Two months earlier…

She was at a nightclub somewhere. She was sure of it. The bodies swaying to the high-decibel dance music filled the space around her. There was a lack of light, with the exception of neon strobes falling upon them. She felt confined, restricted. She needed to get out of there. She needed to breathe.

When she finally did find a door and exited the club, she found the temperature wasn't much cooler outside than it had been in. It was a hot, sticky night. She put her hand to her forehead and wiped the sweat off. She looked down at herself, and was relieved to find she was wearing a light green summer dress—as appropriate to the weather as she could get.

She longed for a glass of ice water and the chance to shower, but she had no idea which way to go. And in her pondering, she realized that she was being watched.

She wasn't sure who it was, or where they were, but she felt a pair of eyes on her as surely as if the person were standing right in front of her. Feeling an unseasonable chill go down her spine, she turned and started walking down the street.

The street was crowded, which relieved her, because she didn't want to be walking these streets by herself. She just wanted to get where she was going and get off of them. When she reached the end of the street, she realized it was a dead end. She looked up and saw two unusually conspicuous buildings: one lemon yellow Victorian-style mansion, and a red-brick factory called Domingo's.

A dark shadow moved over her. Feeling fear surge in her blood, she shuddered and began to walk again, disregarding where it was she went. The streets were deserted all of a sudden, and she was alone. Looking behind her, she spied a dark cloaked figure, only a few yards away. She yelped and began to run. The streetlights, at first so bright, were now dimming to barely a spark, and the moon hid her face behind the dusky mass of clouds. As a result, she could hardly see in front of her.

Eventually, she stopped running, stopped moving, because she knew that her stalker could see her. She pressed herself against a brick wall, panting in fear. She felt like a mouse trapped in a corner by a snake.

Then, the inevitable. A cold, claw-like hand grabbed hold of one of her arms, then the other. She screamed and struggled, but she was eventually wrestled to the ground and pinned there. Whatever was holding her down was so strong she couldn't even squirm beneath it.

She suddenly felt like she was being drained. She couldn't breathe, and the terror of feeling herself having the life sucked out of her was even more petrifying than being in the dark and held down. She was going to die; she knew it. She tried to take a breath to scream, but she couldn't even do that. Her very soul was leaving her…

Claire's eyes flashed open, and she sat up. She gasped, trying desperately to get her heart to stop slamming itself in her chest. She looked at her arms, and realized she was shaking, all over. It had been a dream. But it was such a vivid dream! She remembered the terror of feeling like she was going to die.

Claire lay back down in bed, her arm brushing against something. It was Gabriel, lying on his back, still fast asleep. She momentarily had been surprised that her thrashing hadn't awakened him, but something she had learned from the past few weeks of sharing a bed with him was that he was a very sound sleeper. That, and that he always slept on his back, no exceptions. So when she felt like she couldn't stay in bed anymore, she wasn't surprised that he didn't even turn.

She walked to the bathroom and turned on the faucet, splashing some cold water on her face. She seemed to have calmed down physically—her heart was back to a normal rate and her jitters had faded—but that dream was still on her mind. She began to wonder if its realistic feel was a sign to her that there was a new case for her and Gabriel to solve. Then again, it might just be a dream; after all, Claire didn't have any powers of premonition like Gabriel did. She lived a high-tension, low relaxation sort of lifestyle. It would make sense that her dreams would reflect her mental stress.

When she went back to the bed, the clock on the night table read six. It wouldn't be too long before Gabriel would be up, but it was still a long time to lay in bed, wide awake. She knew there was a small grocery not too far from the hotel that opened early; maybe she'd go there and get something to eat.

So she showered and dressed, and when she was about to leave, she saw that Gabriel was still asleep. Smiling, she leaned over and kissed him. Usually, kissing was the only way to wake him up, short of shaking him.

But he still refused to open his eyes. "Mmm," he mumbled.

"I'm going to get breakfast," she told him softly.

"Mm hm," he replied. He was still asleep. At least she could say she told him, even if he wasn't fully conscious.

She walked over to the grocery store and bought two cups of fruit, a package of pastries, and two bottles of iced coffee. While she was standing in line to pay, she noticed the man in front of her was turned to the entertainment page of the national newspaper. The picture in the upper right hand corner kept her attention and made a chill go down her spine. It looked like the building in her dream; the lemon yellow Victorian style house.

Claire narrowed her eyes and tried to read the article, but she could only make out the headline. She wished Gabriel was with her; his vision was much better. She was so busy trying to read the article that before she knew it, she was next in line to check out.

"Is this everything, miss?" the elderly clerk asked her.

"Oh, yes. Um, well, also, if you have another issue of that newspaper the gentleman in front of me was reading, I'll take that too," Claire replied.

"The Atlanta Daily? Yeah, I think I can do that." The clerk reached behind him and picked up a copy of the newspaper that had been lying behind him.

Claire thanked him and paid for her items, then began to walk back to the hotel. While walking, she opened the paper and began to look for the article. She was halfway through the paper when she found it. She stopped walking and leaned against a lamppost to read:

New Orleans Entrepreneur Opens Bar with a Refreshing Twist

By Tim Black

Tallahassee, Fla. – Malcolm Everett doesn't let things stand in his way, not even hurricanes.

The 25 year-old entrepreneur, who formerly owned The White Rose dance club and Bonjourno's restaurant in New Orleans, has decided to restore a Victorian Mansion and convert it into Tallahassee's hottest bar and grill. With three floors, winding staircases, a ballroom, and an extensive balcony for private parties, Everett's new venture promises to give an elegant feel to the club-going experience. Everett moved to Florida after hurricane Katrina swept through and destroyed both buildings. He's spent the last two years refurbishing the 100 year old house.

"Malcolm's not the type to let setbacks deter him, even acts of God," commented Margaret Winstead, Everett's business partner. "Juneberry Manor is going to be a new type of social scene, one that appeals to the aesthetic sensibilities of its clientele. We went our customers to walk in feeling like they've visited old friends in the country."

Juneberry Manor opens this Saturday to the public. Reservations are not required, but are recommended.

Claire walked back to the hotel as fast as she could. When she got there, she found Gabriel was just walking out of the bathroom, now fully awake and buttoning his shirt.

"There you are," he said. "I was just about to go look for you. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I did," Claire argued, putting the food on the hotel table. "I told you I was getting breakfast. You said 'mm hm.'"

He frowned. "You know I didn't hear you."

"And you know you could sleep through a train running through the room," Claire quipped, handing him a Danish and one of the bottles of iced coffee. "Here. Have some breakfast. I need to tell you something."

Gabriel sipped some of the coffee and looked at her with dread. "What's wrong?"

She sat down next to him on the bed. "I had a dream last night. A nightmare, actually. I dreamt I was having the life sucked out of me by some shadowy freak with really cold hands. It was so real! Well, I went out this morning to get breakfast, and one of the newspapers had an article about one of the buildings I saw in my dream. This is more than just a coincidence. I think we should go to Florida and find out what's going on."

"And so you think this dream you had, is like my paintings? Like precognition?"

She shrugged. "I've never had dreams like these before. But I know something is wrong."

He nodded and bit into his pastry. "If it'll make you feel better, Chief, we'll go."

She sighed and got off of the bed, crossing her arms. There was something else bothering her, but she didn't know how to bring it up. They were running out of money; she knew they probably had enough for the trip to Tallahassee, but after that…she didn't know. Claire knew that if she told Gabriel, he would suggest calling Mr. Nakamura. She had been avoiding thinking of the Japanese businessman; she was ashamed of the things she had said to him the last time they met. She felt like she had let him down, and she dreaded the thought of asking for money.

She didn't know if Gabriel could tell something was wrong, but she decided then that she wouldn't tell him unless she absolutely had to. There was something that she realized about him that she'd never change; he didn't feel like they were subject to the same responsibilities as other people. He believed in evolution, that he and Claire were of a higher order and therefore did not need to cater to the demands of "inferiors." Granted, he'd been cured of his craving for powers; his morality had been restored. But she knew he felt that what he now no longer would do—killing off the weak, that is—would eventually be done by time. So financial concerns would not concern Gabriel.

He walked up to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "That dream really bothered you, didn't it?" he asked, kissing her cheek.

Claire turned around and put on her best smile. "Never felt anything like that before. I—I just hope that we're not too late."

He drew her to him. "We'll leave today," he promised. "We'll figure it out."

They started on their trip from Georgia to Florida, taking only five hours to get there. When they did, they tried to learn everything they could about Juneberry Manor: what sort of things they served, dress code, when they were open. The people they talked to seemed excited about the grand opening, but did not express great hope that it would be a lasting addition to the commercial center in which it stood.

They learned even less about Malcolm Everett. All the research they did pointed back to what Claire already knew: that he owned a restaurant and bar in New Orleans, and they were destroyed in the devastation of hurricane Katrina. He was originally from New Jersey, and went to Dartmouth college. Nothing else gave them any clues.

"Don't worry about it, Chief," Gabriel told her. "The important stuff we'll learn for ourselves. That's the way it always goes."

Claire couldn't help but agree with his logic; it both comforted and unnerved her. And she'd already been given a clue. Her dream had pointed her in the right direction. She just hoped it was a warning and not an inflexible prophecy.

The day before the opening of Juneberry, Claire took it upon herself to go shopping for both of them. Their wardrobe was less than fashionable; most of the clothes they had were what they'd bought when they first started traveling together, and a good deal of Claire's attire had been burned, melted, torn, or otherwise rendered un-wearable by the abuse she'd taken in the line of duty.

Despite the fact that this would take a toll on their dwindling resources, she decided to shop the boutiques for clothes. She figured she could write it off as a business necessity.

On Saturday night, they were getting ready for their stakeout. Claire took a sharp pin and, gritting her teeth, ran her earlobes through. She grimaced as she pulled the pin out and quickly inserted her earrings into the newly made holes. One of the more annoying features of her powers; her ear piercings would disappear. So each time she wanted to wear earrings, she'd have to provide the holes.

She sprayed perfume on her neck and ears and stepped back to take herself in. She tried not to be vain, but she had to admit, she looked fantastic. She was wearing a dark purple velvet sleeveless dress that was curve-hugging and came to the knee, and black suede stilettos. She wore her hair down, and curled the ends to give it more body. She looked great, but she still looked young. It was one of the disadvantages of being with an older man; you always felt like you had to prove yourself.

After adding the finishing touch of a silver necklace, Claire called out, "What's taking so long? Come on out so I can see you!"

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, and Claire gave a wolf-whistle. The man could be ruthless, but he could also be suave. The black suit with the maroon dress shirt she'd bought was him to a "T." She was only disappointed that he'd cut his hair. She'd argued with him about it, saying that she liked his hair longer. But Gabriel countered that he was a clean cut guy his entire life, and that the only reason why his hair had been long was because of the coma he was in. He had agreed, much to her delight, to keep the beard. He trimmed it down neatly into more of a goatee style that she found irresistible.

"Rrrrrowww," Claire growled, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"What?" Gabriel asked innocently. It was one of the things that surprised Claire about him. He could be vain about a lot of things—his intellect, his aesthetic tastes, his superhuman abilities—but when it came to his looks, he could never muster a boast or brag. He was gorgeous and either didn't know or didn't care.

She sighed. "You look great, that's all."

"Well. Thanks."

A few seconds of silence passed. Claire looked up at him, expectantly.

"Well?" she finally asked.

"Well…what?"

She groaned and let go of him. "Nothing. Let's just go." The man couldn't give a compliment to save his life.

Juneberry Manor, while accommodating an impressive patronage, wasn't as outrageously overpopulated as Claire had expected. She and Gabriel were able to get in and be seated rather quickly. Prior to being seated, they wandered about the mansion for a while. The top floor housed one of the bars and lounges—one large room where guests could get a drink and have a view of the city. The ground floor was the restaurant/grill, where meals were served and guests could hear live music. The bottom floor was another bar with a dance floor. All over, though, you had the feeling you were in a 19th century home, with the hardwood floors, mahogany furniture, and double shuttered glass windows.

In spite of the terrors of her premonition, Claire liked Juneberry. While they were waiting for their meals she looked around in awe. Finally she looked at Gabriel, who seemed preoccupied with his drink.

"Isn't this cool?" she asked.

He looked up at her and smiled half-heartedly. "It's nice," he replied.

She frowned. "You don't like it here?"

"It's not really my thing. I'm not much for going out, being around crowds."

Claire sat back in her chair. She should have known. Gabriel was always a loner, always the guy hanging back in the darkness instead of in the spotlight. Had they gone to school together, she'd be Homecoming Queen (and she had been) and he'd be the poindexter who forfeited all of the parties and events to study hard for the test the next day. She couldn't begrudge him for that; it was just who he was.

Just then, a slim, blonde, good-looking man went up to the stage in the very back of the room and tapped the microphone. "How is everyone tonight?" he boomed. Everyone cheered in reply. "I'm glad to feel all this excitement! Welcome to Juneberry Manor, where we try to give you a twenty-first century good time in nineteenth-century luxury. We'd like to start the night with some music, and so everyone put your hands together--" but then he was interrupted by an older woman, who, as discreetly as she could, went up to the man and whispered in his ear.

The MC thanked her and looked back at his audience, now feeling genuine anxiety. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, there's been a bit of a change in plans. Our band is running late, so we're going to have to put off music for tonight. We apologize."

There were groans and complaints from the audience. People felt they were being cheated after having to pay a cover charge and the price for food and drinks and no entertainment. Claire looked sadly at the stage and saw that there was a piano there. She then got a crazy idea; did she have the courage to pull it off? But when was courage ever an issue for her? After all the things she'd done—running into burning buildings, tackling armed robbers, walking through puddles of acid, shooting herself in the head—the thing she was thinking of doing should be nothing. The sounds of discontent from her fellow patrons and the people actually leaving their seats finally gave her resolve.

She stood up from her chair, and, not bothering to tell Gabriel where she was going, she boldly walked up to the stage and sat down at the piano, hoping that the microphone sitting nearby would pick up her voice. She took a deep breath, and put her fingers to the keys, playing the introduction to the song she was thinking of. When she was done with the intro, she took another brave breath and began to sing "At Last," the song her parents had danced to on their wedding day and played every year on their anniversary.

She smiled her most enchanting smile and tried to make eye contact with the audience while simultaneously suppressing the fear that the restaurant's management would drag her off the stage. However, she made it through the entire song, and ended with a flourish on the piano. She stood up and took a small bow, hoping she had sounded all right. Truthfully, she had been so preoccupied with what she was doing she hadn't even bothered to hear herself.

But as she was trying to quickly leave the stage, there was a thunder of applause from the patrons, who started yelling out "Encore! Encore!" But she just smiled and blushed and tried to make it to her seat as quickly as possible.

By the time she made it back, the MC managed to get the sound system set up, and was now playing recorded music. She sat down at her table to find Gabriel grinning at her.

"Did I sound all right? I couldn't really tell," she told him.

"I had no idea you could sing like that. Or play the piano!"

She blushed. "I took piano lessons until I was 14. I sort of gave it up in high school because I didn't think it was cool."

Gabriel chuckled. "Well, gosh, Chief, I've developed a whole new respect for you!"

Claire frowned. She wasn't sure if that was supposed to be an insult or not.

She didn't get the chance to ask him because just then, the older woman she'd seen on stage came walking up to their table with one of the hottest guys she'd ever seen. He was about Gabriel's height, but more muscular and framed nicely by the expensive tailored suit he wore. Curly brown hair just reached his jaw, while his green eyes flashed with intensity and were set off by his caramel-colored flawless skin. She stood up as they approached.

"That was quite a performance, Miss," the man said to her.

She smiled and felt her face get warm for the third time that night. "Well, thank you. I'm sorry that I just intruded and did that, but--"

He held up his hand. "Please, please, don't apologize! You saved our necks, that's what you did. Half our customers were about to leave, but you reeled them back in with your lovely voice and your talent on the piano. I just wanted to come by personally and thank you."

Claire's eyes widened. "You—you're Malcolm Everett?"

He seemed a little surprised that she knew his name, but he smiled and nodded. "Yes. And this is my business partner, Margaret Winstead. We both wanted to thank you…and to ask if you would like to make this a repeat performance. On a regular basis, I mean."

Claire gave a little gasp. "Are you—are you offering me a job?"

"It would only be a few hours a week," Margaret Winstead interjected. "But we like to showcase…an eclectic gathering of talent. We have a jazz band, a string quartet, a male country singer, and now we'd like to add a girl singer who plays piano."

Malcolm turned to Claire and smiled that dazzling smile of his. "Well? What do you say, Miss…?"

"Bennet. Claire Bennet," she piped up, giving him her hand. "And I'd love to."

Just then, she felt Gabriel's hand on her arm. She'd forgotten he was there, actually. "Claire? Don't you think we should talk this over? We're not going to be here for very long."

"Oh, take your time. Here's Margaret's card," Malcolm told her, giving her the small square of bonded paper. "When you come to a decision, let me know!" He flashed her another debonair smile, which Claire returned, and walked away. Margaret gave her a brief look, then followed her partner.

Claire and Gabriel finished their dinner in silence, then promptly returned to their hotel room. She knew he was upset. And while she didn't really want to argue with him, she was determined to have her way.

Gabriel took off his jacket and threw it on the bed. "You're not taking that job," he told her flatly.

"Says who?" Claire demanded, indignant. She couldn't believe it. Who was he to tell her what she could and could not do?

"I say so. I'm the older, rational one of this group, and I'm saying that there's no logical reason why you should."

Claire scowled and sat down on the bed in a huff. "I know something is going on around Juneberry, and if I'm working there, I'll be close enough to investigate."

Gabriel walked to the other side of the bed, his hands on his hips. "How are you going to be doing any investigating while you're singing on stage for a bunch of drunk, rowdy idiots?"

Claire stared at him in anger. "What? Did you see the people who were there? This is an upscale bar, not some backwoods redneck watering hole!"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "You're too young. What the hell was that guy thinking, coming up to you like that? Talking to you like you can be bought and sold."

Claire smirked. "I'm not too young for you," she said wryly.

He glared at her. "Don't skew the issue," he snapped. "If you take this job, your judgment will be compromised. It's best to maintain a distance."

She sighed and got off the bed, pacing restlessly. "It's not a question of me fulfilling some sort of little-girl fantasy of being famous," she argued. "We…oh," she said, running her hands through her hair, "we need the money."

Gabriel cocked his brow. "What do you mean, we need the money?"

Claire crossed her arms and looked at him in frustration. "I shouldn't have to explain this to you. We need money to live on. You may think that all your powers make you unstoppable, unbeatable, but it costs money to eat, money for these hotel rooms, money for the gas we put in the car. Until you no longer need to eat and sleep and you can run continuously at 80 miles per hour, we need money."

He scoffed. "Just ask Nakamura. He's funding this little adventure of ours."

Claire shook her head. "I'm not asking him for money. He gave us the means to start this, but, it's our job to make our own way."

"And this is what you call 'making our way'? Becoming a pretty toy for some hot shot bar owner?"

Claire smiled. He felt threatened by the handsome bar owner, but was trying not to show it. "You'll come see me every night I sing. And when I'm not singing, we'll be trying to figure out what heinous force we're contending with. Come on. Sit down, sit down."

Gabriel sighed and complied. Once he was seated, she came and stood between his knees and wrapped her arms around his neck. "That dream I had—it was more than just a dream. And I don't think it's a coincidence that Malcolm Everett offered me a job at the very place I saw in my dream. I'm meant to be there." She leaned forward and kissed him, briefly. "You can watch me. You can protect me. But, more important, you need to trust me."

Gabriel took her face in his hands and returned her kiss with passion. "I do trust you. But if that guy tries anything—anything at all, I'll kill him."

Claire stroked his neck and chuckled. "I know."

GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG

"So when Miss Bennet met Mr. Everett, you were jealous?" he asks me.

I have just put out what has probably been my thirtieth cigarette that night and I smile bitterly. "You're quite intuitive, Lieutenant. But can you blame me? Claire's a beautiful girl. Malcolm is a handsome man. It's…understandable that there would be chemistry between them."

"Well, if you were as much in love as you claim, why didn't you put a stop to it?"

"It wasn't for a lack of trying I assure you," I told him. Instinctively I pick up another cigarette and light it, feeling my nerves instantly settle. I didn't like talking about the night that was the beginning of the end for me. But, I'm a prisoner for now, forced to answer any and all questions shot at me by all manner of lower life forms.

Briggs settles back in his chair and just looks at me. I think he's actually starting to feel sorry for me. I suppose I should feel grateful. I suppose I should take advantage of this blossoming sort of feeling. But that won't happen. I'm a superior being and I won't lower myself in any way.

He sighs and looks through his notes. "So…Miss Bennet began working for Mr. Everett the day after they met. Was she…good?"

I take a drag and nod, reluctantly. "I didn't want her there. And I kept my eye on her. But she does have a lovely voice, and she brought business to the bar."

"And when did Mr. Everett first make his move on her?"

I blow the smoke from my lungs furiously. "He didn't make any moves on her. I had the upper hand the entire time. Nothing—absolutely nothing—that happened, beginning to end, eluded me. One thing you learn when you've been doing what I've done as long as I have, Lieutenant, is to always stay in control, even when it seems as if you're giving in."

He puts his hands up. "All right, all right. When was it that…it appeared Mr. Everett was making a move on her?"

I shrug. "The very same night she started singing. I knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fine with me."

He seems surprised by my remark. "Oh was it?"

I took a final puff of the cigarette and put it out. "Like I said, it's all part of a greater plan. You let…the little things slide off your back. That's why I've survived all this time."

He smirks, the fool. "But you've been caught now."

I smile. "That's what you think, Lieutenant. Before the night is over, I'll be walking out of here, and if you try to get in my way, you'll be dead."