New Age crap? This from the guy running the witchcraft minimart?

“Now, how about telling me what happened tonight?” he called over the sound of running water.

I shuddered. “Can’t we start with what the weather’s been like?”

“No.”

“It was nothing, really,” I said, trying to sound casual.

“‘Nothing’ rarely stabs people.” He came in and sat next to me on the sofa. The scent of him teased my nostrils, and I rather seriously debated whether or not to lean against him and inhale deeply.

I really need to get out more.

“I needed blood.”

Nathan frowned. “You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?”

“Okay, even if I had, did I look like I won that particular fight?”

He looked relieved that he wouldn’t have to chop off my head.

“I followed a girl into a club downtown. One of those…Goth clubs.” I lowered my voice, as if Goth were a dirty word.

“Club Cite?” he asked, and I nodded. “That was very dangerous. Clubs like that are full of all kinds of undesirables. People who think they’re vampires, wannabe vampires and vampire hunters. Amateurish vampire hunters, but with enough knowledge to kill you, even if it is just a lucky accident.”

“I know that now,” I said bitterly, remembering the metallic taste of Dahlia’s blood on my tongue. I took a deep breath. “I met a girl there. She told me she’d let me—” I stumbled over the words. “Drink her blood. I paid her.”

Nathan sighed and shook his head, reaching for one of the notebooks on the table. “What was her name?”

“Dahlia.” I looked over his shoulder as he flipped through the pages. There were crudely drawn diagrams and notes in the margins. A paper clip held a Polaroid in place at the top of one page. He handed the photo to me.

“Is this her?”

I looked at the photo. The woman did look like Dahlia, but a black Betty Page wig covered her red curls. The eyes were the same. Hard and crazy. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed that before. I told him it was her and returned the picture.

He stood, cursed and threw it down on the table. I shrank away, surprised at his sudden vehemence.

“I told you to come here if you needed blood! Why didn’t you come to me?” he shouted.

“I did! You weren’t home!”

“You should have waited!” He glared at me and braced himself for my next retort.

Raising my voice had calmed me considerably. When I didn’t respond, he swore and turned away, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you finished?” I asked.

He sighed angrily. “Yes, dammit. But you should have waited.”

“Maybe I should have. But I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time.” I scooped up the picture. “Do you know her?”

“Who?”

I rolled my eyes and held up the photo. “Dahlia.”

When he sat beside me, he seemed to take up more of the couch than before. I didn’t want to give him the impression that I was intentionally trying to be close to him, so I moved to the armchair.