I snorted. "Thanks."
Ben was staring at the two of us with a strange, conflicted expression on his face.
"Ben, not the time," Jane told him, shaking her head.
"What?" Ben exclaimed. "My ex-girlfriend is in close contact with my . . . sire lady person friend. These thoughts can't be helped."
"Try harder," Jane scolded.
"Oh, Ben!" Gigi scowled, slapping at his arm.
Meanwhile, my jaw dropped as I stared at Ben's "sorry not sorry" face.
"OK, well, Ben, you are done for the night. I've shut your computer down and clocked you out," Gigi said, handing him his bag. "Jane, I've shut you and Meagan down for the night, as you requested in your cryptic and completely misspelled text-which makes way more sense now. Meagan, it seems that we're still hugging with one arm."
"I didn't know whether to say something or not," I told her. "As Ben's sire lady person friend."
Ben groaned.
"Good luck with that," Gigi said, jerking her head toward him, making me snicker.
///
"I have Jane to take over the weirdest of the siring duties," I said with a shrug.
Gigi's dark brows rose. "No, I mean, you and Ben-"
"Thank you, Gigi. I think we're abusing the emergency stop function at this point," Jane interjected. "We're going home for the night. If anyone asks, you didn't see us."
Gigi gave a little salute. "Yes, ma'am."
If Gigi wasn't careful, I was going to end up liking her. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
8
Don't be offended when your childe clings to remembrances of his or her former life. It's not a criticism of your siring. It's proof that you chose the right sort of human to bring over to the "dark side."
-The Accidental Sire: How to Raise an Unplanned Vampire
I thought Gabriel would try to make the house somber and soothing, like a spa, to make us feel better after the hellacious night we'd had. But we drove down the River Oaks driveway to find the whole house lit up. Bright, jazzy music was floating out of the kitchen. And Georgie was bouncing on her toes in the foyer, looking like Satan's favorite pixie.
Gabriel came strolling out of the kitchen, wearing an apron that read "Bite the Cook," with three steins full of blood in hand.
"Please don't hug me," I told him.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Gabriel deadpanned. "Jane said you might need a little TLC. This is a mix of donor blood and pulverized marrow-don't ask what kind. It's guaranteed to help heal up any of the injuries you might have sustained tonight."
Jane accepted her mug with a kiss from her hubby. "I get one, too?"
"Yes, because Gabriel worries that you work too many hours and don't feed properly," Georgie informed her.
"She's not wrong," Gabriel said, ruffling Georgie's hair. Georgie scowled and rubbed a hand over her head, but she sidled just a step closer to him. "This is just the appetizer course. Go upstairs and wash up. We'll sit at the table in a few minutes."
I downed my entire stein of blood while jogging up the stairs to my bedroom. Georgie hounded me, skipping up the banister with no apparent fear of falling. She hopped off at the landing and followed at my heels. Finally, I turned around and stopped her in her tracks.
"What's up, Georgie?"
"There's a package on your bed," Georgie informed me. "It's from Ophelia. It arrived after you left for work. I can't tell what's in it, and it's driving me slightly mad."
"You're that interested in my mail?" I asked.
"No, but I'm just so bored since I conquered ‘Skyrim.' " She sighed. "I feel like my life has no purpose."
"And your purpose is to . . ."
"Snoop," she stated. "In a dedicated fashion."
"Well, I can respect that. Come on, kiddo."
"I'm nearly four hundred years older than you," she countered.
"Well, stop wearing jumpers and Peter Pan collars, and I'll consider a more mature label. You look like one of those twins from The Shining."
"You stop acting like yoga pants are an acceptable alternative to real clothing, and we'll talk."
"Fair enough." I pushed the door of my room open. The box on my bed was massive, taking up half of the queen mattress. It was addressed to me care of the Council's Newport, Kentucky, office and then appeared to have been routed through the Council's interoffice mail. Maybe someone mailed themselves to me? Keagan joked around about it sometimes in our video chats. But there were no holes punched in the cardboard, so . . .