“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

I threw my arms up. “I don’t even know what it is.”

He sighed, a short snort of impatience. “I like you. You’re unpredictable, and you always say what you think, even if it would be better if you didn’t. You get yourself into situations that Moliere couldn’t think of.”

“OK, OK, so you like me.”

“Yes, I think we should see each other on an exclusive basis, ” he said. I stared at him. “I am your sire, and we’ve made love.”

“I’m familiar with your résumé,” I said, shushing him with another furtive look at Zeb. “This is not a good time for this.”

“I doubt we’ll ever find a good time,” he muttered, thrusting his arm against my mouth. “Now, drink, before Missy figures out what we’re doing.” With nothing else I to say, I chomped on his wrist. Gabriel yelped, prompting a smile against his skin. Unusual for me, I knew, but I could hear Missy and Dick’s argument winding down. Gabriel winced as I drew huge mouthfuls of his blood.

Zeb watched, coming closer and closer. “Is it going to be a Popeye thing? She eats her spinach and has the strength of twenty squinty sailors?”

“How have you survived this long without someone hurting you?” Gabriel asked as I finished feeding. I wiped a drip from my chin and offered Zeb a red-tinged grin. He recoiled, clearly grossed out.

Gabriel pulled a handkerchief from nowhere and dabbed at my mouth.

“I love it when he does that,” Zeb said, looking Gabe over for hidden pockets. “Why can’t I be a cool sleight-of-hand guy?”

“You’ve got a huge man crush on him, don’t you?” I said, shaking my head.

Zeb measured “this much” sexual confusion with his fingers.

The sudden drop in volume signaled that Missy had finally noticed us.

“Gabriel, I do believe what you just did could be considered cheating,” Missy said, her voice teasing and pouting.

“Do not attempt to explain the ancient codes to me,” he growled.

Missy ignored the chill in Gabriel’s tone. “Then I can count on you to mind your own business and let us girls sort this out.”

“You can count on me to keep this farce as close to the codes as possible. And if by some misfortune you happen to kill my bloodmate, I will make you wish for dawn.”

Bloodmate? What was that, exactly? It sounded like something I didn’t necessarily want to be. But the term seemed to have an effect on Missy. The supreme Tony Robbins-bred confidence melted away for a second before she flashed a guileless grin. “I’ll just let you two say your good-byes.”

“She’s really good at that intimidating smack-talk stuff,” I said, watching her flounce away. “Any advice?”

“Keep your hands up,” Gabriel said. “Protect your neck and chest at all times. And don’t try any of those fancy women’s self-defense tactics. She probably took the same classes when she was alive, and she’ll be expecting them.”

Before I could retort, Gabriel crushed me close and gave me a bloodless, friendly smack on the lips. He smiled. “For luck.”

“Idiot,” I said, before grinning broadly and crushing his mouth to mine.

“We need to pick new pet names for each other,” he muttered as I hefted myself up from the ground.

Honestly, how did someone who never once got into a fight in school end up getting into so many of them as an adult? Missy was standing in the middle of the yard, in a worn circle of dirt. I felt like that first anonymous fighter who gets killed off in the Jean -

Claude Van Damme cage-fighter movies. Missy smiled, and I circled.

“I guess we’re going to get to have that little catfight after all,” Missy said, rolling her shoulders.

“I’m not worried. If you kill me, my dead great-aunt will fix it so you spend eternity looking for your car keys,” I said.

I felt the power of Gabriel’s blood coursing through me, warming me, giving me that drunk driver’s confidence that maybe I could make it home. The burns on my arms had finally healed over. And the wound in my shoulder was a shiny, slightly sore memory.

“Question. Did you actually wear that Juicy Couture track suit with this in mind?”

Missy scowled. “If we’re going to talk fashion, shug, I think we need to start with those Payless specials you wear.”

“Ow, I wear cheap shoes, you got me,” I deadpanned. “Let’s just cut the banter and fight. I feel the need to warn you, I’m a hair puller.”

“I feel the need to warn you,” Missy said, before simply punching me right in the eye.

I responded by collapsing to the ground. That’d show her.

Can someone punch you in the head so hard that it actually decapitates you? Because Missy came close.

From my position on the ground, I could see the heel of Missy’s shoe on a collision course with my throat. I rolled, ramming into her shins and knocking her off balance. She fell on her butt with an outraged “uhff” and kicked up, launching me about twenty feet in the air. Giddy from the fall, I landed on my feet but didn’t have time to avoid the crushing kick to my solar plexus. I stumbled back, making a sound not found in human language, and struck out, punching her in the eye. She swung blind, dragging her frosted-pink nails down my chest. I swiped my fingers under my shirt and found blood streaked across them.

I grunted and stomped on her foot. She screamed and kicked me in the shin. I had no choice but to pull her hair, which was remotely shameful, even though I’d warned her. But it was surprisingly effective. Missy squealed and snaked her hands against my scalp, yanking hard. And soon we were just rolling around on the ground, cursing and screeching and ripping out handfuls of hair.

Without super hearing, I wouldn’t have heard Zeb whisper, “This is the coolest thing I have ever seen.”

“Maybe they’ll get muddy,” Dick said. “Please, Lord, let them get muddy.”

Gabriel turned on them. “You two do realize this is a battle to the death, yes?”

Neither seemed particularly embarrassed.

After several ringing blows to the head, Missy tossed me in a limp pile at the feet of Dick, Gabriel, and Zeb. Gabriel helped me to my feet and gave me an encouraging slap on the back. Dick, however, took a hint from Burgess Meredith’s performance in Rocky.

“Would you kick her ass already?” Dick said, shoving me back toward Missy. “Come on, Stretch, man up. You can do better than this! Get mad.”

I nodded, rolling a dislocated shoulder back into place with a grunt and staggering back toward my opponent.

Behind me, Zeb yelled, “She tried to hurt Fitz!” He turned to Gabriel and Dick. “That’ll get her mad.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “She’s been framed for murder twice over, shot in the back, her arms were set on fire, and her parents are being held hostage. You think tampered dog water is what’s going to make her angry?”

“You tried to hurt my dog!” I wheezed as I lurched toward a grinning Missy.

“Oh, big deal,” Missy huffed. “It’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

“You tried to hurt my dog,” I said again.

“I would have been doing you a favor.” Missy sneered.

“Nobody. Screws. With. My. Dog.” I growled, punctuating each word with a punch to Missy’s face. I gave an upper cut to the chin that sent her flying back into a pile on the ground.

Zeb grinned at Dick and Gabriel. “Told you.”

I took a running start at Missy, hoping to drive my elbow into her chest. But she rolled out of the way, kicking me in the back of the head when I face-planted into the dirt. Ow.

I pushed up to my knees, but Missy tackled me, throwing me to the ground, cursing, and pulling my hair. I tried every move I’d ever seen on the rare evenings Zeb got me to watch wrestling: head butting, eye gouging, ear pulling. But nothing would get Missy off me.

Still rolling in our cartoon fight ball of flying fists and cat yowls, we knocked into the storage shed, popping the door open. A slew of Missy’s old Realtor signs spilled out, their pointy wooden stakes glinting like a dozen golden opportunities.

We glanced at the stakes, looked at each other, and dove. I landed first, with Missy grabbing my ankles to pull me away. I managed to snag one as she dragged me facedown over the grass. Spitting dirt and grass and a couple of foul words, I sprang to my feet. Missy was still on her back, hate and surprise radiating from her eyes as I lunged and drove the sign through her chest.

Missy howled, wriggling to free herself from the spike pinning her to the ground.

“The heart, you moron!” she screeched, clutching at the stake. “It has to be the heart!”

“Oh, right, thanks,” I said, grabbing another sign. I screamed as I drove it home, aiming more carefully this time.

She looked down at the wood pinning her heart, disbelief flickering over her features before they crumbled away to dust. It happened in a wave, first the skin, then the musculature, then a bare skeleton that exploded in a cloud of particles. The sign swayed once, twice, then fell flat, pushing Missy’s smiling photo into the mound of her dust.

“Get the point?” I asked, offering the boys a triumphant smile.

Gabriel, Zeb, and Dick stared at me, aghast.

“What? Sarcastic postkill comeback. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in situations like this?

“Too harsh?”

21

You cannot control your family’s reaction to your new lifestyle. You can only control your reaction to your family. It’s best if that reaction does not include eating your family.

—From The Guide for the Newly Undead

Gabriel offered to wipe my family’s memories. It was so tempting to hide for a little bit longer, to let one area of my life stay the same for just a little while. But I’d had enough. The lies took too much energy, and, frankly, I was having a hard time keeping track of to whom I’d told what.