Iris seemed particularly fond of Ben, given the way she tackle-hugged him the moment she ran through the door.
"I'm so happy to see you!" she cried, clutching his face in her hands in a grip that I frankly found terrifying. "I mean, so sad that you're dead but so happy to see you!"
"I'm so glad I don't need to breathe," Ben wheezed as Iris enveloped him in another hug. "Because it would be an issue right now."
"OK, sweetheart, put the boy down," Cal said gently. "Being picked up like a toddler in front of loved ones is emasculating."
"Little bit," Ben agreed as Iris set him on his feet.
"Gigi and Nik would have come tonight, but they thought it would be sort of weird for you," Iris said.
I leaned toward Miranda, who was seated near me on the couch. "Who's Gigi?" I asked her.
"Iris's little sister and Ben's ex-girlfriend. They broke up a year or so ago, when Gigi was still human. It was . . . it was unpleasant for them both. And then awkward. But mostly unpleasant."
"Oh." I felt a small flash of sympathy for Ben. It did have to be super-awkward to have an ex mixed into a friend group that he clearly valued. People took sides or tried to "stay neutral," which meant they took the side that wasn't yours. And next thing you knew, there were parties you didn't know about and hangouts you weren't invited to, and then your Facebook friend list shrank dramatically, and you were left wondering what happened.
I liked Miranda. She was a new vampire, too. She'd worked for vampires for a long time before she was turned, so she seemed amused-slash-exasperated by many of their antics. And she seemed to understand how uncomfortable I was in this situation, sticking close by to fill me in on this person's relationship to Jane or how that person related to everybody else. All while Fitz sat between us and thumped his tail against my thigh.
More and more people moseyed through the door. They all sat around the parlor, trying too hard to look casual as they drank different bottles of blood they'd brought with them. Andrea set up a couple of pots of different types of blood concoctions she'd made at home. Apparently, Jane was not trusted to cook, even when the food wasn't solid. Her friends contended that the original meaning of "BYOB" was "bring your own blood."
Something about their easy warmth made my chest ache in a way that wasn't entirely pleasant. And it didn't help that Ben already knew so many of them, leaving me feeling like the odd man out all over again. Dick made an effort to keep me engaged, talking to me about my schoolwork and whether I was happy with the assignments the professors were sending me-something he claimed was part of his job as Jane's co-representative on the Council. His eyes just about glazed over with boredom while discussing nineteenth-century British literature, but I appreciated his effort.
"Jane gave you the Council-issued phone, right?" Dick asked. "She told you to keep it with you at all times?"
I pulled the bright pink KidPhone from my back pocket. "Would we call this a phone?"
"Yes," Dick said. "Now, if you ever run into trouble, I want you to press the one button three times and then hold it down until it beeps. And then you want to get about ten feet away."
"What's going to happen if I do that?" I asked him. "Is it like a tracking beacon or something?"
Dick opened his mouth to answer, but just then the door opened again, and the whole room went still. Dick moved between me and the door. A ridiculously gorgeous redheaded woman swanned in, grinning broadly at the crowd.
"Hey, y'all!"
Wow, that was some accent. It was nasal to the point that it hurt my ears, which was tragic because she was one of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen.
I watched the redhead cross the room and could immediately tell that she wasn't a vampire. Her skin tone was too healthy. And her heartbeat . . . she was calm, but it was thumping at a pretty steady rhythm. Heartbeat. Human. Was she human? Panicked, I clamped my jaw shut, willing my fangs to stay in my gums. But they never dropped.
Fitz huffed at the redhead, then laid his snout against my leg, which was a nice reminder to stay stuck to the couch like I was nailed to it.
The twangy newcomer didn't smell right. She didn't smell sweet or tangy or anything remotely good. She smelled . . . like a wet dog. A gross wet dog that had been rolling in something that had been dead for weeks.
///
Fitz looked up at me with his shiny brown eyes, as if he could hear my anticanine sentiments and was insulted by them. I shrugged.