Fine. I lied. I was a little bit drunk—but, hey, what did I tell you? You can't trust me to take care of myself. I should be questioned.

Anyway, I wake up with a splitting headache, and when I try to stand up, everything's spinning. So I sit back down, but nothing gets better. I'm just lying here in my bed, watching the ceiling and trying to act like every square inch of my body doesn't feel like it was crushed and then put back together and then crushed again for good measure. Goddammit. Maybe I am a lightweight.

And then, as if the morning isn't worse enough, there's a voice. In my head.

Well, actually, there's always voices in my head. But, I mean, this one isn't my own.

Grey, it's Midge. Can you hear me?

I'm so startled by it that I let out a little yelp, jerking upwards in my bed, which is a mistake. I groan as I reply, Midge, what are you doing? Do you realize how creepy this is? Get out of my head!

I hear her sigh. I hear her sigh, except it's in my head. I'm dreaming, right? This is insane. Midge is insane. It's just a spell, Grey. It's not like I'm in your head all the time. Anyway, I figured that if I talked to you this way, you can't hit me with a bat.

That's it. Next time I see her, I am hitting her with a bat. I should have when I had the chance. Please just tell me what you need to tell me and then vacate the premises. PLEASE.

There's an emergency meeting at my house, Midge tells me.

When?

Now. I trust you remember where it is.

Oh, boy. Just what I wanted to do this morning. Get up and drag my maybe-slightly-hungover self to Midge's place. I don't even like Midge's place. It's like someone turned a forest into a convenient store. It's the weirdest thing. I mean, I know herbs and what not are kind of important to witches, but there's a reason I never went in Sybil's pantry, never go in Sybil's pantry. There's stuff in there that will do some trippy stuff to you if you're not careful.

Sure, whatever, I say to Midge. NOW ACTUALLY GET OUT OF MY HEAD OR I'LL MENTALLY SCREAM AT YOU. AAAAH. AAAAAH—

I hadn't noticed it, but there's an odd buzz along with Midge's voice, like the feed from a walkie talkie. It all goes silent, however, and somehow that's how I know she's gone. I swear. I'll have to give her my phone number, or something. I don't want to do that, but if it'll keep her from finding other, way less convenient ways to contact me, then it has to be done.

It's hot outside. Not that I expected it not to be. The summers here are always hot, the kind that beads sweat on the back of your neck and makes your clothes stick to you. My dad loves the heat. I swear; the guy's like a cat. He'll find the warmest spot in the house and just go bake there, and then glare at you if you give him any weird looks. I think that's kinda why he needs Sybil; he may be Mr. Big Scary Demon Guy, but he needs someone to look after him.

With a grunt, I shove the window open to let in some air, fanning myself as I do. There's a bunch of old tape recorders stacked on the sill that I haven't touched, really, since high school. They should be good and full by now, I'm thinking. I used to record a message everyday for my mom, just so that she'd never miss anything. That was back when I was still convinced she cared about me.

I glare down at the stack of tape recorders, daring it to challenge me.

It doesn't.

I take a step towards one wall. I take a step towards the other. I angrily shake my damp black hair from my eyes.

Then I pick up the first one and hit play.

It clicks on, and at first it's static, but then a very young, very high-pitched me says, Hey, Mom. It's me. Grey. Today some kids at lunch stepped on my tail and laughed at me. It wasn't very nice. Anyway, now Sybil's making me tuck it, and I don't like that. I mean, it's not my fault—

Boring. I don't want to hear myself rattle on about those dumb kids in second grade that I for some reason was too much of a wimp to beat up. I mean, honestly. I don't know why I didn't just shank 'em.

I'm brushing my teeth when I play the next one.

Hey, Mom. It's Grey...again. Sybil and I went to a parent-teacher conference today. I hate those things. They're really scary. Anyway, Ms. Vega said a lot of the other kids think I'm scary, that maybe we should consider private school. I don't know why. I told them I have no interest in their souls. I promise. I did.

Private school. What a joke. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what I remember Sybil telling my third grade teacher, the aforementioned Ms. Vega. "Private school's a joke, Mary Anne. You think it's going to be any better there than it is here? Grey isn't the problem. It's all of you. It's all you sons of b—"

Yeah. Sybil's conferences never ended well.

Anyway, I let these tapes play for a while, while I get dressed and eat a bowl of microwave oatmeal and everything. They're all pretty stupid, and I don't know why I wasted my time on them. I mean, surely I must've figured it out sooner. That if my mom wanted me, really, she wouldn't have made any of those stupid deals. If she wanted a family, if she wanted a son, she would have fallen in love like everyone else and gotten married like everyone else and then had me, her firstborn, without any weird complications. That's how it would've been.

But, no she wants to "see the world," or whatever, and she can't do that with me, apparently.

I'm halfway out the door when the last tape finishes. It's taken a while (puberty kind of hit me late), but my voice has finally deepened to the point where it no longer sounds like a chipmunk squeaky toy. Hey. It's Grey. Nothing really happened today. I just miss you.

I just...I just wish you were here.

Then it cuts off.

I stare at the tape for a moment, and then I just shake my head and sweep it off the sill, listening to it clatter against the floor.

I head for Midge's.

I'm not sure how she's right, but she is. I somehow remember where Midge's house is without even trying. It's in this little grove of townhouses about five blocks from my apartment complex, where everything's brownstone with moss and vines growing all over it. It looks a little like something out of a fairy tale, or a horror movie. I can't decide which.

I jog up the front stoop, surprised to find there's no doorbell. So I knock, and then Midge calls from inside, "It's unlocked!"

The door kinda gets stuck, so I have to put a lot of my weight on it to get inside. To my surprise, her foyer's a whole lot neater than the scene I saw in the living room. It's tiny, but the chandelier's been dusted and the floors have been swept. I get this one little breath of fresh, clutter-free air before I pass the coat closet and come in to the living room.

Midge's mom is in the kitchen, surrounded by uncapped mason jars and storage containers, stirring something that appears to be emitting blue smoke. Another guy with a bald head that is miraculously shiny is reading the newspaper at their small dining table, but the pages are turning for him. He just sits there and nods his head like it's totally fine that the pages are turning without the use of his fingers. Witches. Honestly.

Then there's Midge and, miraculously, Safiya, lounging together on the couch and chatting it up like they've been friends for ages. Midge looks up, her pink ponytail moving as her head does. Really. The hair. I should be used to it by now, but I'm just not. "Hey," she says.

"You should keep your door locked," I mutter, striding into the living room. Both Mrs. Osborne and the other guy—who I can only assume is Midge's dad—glance up as I enter, give each other a careful look, then go back to what they were doing. They think I don't notice, but I do. "I mean, I could have been a burglar. Or an axe murderer. And you just let me into your house, no fuss."

"Please, Grey," Midge replies, and I kid you not, both she and Safiya roll their eyes at the same time. What is this? They're best friends now, or something? Girls. They make no sense. "There's no axe murderers here. That's a Texas thing."

"Mhmm. That's what the axe murderers want you to think."

Midge looks at me long and hard, probably decides she's done with either this subject or me in my entirety, and then just scoots over on the couch, patting the seat beside her. I relax down into the cushion, trying to act like I'm not alarmed at how quickly it seems to swallow me.

No, seriously. Sybil bought a couch once from one of her "friends" in the flea market, when I was ten or so. It actually swallowed me, and it took about five hours for Sybil to find the right spell to get me out. I still have PTSD from that.

I wait a second, but this couch doesn't seem like it wants to eat me. I let myself relax a bit. "Okay, so this emergency meeting. What's it about?"

"Our next course of action, obviously," Safiya cuts in. Today she's replaced her thigh-highs with...wow, another pair of thigh-highs, and instead of her favorite little black dress, she's in a miniskirt that is, well, severely mini. Like I said. Safiya's just the kind of person you have to get used to, like a new haircut or cold weather. "Here's the good news, demonboy. There haven't been any attacks since the one last night. But the bad news is that sitting here and waiting for the next one to happen isn't going to fix anything."

"Yeah, she's right," Midge agrees. She pulls her legs up, sitting cross-legged between Safi and me. I can't help but notice that her socks have bananas on them. I want to tell her they're cool, but I don't. Something tells me it wouldn't be appropriate at the moment. "I mean...I think it's obvious what we have to do. It's just that none of us want to do it. Except maybe..."

Midge's and my eyes land on Safiya, who glares back at us before smacking her lips and saying, "Oh, of course. I'm not even part of a clan. What makes you think they'll want to talk to me?"

"I don't know, Safi, but you are our best bet. Midge and I don't know jack about vampires or what they're doing behind the scenes," I plead with her. Midge nods along with me, rolling the sleeves of her denim jacket up. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't have a theory about this."

Safiya looks me in the eye, pressing her bright red lips together like she wants to talk but knows she shouldn't. I can see it, that tiny war raging in her eyes, but then she gets all exasperated and spits out, "I...I have a theory."

"I knew it!"

Safiya hisses at me. I shut up.

"It's one of two clans these vampires are from if they're attacking stuff around here," Safiya elaborates. "Either the North Avenue Clan or the Midtown one, but everyone's pretty mellow in the Midtown Clan, so my bet's on—"

"North Ave," I finish for her, and Safiya nods, a frown deeply set on her face. I get to my feet, careful not to knock over any shelves. Midge is looking at me like she's surprised I'm this excited, but, hey, I just want to get this over with. "Do you know where their home base is?"

"Home base?" Safiya snaps. "What do you think this is, hide and seek?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "Answer the question, Safi!"

"Fine," she says, crossing her arms. "Yeah, I know where it is. But if we're really going there, we'd better be out of there before nightfall."

I'm about to turn and haul tail out of here, not really caring if Safiya or Midge are following me, but then Midge's mom comes over with the blue smoke stuff. She neatly wipes this weird goo on her apron and says, "Before you leave, you should really eat something. You look parched."

I'm wondering when this woman became so nice to me all of a sudden when I take a glance in the pot and nearly puke. It looks like she was trying to make grits, but made some sort of weird, indigo pond muck instead. I give her the sweetest smile I can muster (which is a grimace, I know it's a grimace), and then I tell her, "Oh. Yeah. That's nice, but I'm fine. I'm—hey, Safiya, where did you say this place was again?"

She rolls her eyes. "Let's just go already."