The Last Gatekeeper

One

"Why are we here, where the mortals dine?" I asked, while the clinking of heavy silverware tingled over the indistinct conversations filling the busy restaurant.

"Patience, Mr. Spetter," urged my comrade, Spencer. "You'll see soon enough."

I sighed deeply, tapping my fingers on the tiled tabletop. "I've grown to loathe establishments of this kind. Mortals, here, make the same faces as they do when they believe they're alone in the dark. The only difference is the chewing. Look at them."

Mostly everyone surrounding us smiled closed-lipped with their heads tilted back and eyes slightly rolled, savoring every last bit. The woman in the booth behind us softly moaned over her decadent dessert of caramel crème brûlée.

"She even makes the same sounds," I pointed out.

"As entertaining as your observations are, I must redirect your attention to the two ladies sitting at that pub table," Spencer said with a quick glance in that direction.

The pair sat cross-legged in their pastel cocktail dresses, enjoying a bottle of bubbly champagne. The redhead looked incredibly familiar.

"Isn't she --"

"Yes," Spencer interjected. "The author pictured in the window of the bookstore across the street. She's signing copies of her book tonight for her adoring fans."

"Her time isn't --"

"No, but she's not the one we're after. Take a closer listen."

Leading with my head, I leaned ever-so-slightly to the right, focusing my thoughts as a table twenty feet away began to feel like inches from my seat. Any overlapping exchanges slowly dwindled to a subtle softness.

"I really don't think I have any stalkers," said the redhead, sipping from her stemmed flute. "One less thing to worry about tonight."

"You never know, Katie," replied her friend as she took her compact from her clutch to check her makeup. "Tonight could be the night you get one."

"I really don't think the book attracts that kind of audience. Dane made sure of that."

"Ah, yes. Your editor from the heavens, the mysterious Dane. Will he be attending tonight's shindig?"

"Ummm..." Katie fumbled. "I don't think he does that kind of thing."

"You paid him a truckload of money and --"

"And the book has received nothing but rave reviews. I owe it all to him. He did a complete overhaul of my entire manuscript and somehow preserved my voice and narrative flow. It's absolutely unbelievable. Whatever he does now is completely up to him. He's probably already moved on to his next project by now."

"So, tell me -- how did that whole arrangement work exactly?"

"Well..." Katie answered, looking into space. "Honestly, it sounded like a scam of some kind at first, but he was highly recommended. Then, as we went through the process, I became much more comfortable. It was all in the questions he asked me. They were personal, but not invasive, pressing, but not urgent. He was just this really genuine person."

"Is he single?"

"Actually, I have no idea. Our talks always centered on the work, on me. Anytime I asked him about himself, he found a way to come back to the manuscript. And it was so sneaky, I didn't realize it until long after. I once asked about his family and before I knew it, we were devising ways to weave mine into the story. It's just how he operates, I suppose."

"Sounds like my kind of man. Does what he needs to, then gets the hell out of dodge."

"I know your kind of man. This isn't it. He's simply... special."