the huge squish. I returned the hug, feeling a bit awkward. Then she pulled back and smiled. “I’m sorry. I just—I lost you for a while, and it was awful. And I thought because you felt you couldn’t trust me—you’d leave me out of what’s happening in your life. And I’m still interested. I still want to help.”
I grinned. “That’s good. But the best way to help right now”—I reached out my arm and pushed her to the side—“is to let me get a few hours of deep sleep.” Moving past her, I waved at the table. “Mastiff, you’ll have a great shift. I plan on sleeping all afternoon.”
“What about helping me?” Mom said, looking mockingly upset with a hand to her chest, her eyebrows raised.
I went to the steps beside the kitchen and waved them off. “Get Steve to do it. He’s great with the customers.”
Which was far from the truth. Already, the man had managed to frighten off two pregnant women and a gaggle of Girl Scouts. All because he appeared in front of them and said boo.
But even as I fell into my bed, my mind gathered up all the events and mushed them together in a single troubled list.
Daniel was missing—either having escaped by mundane or extraordinary means.
Something unknown attacked Archer and killed a Fetch—something that had visibly upset the Symbiont.
Someone was using an old ritual created to destroy First Borns—and had killed a ghoul. They’d also made it look like vampires had done it. Why?
And to top it all off—why hadn’t Dags returned my phone calls?
Suddenly unable to sleep, I pulled my iPhone from my back pocket—hey, I could talk again, so I had gone after the coolest phone I could find—and pulled up his number. I didn’t have a picture—not a single one. I only had my memory of him. And even that was getting fuzzy, even after one month.
What I could remember was his touch—gentle and soft—and his warm body against mine.
I hit the CONNECT button and waited. It rang once, twice, then the same message in his voice mail, “Greetings and salutations—you’ve reached the voice mail of Darren McConnell. I’m not available to take your call—”
I disconnected. What was the point in leaving another message?
I’d already left five.
7
MOM tried to wake me up at some point—yammering about a guest downstairs. One of Rhonda’s friends—but I was having none of it. I wanted sleep, and nothing was going to get in my way.
Eventually, I did crawl up from the depths of unconsciousness. It was dark outside, and I stumbled to the bathroom to shower and change into my usual black clothes. After tying up my hair, I meandered downstairs to a completely empty shop. There was a note taped to the microwave from Mom.
Why are you always so tired? Are you not testing your sugar?
Gone to dinner with Jemmy and Missus Parks. We’ll be back late. There’s a plate of food in the microwave.
Mom
I opened the microwave and pulled out a massive helping of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits. Uhm . . . this might have looked appetizing an hour or two ago. But now it was more like coagulated grease and starch. Stepping on the garbage-can release, I raked all of it in, gave it last rites, and closed it up. Tossing the dish in the sink, I looked in the refrigerator. Hum . . . sandwich meats, cheese, fruit—chocolate cake!
Win!
I pulled out the plate with half of a hunk on it—looked like my Mom’s devilishly rich chocolate mousse cake. Mm . . . a piece of this, then a dollop of whipped cream—and coffee. Needed to make coffee.
I stood, shut the door, and turned—
And let out a thunderclap of a scream.
TC reached out and capped my mouth with his hand. “I hate it when you do that.”
I stood in my mom’s kitchen, holding a plate of chocolate cake with Vin Diesel’s hand over my mouth. Life was not exactly boring, was it? I reached up and pulled his hand back. “Then stop popping in and out like that without warning. I was
I grinned. “That’s good. But the best way to help right now”—I reached out my arm and pushed her to the side—“is to let me get a few hours of deep sleep.” Moving past her, I waved at the table. “Mastiff, you’ll have a great shift. I plan on sleeping all afternoon.”
“What about helping me?” Mom said, looking mockingly upset with a hand to her chest, her eyebrows raised.
I went to the steps beside the kitchen and waved them off. “Get Steve to do it. He’s great with the customers.”
Which was far from the truth. Already, the man had managed to frighten off two pregnant women and a gaggle of Girl Scouts. All because he appeared in front of them and said boo.
But even as I fell into my bed, my mind gathered up all the events and mushed them together in a single troubled list.
Daniel was missing—either having escaped by mundane or extraordinary means.
Something unknown attacked Archer and killed a Fetch—something that had visibly upset the Symbiont.
Someone was using an old ritual created to destroy First Borns—and had killed a ghoul. They’d also made it look like vampires had done it. Why?
And to top it all off—why hadn’t Dags returned my phone calls?
Suddenly unable to sleep, I pulled my iPhone from my back pocket—hey, I could talk again, so I had gone after the coolest phone I could find—and pulled up his number. I didn’t have a picture—not a single one. I only had my memory of him. And even that was getting fuzzy, even after one month.
What I could remember was his touch—gentle and soft—and his warm body against mine.
I hit the CONNECT button and waited. It rang once, twice, then the same message in his voice mail, “Greetings and salutations—you’ve reached the voice mail of Darren McConnell. I’m not available to take your call—”
I disconnected. What was the point in leaving another message?
I’d already left five.
7
MOM tried to wake me up at some point—yammering about a guest downstairs. One of Rhonda’s friends—but I was having none of it. I wanted sleep, and nothing was going to get in my way.
Eventually, I did crawl up from the depths of unconsciousness. It was dark outside, and I stumbled to the bathroom to shower and change into my usual black clothes. After tying up my hair, I meandered downstairs to a completely empty shop. There was a note taped to the microwave from Mom.
Why are you always so tired? Are you not testing your sugar?
Gone to dinner with Jemmy and Missus Parks. We’ll be back late. There’s a plate of food in the microwave.
Mom
I opened the microwave and pulled out a massive helping of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and biscuits. Uhm . . . this might have looked appetizing an hour or two ago. But now it was more like coagulated grease and starch. Stepping on the garbage-can release, I raked all of it in, gave it last rites, and closed it up. Tossing the dish in the sink, I looked in the refrigerator. Hum . . . sandwich meats, cheese, fruit—chocolate cake!
Win!
I pulled out the plate with half of a hunk on it—looked like my Mom’s devilishly rich chocolate mousse cake. Mm . . . a piece of this, then a dollop of whipped cream—and coffee. Needed to make coffee.
I stood, shut the door, and turned—
And let out a thunderclap of a scream.
TC reached out and capped my mouth with his hand. “I hate it when you do that.”
I stood in my mom’s kitchen, holding a plate of chocolate cake with Vin Diesel’s hand over my mouth. Life was not exactly boring, was it? I reached up and pulled his hand back. “Then stop popping in and out like that without warning. I was
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