“Jacob," Rose persisted, "I still want to know what gave you the idea of singing like that. You weren't really drunk, were you?""Jews don't get drunk.""You don't know everybody I do.""Anyway, it was this." He laid a finger across the bridge of his nose and swept it down to the tip. "Put me in a lineup with a Chinaman, a Choctow, and a Hottentot, and ask anybody to pick out the Jew and they'll get it right on the first try.""But--""But nothing, Rose. It's the old Poe gimmick. Hide in plain sight. If a Jew tried to infiltrate that bunch of Nazis, what's the obvious thing to do? He'd head to the darkest corner he could find, he'd keep his head down and his trap shut and hope that nobody'd notice him. And do you think that would work? In a pig's ass - pardon my French, Rose - they'd catch him out in a minute. So I stood up and acted drunk and sang Nazi songs. No Jew would do that; so they just figured I was an unlucky Aryan who managed to pick up a bad gene from a wandering ancestor. So maybe this drunk wasn't quite one hundred percent pure Aryan, but he was obviously as good Nazi, so let him be. At least for now.”

“Getting drunk was good. I decided that I would always like getting drunk. It took away the obvious and maybe if you could get away from the obvious often enough, you wouldn't become so obvious yourself.”

“Aryans?" I asked, thinking I must have heard the word incorrectly.Christian and Allie nodded."Aryans as in white supremacist, those sorts of Aryans?""Yes," Christian said."Neo-Nazis?" My mind was having a hard time grasping the idea of a power-hungry vampire leading an army of Hitler's Youth. "Skinheads and their ilk?""Hasi, what is it you find so unbelievable?" Adrian asked, a smile in his voice."Oh, I don't know. I guess I just expected that any army Saer raised would be… you know… the evil undead." Everyone just looked at me. "Oh, yeah, I guess you're right. Neo-Nazis are more or less the evil undead. Right. So we have Saer about to attack at any moment with a bunch of goose-stepping Nazis. Great. Anyone here do a really good Winston Churchill impression?”

“I don't want to. Believe me. But I can't help it. Rose said in time, I'll learn the control to keep his feelings out, but I can't do it now. And he has so much, Sydney. So much feeling. He feels everything so strongly— love, grief, anger. His emotions are up and down, all over the place. What happened between him and Rose . . . it tears him apart.”

“You keep picking me up and carting me around,” she muttered. “You know, when I’m not injured or drunk on my ass, I do have two perfectly functional feet.” “You are just so magnificently portable,” he told her.”

“Cole, do you feel anything for me?" I don't know what made me ask this, except that Jack had asked him the night of the Tunnels. It obviously surprised him.He backed up. "What?"I inched forward, not quite sure I was going with this. "Do you feel...something for me?"He was quiet, still as a statue, so I moved even closer. "Don't, Nik." His gaze dropped to the ground."If you feel anything, please leave me alone. I don't know why I survived. I don't have your answer. Shadowing me will get you nothing."Then he did something unexpected. He backed down, and as he turned around to his motorcycle, he shook his head and mumbled, "What have you done to me?""I don't know," I said. "But you have ninety-nine years to figure it out."He kicked it on and revved the engine, and at the sound, he found his cocky smirk again. "That's a long time, Nik. Jack is gone, and I'm here. Let's see who gives up first.”