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that she had to go to work, and she was leaving a key in case Miranda needed to go out. The thought occurred that Stella was an extraordinary human—the trust she had placed in Miranda would have seemed foolish to most people, but Miranda and Stella were not most people. Miranda didn’t know much about Stella’s gift, but she knew that it had a similar flavor to her own, and that meant Stella could read the truth of someone and judge whether that person was worthy of her trust very quickly, if not instantly.
    Slowly Miranda became aware of her body: her upper jaw hurt, her mouth was dry, her stomach wrapped around her spine and cried out against its ill treatment. She felt like her entire body was coated with dust on the inside . . . and that dust was rapidly forming sandpaper in her veins.
    When had she last fed? It must have been Monday, when she first woke and bit Stella.
    One thing was certain. Whatever she had suffered, whatever pain the future still held, she was still a vampire.
    Her joints felt stiff and achy as she stretched and climbed out of Stella’s bed. Her legs were weak and shaky . . . no, this would never do. She would not waste away like a Victorian widow. Not today.
    Cautiously, she poked her head out the bedroom door, sniffing the air to discern the time of day. Late evening. The sun would be down in half an hour.
    The blanket was still pinned up over the window, and though the watery edges of waning daylight wouldn’t burn her skin, just looking at the window made her head begin to pound.
    Miranda tottered around the apartment for a while, distracting herself with the novelty of Stella’s home. It was clean but cluttered, shabby salvaged furniture draped in Indian print bedspreads and fabric remnants. The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, and it was oddly comforting. There were a lot of books.
    She felt eyes on her back and turned in time to see a bushy tail vanishing into the bedroom.
    She ventured into the kitchen and found herself staring at the fridge door, where Stella had hung snapshots of herself, Lark, and other people Miranda didn’t know, all caught in various stages of laughter or affection. In one, Stella posed with an older woman in some kind of shop; in another she and Lark were dressed as Halloween witches, each with a plastic pumpkin full of candy in one hand, middle finger of the other extended toward the camera. Miranda smiled.
    It occurred to Miranda she was going to need clothes, unless she wanted to hunt in Hello Kitty pajamas. She returned to the living room and found where Stella had piled her belongings. The Witch had thoughtfully laundered Miranda’s clothes, even the shirt full of rips and tears, and everything was folded almost reverently.
    She thought about taking a shower but decided to wait until after her hunt; she would return sweaty and possibly bloodstained, so she might as well wait.
    Even with her body commanding her to hurry, Miranda took her time getting dressed, trying not to think about why her shirt was ripped or what had happened the last time she’d worn that pair of pants. Finally she picked up Shadowflame and, with shaking hands, buckled the sword onto her belt before wrapping her coat around her.
    By the time she was ready, the sun was well set. She found the key where Stella had said it was and, with a deep breath, took a step outside.
    The world spun around her. Groaning, she bolstered her shields and tried to breathe, leaning back against the door for a minute until she felt strong enough to take another step.
    She concentrated on figuring out where she was. She pinpointed the neighborhood easily enough and decided to head for a small park she knew was nearby where there would most likely be joggers at this hour. People in Austin learned to be comfortable going out in the dark; the summers were so hellishly hot that some activities, like working out, were simply not possible at midday.
    The world was so quiet. Her boots were unnaturally