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way to pet the zebras, gorillas, and shit. I bit my tongue, telling myself to stop the diarrhea mouth—even if it was only in my head.
    Not that I had a choice or anything, but I asked, “Who do you want me to meet?”
    Disco lowered his head and lifted his arm, motioning for something.
    I narrowed my eyes and scowled.
    I smelled ambush.
    My slitted eyes located him coming over. Ambush indeed. I shook my head, ashamed for not seeing it before. I waited until he scooted in next to Disco before I said anything.
    He looked the same, short dark hair brushed back, clean button down shirt crisp and tidy.
    “Well, hello again, Mr. Grey Goose.”
    “We didn’t formally meet.” He reached over the table to shake hands. “I’m Ethan McDaniel.”
    Oh sweet baby Jesus, bless him. He had no idea who the hell he’d just gotten involved with. I didn’t extend my hand, glowering at him from my spot across the cheap ass table. I didn’t like to be deceived, and Mr. Goose had done just that. No wonder he was someone I’d never seen, he’d gone in to the BP to check me out. I hoped he enjoyed that little show between Fitch and me. It was a precursor of what could happen to him.
    He looked confused. Pulling his hand away, he tucked it under the table. “Am I missing something?”
    “She’s abnormally happy this evening and doesn’t know how to express it adequately,” Disco said. “But she’s agreed to help us with our little endeavor. Haven’t you, Rhiannon?”
    “Fuck you,” I snapped in agitation.
    It didn’t have the desired effect. Disco burst out laughing, and Mr. Goose looked incredibly uncomfortable. I almost felt sorry for him. Maybe he’d been suckered into this as well. I quickly smothered any sympathy. He had scoped me out, and that made him an accomplice.
    “She’s totally green.” Disco grinned at me, talking to Mr. Goose. “She has no idea what to do or what to look for. She doesn’t even know anything about our kind.”
    “Is that true?” Goose observed me with a peaked interest. “Do you even know what level of power you have?”
    “Power? Are you joking? Don’t tell me you enjoy seeing road kill right before breakfast. One bad corpse can ruin your whole day.”
    “That goes without saying,” Goose agreed, veering over to the table. “But you also have the power to communicate with them. Have you tried that? What about raising the dead? Some of us can do that as well. It’s an amazing talent, once fully understood and channeled.”
    The way he said it… like we were part of a little club—Jesus. He was getting off on this shit. Scratch what I said about vampires being creepy. Ethan McDaniel was fucking creepy.
    “We are alike, but I’m limited,” he continued. “I can’t see past the second threshold of death—most of us can’t. It takes the natural talent of necromancy. Mine has been developed through years of practice, research and dedication.”
    Well, well, well. Tickle my Elmo ass silly. I was sitting across from a person who enjoyed talking to dead people, and if they wouldn’t talk, then by God, he’d just wake their corpses up instead. Next to him was a moody, chain-smoking vampire who just might be bipolar and smoked like a corncob pipe.
    “Listen,” I sighed and reached for my plastic bottle. “I want to get this shit over and done. Can we strive to obtain that goal? I have a meaningless existence, and I can’t put that kind of action on hold indefinitely.”
    “You should quit your job.” Goose studied me with his big brown eyes. “It’s having a perverse effect on you, being surrounded by all that negativity.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Phil, for that fine psychological assessment,” I snapped and motioned with my chin to Disco. “Why don’t you and Oprah here go take a long walk off a short plank and do the world a favor?”
    His face flamed and he looked away. Bingo, mission accomplished. Disco could care less. He just stared at me, shaking his head. Cash had