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before sunset—
    Just as the thought struck, my eyes snapped open.
    Hey, we’re talking my mother here.
    “…but it’s your life and you have to live it as you see fit. Though I can’t begin to fathom how you could possibly be happy in that cramped hovel you call an apartment day in and day out. But if you want to break your father’s heart, that’s your business. The least you can do is meet your father’s financial advisor. He’s perfect for you, dear. Call me and I’ll tell you more.” Click.
    I squinted at the clock sitting on the floor near my bedroom door. I still had fifteen blessed minutes and my eyelids knew it. They fluttered, trying to creep shut on me.
    I fought back the urge to bury my head beneath the pillow and forced myself from between the sheets. The decent, respectable, sane vampire comment pushed into my head, but I quickly dismissed it. This was totally different because I wasn’t bugging the hell out of anyone.
    I stumbled toward the small window that flanked the left side of my bed. Careful to stay off to the side, I pulled the cord and lifted the heavy blinds. Fading sunlight spilled into the room. I turned and hopped back beneath the pile of blankets. Settling my back against the headboard, I hugged my knees to my chest, pulled up the covers, and stared past the foot of my bed to the mirror that hung on the wall opposite me.
    Here’s the deal…While I can’t waltz outside in the direct light of day, staring at its reflection is a totally different thing.
    A quick note about born vamps and mirrors—yes, we can see our reflections. Now whether or not we want to, that’s a different story altogether. Personally, I don’t glance into mine until I’ve had at least a full glass of O positive and a little lipstick.
    An orange glow topped the building next to mine, and I watched for the next several minutes as it sank lower and lower. I’d seen the sun set like this many times (I am five hundred years old and mirrors have been around forever), and every time, I felt a strange sense of loss when the sunlight disappeared completely.
    Not that I thought it was any big deal. Or felt slighted in any way. I was one of the special ones— crème de la crème breeding, eternal youth, and all that jazz—and daylight was nothing more than a pain in the ass as far as I was concerned.
    No way did I actually wonder what it would be like to stand outside and feel the sun warm my face.
    Okay, so maybe I’ve wondered. But I’ve also wondered what it would be like to play a duet with Mozart, pose for Botticelli, marry the president of the United States (before the whole Lewinsky thing), and sing the national anthem at a Super Bowl game. We’re talking brief, fleeting, it-ain’t-gonna-happen thoughts that are nice to have, but in no way do they reflect the real me.
    I am totally happy and content.
    The phone rang before I could give the subject any more thought—thankfully—and I snatched it up.
    “Hey.”
    “Lil?”
    My mother’s voice carried over the line, and I mentally slapped myself for not glancing at the caller ID. But I’d been in a sort of serious moment, and I don’t really do serious all that well.
    “It’s about time you answered the phone.”
    “Just kidding,” I blurted. “I’m not really home right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. Beeeeep!”
    “Lil?”
    I held my breath.
    “This is your mother,” she finally said. “I forgot to remind you about Sunday. Don’t be late. Your father hates it when you’re late. Speaking of which, I’ve got to go now and wake him up. He tees off at sundown.” Click.
    Whew, that was close.
    I let myself take a deep breath and punched the off button on my phone.
    Ugh.
    In my whole new apartment/new business euphoria, I’d totally forgotten about Sunday. While humans had the traditional dinner where they gathered once a week to drive each other crazy, we Marchettes had the hunt.
    Back in the old