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could see that Lily’s heart was beating against her chest like a caged bird. It was distracting. With all the energy I’d burned, I was almost desperate to feed, and while I’d prefer a nice juicy slab of beefcake, angel food was starting to look pretty good right about then. A trickle of blood down Lily’s snowy skin would look like strawberry sauce, and her white-blond hair almost put me in mind of whipped topping.
    I licked my lips, and when Ulric stared, I explained, “Chapped.”
    Of course, I was probably in the one car in the whole school where if I’d asked, someone might actually have opened a vein for me. Byron might even write a poem about it.
    I ignored the temptation, pretending I wasn’t shaky with need. Once back to my own car, I could make it home in less then ten minutes. The Feds had provided a refrigerator’s worth of bottled blood. Five seconds after the infusion, I planned to be on the phone to agents Stick and Stuffed. Whatever had happened back at Red Rock hadn’t been natural—not the attack, the spectators, or even me.

5

    I woke up the next morning still reeking of smoke and blood. Last night, after downing a bottle and a half of totally grody congealed blood that I’d been way too tired to heat to acceptability, I’d done a face plant on the lumpy mattress and gone out before I could make the intended call.
    I nearly fell out of bed when I awoke, flailing like I’d been falling to my death in my dreams, which was really weird, since I hadn’t had any dreams since I’d turned. I guessed that for humans, dreams were the subconscious working overtime, but for us vamps, sleep was more about losing consciousness, practically dying for hours at a time and coming back to life again. Normally, our lights went out when the sun came up, but the potion the Feds had introduced into our bottled blood was messing with the natural order of things, and my body was rebounding.
    Anyway, I tried to get a mental message to Bobby about the events of last night—so much harder to trace and eavesdrop on mind-speak than on cell calls—but no one was answering. That wasn’t unusual, since Bobby had to be actively listening for me in order for our brainwave radio to work. Still, I was a little miffed that maybe I wasn’t the first thing on his mind in the morning.
    I decided I’d try to call the old fashioned way once I’d had a shower and burned the clothes I was in, because I couldn’t stand myself a second longer. I’d never actually washed my own clothes—Mom had always had our laundry picked up, done, and delivered. It seemed easier to buy new than try to figure it out for myself. Maybe I’d even go green and recycle my duds or something by dumping them into a donation bin. There had to be people out there with more need than fashion sense.
    I shed clothes as I walked to the shower, but the apartment was so small I still had my skivvies on when I hit the bathroom. I figured the easiest way to salvage my matching bra and panties, the only decent parts of my ensemble, would be to wash them with me, so I started the water running and walked in, bra, undies, and all.
    I felt much better once I emerged, leaving the black bikini to drip dry. Mischievously, I tried Bobby again as I stood there in my towel and nothing else. This time he answered.
    Gina?
    Ask me what I’m wearing , I said.
    Um, hold on . It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was going for.
    Sorry, had to close the door. So, what are you wearing?
    Nothing . I left out the towel, because, really, that was need to know, and he didn’t. Want to sneak out of the mom-and-pop shop?
    More than you know, but that would make us late for school.
    I rolled my eyes. That’s what I got for dating a geek. I gave him a mental raspberry, which, being spit-free, was not terribly effective. Spoilsport. Anyway, I’m really just here to check in . Mostly.
    I poured it all out—the party, the attack, the witnesses to my kick-assitude. Thankfully, I could