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Mama sighed, the slightest edge of a sniffle curling at the end. “Will you at least come to the tree-trimming party so we can take the family picture? Not everyone has to know that you and Jenny have had a falling out.”
“Can’t you just Photoshop me in or something?” I asked.
“I don’t even know what that means.” Mama grunted. “Just show up on Saturday at six.”
I hung up the phone and commenced thumping my head against the leaded-glass counter.
“If you keep doing that, it’s going to leave a mark,” a smooth, bemused voice said. “Even your healing powers have limits.”
I looked up to find Andrea Byrne standing in front of me, smirking.
“You look perturbed. Well, more perturbed than usual,” she said, examining the paling bruise on my forehead.
“What was your first clue?” I asked grumpily.
Andrea reminds one of what Grace Kelly might have looked like with red hair and a twisted backstory. Broke after her split with her (fickle bastard) undead ex and disowned by a firmly antivampire family, Andrea came to the Hollow years before to get a job in a boutique downtown. But her real income came from clients who enjoyed her blood in a mutually safe environment for a small fee. Andrea was the first—and last—human I fed from. It made for a rather awkward beginning to our friendship, but she was the one human I knew who truly understood the bizarre aspects of my new vampire lifestyle. She was sort of like my undead blankie, keeping me connected to the living world. Mama would have done the same thing but with more guilt and sunburns.
She hefted both Mind over Matter and The Spectrum of Vampirism off the counter and winced. “A little light reading?”
“Just researching my roots,” I said, flipping Spectrum to the chapter titled “Global Origins.” “Like this charming theory, for example: ‘Gypsies believed that vampires returned from the dead to seek vengeance on those who may have contributed to their death or neglected to give them a proper burial. Graves were watched carefully for signs of being disturbed. Exhumed corpses that were bloated or had turned black would be staked, beheaded, and burned.’ Well, why didn’t they just blast the remains out of a cannon? Humans are stupid.”
“I’m standing right here,” Andrea griped.
“Oh, you’re not really human. You’re like one of us, only with a pulse.”
“And Mr. Wainwright?”
“Same goes.” I nodded. “You don’t normally come in here. What’s up?”
“I’m bored.”
“Bored?” I asked.
She nodded. “Ever since Dick became interested in me, all but my most loyal clients have stopped calling. I don’t know if they are in doubt of my taste or frightened of Dick, but either way, it’s not good for business.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of me.” I grinned. “I’m off in a couple of hours. What did you want to do?”
“Oh, I know, why don’t we go out for a nice girls’ night, get into a bar fight, and then, just for kicks, one of us could end up suspected in a vampire murder. That could be fun,” Andrea suggested brightly. “Oh, wait, we did that already.”
“You think you’re being funny, but you’re not funny. When I tell the story, I don’t tell people about you being knee-walking drunk, ergo unconscious, during the whole fight. I think I’m going to change that policy.”
“You actually tell people that story?”
I nodded. “But when I tell it, Walter is six-foot-three and a trained cage fighter.”
Andrea chuckled.
I grinned slyly. “Dick has been looking for you.”
She grumbled. “He doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘restraining order,’ does he?”
“Technically, that’s two words.” I giggled. “Dick and Andrea sitting in a tree, B-I-T-I-N-G—ow!” I whined as she punched my shoulder. “You’re just mad because secretly, underneath that sophisticated exterior, you’re hot for Dickie.”
“I am not hot for Dickie,” Andrea spat.
“Me and my bruised shoulder say thou dost protest too much,” I said dryly.
“He’s practically stalking me. He just won’t let it go. He’s just being … he’s being a jackass with a flaky jackass crust and a delicious jackass filling.”
