hanging off her lip. When she awakes, she won’t remember this little insertion into the book. Don’t mess with the Jess, people!
Yeah, I know, I know . It’s shitty of me to butt in right when Eva gets knocked out and … oh, sorry. You’ll have to read Chapter 8.
Can you believe that Eva and Lorcan sooooo totally have the hots for each other? I mean, c’mon, the librarian and the monk? That’s perfect. I think they rock as a couple and hey, if I have to … um, encourage them (i.e. push them together at every freaking opportunity), I damned sure will.
Sometimes, people falling in love (or lust, whatever) fight and fight and fight their attraction. I know this from my own experience and when I finally admitted I loved Patrick, it was like being able to eat chocolate again. Wait. Let me think about that for a moment. Ooooooooooooooh.
Er … what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, the librarian and the monk.
Aren’t they cu- ute together?
Gak! The historian is starting to twitch. Maybe I don’t have this glamouring thing down as well as I thought.
Okay, okay, I’m going. Sheesh. Oh! One more thing! The next person in the outside world who calls me a bad mother is gonna wake up with fangs in her (or his) neck. I’m The Vampire, That’s Why was like, y’know, a month out of my life. That’s it—a whole flippin’ month. And you’re gonna give me crap about my undead parenting skills? Puh-lease.
Yikes! I really gotta go.
Pretend I was never here, okay?
* * * * *
“Mom,” said my fifteen-year-old daughter as she watched me pull on my well-used Nikes, “you’re a vampire .”
“I am?” I rounded my eyes in exaggerated horror. “And all this time I thought I was allergic to sunlight.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. ”
Grinning, I lifted my left eyebrow and said in a bad Dracula voice, “I vant to suck your blood.”
“Oh my gawd.” Tamara slapped a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes. “Swear on your undead soul to never do that again.”
I laughed and finished lacing my shoes. “I don’t run for the exercise.”
Before I was—as my daughter put it—“vampified,” I ran two miles every day. As a vampire, I didn’t need exercise. In fact, getting killed had rid me of cellulite, acne scars, and crow’s feet. But I wanted to remain connected to my previous life. So much else had been taken away— sunrise and road trips and ice cream (oh the lamentable joy of a Ben & Jerry’s pint).
We sat on the rickety front porch stairs of our three-story house. The place was in major disrepair, but I couldn’t afford to fix it. The smells of dust and mold were still prevalent despite a hefty investment in Glade candles and two Ionic Breeze machines.
I was Broken Heart’s librarian, a job my paternal grandmother had held until her death a year ago. We shared the same name—Evangeline Louise LeRoy—but that was our only link. My father died when I was two-years-old; my mother had lost touch with the LeRoys long ago. Inheriting the job and the mansion/library had been a lucky break for me and Tamara. We needed a fresh start.
Becoming a vampire wasn’t what I had in mind.
The light from a sliver of moon shone down on us. When I was pregnant with Tamara, every kind of life cycle fascinated me (for obvious reasons). I studied the moon phases most fervently because I was way into symbolism and the whole “light in the darkness” thing appealed to me. That’s why I knew tonight’s lunar phase was called “waning crescent.” Lord-a-mercy, I knew all kinds of useless information. Ask me how much water a new toilet flushed and I could tell you it was 1.6 gallons. Ask me how to get to the Thrifty Sip, Broken Heart’s only convenience store, and I’d get you lost in nothing flat.
As it neared the end of August, summer still clutched Oklahoma in a lover’s embrace. The air felt humid and hot, even now,
Yeah, I know, I know . It’s shitty of me to butt in right when Eva gets knocked out and … oh, sorry. You’ll have to read Chapter 8.
Can you believe that Eva and Lorcan sooooo totally have the hots for each other? I mean, c’mon, the librarian and the monk? That’s perfect. I think they rock as a couple and hey, if I have to … um, encourage them (i.e. push them together at every freaking opportunity), I damned sure will.
Sometimes, people falling in love (or lust, whatever) fight and fight and fight their attraction. I know this from my own experience and when I finally admitted I loved Patrick, it was like being able to eat chocolate again. Wait. Let me think about that for a moment. Ooooooooooooooh.
Er … what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, the librarian and the monk.
Aren’t they cu- ute together?
Gak! The historian is starting to twitch. Maybe I don’t have this glamouring thing down as well as I thought.
Okay, okay, I’m going. Sheesh. Oh! One more thing! The next person in the outside world who calls me a bad mother is gonna wake up with fangs in her (or his) neck. I’m The Vampire, That’s Why was like, y’know, a month out of my life. That’s it—a whole flippin’ month. And you’re gonna give me crap about my undead parenting skills? Puh-lease.
Yikes! I really gotta go.
Pretend I was never here, okay?
* * * * *
“Mom,” said my fifteen-year-old daughter as she watched me pull on my well-used Nikes, “you’re a vampire .”
“I am?” I rounded my eyes in exaggerated horror. “And all this time I thought I was allergic to sunlight.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. ”
Grinning, I lifted my left eyebrow and said in a bad Dracula voice, “I vant to suck your blood.”
“Oh my gawd.” Tamara slapped a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes. “Swear on your undead soul to never do that again.”
I laughed and finished lacing my shoes. “I don’t run for the exercise.”
Before I was—as my daughter put it—“vampified,” I ran two miles every day. As a vampire, I didn’t need exercise. In fact, getting killed had rid me of cellulite, acne scars, and crow’s feet. But I wanted to remain connected to my previous life. So much else had been taken away— sunrise and road trips and ice cream (oh the lamentable joy of a Ben & Jerry’s pint).
We sat on the rickety front porch stairs of our three-story house. The place was in major disrepair, but I couldn’t afford to fix it. The smells of dust and mold were still prevalent despite a hefty investment in Glade candles and two Ionic Breeze machines.
I was Broken Heart’s librarian, a job my paternal grandmother had held until her death a year ago. We shared the same name—Evangeline Louise LeRoy—but that was our only link. My father died when I was two-years-old; my mother had lost touch with the LeRoys long ago. Inheriting the job and the mansion/library had been a lucky break for me and Tamara. We needed a fresh start.
Becoming a vampire wasn’t what I had in mind.
The light from a sliver of moon shone down on us. When I was pregnant with Tamara, every kind of life cycle fascinated me (for obvious reasons). I studied the moon phases most fervently because I was way into symbolism and the whole “light in the darkness” thing appealed to me. That’s why I knew tonight’s lunar phase was called “waning crescent.” Lord-a-mercy, I knew all kinds of useless information. Ask me how much water a new toilet flushed and I could tell you it was 1.6 gallons. Ask me how to get to the Thrifty Sip, Broken Heart’s only convenience store, and I’d get you lost in nothing flat.
As it neared the end of August, summer still clutched Oklahoma in a lover’s embrace. The air felt humid and hot, even now,