Jacob was content to do his own thing, and barely involve himself in the Danse Macabre. And, even more strangely, the Prince considered him to be some...hing of a friend.Natasha was more concerned with Samantha talking with Jacob, than the Prince would be, or than Daniel apparently was. If Jacob wanted to get his hands on Samantha, it wasn’t like the elder couldn’t just sneak-sneak and kidnap her. He might even protect her, if a circumstance arose that meant Samantha was in danger.Or, he could. On the way out to the parking lot, I saw the dyed-hair woman throwing something in her trunk. She wasn’t as old as I’d first thought. Perhaps forty. A nice D-cup. Long brown hair. She opened the driver’s seat door to her gray minivan. The car was a metaphor for her life, I could tell. I thought about it for perhaps a quarter of a second and approached her. “Hey,” I said.She was surprised.“Hi…” she responded.“Dennis.” I extended my hand.“Do I know you?”“No.”That got her thinking about whether. More

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