*beep*

Sean sighed. The sun had finally broken up the rain and transformed the streets of Portland to rivers of glowing silver. He set down his cappuccino and pulled his phone from his breast pocket. Some people had the luxury of ignoring every ping of their electronic leashes. Some people were not police captains.

Damn. He thought. And it was such a lovely morning. He opened the text message.

Meisner: [How's the rain?]

Me: [None of the moment.]

This was perhaps the first time their safe code was literally true.

Meisner: [They are moving. Strange reports from SnF.]

Me: [Keep me informed.]

Renard slipped the phone back in his pocket and considered brooding over the rest of his cappuccino or forgetting about Meisner's rumors. There would be tons of wesen in San Francisco, more than enough to warrant the attention of the Verrat. It would turn out to be nothing.

A glimmer in the corner of his eye caused him to look up. He locked eyes with a petite blond woman, balancing a steaming mug in one hand and an armful of books in the other, just about to sit down at the next table.

"Good morning," she said with a nod. Then she glanced at him again, searchingly. "Captain –Renard, was it?"

"Yes," he said, surprised. Though, come to think of it she was rather familiar. "And you are, sorry, what was your name?"

"Not a problem. Mira, Mira Speigel."

"Oh, yes," he replied, remembering. "You were the interpreter for the subway murder."

"That's right. Are you meeting someone?" She glanced around the very crowded café then back to him.

"Not today"

"Ah. Is it alright if I join you?"

"Oh." He was somewhat surprised, and instantly suspicious. Lately it seemed like normal people just didn't exist around him. "Of course, please," he said quickly. He scooted around to allow her to take the other chair at the bistro table.

"Thank you so much." She carefully set down a steaming mug of green tea, then rather quickly dumped coat, purse, stack of books, and sat down with a freeing sigh. "Ooof. I always thought personal baggage was metaphorical, but apparently not."

"Apparently. At least, not always," he replied. Why had he told her to sit down? Was he asking for trouble? Keeping tabs on a threat? Was she a threat? She didn't seem the least bit tense. Well, no more than any young woman who had just dodged a rain shower and made it through a crowded Portland coffee shop balancing hot tea and twenty pounds of books in three-inch heels.

She delicately picked up the mug, turned it around three times and then, closing her eyes, inhaled the steam deeply. "Mmm. That's better," she said, relaxing a bit into the chair and turning to the window. "The sunshine here is so beautiful. It's pure and clean. Makes all the clouds worth it."

Renard nodded. "It takes a true native to appreciate Northwest weather."

She laughed. A rich, free laugh. "Well, sadly, I am not a native. At least, not of Portland."

"Really?" Renard asked. This did not bode well. Why was she here if she wasn't a native?

"Oh, no," she continued, pausing to sip her tea with extreme serenity. "I've lived up and down the west coast of North America and around the Pacific, I've only been in Portland for about six weeks."

Six weeks? That would be only a month before the Tengu attack. Six weeks was a long time to set up a stake out. But on the other hand, some conmen were unbelievably patient. He was himself. Did this make her more or less suspicious? "Well, welcome. What brings you to Portland?" He tried to make it friendly and not interrogative.

"Oh, mostly work."

"You mean, interpreting?"

"Teaching, actually. I teach Japanese, Chinese, and ESL at Portland University. I just started this quarter. Though, even at a private school like University of Portland teaching doesn't pay too well. Translating and interpreting let me bring in some extra cash, pay off old loans, and they help to meet new people, get to know the area."

Reasonable explanation. "This is your first year here then?"

"Yep. For the last six years I've been teaching in Japan."

In Japan? That was interesting. Very removed from any of the politics that plagued his life. Still… "Really? In… Tokyo?"

She gave him a slightly condescending smile. "Japan is a lot bigger than just Tokyo, you know. No, I was out west, in a tiny village on the Sea of Japan." She held up the tea cup as if it contained the secrets of the world.

"Sounds lovely," he said cautiously.

She sighed. "It was basically paradise. Though, not very modern. Good wifi was nonexistent."

"Well, here's to civilization," he raised his cappuccino, suggesting a toast.

She flashed a delighted smile and tapped this mug with her own. "Cheers! Or as we say, Kampai!"

"Kampai," he echoed.

He took a sip, relaxing. She could be a plant, but his particular enemies were generally more direct. The lack of thinly veiled threats was a comforting sign, even this early in a conversation. His eye fell on the books she'd placed on the table. To his surprise the top title was a French novel.

"Parlez-tu aussi francais?"

She blinked. "Uh… " She followed his gaze. "Oh! Oh, I, uh, just started learning a few weeks ago."

"Oh." He said, somewhat disappointed. "How many languages do you speak?"

She took a deep breath, "English, Japanese, and Mandarin, fluently, also Spanish. I wrapped up my Mandarin studies a year ago and I decided I needed something new."

"You are a linguist, then?"

"Technically, linguists study the science of language; they don't necessarily learn to speak multiple languages. Similarly, polylingual people, like myself, don't necessarily study linguistics. But it is hard not to pick things up along the way." She shrugged.

"Spoken like a true professor." He nodded and raised his mug to her.

She smiled and continued sipping her tea. Each time she raised her mug she seemed to slip into some kind of serene ceremony. It was… endearing? Odd? Both? He recalled something about the Japanese having some formal ceremony around tea drinking. Maybe that's what it was. That or she'd spiked her tea with something really interesting.

"So, why French?" he asked. His native tongue was so beautiful and natural, not to mention romantic. It would be a perfect tool for a plant.

She thought for a moment. "I hate to say just because it's beautiful, but really that's what it comes down to. I don't so much choose languages as get seduced by them."

That was a surprising answer. "I've never heard Japanese or Mandarin described as particularly romantic."

She smiled even wider. "Not typically, but they might surprise you. I find both to be enchanting. But there is something about French that always sound like a love poem. It's very… sensuous. "

"And how does French fit into your teaching plans."

"Oh, it doesn't," she laughed. "French is popular and sadly not in high demand. Nearly all French speakers are bi-or even tri-lingual, so French translators or interpreters are rarely necessary. It's just a hobby."

Renard swirled his cappuccino, now nearly gone. "So was it just the University that brought you to Portland?"

She shrugged. "I have some family in the Northwest, in Seattle and out in Idaho, so I didn't want to be too far away. But there's less demand for Asian languages there. Seattle has all it needs and Idaho just doesn't have much need to begin with. And the Northwest is such a lovely place to be." She said 'be' as if the word had mysterious weight.

"True. And you are enjoying Portland so far?"

"Oh, definitely. Powell's has been amazing. That place is heaven for bookworms like me. My sister would fall over and die of happiness." More warm laughter. "And the people are wonderful. So much variety!"

"There's a lot of that around here," he said, thinking of wesen. A reflected sunbeam bounced across Mira's face.

Renard drained the last of his cappuccino, just in time for another beep from his phone.

"That's the precinct. I've got to head out."

"Thanks for the seat, and the chat," she said sweetly.

He stood, gathering his coat. "You're very welcome."

She smiled and… turned to look out the window? No cryptic 'see you around' comments? No lingering gaze to indicate he was being watched? She took a long sip of tea. Then she glanced back up at him, and frowned.

"Did you… forget something?"

"Ah, no. Sorry. Lost in thought. See you around," he said. Great, now he sounded like the creep.

"Maybe," she laughed. She pulled a book from the middle of her stack and propped it open with purpose. Clearly he was dismissed.

Well, that's fine. He was going anyway. He glanced back at the door. She already seemed entirely engrossed in her book (she had said she was a bookworm). She didn't look up or reach for a phone to report their conversation. How suspiciously normal.

Or maybe just normal.

Just normal, Sean, he said to himself. Not everyone is trying to kill you.

He turned a corner and someone tried to kill him.