It was the next night and we were back in the kitchen. Half the table (and it was a big table) was covered with liquor bottles and half-full drinking glasses. It looked like we were all going on a bender, but the truth was, Marc was trying to teach us how to make rainbows.

Jessica was having a bit of success; she'd get her rainbow halfway made and then the grenadine would sort of squiggle into the rest of it.

All my rainbows looked like mud. I was so fucking thirsty I didn't care; I drank the mistakes. The real tragedy was, I didn't feel anything close to drunk.

"Just-okay, watch me again. See? You slooooowly let it sort of dribble off the spoon. Otherwise it'll all moosh together."

"I can get the first layer," I said, watching Marc (who had put himself through med school tending bars) carefully build a rainbow-colored drink of grenadine, vodka, that blue stuff that looked like Windex, sweet and sour mix, and something else I didn't know the name of. I wouldn't have wanted to drink it (well, I was drinking it, but if I were still alive these concoctions would have had me on my ass) but once Marc made it, it sure looked pretty. "Then it all goes to hell."

"Free booze and a metaphor for life, too!" Jessica watched her rainbow come apart, rushed it to her lips, and then made a face and put the glass down. "Why are we all learning how to make a drink none of us like to, um, drink?"

"I saw one of the bartenders at Scratch make one and thought it looked cool. Once I was sure one of the layers wasn't blood-"

mmmm, blood, precious blood

"-I thought it'd be fun to try. And I wasn't going to ask that vampire how to do it. She's fairly surly as a bartender, and worse when she's hostess."

Where had that come from? Actually, I was starting to think about blood a lot more and more. You know those cartoons when the wolf looks at his friends and they turn into rib roasts and stuff before his eyes?

Jess and Marc were starting to look reeeally good.

"Maybe if you were a little friendlier to the Scratch vampires," B-positive-I mean, Marc, began, "they'd treat you-"

"Look, nobody's trying to kill me right now and that's just fine. If they don't like me, that's just how it goes. I got over needing people to like me in tenth grade, when I spied the captain of the cheerleading squad on her knees in front of the offensive line of the football team under the bleachers, one day after school. I figured that wasn't the life for me."

"Of course," Jessica observed as she experimented with different rainbow colors, "she somehow still pulled off Miss Congeniality two years later."

"What was your secret, Betsy?" Marc's eyes glittered with a fascination. "Did you do the defensive line instead? I hear that's where all the votes are."

"Honey, you tell me. You probably blew more guys in high school than I did."

He laughed. "Miss Congeniality! Seriously, that's great! Do you still have the crown and sash? I could get a date in no time if you'd lend me those props for five minutes."

I drank another failed rainbow and ignored an empty bottle of vodka as it tumbled to the floor and rolled under the table. "Forget about it."

"Yeah, but just think-"

"Marc, I said fucking forget it, okay? Do I have get out the hand puppets? Knock it off!"

"Jeez, Betsy, I was only kidding around."

I resisted the urge to throw my empty glass at him. I wasn't mad at him. I wasn't mad at anybody. I was just...

Just really thirsty.

"I'm sorry," I said, not meaning it, but that was what people said in such circumstances. "I'm a little on edge these days."

"Sure, no problem. I had half your problems, I'd stress out, too."

Well you don't so why don't you SHUT THE FUCK UP?

"Uh-huh," I said brightly. The smell of all the booze was making me a little light-headed. Not to mention the smell of B-positive's aftershave. I probably shouldn't have been drinking so much on an empty stomach. Not that I could get drunk. Well, maybe I could. Eventually.

"Yeah, uh, Betsy, we've been meaning to talk to you about this." This from myeloma. I was pretty sure I could smell it now.

"About what?"

"Your no blood-drinking thing."

"It's not a thing, it's a lifestyle. You know," I added brightly to Marc, "like yours. I'm choosing not to drink blood."

Marc almost dropped the grenadine. He turned to give me his full attention when Jessica jumped in with, "Nuh-uh! Picking a fight to get out of talking about this won't work."

"Right," Marc said, looking less convinced. "That won't work. Bitch."

Nuts. "Oh, come on, you guys!" I rested my forehead on the table. "I figured you'd be supportive."

"Supportive of you breaking Sinclair's heart and making yourself nuttier than you usually are? Honey, your temper these days is almost as bad as mine."

"Well, why don't you shut your fucking face, then?" I straightened up in a hurry as my vision cleared. "Sorry. That sort of slipped out."

"Great," Marc mumbled. "Vampire Tourette's syndrome."

"And Sinclair's heart isn't broken. And even if it was, it's none of your business."

"How's he supposed to feel when you tell him not only are you going on a hunger strike, he is, too, unless he cheats on you with other people?" Marc demanded.

"What part of 'none of your business' do you not get?"

"Ha!" Marc wiped off his lips and began refilling another glass with yet another perfect rainbow. "We have to live with you guys, you know."

"No," I said pointedly. "You don't."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jessica asked.

I rubbed my eyebrows. "Nothing. It's not supposed to mean anything. Sinclair's heart isn't broken."

"He's been moping around this place like he heard yellow was the new black," she added.

"We worked that out. We have a plan for him getting his blood."

Marc snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure it's not awful."

I threw my hands in the air. "So, what? What are you telling me? Start drinking again? Hurt more people? Maybe kill someone by accident if I go too far?"

"What happened between Alonzo and Sophie won't necessarily happen to you."

"I knooow," I said. I was a little astonished. One thing had nothing to do with the other. I had started my hunger strike way before Sophie even got to town. Right?

"Moderation," Marc was babbling. "Everything in moderation. Besides, aren't you the only vampire who only has to drink once or twice a week? How are you going to kill somebody doing that?"

"I plan," I said grimly, "on being the only vampire who doesn't have to drink at all."

"Well, it's making you nuts," Jessica snapped, "at the worst possible time for me. And if I find one more piece of chewing gum on the banister, I'm evicting you. I figure you've gone through twenty packs in the last two weeks alone."

"You're counting my gum wads?" I felt my eyes narrow. I didn't make them do it; they sort of went all squinty on their own. "That doesn't strike you as, oh, I dunno, anal-retentive?"

"Doesn't your depositing them all over the house," she snapped back, annoyingly unafraid, "strike you as incredibly selfish and slovenly?"

"For the lasht time, thish ish none of your bithneth."

What the-? Horrified, I felt my mouth.

Marc was pointing at me, eyes big. "Your fangs are out! You got so pissed your fangs came out!"

"I thought they only came out when you smelled blood," Jessica said, still remarkably unmoved.

"They do," I replied, feeling. Cripes, it felt like I had a mouthful of needles. "But Sinclair can make his come out whenever he wanth. Maybe thith ith part of a new power."

"And maybe you're, I dunno, losing it!"

"Calm down. Thereth nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about?" Marc was as hysterical as a woman who missed all the really good Thanksgiving sales. "You should see yourself!"

"Well, maybe I'll go take a walk." Oh, and run into that cute Mrs. Lentz in her bouncy, thin-strapped jogging bra while she walks her border collie. Normally I went for guys but her shoulders were so lovely and bare-

"You can't go out looking like that."

I was hurt. Well, pretending to be. "Are you thaying I thould be athamed? Thith is who I am now."

"Yes," Marc said, and Jessica swallowed her laugh. "You should be very, very ashamed. You should go to your room and hide your head until the shame passes. And until you don't look like you're trying out for the next Dracula remake."

A sly thought popped into my head, there and gone, one

Eric would understand, and so would Alonzo

too slippery to hold on to. Probably just as well. These days, none of my thoughts were nice ones.

"Doeth anybody have thum gum? I'm freth out."

"Sure," Jessica said brightly, as if a wonderful idea had just occurred to her, "and hey, maybe this time you can stick the wads in a garbage can, if you want to avoid eviction." She slid a brand-new pack of strawberry Bubblicious toward me.

"I'll second that motion," Marc mumbled. "Honestly, Betsy, do you know what they put in that stuff? The artificial gunk that slides down your throat, leaving the hard, gray crud behind?"

"Thut up," I told him, reaching for the pack. "Thith ithn't very conthructive."

"Yeah? Constructive is the last damned thing on my mind. This place drives me nuts sometimes: nutty vampires, a bitchy werewolf, a zombie, a grumpy billionaire, and a vampire on a hunger strike."

"You have to admit," Jessica said, starting to put away the liquor bottles, "there's never a dull moment. What's the polar opposite of a dull moment? 'Cuz that's what we got around here. All the time."

"I don't think you should call Garrett a zombie. He's a little slow, but-hey! Don't take the vodka."

"You can have it back," she said in her annoying Mommy voice, "when your fangs go away."

"I can have it back right now, honey."

Marc put his hands over his eyes. "Don't fight, you guys. No more. I'm sincere here."

She slapped my hand when I reached for it. "No! Bad vampire!"

I glared. "You know, most sensible people would be scared of me."

She laughed at me. "Most sensible people haven't seen you dancing the Pancake Dance in your granny underpants on New Year's Eve."

"Hey! Your fangs are gone." Marc digested what she'd just said. "Granny underpants? You?" Apparently me doing the Pancake Dance wasn't so hard to believe.

"It was just that one time," I grumbled, the last of my mad-on vanishing as quickly as it had come upon me. "All my thongs were in the wash." What had I even been so mad about, anyway? I couldn't remember. Jessica and Marc were the greatest. I was lucky to have friends like them. They were-

The kitchen door swung open, framing the former head of the Blood Warriors. "I don't understand," Jon Delk said. "You're saying I published a book?"

-sunk. We all were.