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“And the thing is, that whatever else Forster, Pearson, and Sims does—and they do a lot of actual lawyering—they also, because of Alec, spend a lot of time and effort, not to mention money, arranging to kill vampires. And I’m the one who runs that part of the business.”
    Great. Lawyers who run a vampire killing business on the side. My life just kept getting weirder and weirder.
    “Okay,” I said slowly, “so what happened the night Greg got attacked?”
    “I don’t know. Honest. I got a call from Alec’s assistant, and he gave me the information. Once a vampire is taken out, we don’t necessarily talk about it again. And even though we weren’t the ones who got that kill, the vampire was gone. Problem solved.”
    “How much did Greg know about this little sideline in his law firm?”
    “Probably nothing—it’s not the sort of thing the partners tell the new hires.”
    I should imagine not.
    Clearly the next step in saving myself from becoming a vampire treat was to talk to Alec Pearson.
    Nick agreed to set up an appointment with his boss for me. “I’ll call you as soon as I have a date and time,” he said, “but give me a few days for us to check into all of this, okay? Maybe we can figure out where Greg is hiding, or if he’s hooked up with any other vampires. And in the meantime, don’t go out at night if you can help it.”
    I had no trouble assuring him that I had every intention of staying off the streets at night.
    I also showed him my pointy chopsticks. He wasn’t as impressed as I might have hoped.
    “I’m not sure they’re sharp enough.” He turned one over and pressed it against his forearm. “You’d have to have an awful lot of muscle behind one of these for it to actually kill a vampire. But it might do, in a pinch. Keep it on you, anyway, just in case.”
    I left the restaurant deep in thought. It was still afternoon when I got back to the Bronx, and I was beginning to feel the effects of having ignored my salad in favor of Nick’s story, so I decided to take a stroll through my neighborhood and get something to eat.
    My new apartment was just on the edge of Little Italy—not the one in Manhattan, but what the Bronx locals call the “Real Little Italy.” It stretches along Arthur Avenue and comprises a series of pizza joints, restaurants, bakeries, Italian ice shops, specialty grocery stores, and butchers, interspersed with the more usual Bronx fare of 99-cent stores, drycleaners, and one-hour photo places. I stopped on 187th and picked up an Italian ice—vanilla cream with almonds—and ate it as I walked.
    It was a beautiful spring day, and the sidewalks were full of people. Grandmothers sat on the stoops of buildings, watching children play on the sidewalk. Fordham students with low-slung jeans and backpacks strolled across the street. A delivery guy from a Chinese restaurant rushed past, probably hoping to get a big tip. Everywhere I looked, people were turning their faces up to enjoy the sunshine, an almost decadent-feeling treat after a long New York winter spent either cooped up inside or rushing through the cold under a relentlessly gray sky. As I watched all these people just living their lives, I realized that there was a good chance that I was the only person out in Little Italy today—maybe even in all of the Bronx—who knew that vampires existed, who knew that at least one of them had been out hunting last night.
    It made me feel awfully lonely. And more than a little scared.

Chapter 4
    Nick called three days later to tell me that Alec Pearson refused to meet with me.
    “He says that the attack at Fordham must have been some sort of unlucky accident—he doesn’t believe that it had anything personal to do with you at all.” Nick’s voice sounded strange, tight and stressed.
    “Really? And what do you think?” I asked. “You think my ex-boyfriend-turned-vampire just happened to be waiting for me? Do you think it’s all just bad luck in the vampire