"She held out her hand. Her fingers were long and delicate, and she had blue nail polish. I took it and gave it a little shake."So ... uh ... were you...just introducing yourself?" she asked.I realized I was still holding her hand. I gave her a big, stupid smile, but didn't let go."I really wanted to meet you." Well, now you've met me. Can I have my hand back?" Sure."I let go."So -- uh -- anyway," she went on, "Nice to meet you. See you around."She turned around and began to walk toward her. "Maybe she is, Siren. Maybe she isn't," the voice comesfrom over my shoulder....The tall man stands a few yards away. He is huge, maybeseven feet tall. He wears dark slacks, and a button-upwhite shirt with no collar. He's wrapped in a London Fograin coat. There is most likely an arsenal of weapons underit. Like me, he wears sunglasses.A piece of eighties rock pops into my head, "I wear mysunglasses at night, so I can..." I truncate it forcibly."Woden..." I hiss."Tiresias," he returns.My look of. More

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