"Eric, it was just an ordinary guy this time! It's not like I got tricked by vampires or got stuck in the middle of another coup."

He put his hands behind his back. I knew why; it was so he wouldn't choke me. "What is this aversion you have to waiting for my assistance?"

"It's not aversion. You're just never around when I need you. Hum. Okay, that sounded nicer in my head. Hey, I did call you. It's not my fault you didn't answer your cell."

"I was available twenty seconds later! You were physically unable to wait less than half a minute?"

"Well, I kind of wish we had, because the thing is..." I burst into tears.

"Oh, Elizabeth, don't do that." He snuggled me into his arms. "Was I shouting? I won't apologize for worrying, but I will clarify: I was concerned, not angry."

"It's not that. Laura-she killed the bad guy."

"And that's... er, bad?"

"It's how she did it. He didn't even attack us or anything. He was just standing there. And there were all these piles of wood in the basement, because he has-had-a wood-burning stove, and she leaned over and picked up a big old chunk of wood, and just beaned him with it! And I heard the crack-I heard his head break!" I shuddered. "And brains-did you know brains are pink and red? Don't answer that," I ordered tearfully. "And all this stuff came out. And he was just... dead. And she didn't even care! Just said later that she lost her temper."

"That... is cause for concern," he said after a moment's thought. "I must admit, I have... dispatched... my share of societal burdens in my day. But Laura seems to be-"

"Going over to the dark side."

"Or something," he agreed. "But it could be argued that she saved lives."

"Definitely it could be argued. I guess Driveway Jerk had this thing for short-haired blondes because when he was a teen, this girl named-never mind, it's creepy and stupid at the same time. And he was just driving around, looking for the right type to be in the right spot at the right time! Tell me how that can be allowed to happen in a sane world. You could be putting your groceries away ten minutes later and not be killed."

"But you and Laura are in a sane world," he suggested. "Righting wrongs."

"I really don't think this is the tactic we should use when talking to her about this, okay?" I pulled away so I could look into his eyes. "And see this? How I came right home and told you everything and we're discussing it like sane people who talk to each other?"

"Well, I did follow you to be sure you were going to do that," he admitted.

"This, this is what couples do! Kuh-MYUN-ih-kate. Memorize the word, Sinclair. Practice it."

"Consider me chastened." He didn't look terribly repentant, though. "Getting back to the matter of your sister..."

"I don't know what to do. What can I tell her, killing is wrong? Of course it's wrong, everybody knows that. She knows it, too. The problem is, that only makes us the biggest hypocrites in the world. Not to mention, it's not like she killed a Girl Scout. She did the world a favor. So what do I say to her?"

"That you're watching," he said quietly. "We're all watching."

"I think I'll take the 'we'll be there for you' tactic on that one."

"Either way. Come here, now, darling, sit down." He rubbed my shoulders, and I sat on the bed. "You've had a tough week, haven't you?"

"It's my new worst week ever," I sniveled.

"Well, in light of our new 'tell all' policy, I have some news for you."

I sighed and rested my forehead on his shoulder. "Who's dead now?"

"The Star Tribune has picked up your 'Dear Betsy' column."

"What?" I jerked my head up. "There've only been, what? Two newsletters? And I thought that was impossible! Anybody seeing the newsletter!"

"Supposedly it was. Marjorie is beside herself. Heads will roll, I can assure you. Possibly literally. We suspect either a member of the Tribune payroll is a vampire, or an enterprising human hacked into her system and gave it to a reporter."

"So what's-what's going to happen?"

"Fortunately, feedback seems to be that it's not to be taken seriously. The editor thinks it is a joke, the readers seem to like it, and the readers who are vampires are keeping their mouths shut."

"So only a few people in the city know it's a real letter to real vampires?"

"Yes. And because Marjorie's discretion is on the line, she is moving heaven and earth to find out who is responsible. I imagine we'll have some answers on that in a short time."

"Well... I guess things could be worse."

"They are about to get that way, I assure you."

I groaned and flopped down on the bed. "This whole tell-each-other-everything debacle, you're punishing me for it now, aren't you?"

"Darling, you know I live to obey your slightest whim. When before, I sought to protect you from the problems of governing a nation, now I see it was merely my ham-handed way of repressing you. Well, those days are over!" he declared, over my moans of horror.

"Whereas in the past I felt discretion was the better part of valor-"

"Oh, now you're just making shit up to fuck with me."

"-now all must be revealed, constantly."

"Look, I figured out that you don't keep things from me to be mean. You just can't help it."

"Ah, but starting now, I shall help it."

"I get that you think solving problems for me proves your worth."

He sniffed. "I wouldn't go that far."

"You can't help it, you're in lurrrrrvvv."

"Stop that. I was going to tell you, Jon has transcribed nearly the entire first draft of your little tell-all."

"I thought it was going to be, like, a paper."

"It's turning into a book, dear. Three hundred pages at last count."

"Oh, he told you this?"

"It's possible I had Tina hack into his Sidekick," he admitted.

"Nice! Well, this is nothing new, right?"

"Given the fallout from the Tribune picking up your column-"

"What fallout? I thought everybody agreed it was a joke."

"-I got Jon alone and convinced him he had never written the book, never had the idea, never had any interest in your life story."

"Oh, Christ."

"Then I erased it."

"Oh, Sinclair. Oh, boy." I put my hands over my eyes. "This is going to be a bad one."

"You may proceed," he said, "with the yelling."

I tried to get myself under control. He did it out of love.

Misguided, weird love, but love. He's trying to protect you. In a misguided, weird way.

"Okay, Eric, that was bad. Pretty bad. And I think, after what Jon has done for us, I think you should undo your mojo."

"But I went to all that trouble," he explained patiently, like I didn't get what he had done, "to be sure he forgot everything."

"And now I want you to make him remember! Look, he'll flunk his class, among other things. You really want him moping around here because he got an F in bio or whatever the hell it's called? And second, I agreed to let him do this. So by you sneaking in and undoing it, I look bad. Really, really bad."

He looked at me for a long minute. "I admit," he said at last, "I had not considered it in those terms. Your authority should not be undermined. Even by me."

Especially by you, but that was a topic for another time.

"So you'll undo it?"

"I will try," he said. "And in the spirit of full revelation, I must tell you I'm not sure it will work. I've never tried to undo a mojo, as you call it."

"What, in your whole life you've never made a mistake?"

He smiled. "No, but no one ever asked me to go back and try to rectify my errors. No one ever dared."

"Probably why you've got such an attitude problem."

"Probably," he agreed, and pulled me into his arms.

I wriggled around until I was straddling him. "I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten in days."

"You've been busy," he said, and then he groaned as I found his zipper and pulled. "I must say, I didn't think I would enjoy this full disclosure rule you've implemented... ah... don't stop doing that..."

"Aren't you funny," I said.

"Consider it an order from your king."

"I'm hysterical with laughter here." I wiggled down, pulled down his pants as I went, and divested him of his socks. Frantic, I yanked at his black boxer shorts until they were little cotton shreds, took his dick in my hand, moved it out of my way, and bit him right on his femoral artery.

His hands plunged into my hair and he made fists, almost hard enough to hurt, but not quite. He was so good at that. At coming up to the line but not crossing it. I tried not to think of all the practice he must have had to get so good.

His cool, salty blood nearly overflowed my mouth, and for the first time in days, I wasn't morbidly thirsty. Instead I drank from him and felt his cock pulse in my hand, felt him give way, felt him helpless, literally helpless in my hand as he spurted all over the sheets, as he gave control to me.

I love you. Love you. Love you.

And the worst week ever was redeemed.