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wasn’t entirely sure of it. I unburied my head so I could see him. But whatever had been in his voice hadn’t touched the bland expression on his face.
    â€œThere is no danger to her beyond anemia,” he told Samuel. “It takes more than a bite to change a human to a vampire—and I’m not certain Mercy could be turned anyway. If she were human, we’d have to worry that he could call her to him and command her obedience—but walkers are not so vulnerable to our magic. She just needs to rehydrate and rest.”
    Samuel gave the vampire a sharp look. “You’re just full of information now, aren’t you? If you didn’t bite her, what did?”
    Stefan smiled faintly, not like he meant it, and handed Samuel the glass of orange juice he’d tried to give him earlier. I knew why he handed it to Samuel and not me. Samuel was getting all territorial—I was impressed that a vampire could read him that well.
    â€œI think Mercy would be a better narrator,” Stefan said. There was a thread of uncharacteristic anxiety in his voice that distracted me from worrying about Samuel’s possessiveness.
    Why was Stefan so anxious to hear what I had to say? He’d been there, too.
    I took the glass Samuel handed me and sat up until I wasn’t leaning against him anymore. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I’d been until I started drinking. I’m not usually fond of orange juice—Samuel’s the one who drank it—but just then it tasted like ambrosia.
    It wasn’t magic, though. When I finished, my head still hurt, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head, but I wasn’t going to get any rest until Samuel knew everything—and Stefan apparently wasn’t going to talk.
    â€œStefan called me a couple of hours ago,” I began. “I owed him a favor for helping us when Jesse was kidnaped.”
    They both listened raptly, Stefan nodding in places. When I reached the part where we entered the hotel room, Stefan sat on the floor near my feet. He leaned his back against the couch, turned his head away from me and covered his eyes with a hand. He might just have been getting tired—the window shades were starting to lighten with the first hints of dawn as I finished up with my botched attempt at killing Littleton and my subsequent impact with the wall.
    â€œYou’re sure that’s what happened?” asked Stefan without uncovering his eyes.
    I frowned at him, sitting up straighter. “Of course I’m sure.” He’d been there, so why did he sound as if he thought I might be making things up?
    He rubbed his eyes and looked at me, and there was relief in his voice. “No offense meant, Mercy. Your memories of the woman’s death are very different from mine.”
    I frowned at him. “Different how?”
    â€œYou say that all I did was kneel on the ground while Littleton murdered the hotel maid?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œI don’t remember that,” he said, his voice a bare whisper. “I remember the sorcerer brought the woman out, her blood called to me, and I answered it.” He licked his lips and the combination of horror and hunger in his eyes made me glance away from him. He continued in a whisper, almost to himself. “Bloodlust has not overcome me in a long, long time.”
    â€œWell,” I said, not sure if what I had to tell him would help or hurt, “you weren’t pretty. Your eyes glowed and you showed some fang. But you didn’t do anything to her.”
    For a moment, a pale reflection of the ruby glow I’d seen in the hotel room gleamed in his irises. “I remember reveling in the woman’s blood, painting it on my hands and face. It was still there when I brought you home and I had to wash it off.” He closed his eyes. “There is an old ceremony…forbidden now for a long time but I