The Single Undead Moms(7)

“I’ve been avoiding mirrors,” I confessed. “For months, I’ve looked away from the mirror because I couldn’t stand seeing that sick person looking back at me. This angry, bitter, frantic woman who was wearing my face. I didn’t even think about how I would look afterward. I was just looking for more time. To get this, on top of everything else . . . I’ll never be able to pay this back.”

Jane smiled at me, an honest, genuine smile that instantly set my nerves at ease. She squeezed my hand, and I felt Dick pat me on the shoulder. “I hate to step on your moment, but it’s not about payback, Buttercup,” he said. “It’s about making the most of the time you have now and adding something to the world instead of just taking.”

I mouthed Buttercup? to Jane, who shrugged. “Dick likes nicknames.”

“I know you disagree with how I went about it, Mrs. Nightengale, but believe me when I say becoming a vampire was the only solution for me. And I will work hard to learn everything you have to teach me.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Jane told me. “Because we don’t have a lot of time.”


I’d been wrong. Turned out the Council did give a gift basket, full of samples of different synthetic bloods, SPF 500 sunscreen, iron supplements, Razor Wire fang floss, and a contact sheet for every vampire-friendly blood bank in the area.

Unfortunately, Jane’s idea of “training” me involved treating me like a recalcitrant cat. She fed me a steady diet of bottled blood hourly. I would work on my client accounts between feedings, to distract myself from my thirst and so my business wouldn’t suffer. At random times, Jane would wave a bag of donor blood under my nose. I was shocked by how good it smelled, like fresh-baked warm bread and toasted marshmallows and every good thing you could imagine wanting to eat all rolled into one. Despite being so full I was sloshing, my mouth still watered, and my fangs dropped so quickly it was almost painful. And every time they did, Jane would shoot me in the face with a spray bottle full of cold water.

“Aaah!” I cried. “Damn it, Jane!”

“It’s like aversion therapy,” she said with shrug, shooting me in the face again.

“Are you trying to keep me from craving human blood or climbing on the couch?” I grumbled, wiping at my face “And ow, ow, ow, why is it burning?” I swiped at my cheeks, wincing at the stinging sensation rolling across my skin. And then my palms started to burn. “What the hell, Jane?!”

“It’s a point-zero-zero-one percent solution of colloidal silver. Vampires are highly allergic to silver. To humans, it’s perfectly harmless. In fact, you find it in a lot of health-food stores. But to vampires, depending on the concentration, it can be a minor annoyance, like a sunburn that takes a few minutes to heal—or it can melt your face off and kill you. Trust me, I know.”

“God, you can be scary,” I told her.

“Really?” Jane asked. “Thanks! I’ve been working on being diabolical. I only got appointed to the Council because the last lady who had my job screwed up big-time, and I think the bureaucracy was trying to give me some sort of ironic punishment, like Sisyphus but with more paperwork. I worry sometimes that people don’t take me seriously as head of the Council. And it’s dangerous when other vampires don’t take you seriously as head of the Council.”

I stared at her.

“Not the point,” she conceded.

I discovered there was a whole range of synthetic bloods beyond Faux Type O. It was a little like coffee—there was the cheap stuff and the expensive stuff, the stuff you only pulled out when company was coming over. Until we were sure how I would react around humans, neither one of us was willing to risk my trying donor blood. I promised myself it would be a treat, like rewarding myself with a box of Vosges exotic truffles at the end of tax season—only this was a treat I was deadly afraid of and probably wouldn’t indulge in for several years.

My first sunrise found me falling into the deepest slumber I’d ever experienced. And for the first time in months, I didn’t worry about whether I’d wake up. I was amazed at how quickly the sun pulled me into unconsciousness. I’d no sooner slid under the yellow log-cabin quilt on my bed than I tumbled into oblivion.

I discovered that the undead dream. Instead of the blank slate I expected during my dead sleep, I had a very active subconscious. I saw myself stretched across the scratchy polyester bedspread of the Lucky Clover Motel, ignoring the potential parasites that lurked in the bedding as I waited for my sire to arrive. I’d taken a healthy dose of over-the-counter sleeping pills to stave off the pain of turning, so my impressions of him were pretty hazy. I could remember parts of his face but not the whole. I remembered high, sculpted cheekbones and deep, bittersweet-chocolate eyes fringed with long lashes. A smile that was warm, even a little naughty. As I faded in and out, he stroked his cool hands down my face and told me everything was going to turn out like it should, that I was safe and would always be safe. He kissed me, long and deep, cradling me against his chest like I was something precious. And then he bit my wrists, letting the blood drain from me while he dripped his own into my mouth. I latched on to that arm, clutching it to my mouth as I swallowed huge mouthfuls of his thick, slightly sweet blood.