I prayed that he was just kidding. My mom firing up a water bong was not a mental image I needed.

I flipped to the index and looked up geranium oil. I read it to myself: Thought to affect the users primarily in matters of romance and open communication, geranium is also a powerful protectant that forms a psychic boundary between the anointed and sources of negative energy.

So, conversely, if someone didn’t want open communication with a vampire who was trying to force a connection, could geranium oil cause some sort of psychic static? Note to self, roll around in geranium oil the next time I met up with Sophie. And Jane, who had occasional psychic flashes into my mind. And Jane’s friend, the vampire Dick Cheney, because it just seemed like a good idea to give him static in any way possible.

Reaching over Cal’s head, I located a bag of Sour Worms that I’d hidden in one of those hollowed-out dummy books people typically use to hide jewelry or liquor. I perched on the opposite side of the seat and opened to the first chapter of the book, wondering what other helpful little nuggets lurked inside. Maybe there was a plant that could keep vampires from insulting or vomiting on you.

“You’re just going to sit there and read?” he asked, incredulous. “You don’t want to talk about the frightening interaction with Council officials?”

I bit a blue-and-orange gummy worm in half and shrugged. “Nah. You heard what they had to say. The only thing we learned is that the Council isn’t that great at investigating missing persons. And I’m pretty sure Ophelia knows where you are but thinks you’re safer with me. The less time I spend talking to you one-on-one, the less time you have to be a jerk. ”

Given Cal’s nauseated expression as I bit into another worm, he seemed far more concerned about my choice of candy than any offense he might be causing. “It would seem Ophelia suspects something is amiss within the Council offices, too. She wouldn’t be able to make accusations without proof,” he said. “And if she’s found to be building a case against her fellow Council members, it could cause serious political problems for her. It would seem she’s embracing willful ignorance, and we’re on our own.”

“Or she’s the one who poisoned you, and she wants you to stay put so she can come back to finish the job.”

“How do you maintain such a sunny, cheerful outlook on life?” he asked, scowling at me.

I shrugged blithely and returned to my book, reading about cedar oil’s aura-cleansing properties. “I believe in the power of positive thinking,” I told him. “I am positive that this is going to come back and bite us in the butt.”

6

No matter how much you try to protect your household’s schedule, it’s inevitable that a vampire’s presence will disrupt it. The best course of action is to make small changes over time, rather than resisting it altogether. Resistance is futile.

—The Care and Feeding of Stray Vampires

Cal and I settled into an uneasy stalemate. Now that his nausea had finally eased, it was as if healing took up all of his energy. He slept, rising only to feed and then go back to the master bedroom. After the vomiting and the inappropriate touching, I didn’t have the heart to send him back to the basement. I stayed close to the house, asking Jolene to do the actual daytime running for me while I made as many arrangements as I could over the phone.

The distance I’d put between us seemed to have forced him into a slightly snarky, but polite, persona. He didn’t make inappropriate jokes, but he wasn’t exactly friendly, either. I couldn’t help but feel that we’d lost ground in terms of cordial relations.

My replacement BlackBerry arrived the next morning, heralded by a loud thump against the door. Joe Wallace, our mailman, did extra-speedy deliveries so he could finish his work early and fit in a few hours of fishing. He seemed to see “Fragile” stamps as a personal challenge.

Sipping coffee, I went outside to retrieve my dented box and immediately started to sneeze violently. I groaned, wiping at my watering eyes.

Pine pollen.

I could stand the scents and sheddings of almost every flower out there. But every spring, when the pine pollen blew so thick it formed a sickly yellow film over every standing surface, I went running for the Benadryl. It was supposed to be particularly bad this year because of high winds. I was adding allergy meds to my mental shopping list when I turned back to the door and paused. Just outside my front-porch window, there were two shoe prints outlined in yellow dust. I turned to look at the window opposite the door, and there were two more prints under it.

Had Joe tried to peek in through the windows to see if we were home for the delivery? That wasn’t like him. He generally just tossed packages against our door and ran.

I shook off the sense of foreboding that rippled up my spine. I was being silly. I had my phone back; almost 75 percent of the things in my world were right again. Shaking my head, I plugged the new phone into my bedroom charger and dialed the activation code. It rang almost immediately, a dull, robotic buzzer noise, rather than my personal ringtone, “Flight of the Bumblebee.” I was going to have to reprogram it. Frowning, I hit the call button. Before I could get the receiver to my ear, I heard, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick!”

“Gigi?” Before-school volleyball practices had created an obnoxiously alert early bird in my sister. How she was able to function, much less perform coordinated acts of athleticism, at this hour had always been a mystery to me.

“You were supposed to call me!” she cried. “Days ago! Your cell’s been useless. And every time I call the house, I get the machine. Are you OK? Did he hurt you? Did he bite you?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. My schedule has been so screwed up.”

“Not good enough. Remember that time in St. Louis you caught me sneaking back into the apartment after Shelley Pearson’s party and you yelled so loud that Mr. Baker came running over because he thought you were being murdered? It’s time for payback.”

“I’m sorry, Gigi.”

“Well, why don’t you address that to 123 Suck It Lane, in care of Mr. Shushy McShoveit,” she retorted.

“Remind me why I didn’t send you to boarding school. One of the scary ones with knee socks and hazing.”

“I worry about you, too, you know,” she grumbled. “It’s not a one-way street.”

“I know.”

“When can I come home? Sammi Jo’s mom is understanding, but she’s making comments about starting a tab for me. That can’t be a good sign.”

I mulled that over. If Gigi continued to stay with Sammi Jo’s family, people would start to talk. Besides that, if the Council members returned and found that Gigi had essentially moved out, Ophelia would know that something was wrong. Better that Gigi return home and continue her schedule as normal. Besides, it didn’t seem as if Cal was going to be a threat to her safety. He’d had plenty of time to attack and drain me, and so far, his advances were of a more “naked” nature. He seemed to view Gigi as some sort of annoying accessory.

“I think Thursday should be OK. How’s school? Did you get your AP history test back yet?”

She huffed. “Don’t think you’re going to act like everything’s all normal and use my AP history test—which I aced, by the way—to distract me from the wounded hunk of hotness you’re ‘nursing back to health.’ How’s it going? Are the howler monkeys howling? I could put off coming home for a day or so if you make it worth my while … say, two weeks without dishwasher duty?”

“Gigi.”

“Hey, I just want to make it clear. I’m happy for you and all, but I do not want to hear any UNFs coming from your room. I’m a young, impressionable girl.”

“UNFs?”

She snickered. “Yeah, universal noises of fu—”

“How do you even know words like that?” I yelped.

Gigi cackled like a madwoman on the other end of the line. “I know what your substitute curse words really mean. I know what you’re capable of.”

“In other words?”

“I learned it by watching you!” she cried, in a bad imitation of a drug-awareness campaign that was popular when I was a kid.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, smart aleck. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I hung up the phone, got dressed, and padded down the stairs. I was surprised to find Cal sitting at the breakfast bar, typing on his laptop. He had several notebooks and scraps of paper spread out in some order that I’m sure made sense to him.

His skin was pale but without the waxy pallor of the last two days. His eyes were bright and clear. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt extolling the virtues of the Who, which fit so well that it could be considered pectoral porn. He was sipping blood from a mug that Gigi had painted for me on Mother’s Day the previous year. It was covered in little bumblebees and said, “I Heart My Big Sister.”

I was getting used to having another adult in the house at an alarming rate. Even if I was technically taking care of him, it was sort of nice having Cal around. I felt like the burden of being the designated grown-up had been lifted from my shoulders a bit. I’d been on my own for so long, making all of the decisions. I liked the fact that if the water heater exploded or the zombie apocalypse started, I would have someone who would take my survival scenarios seriously.

And yes, I do realize that was a broad range of scenarios.

Cal glanced up but didn’t stop typing as he murmured, “Morning.”

“Morning. Going to bed?” I asked, feeling blindly for the coffee supplies.

“Just about,” he said, stretching his arms over his head.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I heated a packet of Type A for him in the microwave.

“I thought we agreed that you won’t start every conversation like that.”

“I don’t know how else to start conversations with you. All other subjects lead to veiled insults and the threat of projectile vomiting.”

His lips twitched, and he set aside his laptop, giving me his full attention. “I am feeling much stronger, strong enough to continue my investigation. I’ve spent the last few hours going through your books, writing e-mails to contacts in the medical field, and inquiring about my symptoms and what botanical compounds could be responsible.”

“There are vampire doctors? Isn’t it sort of a moot point for you guys?”

He crossed the room and leaned against the kitchen counter while I assembled my morning cup of “liquid stupidity tolerance.” He said, “There are vampires who used to be doctors in their human days. Their input is very valuable.”

“That makes sense,” I said, glancing over his shoulder at the pictures stacked in front of him. A woman’s body flayed in horrific Technicolor glory, her face so mutilated she barely seemed human. I shrieked, stumbling back against the counter. Cal started, closing the file over the bloody images, and turned to me. His hands gripped my arms, keeping me upright.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, willing unwelcome images to leave my brain. Cold, gray cement-block walls. Polished stainless-steel tables dully reflecting fluorescent lights. The sound of Gigi weeping softly outside the swinging hospital door. My mother’s dark hair glittering with broken glass. The morgue attendant had to cover her left side with a sheet. As the scent of bleach and disinfectant seeped into my lungs, I ended up on my hands and knees, retching over the wastebasket.

Standing on shaking legs, I reached into the junk drawer for a handful of M&M’s. My hands shook as I popped them into my mouth, meaning that I lost a few to skitter across the floor under the stove. The crackle of the candy shells against my teeth drew me back into reality. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and let the sweetness of chocolate coat my tongue.