Free Rachel Caine & Kristin Cast & Claudia Gray & Nancy Holder & Tanith Lee & Richelle Mead & Cynthia Leitich Smith & P. C. Cast by Immortal_Love Stories, a Bite

It was five o’clock. The bottling plant was letting out, and pretty soon the diner would be crowded with adults tired from a hard day’s labor, and not many of them liked me any better than Marjo did. Most of them were older than me; at eighteen, I was starting to get the get-a-job-you-punk stares.
    I like a good ass-kicking, but the Good Book is right: It’s better to give than to receive.
    I was unlocking the door to Eve’s car when I saw somebody behind me on the window glass, blocking the blazing westerly sun. The reflection was smeared and indistinct, but in the ripples I made out some of the features.
    Jerome Fielder. What do you know, I really had seen him.
    I had exactly enough time to think, Dude, say something witty , before Jerome grabbed a handful of my hair and rammed me forehead-first into hot metal and glass. My knees went rubbery, and there was a weird high-pitched whine in my ears. The world went white, then pulsed red, then faded into darkness when he slammed me down again.
    Why me? I had time to wonder, as it all went away.

    I woke up some time later, riding in the backseat of Eve’s car and dripping blood all over the upholstery. Oh, crap, she’s gonna kill me for that , I thought, which was maybe not the
biggest problem I had. My wrists were tied behind my back, and Jerome had done some work on my ankles too. The bonds were so tight I’d lost feeling in both hands and feet, except for a slow, cold throb. I had a gash in my forehead, somewhere near the hairline I thought, and probably some kind of concussion thing, because I felt sick and dizzy.
    Jerome was driving Eve’s car, and I saw him watching me in the rearview mirror as we rattled along. Wherever we were, it was a rough road, and I bounced like a rag doll as the big tank of a car charged over bumps.
    â€œHey,” I said. “So. Dead much, Jerome?”
    He didn’t say anything. That might have been because he liked me about as much as Marjo, but I didn’t think so; he didn’t look exactly right. Jerome had been a big guy, back in high school—big in the broad-shouldered sense. He’d been a gym worshipper, a football player, and winner of the biggest neck contest hands down.
    Even though he still had all the muscles, it was like the air had been let out of them and now they were ropy and strangely stringy. His face had hollows, and his skin looked old and grainy.
    Yep: dead guy. Zombified, which would have been a real mindfreak anywhere but Morganville; even in Morganville, though, it was weird. Vampires? Sure. Zombies? Not so you’d notice.
    Jerome decided it was time to prove he still had a working voice box. “Not dead,” he said. Just two words, and it didn’t exactly prove his case because it sounded hollow and rusty. If I’d had to imagine a dead guy’s voice, that would have been it.

    â€œGreat,” I said. “Good for you. So, this car theft thing is new as a career move, right? And the kidnapping? How’s that going for you?”
    â€œShut up.”
    He was absolutely right, I needed to do that. I was talking because hey, dead guy driving. It made me just a bit uncomfortable. “Eve’s going to hunt you down and dismember you if you ding the car. Remember Eve?”
    â€œBitch,” Jerome said, which meant he did remember. Of course he did. Jerome had been the president of the Jock Club and Eve had been the founder and nearly the only member of the Order of the Goth, Morganville Edition. Those two groups never got along, especially in the hothouse world of high school.
    â€œRemind me to wash your mouth with soap later,” I said, and shut my eyes as a particularly brutal bump bounced my head around. Red flashed through my brain, and I thought about things like aneurysms, and death. “Not nice to talk about people behind their backs.”
    â€œGo screw yourself.”
    â€œHey, three words! You go, boy. Next thing you