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terrific."
      I wolfed it down in about thirty seconds. Then I spent five minutes in the bathroom throwing it all up. Mom held my hair back from my face and, when I finished and slumped dispiritedly on the bathroom tile, she handed me a damp washcloth.
      I started to cry, that weird tearless crying that was now my specialty. "I can't have regular food anymore! No more risotto, shrimp cocktail, lobster, prime rib—"
      "Cancer, AIDS, death-by-mugging, rape, homicide."
      I looked up. Mom looked down at me with the compassion/practicality combo that was her trademark. I'd seen that look when I told her I was going to flunk out of college. "I'd like to be more sympathetic," she said, "but I'm so happy to have you back, Elizabeth. As awful as it's been for you, you have no idea what the last three days have been like for me, for your father and your friends—I thought Jessica was going to collapse at the funeral home. I didn't think the girl could cry, but she practically melted today. Your father didn't even recognize me, he was in such a daze."
      "Oh...Mom."
      "But I never have to worry about going to the morgue again, unless you trip on a stake on the way home. As to the rest of it: we'll deal."
      I scowled. "I don't think people who can eat risotto should have an opinion."
      "Silly child. It's just fuel. Brush your fangs, and then we'll talk some more."
      "Very funny!" I yelled after her.
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
      I pulled into my driveway at 4:30 in the morning. There was a strange car parked on my street, a white Taurus. As I walked past I peeked inside and saw the bubble light. Cop. And when I entered my house I could smell Detective Nick Berry's clean, distinctive scent. Which, by the way, I'd never been able to do before. Whenever I saw him at the station, all I could smell were stale croissants (the doughnut thing is a myth) and old coffee.
      He hurried out of my kitchen and stopped dead when he saw me. His jaw sagged and he made a motion toward the gun in his shoulder holster.  
      "Oh, that's nice," I snapped. "Don’t you dare pull a gun on me in my own house. And where's your warrant?"
      "I didn't need one, seeing as how you're dead."
      "Boy, Jessica just couldn't wait to tell you, could she?" I'd strangle her the next time I saw her. I said my undeath wasn't a secret, but I didn't mean she should run to the cops first thing. Her matchmaking was going to be the end of me. Well, probably not. "That jerk...friends are such a mixed blessing."
      "I didn't believe her—figured it was a rotten joke--but promised her I'd check it out. Did you know it's against the law to fake your own death? The D.A.'s gonna be pissed."
      "Believe it or not, Nick, that is the least of my problems right now."
      He'd been staring at me while we talked, and as I kicked off my tennis shoes he crossed the room. To my complete astonishment, he pulled me into his arms like a hero in a romance novel.
      "God," he said, staring into my eyes. We were exactly the same height, so it was a little unnerving. His eyes were light brown, with green flecks. His pupils were huge. "You're so beautiful."
      I was still frozen with amazement. Nick had touched me a few times—mostly to shake my hand, and once our fingers brushed when he handed me a Milky Way—but he'd always been cool, pleasant, and nice. Nice Guy nice. I had sensed zero interest, which is why I'd never pursued him—and why Jessica's hints and intimations were so annoying. But now—
      "God," he said again, and kissed me. Except it was more like he was trying to swallow me. His tongue shoved into my mouth and suddenly I was breathing his breath. This was startling, but not unpleasant. Then: "Ow!" He jerked back and touched his lower lip, where a tiny drop of blood welled. "You bit me."
      "Sorry—you thtartled me. I mean, you took me by thurprise. Oh, thit." I could not look away from that tiny little crimson drop. It gleamed. It beckoned. It begged to be