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“I . . . umm . . .”
She straightened up. “It has to be fresh, but I’ll berightherewhenever you need me.”
It had to be fresh? That was news, and not the good sort. Questions popped around like manic bunnies in my brain. How fresh? How often? How much? Was it all the same? Should we test the theory?
But Alice was already gone, and I doubted she had the answers I needed. I glanced at Eli.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, undoubtedly seeing my worries and questions. Obviously, the answers weren’t ones he knew or he’d tell me.
I swallowed my panic and nodded. One crisis at a time.
When Alice returned, she had a cocktail shaker in her hand. “I made more. Just in case.”
Eli held out my glass, and Alice filled it. “I’ll mix up another batch before I go.”
She gave me a little finger wave like she was in a parade, and then she was gone again.
“Hey, Alice?” I called after her. “I like your singing.”
Her squeal, presumably a happy noise, was all the answer I got. Okay, maybe shewasgrowing on me. The whole attempted murder thing was still a factor, but she was so damnably cheerful that I couldn’t entirely resist.
“We’re friends, aren’t we? Alice and I are friends,” I whispered to Eli. “I . . .likeAlice.”
“You were too hungry to think clearly,” he offered. “Like a duckling imprinting on a food provider . . .”
Alice’s voice rang out, louder this time, as she presumably was mixing up another batch of blood and vodka for me. She was singing an old blues song, again managing to make it sound like it ought to be on a stage.
“I’m doomed if she keeps feeding meandsinging.”
Eli laughed. “Drink up, butter cream. You sound more like yourself already.”
I hated how right he was, but I felt alert. I felt focused. Alice had just rescued me.
Although Eli didn’t point out that I’d been off since my attempted-murder, we both knew it. And it wasn’t just the appearance of fangs now and then or the weird energy. My necromancy had been erratic before I was injected withdraugrvenom. Since then, it was all over. Some days, my blood was calm. Other days, I could feel it thrumming inside me like war drums. I could summon anything. I felt sure of it.
But energy required balance. Magic always had a cost. And I wasn’t sure what the fee was—or if I was ready to pay it.
Chapter Nine
By evening,I was feeling more alive than I had since my attempted murder in the fall. I vacillated between thinking that there was something energizing about blood and that my heritage had finally caught up with me. Either way, my cocktail hours throughout the day were revitalizing.
By the end of the week, though, blood martinis, murdering “best” friends, and machete-wielding dead men were the least of my troubles. I’d started to suspect that without regular blood I was going to flag. Eli and I set out to see Mama Lauren, closely followed by Jesse, Christy, Sera, and for reasons I’d never admit, Alice. Chanukah wasn’t amajorholiday for Jews, not a high holy day despite the fact that it was one of the only ones Christians knew we had. Still, my mother was keen on any excuse to cook for my friends.
It was a topic we rarely addressed, but my peculiar diet was a challenge for her. I was fairly liquid based, and the few solid things I ate were a choice not a need. Honestly, it was a testament to her cleverness that she discovered that I needed alcohol of all things. To her, I was a hummingbird, existing on some sort of water with additives.
Technically, we were there for the holiday, lighting a candle and sharing prayers and food, but in truth, I also needed maternal insight on what was wrong with me. She could tell. She had always been able to tell what I needed, as far as I knew, so if anyone in the world had answers, it would be Mama Lauren.
In some ways, driving into the Outs for this was not that different than driving to see Beatrice. The primary distinction was that I rarely had the chance to do this of late.
The Outs were dangerous for me in a way that they weren’t for most people. I was tempting to the dead, and my childhood included waking too often to desperate monsters trying to peel off the rolldowns.
Mama Lauren coped, but she always just shrugged and asked what else was she to do? The sort of people who lived here were peculiar. The cities were where folks clustered, and the immediate space outside that—the ghost zones—were wheredraugrgathered. The Outs were their own thing. No utility services. No sheriff. No law. A special sort of madness drew folks to live out in nature.
Your energy was via solar or wind power, and your liquids were well water, septic, and leach fields. Law? Well, that was a combination of firepower and the judicious use of roll-downs for every window, door, chicken coop, and greenhouse on her farm. In the Outs, you didn’t go outside once the sun set—which made the sunset candle lighting a challenge.
We’d always made do. Our “sunset” was noon for the purposes of holidays with friends. The alternative was staying over, and that was complicated sometimes with the way I beckoned to dead things. Mama Lauren could cope, but I didn’t want my friends to wake up todraugrclawing at the walls to get in.
We crawled down the pitted lane, and Eli’s steering managed to avoid pits that seemed likely to swallow his car whole. Maybe it was nerves, but I wasn’t feeling like talking. I clung to the “oh shit” handle on the door as we bounced along.
