Stolen

"Scary bunch, huh?" said a voice to my left.

I turned to see Adam jog up beside me.

He gri

"Please tell me the witches aren't charging a quarter for coffee and doughnuts."

"No, no, no. Didn't you see the sign. It's fifty cents for a coffee and a doughnut. A quarter each. Seriously, though, that's Legion stuff. But the flip-board and the schedule were definitely Ruth's doing. A guy who used to be a delegate told me that, years ago, the witches had a mission statement and a code of conduct for these meetings. I think he was kidding, but I've never been sure."

"So they're always so… earnest?"

Adam laughed. "Earnest. That's a good word to describe witches. Well, maybe not Paige, but certainly Ruth and the rest of them. Deadly serious. This is important stuff, damn it." He rolled his eyes. "Everyone's gotta have a hobby, and with the witches, it's organizing these meetings. Hey, is it true you gave Paige those bruises around her neck?"

"It was a misunderstanding."

He gri

"If he can't, we'll do it ourselves. We aren't accustomed to taking orders from others."

"My kinda people. That's what we need in these meetings. A strong, nonpassive leader."

"A male leader?"

Adam lifted both hands to ward me off. "I didn't say that. It's not a gender thing. It's a race thing. Witches and shamans aren't like us. And vamps? Well, they're not like anyone, which is exactly how they like it. Cass can kick ass if she wants. Not super-strong or anything, like she said, but that regenerative stuff is real handy in a fight. Guy shoots you, you just keep walking and grab the gun. Very cool."

"So they're immortal?"

"Nah. Not exactly anyway. They can regenerate, they live for hundreds of years, and they're damned tough to kill. Close enough to immortal for me."

Before I could ask anything more, Paige joined us.

"I'm going with you," she said to Adam. "Ke

I was about to decline when Jeremy waved me over, saving me the trouble of coming up with a polite excuse. I said I'd see them at the restaurant and jogged over to Jeremy.

BURNED

We'd elected to eat at an Italian restaurant. Bad choice. Though it was nearly eight, the place was crowded. This part of Vermont didn't offer much in the way of fine dining, so it seemed as if everyone within a fifty-mile radius who didn't like hamburgers was here. There was no hope of getting a table for seven, so we agreed to split up. When the server found us a table for six and a table for two, Cassandra offered to take the small table. At first, I thought she wanted to eat alone, which wouldn't have surprised me, but instead she invited me to join her. I wasn't the only one shocked by that. Paige stared at me as if trying to figure out what could possibly possess Cassandra to pick me as her dining companion. I think she'd have been less surprised if Cassandra invited me to be di

Cassandra and I sat apart from the others, out on the patio. I wondered whether she'd eat di

"You're curious," Cassandra said after our meals arrived. "But you don't ask questions. Odd for a journalist."

How much had Ruth and Paige told everyone else about me?

"Depends on the type of journalist," I said. "I do politics and social issues. Strictly public-life stuff. Very little dirt-digging of a personal nature."

"So you avoid personal questions. Probably because you don't want anyone asking them back. If you're curious, you can ask. I don't mind."

"Okay," I said… and asked nothing.

After a few minutes of silence, I decided I really should ask something. Not just anything, but the big question. After all, it was staring me in the face, from Cassandra's barely touched di

I gestured at her plate. "So, I guess you're not big on chicken."

"Solids in general. I can eat a few bites, but more gives me a nasty case of indigestion."

She waited, face expressionless, but a smile shimmering in her eyes.

"There's no sense asking, is there?" I said, sipping my wine. "Asking if vampires-you know-would be like asking if werewolves change into wolves. It's the hallmark of the species."

"Actually, in my case, you'd be mistaken. I know, I know, you read so many stories. But they're just not true. I most emphatically do not sleep in a coffin." She paused, then arched her eyebrows. "Oh, isn't that what you meant?"

"I meant, obviously you drink-" I gestured at my wineglass.

"Burgundy? I prefer white. Yes, I can drink wine. Thank heaven for small mercies. It's only solids that give me trouble. Let me help you out, Elena. I believe the word you're looking for is 'blood.'"

"That's it. Slipped my mind."

She laughed, a throaty laugh that startled the server coming out the patio door. We ordered refills on our wine, then waited until he'd left.

"So what is it these days?" I said. "Home deliveries from the blood bank?"

"Afraid not."

"A special deal with the butcher?"

"The FDA would likely disapprove. Sadly, we're stuck getting our meals the old-fashioned way."

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed," she said with another laugh. "Yes, I drink it straight from the source. Some rules, though. No children. No one under thirty. Makes it more sporting."

"Did I mention I'm twenty-eight?"

"That's not what I heard." She gri

She cut a few bits of chicken and moved them around on her plate. "To be honest, I've tried animal blood and blood banks. They don't work. Living that way is like subsisting on bread and water. We exist, but barely. Some still do it. I'm too selfish. If I'm alive, I want to be completely alive. The only apology I can make is that I try to choose those who welcome death, the old, the sick, the suicidal. I'm deluding myself, of course. I can tell that a man wants to die, but I have no way of knowing if he's about to climb a twenty-story building or is temporarily depressed over a broken affair. Life would be so much simpler if we lost our souls when we were reborn, if we forfeited the ability to feel, to know right from wrong. But I suppose that's why they call it a curse. We still know."

"But you don't have a choice."

"Oh, there's always a choice. Self-a