The library: is occupied. There is a short guy of somewhat indeterminate age sitting at the table, in the dark, with a huge stack of books. He doesn't appear to notice her approach, perhaps because he's busy squinting at the dense handwriting of this twelfth-century manuscript.

"I'd take an explanation over an apology," she says, flicking a lightswitch on.

"Fair enough." He raises his voice slightly as he turns back to his book. "Zeke, there's a lady with a crossbow here and she wants to know what we're doing."

"Fuck!" comes the response from somewhere in the stacks.

"Oh, there's two of you and one of you doesn't like the sound of a lady with a crossbow, that's sure promising," says Bella. "Come out come out wherever you are."

"I'm not too charmed by the crossbow myself," says the one at the table. "You could really hurt somebody with a toy like that. Did you still want that explanation or are you skipping straight to threatening us?"

"I mean, I could just shoot first ask questions later but I have a good track record on not accidentally shooting anybody I don't turn out to have meant to shoot, and this could be relatively innocuous demon hunter research, say, and your friend could be swearing about the presence of a crossbow lady for completely innocent reasons, of which I'm sure there are lots, especially around here. Spill."

"You know, I really don't find stern imperatives from armed strangers very motivating, at least not in a friendly direction," he remarks, looking up from his book again since he evidently isn't going to get any reading done in the next few minutes. "I have no idea who you are or what you're after."

"Hey, person who sounds like they've heard of me," Bella calls into the stacks. "Do you find stern imperatives from armed me's very motivating?"

"Hey now," says the one at the table, frowning slightly. "Cool it with the threats, all right?"

"You are like at least fifty-five percent likely to be some sort of nasty bitey creature of the night," Bella says. "Merely threatening you is below and this side of the call of duty. Hey, Sweary Second Probably A Demon, if I hear a window open this conversation gets less verbal, so you know."

"That puts us at something of an impasse, then, because I don't think I want to give them up while you're waving that thing around," he says, nodding to the crossbow. "Look - whatever you imagine our fundamental conflict to be, surely it won't get worse if you take the time to explain it to me?"

"Depends on what your friend is up to, and it sounds like that might be 'summoning mercenary demon vampires' or something. Look, are you aware that most things that are not human and find themselves in human civilization qualify as serial killers around the third time they get hungry?"

"...No...?"

"Well, they do, so I kill them. You are an unusually talkative mercenary demon vampire or whatever you are so I haven't shot you yet but you do not have the default high ground here."

"You have no idea how deeply frustrating this conversation is," sighs Miles.

"I'm glad you met a frustrating human and not a delicious one, tell you that. You wanna tell me what you are, put the holstered guns out of arm's reach, and convince me you are not a public menace who won't even leave a body except for the Dustbuster?"

"No! I don't!" he exclaims. "Because you've been pretty clear about the fact that you might try to kill me at any moment in response to an evaluation whose criteria I don't fully understand, and that's not the kind of situation in which I feel it is safe to unilaterally disarm! And the worst part is, four days ago I would absolutely have had that confidence! God I hate this so much!"

"I'm sorry," the voice from the stacks says plaintively, and then immediately freezes still and silent and breathless again.