on!” She ran for the door, not caring whether the homeboy understood or followed. Kayla vaulted down the three flights of stairs, hearing the clatter of her guard's footsteps ­behind her. She was out of the apartment building a moment later, looking around the street to get her bearings.
The Mercedes and the rest of the convoy had parked across the street, and a woman was getting out of the back seat of the white Mercedes. Kayla blinked once, uncertain what she was seeing, then stared.
This woman was beautiful, dressed like a model from a magazine, dark‑haired and with vivid blue eyes. No . . . inhumanly beautiful, that's what she was—no real person could look like that. And she was bright with magic, Kayla realized, brighter than anyone she'd ever seen, practically glowing around the edges with power. She couldn't be a real person, not and look like that. . . .
But no real person had ears like this lady. Pointed ears, right out of Star Trek or one of her nightmares. . . .
And no real person had eyes like hers, either, blue as gemstones and slitted like a cat's.
The woman saw Kayla staring at her, and smiled.
:Do you see me for what I am, girl?: