's head. Next, he pointed out a thinner and longer straight sword. It also was flat at the hilt before widening slightly in the middle and tapering to a fine point. The last weapon he showed me was a short dagger. About four inches long, it looked to be cast as a solid piece of metal with no leather grip or ornamentation. It was over two inches wide at the base and tapered smoothly. It had a short handle with two prongs that pointed out at each side.

"I didn't carry much with me for most of my life." He picked up the small dagger from the wall. "None of us can stay in any one place very long. Swords and spears were easy enough to find. Most of my life, what I owned, was limited to what I could carry on a horse."

"Why do you keep them?" I asked.

"To remind myself that I don't need them." He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the dagger. "I didn't save anything until I settled down."

"When was that?"

"Around the start of the Renaissance. It's easier to blend in and become anonymous in large cities. People don't pay as much attention to you." He replaced the dagger back on the wall. "I established several estates around the world and moved between them as I needed to."

"Leif mentioned a little bit of that" I responded.

"People age slower now. I can stay around fifteen years before I have to move again."

I turned to the desk where I saw a stack of old books. He followed my gaze and walked toward the pile. He removed a couple from the top, placing them aside and picked up two from the middle before handing them to me.

They were heavy, leather-bound with thick pages. They were in good condition but easily hundreds of years old.

"How did you get these passed customs?" I asked. He smiled and shook his head. "I rarely have to deal with customs." I waited for him to explain, but he didn't.

I flipped open the front cover and scanned the pages. It was written in middle Hungarian. I had only tried to read script like it a few times before. I turned the pages and read through portions of it. It was a story I was familiar with, of Hunor and Magor, the legendary brothers chasing down their white stag. I flipped through a couple more pages. The next was the story of the witch Bába stalking a young boy through the forest and challenging him to a game of riddles.

"Can you read it?" Ezra asked.

"Yes. It's a collection of old legends and fairy tales. It will take time. I'm not used to the script, and there are some words I'm not familiar with."

A broad smile spread across his face and up to his eyes. "How long do you think you need to translate it?"

"I don't know. I'm still working on the manuscript." His expression was blank. "You know, my job."

He nodded once. "I promise to give you all the time you need to complete your work first." His voice was soft and sincere. "I know you don't like working from home. If you would like, you're welcome to stay here and use the library."

"If I didn't know better I'd think you were finding reasons to keep me around." I was fishing, I knew it, but I said it anyway.

"I am," he replied with no hint of mockery in his voice. "But my need to translate the books is legitimate."

"Alright," I agreed.

"Excellent." He walked around the desk.

After retrieving my bag, I returned to the library, where Ezra was kneeling by the fireplace. I pulled my laptop out and set it on the desk. There was a post-it stuck to the desk with the wifi password.

Ezra paused at the door before leaving and said he would be in the den if I needed anything. I shrugged to myself after he left. I had no idea where his man-cave was, but I'd find it.

Nearly four hours later, I stood up and stretched my back. I had finished twelve pages on the worship of the Mesopotamian goddess Inanna, one of the most prominent goddesses of the time. As the goddess of fertility, sexuality, and war, she had large numbers of temples and devotees throughout Mesopotamia. It discussed her evolution from the earlier mother goddess Hannahannah and detailed the progression of fertility and sex worship in a wide swath of deities such as Bes, Eros, Rati, Freyja, Dionysus, Shaushka, and Aphrodite.

Over the years, I had found it much faster to read the chapters first and litter the margins with notes before I began typing.

I yawned and walked over to stoke the fire and added more wood. I picked up Ezra's fairy tale book and sank into the sofa. I flipped through the pages to the story on Bába. On the next page was an etching of her surrounded by thick trees in a forest. The print didn't show her as the long-nosed, withered hag I was accustomed to seeing. This one showed her young, almost nubile. The wind had blown her long hair up around her head, tangled in the branches above. She held a sphere of some sort in her left hand.

I looked over at the manuscript I'd been working on. That was enough for today, I thought. I wanted to read a few pages of the fairy tale. My stomach rumbled at me. But first I needed tea.

I left the library and made my way to the kitchen. As I passed by the staircase, I saw Ezra in front of a massive computer monitor. He turned, leaning back into his chair as he heard me approach. My heart fluttered expectantly. He paused and then slowly smiled, his eyes twinkling.

Oh God, he can't hear that all the way over there, can he? How sharp are his senses, really?

"You must be getting hungry," he said, leaning back into his chair. Ezra seemed to be a master at anticipating people's needs.

"I came in search of tea."

On the screen was an image of a clay tablet. Across it were hundreds of arrow-shaped hash marks coming together in different directions and configurations. The writing was smooth, each line precise and even. In front of him, Ezra had a note pad with both English and another language that didn't resemble any form of writing I recognized.

"What is that?" I asked gesturing to the computer monitor.

"Sumerian," he answered. I moved closer to the screen. Every inch of the tablet had been covered in the marks. No space had been left unused. "There was a bad translation into Greek of a Sumerian text," he began. "I needed to see the original. This isn't exactly the same, but it's very similar."

I sat down in the chair next to him. "What does it say?"

He leaned onto the desk and rested his chin in his hand. "It's a story of a goddess named Hilimaz, a goddess of shadows. She had been held captive, chained by shadows until she married the lesser god, Nuesh. He traveled to the world of shadows and was dazzled by her beauty. He tried to set her free by breaking her chains, but the shadows wouldn't let her go. So he tricked them by chaining her to himself instead, and she was able to go with him."

"Later a great King named Balih saw her and heard of her powers. It says she had the power to see lies and deception in men. Balih captured her and intended to make her his wife, wanting to use her powers to discover when his enemies were lying and those who planned to betray him."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. The tablet ends here." He pointed to the bottom of the screen. "But he was going up against two gods, so I don't imagine it ended well for him."

"And you think they were Avati?"

"Yes," he answered.

"Why?"

He stared into the computer monitor, silent for a long time. Finally, he looked at me. "I'm worried about telling you too much too soon," he replied. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

"What do you mean?" I was perplexed. What wasn't he telling me, and what did too soon mean?

He shook his head and looked at me. "Kaja, we are ancient people. We move very slowly. We have rules and traditions. When someone new crosses over we make contact, we explain what has happened and then leave them be," he stressed the last few words. "We give them time, decades... centuries, to settle into their lives and learn. We keep a watch, but we don't get involved."

"You don't get involved," I echoed.

"No," he sighed. "Having too much contact and getting too much information too soon could cause... problems. After they have had time to adjust, we step in to teach them."

"If you're not supposed to get involved, then why am I here?" I asked pointedly.

He looked at the computer monitor and then up at me. "Because every instinct I have is telling me to stay close. I'm nervous and agitated... I can't concentrate when I know you're alone. It feels like something bad is going to happen."

I rocked back, stunned. I chewed on my lower lip as I sorted through what he said. I wasn't sure how I felt about this. He was protecting me. From what? My heart thundered as I battled with myself, conflicted. The logical, independent part of me didn't want to be protected, didn't want to need to be protected.

What were my instincts telling me to do?

Stay. Learn.

"Well," I finally said, "when you're in doubt, the only thing to do is follow your instincts."

He took a breath and pointed at the tablet. "They call her the goddess of shadows. That's what tells me she's an Avati."

I shook my head, "I don't understand."

"That's how we hide... in the shadows." He paused to let that sink in and continued. "We don't have supernatural powers. We can't fly or leap over buildings or stop invading armies. In time we grow stronger and faster... incredibly strong, given enough time, but not entirely supernatural. We are still human." I nodded. He had told me this before.

"Except for this," he continued. "If we don't want to be seen we can hide in shadows and will ourselves to go unnoticed. We call it fading."

I gasped.

"You can do that?"

Aw, Ezra has a thing.

TEASER: The woman shook her head. "Wars, blood is upon us."

Sounds ominous.