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“I know.”
“When can I come home? Sammi Jo’s mom is understanding, but she’s making comments about starting a tab for me. That can’t be a good sign.”
I mulled that over. If Gigi continued to stay with Sammi Jo’s family, people would start to talk. Besides that, if the Council members returned and found that Gigi had essentially moved out, Ophelia would know that something was wrong. Better that Gigi return home and continue her schedule as normal. Besides, it didn’t seem as if Cal was going to be a threat to her safety. He’d had plenty of time to attack and drain me, and so far, his advances were of a more “naked” nature. He seemed to view Gigi as some sort of annoying accessory.
“I think Thursday should be OK. How’s school? Did you get your AP history test back yet?”
She huffed. “Don’t think you’re going to act like everything’s all normal and use my AP history test—which I aced, by the way—to distract me from the wounded hunk of hotness you’re ‘nursing back to health.’ How’s it going? Are the howler monkeys howling? I could put off coming home for a day or so if you make it worth my while … say, two weeks without dishwasher duty?”
“Gigi.”
“Hey, I just want to make it clear. I’m happy for you and all, but I do not want to hear any UNFs coming from your room. I’m a young, impressionable girl.”
“UNFs?”
She snickered. “Yeah, universal noises of fu—”
“How do you even know words like that?” I yelped.
Gigi cackled like a madwoman on the other end of the line. “I know what your substitute curse words really mean. I know what you’re capable of.”
“In other words?”
“I learned it by watching you!” she cried, in a bad imitation of a drug-awareness campaign that was popular when I was a kid.
“I’ll see you on Thursday, smart aleck. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I hung up the phone, got dressed, and padded down the stairs. I was surprised to find Cal sitting at the breakfast bar, typing on his laptop. He had several notebooks and scraps of paper spread out in some order that I’m sure made sense to him.
His skin was pale but without the waxy pallor of the last two days. His eyes were bright and clear. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt extolling the virtues of the Who, which fit so well that it could be considered pectoral porn. He was sipping blood from a mug that Gigi had painted for me on Mother’s Day the previous year. It was covered in little bumblebees and said, “I Heart My Big Sister.”
I was getting used to having another adult in the house at an alarming rate. Even if I was technically taking care of him, it was sort of nice having Cal around. I felt like the burden of being the designated grown-up had been lifted from my shoulders a bit. I’d been on my own for so long, making all of the decisions. I liked the fact that if the water heater exploded or the zombie apocalypse started, I would have someone who would take my survival scenarios seriously.
And yes, I do realize that was a broad range of scenarios.
Cal glanced up but didn’t stop typing as he murmured, “Morning.”
“Morning. Going to bed?” I asked, feeling blindly for the coffee supplies.
“Just about,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I heated a packet of Type A for him in the microwave.
“I thought we agreed that you won’t start every conversation like that.”
“I don’t know how else to start conversations with you. All other subjects lead to veiled insults and the threat of projectile vomiting.”
His lips twitched, and he set aside his laptop, giving me his full attention. “I am feeling much stronger, strong enough to continue my investigation. I’ve spent the last few hours going through your books, writing e-mails to contacts in the medical field, and inquiring about my symptoms and what botanical compounds could be responsible.”
“There are vampire doctors? Isn’t it sort of a moot point for you guys?”
He crossed the room and leaned against the kitchen counter while I assembled my morning cup of “liquid stupidity tolerance.” He said, “There are vampires who used to be doctors in their human days. Their input is very valuable.”
“That makes sense,” I said, glancing over his shoulder at the pictures stacked in front of him. A woman’s body flayed in horrific Technicolor glory, her face so mutilated she barely seemed human. I shrieked, stumbling back against the counter. Cal started, closing the file over the bloody images, and turned to me. His hands gripped my arms, keeping me upright.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing unwelcome images to leave my brain. Cold, gray cement-block walls. Polished stainless-steel tables dully reflecting fluorescent lights. The sound of Gigi weeping softly outside the swinging hospital door. My mother’s dark hair glittering with broken glass. The morgue attendant had to cover her left side with a sheet. As the scent of bleach and disinfectant seeped into my lungs, I ended up on my hands and knees, retching over the wastebasket.
