Free Wicked Game by Jeri Smith-Ready Page A

silly to worry. You always take care of yourself, don’t you, Sweet Pea?

Hope you’re enjoying lots of fresh air this summer
.

Hugs and kisses and more hugs
,

Mama
    * * *
    I sink into the chair and close my eyes. My con artist’s caution is prodding me to run, protect myself, wrap my ass in anonymity. But that path is theirs, not mine. Not anymore.
    The last ten minutes move in reverse, so that when David returns, my suitcase is back in the closet, empty. I’m sitting on the sofa in same place as before, but he seems to know something’s different, besides the fact that I’m wearing pants.
    He sets the bag of bagels and cups on the coffee table next to me. “I meant to ask, when was your last tetanus shot?”
    “I had to get one for school.” My voice rings hollow in my head. “Six years ago.”
    He opens his red bag and looks at me apologetically. “I have bad news for your needle-phobia.”
    I roll my sleeve above my left shoulder and look away, wondering how many other vampire victims he’s treated this year. The needle drives liquid fire into my muscle.
    Bitten, stitched, and pierced, all in less than twelve hours. Welcome to the straight life.
    He picks up his bag and his own cup of coffee. “Are you going to be okay?”
    His words remind me of my mother’s, bringing a bitter smile to my lips. “I’m always okay.” I finally look up at him. “I’ll see you Monday.”

6
That’ll Be the Day

    The phone jolts me out of my nap, late in the afternoon, judging by the sun’s angle through the living room window.
    Groggy-minded, I heave myself off the couch, limp to the phone, and pick it up.
    “Tell me everything.” Lori emphasizes the last word. “Starting from the chocolatini you threw down her shirt.”
    I hesitate. “That’s pretty much where it ends. Nothing to tell after that.”
    “I’ll buy you dinner and drinks.”
    “See you in an hour.”
    It turns out that dinner and drinks aren’t just payment for my juicy story. My friend has tricked me into helping her sort costumes for some Civil War reenactment thingy.
    “That guy you left with?” Lori hands me a musty uniform. “I’ve never seen him before.”
    I thump the blue woolen coat, raising a cloud of dust. I use my ensuing coughing fit as an excuse not to talk about Shane. “Can we open a window?”
    Lori clomps across the wooden floor of the antique-shop attic. She pulls on the sill of the window at one end, but it’s stuck. “Sorry. We’re almost done.”
    In the light of a bare bulb, I regard the pile of old clothes, nearly as tall as we are. It looks like we’ve just started.
    I wipe the sweat from the back of my neck and sigh at the dust covering my shirt. “Any restaurant we go to tonight better have a no-skank policy.”
    She gives me a sheepish smile. “I’ll buy you Chinese takeout, a six-pack, and any DVD you want to rent.” Her grin widens on the bottom, showing all her teeth. “Pal o’ mine?”
    I pick up a stack of hangers. “I needed to get out, anyway.”
    She hands me a long green-and-white dress. “So you don’t want to talk about Mystery Man. Tell me about your radio station. Sounds cool.”
    “In the same way autopsies are cool. My immediate boss is like Eeyore in a man-suit, and the station manager is a fanatic. The DJs are—” I cut myself off. How to describe them without using the word “vampire”?
    Lori folds a bonnet and stuffs it in a zippie bag. “They’re what, party animals?”
    “It’s not that.” I pin the bag to the dress. “Do you know any obsessive-compulsives?”
    Lori drops a box of medals, which go skittering acrossthe floor. “Damn it!” She scrambles after them. “Why do you ask?”
    I kneel to help her scoop up the medals, biting my lip at the pain in my leg. “I think I know someone with it.”
    “Me, too. My mom.” She lays the medals carefully in the box without looking at me. “It started when I was six. She would go around the house at bedtime and make