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sit side by side, and he carefully covers my torn up wrist.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Okay, I guess.” I try not to wince as he tightens the wrap. “It’s nice to see you.”
    He tapes the gauze into place. “Always good to see my Bumble Bee.” Then he ruffles my hair. “I just wish she’d take better care of herself.”
    All I can do is smile. Sometimes it’s nice to know someone is concerned for me—even if I can’t do anything about it.
    I stand up. “Go to sleep, Superman. And don’t be giving away your blood to any poor girl who asks.”
    He nods. “Yes ma’am.” Then he draws me into a quick hug before kicking me out.
     
    ***
     
    Micah has never hurt me, even when he was at the Night House. Because he is my friend.
    In the vamp world, how you get blood determines your status. If you’re rich and working outside the human radar, you dine at a Night House. If you’re desperate and smart enough, you take people off the street and hope your nauth will make them forget your face. If you’re truly on the outs, or if you’re trying to blend with humans, you drink animal blood. Reliable sources tell me it’s like the fast food of blood. Cheap and easy, but usually tastes awful in comparison to the real thing.
    I am a status marker for vampires. Dining at the Night House makes one vamp higher up than another. And yet, my precious blood can’t save the one vamp who deserves it.
    Halfway to the Night House, I crash.
    I’m on autopilot. I automatically find a bench and fold right onto it, using my bag as a pillow. Air flows in and out of my lungs, but I barely feel it. Blackness inches around the corners of my vision. My veins are running on empty. Finn’s going to kill me. Then it’s dark.

James
     
    When I wake up, my whole body aches, as if I’d wrestled someone twice my size last night.
    I know everything I felt last night wasn’t real, and I certainly didn’t do anything that would cause this lingering pain. With strangers, it’s always been the same: I get glimpses into their feelings, and then everything fades away once there is enough distance between us. Nothing sticks.
    The only people that have left me with lasting pain like this are Ally, Shiloh and my adopted parents because I’ve known them for years, and I have an emotional connection with them. That emotional connection is what allows me to feel them from miles away at any given moment. One of them could be in pain. They might need my help.
    But I realize that what I’m feeling is not from either of them. This is different. It’s that girl from last night. She did this to me, and I don’t know how. With one glance, she somehow got me to bridge the emotional connection that usually takes months to form. I know nothing about her, and yet I feel her the same way that I feel Ally or Shiloh. This girl is stuck in my head.
    I can feel the marks.
    I get out of bed with some effort and stand on shaky legs. I can feel every facet of this girl’s emotional life. There’s an intense sadness, almost like grief. She’s angry, too, but that’s an old emotion. She wouldn’t be herself without being angry.
    I feel violated by this girl. She shouldn’t be here. I want her gone.
    Then I think of the kiss. How she wanted to help me. The strange innocence of her, in complete discord with the pain she was feeling.
    My eyes shift over to the wall between Ally’s room and mine. She’d want me to tell her, but will she understand?
    I can’t answer that question, so I reach for my phone. I manage to type out a message to Shiloh: Need to talk .
    Seconds later, I get a message that he couldn’t have possibly typed in such a short time: It’s not bad if you use your talent to get girls.
    This is a depressingly frequent conversation we have. He argues that I should be doing more with my so-called talent to connect with women. The difference between Shiloh and Ally is that Shiloh’s never actually serious about it.
    I type back: Haha, screw