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long knife. Zoë stopped and stared and her brain attempted again to process, but it failed.
    They’re slaughtering a deer. A deer. In the suburbs. A skinless deer is hanging RIGHT THERE.
    Nope. Still the brain didn’t acknowledge. She moved on, worried the family would notice her blatant staring, and only about a minute later did her brain work out what had happened. She slammed on the brakes and toppled from her bike into a hydrangea bush, where she vomited, clutching her stomach and voiding her mother’s signature hash browns. She had not expected to see a skinless deer hanging from a child’s swing set, and when she did, her brain rejected it until forced to understand.
    And her brain was rejecting what she saw now, utterly refusing to acknowledge that the demon waiter carried a terrarium that was half-full of hedgehogs. The little creatures moved against one another, each trying to get to the top. The mound positively writhed, and the men at the table watched eagerly. At the end of “Happy Birthday,” while everyone in the restaurant applauded, the waiter placed it in front of the man, who reached inside and grabbed a hedgehog. He opened his mouth impossibly wide—his head hadn’t been that big before, had it?—and popped the hedgehog in as if it were a marshmallow. He chewed and grinned and nodded to his companions, who both went grabbing for their own desserts.
    This scene played out in front of Zoë’s eyes, and her braintried to process it, but eventually it refused and it decided instead to focus back on Phil. Phil watched her with the same intent gaze he had fixed on her all night. He took a sip of his very thick red, the legs of the wine sliding into the glass as he righted it. His freckled face had gained a little color.
    “Now do you understand?” he asked.
    He smiled at her, showing teeth that slowly elongated into fangs. Zoë nodded once and then toppled slowly out of her chair as her brain decided that the best way to deal with the situation was to check out completely.
    Wake up.
    When Zoë opened her eyes, it was as if she were looking through a television. She had no emotional reaction, and felt slow and stupid. She was sitting awkwardly in the chair, unable to move, slumped oddly to the side.
    Phil swirled the blood in his glass, contemplating it. “You’re interesting, Zoë. You went a completely different way than most humans do. Most deny it first, not even attempting to find a plausible explanation. I wonder if you’ve encountered others like me.”
    She felt her head move from side to side. “I don’t think so.”
    Eric shambled over and looked down at Zoë. “Are you going to eat her here, Mr. Rand, or should I prepare her to go?”
    Zoë expected a jolt of adrenaline, but it didn’t come. Phil frowned. “Bring her some water. She will need it when I let her go.”
    “So you won’t be dining on her?”
    “No. I’ll have another glass, though, same vintage please.”
    Eric helpfully propped her more upright in her chair, pushing her slightly so that she slumped against the wall instead ofout of the chair. Phil handed the zombie his wineglass and he trudged off.
    Phil tapped his finger on the table. “For this moment, you are mine,” he said, staring into her eyes.
    “You’re the boss,” she answered, blinking.
    “I want to ask you some questions, and I need you to be truthful to me. You will be under my control for only a few minutes.”
    She frowned, realizing her face was answering some of her commands. “You don’t have to be so dramatic. I’ll tell you anything you want.” Her words were slow, though, as if she were drunk.
    He tapped his finger again. “The truth is, hiring a human might be what we need, if you can take the stress. Do you have any phobias?”
    “No.” Zoë rubbed her face, still disoriented.
    “How do you work under extreme stress? Have you ever been in a position to find out?”
    Zoë’s face stilled. “Yes,” she said softly. “I was