didn’t
reach her this time, I’d go by the house. I was starting to worry. I hear from her once or twice almost
every day. Yesterday I hadn’t been able to reach her at al . It could be nothing, but she’s not a young
woman… . I punched the buttons and waited.
She answered on the first ring. “Celia! Where have you been? I’ve been cal ing and cal ing ever since
the news about Vicki broke on the TV. Are you al right? I’m so sorry, punkin. I know how much you
cared about her.” The words tumbled over each other in a rush.
So. The press had got hold of the story. “I’m sorry, Gran. I tried to cal a couple times yesterday, but
there was no answer at the house.”
“Oh, you must have cal ed when I was out.”
Her voice changed abruptly, taking on an evasive tone that I didn’t like, mainly because I knew it too
wel . She only sounded like that when she’d done something she knew I’d be upset about, usual y
something involving my mother.
“Gran—”
“Real y, Celia—” She got defensive, the second surefire sign. “You’re so suspicious! What I do with
my time is none of your business.”
Absolutely true. And normal y I didn’t pry. But the last time she sounded like this, Mom had just
“borrowed” ten thousand dol ars, leaving Gran with no savings and not enough money to pay her
property taxes for the year.
I didn’t say a word. There was no point in starting another argument. Not now. She wasn’t going to
change. Taking a deep breath, I changed the subject.
“There’s something I need to tel you, Gran. The other night, when I was on a job, I got hurt.”
“Oh, Celie!”
I plowed on, ignoring the interruption. “A vampire bit me, tried to turn me. Kevin and Amy rescued me.
I’m not a bat. But I’m not completely human anymore, either. I’m pale, and I have fangs… .” The words
trailed off uncertainly.
There was no hesitation in her voice, no fear, and a huge weight lifted from my chest. If my gran had
thought of me as
“I look like a bat, Gran. I do. It’s awful.” Tears fil ed my eyes, but I blinked them back. I would not cry,
dammit. Not again.
I think she was stunned. The silence on the other end of the phone was profound.
“I wanted to let you know, to prepare you so you wouldn’t get scared when you see me.”
“You could never scare me, punkin. Have you told your mother?”
“No.” It came out cold and harsh.
“Celia, she’s your mother. She loves you. She deserves to know.”
I didn’t want to argue, so I didn’t. Besides, she had a point. Lana is my mother. “Fine. I’l cal her.”
There was an awkward moment. “You’l need to wait until tomorrow. Sometime in the afternoon.”
“Why?”
The silence stretched between us. She didn’t want to answer, that was obvious. I waited. Eventual y
she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Your mother got picked up again for driving without a license—”
“What? Whose car was she driving?” My mother didn’t have a car. It had been impounded when she
got picked up for her
wouldn’t lend it to her. After al , she didn’t have a license, so she didn’t real y need a car.
“Now Celia, you know your mother has her doctor’s appointments—” My grandma started making
excuses, but I cut her off.
“She can take a cab. Or a busss. Or you could drive her.” My lisp grew as I spoke even though I
knew what I was saying was useless. My gran has been enabling my mother since before I was born.
It’s not like she was likely to stop anytime soon. But that didn’t keep it from driving me crazy. “And
ssshe wasn’t picked up near the doctor’s office, was ssshe?” I fought to get my tongue under control.
She didn’t say a word, which meant I’d hit a nerve. If we were running true to form, she’d get angry
now, use my ful name, and refuse to talk about it.
“Celia Kalino Graves, I’ve had just about enough of your lip. I know your mother isn’t perfect. But she
does the best she can.”
The sad part was, Gran was probably right. It’s just that my mother’s best was so damned pathetic.
But there was no point in saying that. Instead, I said the only thing I could that would end the argument:
“I love you, Gran. I real y do.”
“I love you too, punkin. Don’t worry too much about the car. I don’t like to drive much anymore anyway.
There’s too much traffic, and I don’t see as wel at night as I used to.”
I let out a deep sigh. “We can talk about it at Sunday dinner.” I always had Sunday dinner with Gran.
Although, come to think on it, dinner was liable to be problematic. Maybe I could have soup?
“I was hoping maybe you could take me to church on Sunday morning?”
Of course she was. Hope springs eternal, and Gran is an optimist. A cross hadn’t bothered me, but
what about a ful -blown church? Would I burst into flames and force the priest into a change of
sermon?
“Someone just came into the office, Gran. I’ve got to go.”
The first part was true and no doubt she’d heard the squeak of the door hinges. Dawna had come in,
carrying two steaming mugs of fresh-brewed coffee that smel ed like heaven.
“Celia—”
“Bye, Gran. Love you.” I hung up before we got into another argument. Dawna was shaking her head
and snickering under her breath.
“Your grandmother never gives up, does she?” Dawna passed me the mug. She looked tired, with
dark circles under eyes puffy from crying. But her makeup was perfect and unsmeared, her dark hair
styled, and she was wearing a tomato red suit and matching heels that looked absolutely stunning on
her.
She sank into one of the wing-backed chairs, crossing her legs with easy grace. I knew she didn’t
make a lot of money as the receptionist here, but you’d never tel it by looking at her. She has a gift for
making even inexpensive clothes look like designer originals.
I inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of fresh-brewed java before taking my first sip. “Nope.”
Dawna gave me a very direct look over the rim of her coffee mug. I could actual y watch her go
through the process of forming the questions she was about to ask me.
“How are you holding up?”
“About as wel as can be expected. You?”
She sighed. “I can’t believe she’s dead. I mean, it’s just unreal. I just cal ed and talked to her on her
birthday—she thanked me for the purse I got her and was going on and on about the mirror and her
presents from Alex. It just doesn’t make
No. It didn’t. Then again, nothing else did, either. We sat in shared, miserable silence for a long
moment, sipping our coffee.
“Just how much trouble are you in?”
It wasn’t a question I’d been expecting, and I raised an eyebrow.
