The Bloodlust by L. J. Smith Page A

here.”
    “Oh.”
    “Oh,” she said, mocking me. Then her eyes softened. “I still can’t believe you slept here. Don’t you have a home?”
    I met her gaze straight on. “I had . . . a disagreement with my family.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.
    The freak show was starting to wake up. The strong man walked, bleary-eyed, out of a tent. Abruptly, he dropped down to the ground and began doing push-ups. The fortune-teller headed to the secluded part of the lake, towel in hand, no doubt for a bath. And two of the ever-present burly security men were watching Callie and me curiously.
    Callie clearly noticed as well. “Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked, leading the way down a dirt-packed road to the edge of the lake, out of sight of the show. She picked up a stone and threw it into the water, where it landed with a thunk.
    “I never could skip stones,” she said, in such a sad voice that I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
    “What’s so funny?” she asked, hitting my arm again. The swat was playful, but the bracelets she wore were twisted through with vervain, and the contact sent a wave of pain up my arm. She put her hand on my shoulder, concern creasing her forehead. “Are you okay?”
    I winced. “Yes,” I lied.
    “Okay . . .” she said, throwing me a skeptical look. She leaned down to pick up another stone and raised her light brown eyebrow at me before she threw it in the water. It fell with a harmless plop.
    “Tragic!” I picked up my own stone and aimed it across the water. It skipped five times before falling below the surface.
    Callie laughed and clapped her hands. “You must teach me!”
    “You have to flick your wrist. And pick a flat stone.” I spotted a smooth brown rock with a white band ringing the top. “Here.” I put the rock in her hands. “Now, flick,” I said, gingerly touching her skin, making sure my fingers didn’t brush against the vervain.
    She closed her eyes and tossed the stone, which skipped once, before falling into the water. She threw her arms up in delight. “Thank you, Stefan,” she said, her eyes twinkling.
    “No more ‘stranger’?” I teased.
    “You’ve taught me something. That means we’re friends.”
    “Does it, now?” I said, taking another stone and tossing it in the water. Damon and I had skipped stones in the pond near our home in Mystic Falls. We’d make wishes and pretend that they would come true if we could guess the number of skips a stone would make.
    I closed my eyes briefly. If it skips five times, I’ll have a chance to free Damon , I thought. But this stone was heavier and sank after two skips. I shook my head, annoyed at myself for indulging in such a childish game.
    “So was that your biggest concern in the world? That you couldn’t skip stones?” I teased, trying to reclaim the light tone of our outing.
    She smiled, but her eyes looked sad. “No. But don’t you think pretend problems are much more manageable than real ones?”
    “Yes, I do,” I said quietly.
    The sun was steadily rising, lending the lake an orange glow. Several small skiffs were already on the water, casting their nets, and the wind whipped around our ears, a reminder that even though the sun felt warm, winter was well on its way.
    “I’ve never talked to anyone about this. That’s rule number two of the Gallagher family business—don’t trust anyone,” she said.
    “Your father seems tough,” I ventured, sensing her frustration. “Perhaps too tough?”
    “My father is fine,” Callie snapped. She scowled at me, hands on her hips.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. I realized I’d pushed too far too quickly. “That was out of line.”
    Callie let her hands fall to her sides. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just protective of him. He’s all I have.”
    “Where is your mother?” I asked.
    “Died when I was six,” Callie said simply.
    “I understand,” I said, thinking of my own mother. “It’s hard, isn’t