Page 18

Okay, enough. Focus. On her art. On the lovely people who stopped to study it, often to praise it. Her heart warmed with every word of admiration. Right now a woman around her age was walking up and down in front of her table of pocket-sized overhead dioramas, mouth open and eyes intent. She’d browsed Leslie’s work for close to ten minutes and hardly glanced at Leslie.

“So cool.”

“Thanks,” Leslie said.

“I follow this artist on social media who makes stuff exactly like this. I love it—hers and yours. Maybe you know her? Artists are a small circle, right? And I think she’s from Tennessee.”

Leslie shrugged though the woman didn’t look up. “I’m the only diorama artist I know personally, but I follow a few. What’s her name?”

“Leslie Snow.”

Leslie laughed. “In that case, hi.”

The woman at last met Leslie’s eyes, a crinkle between her dark brows. She gasped. “Oh my gosh, it’s you.”

“Yep.”

“This is so exciting. Can I have your autograph?”

That was a first. “It’s not worth anything.”

“To me it is.”

“What should I sign? A business card?”

“Ooh, okay.”

Leslie fished a pen from her purse, signed the back of her card, and handed it over. The woman took it with a grin.

“Can I ask you a non-art-related question?”

“Sure,” Leslie said.

“Where do you get your contacts? I’ve paid an arm and a leg for mine for years, and I still can’t find light-shade indigo like that.”

This just kept getting more surreal. Leslie’s lips curved, though of course she didn’t show her teeth. “I don’t wear contacts.”

“Oh, come on, nobody has eyes that color except…” The woman’s eyes were indeed a plastic sort of purple that might look convincing to humans. They grew wide as she stared at Leslie for three full seconds before blurting, “You’re a vampire?”

Leslie nodded.

“No. Way. You just got so much cooler. And you were already cool.”

She wished she didn’t squirm inside whenever a human stranger realized what she was. She didn’t want to be ungrateful for the support of her art. But she was just a person like everyone else in this town…a person who happened to eat for fun rather than nourishment. A person who happened to need a daily slaking of blood. And yeah, she could knock them unconscious with her gaze if she really wanted to…could beat them at literally any physical challenge…but she was just a person.

“Thanks,” she said, because no other reply would be polite.

The woman stayed a few more minutes. Meanwhile a delightfully balanced scent of salt and acid wafted to her, and her heart gave an extra beat.

Ryker didn’t approach until the woman moved on to the next booth. “You really are a puzzle.”

His jeans were khaki-colored today, his open-necked shirt a pale sage green and his shoes the same slip-ons as yesterday. His hair was still effortlessly perfect, his mouth a twist of intrigue and enjoyment. His eyes were blue and beautiful, alive with silver sparks.

“What do you mean?” she said as calmly as if he didn’t send her heart rate into overdrive simply by entering sensory range.

“You were uncomfortable with her.”

“Not with her. Just with her awe.”