To Nyaira’s surprise, the door was not so much as locked.
	“Well, I’ll be,” Nyaira said in her currently favorite southern accent, false cheerfulness in her voice. “Alex! Two times in one day.” She sashayed over to his chair and draped an arm lethargically over its back. Her voice changed as she continued, dropping the accent and her tone growing darker, almost sarcastic. “Who would’ve guessed? And where would [i]you[/i] be without your dear nuisance minion, Illyad?” She looked to the warlock just before he addressed her.
	She could smell the scent of the human girl she was after. It saturated the place, clinging to fabrics and the air as relentlessly as the incense the smell mingled with.
	“Wooden stakes are [i]far[/i] too chewy, darling.” Nyaira waved his question away, then pushed from the couch. She feigned an interest in Illyad’s decor. “Quaint little place you’ve found yourself.”
	She walked toward the kitchen doorway, where the girl’s odor strongly wafted from. Her every movement gave her the appearance of something between a serpent and a runway model.  She leaned inside, both hands on the door frame, looking for anywhere the girl could be hiding, and covering the action with her self-tour. Even though she doubted they would fall for such a ruse, it still made an amusing game.
	“Have you thought about hiring a professional decorator?” She straightened and turned back toward the two men, flicking a strand of her feathery brown hair over her shoulder. “Your skills are rather dismal in that area.”
	She cast her gaze about the room once more, then settled on the hallway leading to the remaining rooms of the apartment. The human must be down there somewhere.
	“Though, I suppose that’s only to be expected.” Nyaira strutted casually toward the hall.