She shrugged. "You're my best friend. Least I can do." Mallory cleared her throat, looked blankly at the wall. "That said, the refrigerator is now filled with blood that was delivered before you woke up, and there's an eight hundred number on the side to order more." Her mouth twitched, and I could tell she was trying not to laugh.

"Why are you chortling at my food?"

She closed her eyes. "The company that does this vampire delivery thing? It's called 'Blood4You.' Unoriginal much? I mean, they've got a captive audience, but still, take your branding seriously, for Christ's sake. They need a new name, new image, repackaging. . . ." Her eyes glazed over, probably as potential logos and mascots danced in her head to the sound track of the jingle she'd no doubt already conceptualized.

"Never mind," she finally said, shaking her head as if to clear it. "I'm not at work. In more important news, I bought a leather curtain for your bedroom. It's huge, so it completely covers the window. That should give you a safe place to crash, although it totally clashes with the decor." She looked critically around the room. "Such as it is."

When Mallory moved in, she hadn't made any changes to the brownstone beyond divvying up bedrooms, stocking the fridge, and adding electronics. So the decor, such as it was, remained Aunt Rose-ish. The woman took her name seriously, and covered virtually every free surface with flowered doilies or throw rugs. Even the wallpaper was dotted with cabbage-sized roses.

"Again, thanks."

"In case it matters, you were actually sleeping."

I grinned at her. "You checked?"

"I held a finger under your nose. I didn't know if you were breathing, or if you just kind of . . . died. Some books say vampires do that, you know, during the day."

And Mallory, being a student of the occult, would know. If she hadn't been so well- matched to her job at a Chicago ad agency, she would have dedicated her life to vampires and the like - and that was even before she knew they were real. As it was, she put in the time during her off-hours. And now she had me, her own little in-house vampire pet. Vampet?

"It felt like sleep," I confirmed, and stood, laying the book on the floor between us and realizing what I was still wearing. "I've been in this dress for twenty-four hours. I need an excruciatingly long shower and a change of clothes."

"Knock yourself out. And don't use all my conditioner, dead girl."

I snorted and walked to the stairs. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because someday you want to be as kick-ass cool as me."

"Please. You're a total fang hag."

Laughter issued from the living room. "We're going to have some serious fun with this."

I doubted that, too, but I'd wallowed enough, so I swallowed my doubts and padded upstairs.

I avoided looking at the bathroom mirror just in case, fearful that I'd find no reflection there, but stood beneath the showerhead until the hot water ran out, cherishing the prickles of heat, and thinking about my new . . . existence? Helen had mentioned the basics - stakes, sunlight, blood - but she'd avoided the metaphysics. Who was I? What was I? Soulless? Dead? Undead?

Forcing myself to face at least part of the issue, I brushed a hand over the fogged mirror, praying for a reflection. The steam swirled in the small bathroom, but revealed me, damp and mostly covered by a pink bath sheet, the relief in my expression obvious.