I rubbed my temples, which were beginning to throb. "I know, and it sucks. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Mallory sighed impatiently, but didn't say anything else about it. She pushed back into the couch cushions and tapped the cover of the guide to vampire life, still closed in my lap, with a finger. "So, you're going to read it?"

"I should probably understand the ground rules. And since I have all night . . ."

"Well, I don't have all night." She rose and stretched. "I've got to get some sleep. I've got an early meeting. Have fun with your vampire book."

"Night, Mal. Thanks for waiting up."

"No problem. I'll call U of C tomorrow and let you know what they say about reenrolling." She walked out of the room, but peeked back in, her hand wrapped around the oak doorframe. "Just to review, you're pissed about being made a vampire, and we hate this Ethan Sullivan guy, right?"

I thumbed through the Canon's thick, ancient-looking pages, scrolling through the acknowledgments and table of contents, my drifting gaze stilling when I reached the title of chapter two: "Servicing Your Lord."

"Oh, yeah," I assured her. "We hate him."

I slept on the couch, book in my hands. I'd spent the final hours of the evening, long after Mallory had dragged herself upstairs, pouring through the Canon. I was wide- awake for the review, the transition to vampire already reversing my sleep schedule, at least until the wave of exhaustion hit me at sunrise. As dawn approached, I could feel the sun creeping up, preparing to breach the horizon. As it rose, so did the weighty drowsiness. What was it that Carl Sandburg had said about fog? That it crept in like a cat? That was how the exhaustion came. It crept in, silent but assuredly there, and covered me like a heavy velvet blanket.

But where falling asleep was incremental, I woke suddenly, finding myself wrapped in an ancient musty quilt. I unraveled my limbs, and looked out to see Mallory on the love seat in jeans and a Cubs T-shirt, staring at me curiously.

"Were you trying to mummify me?"

"There are windows in the room," she pointed out, "and you were too heavy to get upstairs. I leave you exposed to the sun all day and I definitely don't get this month's rent." She rose, walked closer, and looked me over. "No burns or anything?"

I threw the blanket on the floor and surveyed my body. I was still in the slinky cocktail dress, and the parts of skin that showed looked fine, maybe better than they had before the change. And I felt a helluva lot better than I had the night before, the sluggishness having finally cleared. I was now a healthy bloodsucking vampire. Yay!

"Nah," I told her, sparing her the internal monologue. "I think I'm good. Thanks."

Mallory tapped nails against her thigh. "I think we need to spend a little time tonight, you know, checking you out. Figuring out what we're dealing with, what your needs are. Write down stuff you might need."

I lifted my brows skeptically. Mallory was brilliant, without a doubt. Case in point: She'd landed the job as an advertising executive at McGettrick-Combs right after college - literally the day after she graduated from Northwestern. Said Mallory: "Mr. McGettrick, I want to work for your firm." Said grumpy, balls-to-the-wall Alec McGettrick: "Be here at eight a.m. Monday morning."

But Mallory was an idea person, not a detail person, which was probably why she was so valuable to Alec and crew. For her to suggest that I make a list - well, that just wasn't typical Mallory.

"You feeling okay, Mal?"