He stands in the street and reads the poem fragment, fingertips wandering along the edges of the page. He reads it a few times, as if to more thoroughly parse its meaning and intention, and tips his head at that drifting maybe that he thinks is for him.

"One of them thinks you're a fraud, and the other, a clown. They'll be out late tonight."

Not very long ago, perhaps Armand would have just seen to it himself. Drained the pair a little to weaken them but with more than enough blood left over to satiate a newly made vampire, bundled them up, left them under Daniel's bed with drifting memories of the strange being that abducted them so easily, perhaps an answering fragment of poetry. The impulse is there, even, to create some distance after his little pantomime in the bookstore.

An offer, anyway. Will Daniel kill a woman who bought his book, but doesn't believe in it? Her annoying boyfriend, with his crime of being annoying? Will Daniel wish to hunt with him?

Too many unanswered questions.