This one was probably a granddaughter, and she vanished into a cab down the street. Ryan shook his head, clearing it of the trace of lilac. Being Drakulein, he was rarely susceptible to sheela. One more thing to be grateful for, he supposed.

There was one light still burning in the library, on the third floor. He saw a flicker of movement—the head librarian? It was just like Paul to stick him with an ugly woman to follow, even though a Drakul wasn't supposed to get anywhere near a woman that smelled of sorcery at all. Ryan sighed, resting his head against the cold concrete of the building looming over him. Perfect. If it's the sheela, she'll probably join the Order. Be nice to have access to a cache of sorcerous books, though I'm not likely to get anywhere near it.

No, the Order would only let the Malik researchers near it. Drakulein couldn't be trusted. They were, after all, part demon. No matter that there hadn't been a Drakul traitor in a good three hundred years… still.

You're doing yourself no good thinking of this. Just do your fucking job and think on your own time, Orion.

The light went off, and Ryan tensed. He gave her fifteen minutes to get down to the first floor and come out. She didn't.

What's she doing in there? Everyone else left, including the assistant. What the hell do librarians do all day, anyway? Breathe dust and shelve books?

It took a good two hours for her to appear. The front door opened, and she closed it behind her as streetlights flickered on, glowing all the way down the street. Ryan peeled himself away from the wall, peering at her.

Short and graceful, almost lost in a long dark woolen coat very much like his own, the woman locked the door and patted it, proprietary pride evident in the movement. She turned, tucking her keys into her pocket and hitching her bag on her shoulder. Long dark hair pulled back in a French twist, slacks, and the purse, Paul had given a good description; she did seem a little chilly. Very self-contained.