experience, I knew I could stare at the dim white above me for hours and still not sleep.
With a sigh, I got up, pulled on my robe, and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. A newspaper on the cheap yellow Formica table yelled out headlines in an alphabet I didn't understand. I poured myself a bowl of cereal with little bits of dried fruit and added milk that tasted subtly different from the 2% I'd grown up with.
I heard the door of one of the other bedrooms open and soft footsteps come down the stairs. After so many months together, I could differentiate Aubrey from Ex from Chogyi Jake without looking.
"Why do you think it is," I asked, "that someone can on the one hand be talking you into a fight against evil spirits and semi-demonic serial killers, but then on the other get embarrassed when they figure out they woke you up to do it?"
"I don't know," Aubrey said as he sat down across from me. "Maybe he just didn't want to be rude."
"She didn't want to be rude," I said. "Sexist."
Aubrey smiled and shrugged. Aubrey was beautiful the way a familiar leather jacket is beautiful. He wasn't all muscles and vanity, he didn't spend hours on his wardrobe and hair. His smile looked lived-in, and his body was comfortable and reassuring and solid. He always reminded me of Sunday mornings and tangled sheets.
We'd been lovers once for about a day before I found out that-point one-he was married and- point two-I have a real hangup about sleeping with married men. I still had uncomfortably pleasant erotic dreams about him sometimes. I also had divorce paperwork in my backpack, filled out by his wife with her signature and everything. I hadn't told him about that. It was one of those things that was so important and central to my life that putting it off had been very easy. Every time a chance came up to talk about it, I'd been able to find a reason not to.
"What's the issue?" he asked, and I startled a little, my still-exhausted mind interpreting the question as being about the divorce papers. I pulled myself together.
"There's an ex-FBI agent in New Orleans. She's on the trail of a rider that's a serial killer," I said, and yawned. "Are there a lot of those?"
"Depends on who you ask," he said. "There are a lot of serial killers who claim to be demons or victims of demonic possession. You remember the BTK killer? His pastor said right through the end that the voice coming out of the guy wasn't the man he knew. There are some people who think that all serial killers are possessed. Serial arsonists, too. Is that the last of the milk?"
"No, there's another whole bottle in the fridge," I said around my spoon. "So is it true? Are they all riders?"
"Probably not," Aubrey said. "I mean some serial killers blame porn or bad parenting or whatever. And you can be mentally ill without there being a rider in your head. But by the same token, I'd bet that some are."
"You'd buy it? This FBI lady has been tracking down a body-hopping serial killer, she's managed to get one step ahead of it, and needs help. Sounds plausible?"
"We've all seen weirder," Aubrey said as he measured out enough coffee for three of us. Chogyi Jake always opted for tea. "Do you have any reason to think it's not on the level?"
"You mean is it the bad guys setting a trap? I don't have any reason to think so," I said. "Also no reason not to, though. I could get a background check on her, I guess."
"Might be wise."
I didn't hear Ex coming. He just breezed in from the hallway. Even the T-shirt and sweats he slept in were black. His hair was loose, a pale blond flow that softened his features. Usually he wore it back.
"Since we apparently aren't sleeping tonight, what are we talking about?" he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat at the table.
"Serial killers, demonic possession," I said. "Same as always."
"Jayné got us a job," Aubrey said.
I ran down the basics again while I finished eating and Ex and Aubrey started. The coffee smelled good-rich and reassuringly heavy-so I had a mug myself. I had to give it to Greece, the coffee was great. Ex pulled back his hair into a severe ponytail, tying it with a length of leather cord while I talked. The