“I was just hanging from the ceiling, right? That wasn ’t a PCP-induced hallucination?” I asked. He shook his head. “How exactly did I do that?”

“You’ll be surprised what you’re capable of, particularly when you’re startled.” He smiled warmly. “You know, your mind is a fascinating instrument. It’s jam-packed up there. Even now, in the throes of panic, you’re observing, cataloging the information for later. I find that intriguing.”

“Well, thank you for noticing,” I said, standing up. “I am going home now and pouring every drop of alcohol in my house down the drain.”

In a flash of movement, he was at my side. His cool fingers stroked my forehead. I wanted to move, to dodge those long, elegant hands. Instead, I sat transfixed, letting him stream his fingers down my cheeks. His lips hovered near my ear, and he whispered. “Remember.”

I was watching movies in my head again. I saw it all, remembered everything in a hot rush of oily color. I watched lights fade away as I lay dying in the ditch. Gabriel was there, cradling me in his arms. I was drifting in that gray, misty world bordering on unconsciousness, but I could hear. I could see. He asked if I wanted to die. I shook my head, so weak, too weak even to manage

“Duh.”

He pressed his face to my throat. I cried out as his teeth pierced my skin. I ripped the seams of his shirtfront as my whole body clenched. I dully registered the sound of his buttons plinking against the gravel. There was an insistent pressure as he drew my blood to the wound. After Gabriel took a few long drinks, it didn’t hurt anymore. I couldn’t even feel the gash in my side. I was floating. I was warm. I was safe.

Gabriel pulled away from me, leaving me cold, exposed. I whimpered, lamely trying to pull him back to my neck. That was embarrassing to watch, and it was also the point where it got weird.

Snarling, Gabriel bit into his wrist and held it over my mouth. Even in memory, I was disgusted. The feeling of his cool, coppery blood dripping past my lips was repulsive, but I couldn’t stop it. I knew, at a primal, instinctual level, that I needed it to survive. He whispered encouragements in a watery language I couldn’t understand. I swallowed, thinking of what was flowing over my tongue as medicine. And soon I didn’t care. I claimed his wrist, pressing it to my mouth and devouring. I was drowning, filling the crushing void that threatened to take me down with it. I couldn ’t think. I couldn’t draw enough breath no matter how hard I tried.

Gently, Gabriel pried me away from his arm. He murmured against my forehead as I writhed, my brain screaming for air. I screamed noiselessly, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. Gabriel’s eyes held me, cradling me in their sympathy. In English, he whispered that this part was never easy, but it would be over soon. My heartbeat slowed to nothing. One last shallow gasp rattled in my chest. Everything was dark.

I was ripped out of the vision and into reality. I tumbled to my knees. If there was anything in my stomach, I would have gladly tossed it up onto the carpet.

“What did you do to me?” I whispered, shaking away the memory and wiping at my mouth.

“You know what I am. You know what you are,” he said quietly, as if we were talking about being Episcopalian. “I offered you a choice, and you took it.”

I shot him what I hoped was a truly scathing glare. “Some choice. I was dying. Some drunk shot me from a pickup. Why couldn’t I have just woken up with gonorrhea like every other girl of loose moral fiber?”

He barked out a laugh. “You’re very funny.”

I chose to accept that as a compliment and move on. “Thanks. Well, I’ve got to go.”

I’d taken about half a step toward the bedroom door. Gabriel was blocking my path. How did he move like that? It was really irritating.

“You can’t leave,” he said, closing his hands around my wrists. He seemed to enjoy the contact, judging from the way his eyes darkened and flashed. It was an epic struggle to ignore the drool -worthiness of the man currently stroking my cheek.

Remembering that he’d just given me what amounted to an eternal hickey helped considerably. “You need to feed, soon. It’s been three days since you’ve taken anything at all.”

“I’m not taking anything from you.” I shoved him back even as my mind raced. Three days? He couldn’t be serious. No one can sleep for three days. Oh, right, I was dead. New rules.

“You must drink, Jane.”

“I won’t!”

“This could be much more difficult. I’m trying to make it easy on you,” he said, advancing on me.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said, pressing my hand against his chest to keep him away. It was like touching a brick wall.

Hard, immovable, and lifeless. There was no heartbeat beneath my palm, no breath.

This was not good.

“You have to feed, and there are things we need to discuss, ” he murmured. He moved closer, running the tip of his nose along my hairline. That worried me, considering the three-day bathing hiatus. But my general odor didn’t seem to bother him. Quite the contrary. He pulled my hand low, dragging me against him. I desired nothing more than to lean into him, let him wrap me in those long arms, and drink from him until I couldn’t care anymore.

And then my stupid logical brain piped up. I didn’t know this guy. I didn’t even know where I was, really. For all I knew, I was having some sort of bizarre allergic reaction to the GHB he’d slipped me. And now I was going to let him slobber all over me?

Um, no.

“Stay away from me!” I threw him into a wall. Hard. Hard enough to knock some attractive watercolors off the plaster and to the floor.

I grabbed my purse, which was conveniently placed by the front door. Gabriel was such a considerate abductor/host. He even left the front door unpadlocked.

The sun had just set, leaving a muggy late-summer evening in its wake. The scent of growth, quiet and green, hung heavy in the air. I heard everything. I saw everything. I could count the craters on the moon. I could count every mosquito buzz past, bypassing my tender skin out of respect for a fellow bloodsucker. I heard the rustle of every leaf on every tree. I could feel animals in the woods, scuttling through the grass. Dark things feeding, running, feasting—and I envied them.

“Jane!” Gabriel was framed in the front door. He did not seem happy.

I’m not a “spring into action” sort of girl. And yet I was dashing headlong into the woods like an overcaffeinated gazelle. I bounded through the trees, sensing animals stop and watch me as I sprinted by. I laughed into the wind, amazed at this new freedom. I broke into an easy lope when I could no longer sense Gabriel behind me. I stayed away from the main roads, vaulting over barbed-wire fences and through pastures. I disturbed Hank Yancy’s cattle enough to send him running to his front porch with a shotgun.

It took about two miles before it registered that my feet were bare and stinging, but even that felt good. I ’d never felt so alive, so aware, so ravenously hungry. I finally understood those crazy people who talked about runner’s highs.

I bounded up the front steps of River Oaks, the 147-year-old pre-Civil War farmhouse I inherited from my great-aunt Jettie, and threw myself on the living-room sofa, dazed and laughing. I had to figure out what the hell to do next. First order of business, I was starving. Where did a vampire get her very first breakfast?

I was evaluating the overall ick factor of that statement when Zeb Lavelle, my best friend since first grade, strode into my living room.

“Janie, where the hell have you been?”

3

There are many alternatives to drinking human blood, including synthetic blood and animal blood. Warm-blooded animals, such as pigs or cows, are recommended, as reptilian blood tends to be bitter. In order to make synthetic or animal blood more palatable, we suggest microwaving it for thirty-eight seconds at 75-percent power. Dropping a penny into the blood (after microwaving!) also gives it an authentic coppery taste.

—From The Guide for the Newly Undead

“I—”

“Wait,” Zeb said, pulling me off the couch and wrapping me in his long, gangly arms. I could smell traces of aftershave on his skin and French Onion Sun Chips on his breath. I could feel the blood coursing through his veins, see the staccato beat of his pulse at his throat.

Zeb was oblivious to these disturbing developments. “I’m really glad you’re OK…what’s with the pajamas?”

“I—”

“Seriously, where have you been?” he demanded. “I heard about you getting fired on Wednesday, and I came here Wednesday to see how you were doing, but you weren’t here. Did I mention that was on Wednesday? I can understand that you needed a self-pity bender, Jane, but you have to let someone know where you are. I’ve been feeding your psychotic dog for three days. Your mom’s been going nuts, and you know that means she’s been calling me.”

“I—”

“I’ve been able to hold her off from calling the police for this long, but I ’ll feel bad if some pajama fetish freak has been keeping you in his basement this whole time.”

“Stop!” I thundered, my voice pitching to a deep smoker’s tenor. The raspy command seemed to settle Zeb down pretty quickly. He dropped to the couch, waiting for my next command. It was the first time in more than twenty years of friendship that he was completely silent and still.

“I’m fine.” I cleared my throat and returned to my normal voice, pushing the words around the strange stretching sensation in my mouth. My teeth felt as if they were growing. “Everything is fine…Wait, you already heard I got fired?”

Emerging from his stupor, Zeb shot me a look both pitiful and withering. Coming from Zeb, it wasn’t that intimidating. Picture Steve Zahn with big brown eyes and less impulse control. “It’s the Hollow, Jane. The whole town knows you got fired.”

“Oh, that’s not good,” I said, sinking next to him.

“Aww, it’s OK,” he said, putting his arm around me again. “I’ve told everybody you were fired because Mrs. Stubblefield was afraid you’d take her job. And that you had proof that she was drinking at her desk.” Zeb grinned, clearly thrilled with his own cleverness.