“I like those.”
“You’re, uh. You’re into bad boys, eh?”
“Maybe,” she said, lowering her voice and drawing the word out a little, as if it was a confession. She spoke with a very faint drawl. “Plus, I like meeting new people from all kinds of places, and you don’t exactly strike me as a local, darlin’.”
“You dig dangerous guys who are just passing through,” I said. “Do you ever watch those cop shows on TV?”
She tilted back her head and laughed. “Most boys don’t give me lip like that in the first few minutes of conversation.”
“I’m not a boy,” I said.
She gave me a once-over with those pretty eyes, taking a heartbeat longer about it than she really needed. “No,” she said. “No, you are not.”
My inner nonmoron kept on stubbornly ringing alarm bells, and the rest of me slowly became aware of them. My glands thought that I’d better keep playing along. It was the only way to find out what the girl might have been interested in, right? Right. I was absolutely not continuing the conversation because I had gone soft in the head.
“I hope that’s not a problem,” I said.
“I just don’t see how it could be. I’m Connie.”
“Harry.”
“So what brings you to Norman, Harry?”
“Taking a look at a player,” I said.
Her eyes brightened. “Ooooo. You’re a scout?”
“Maybe,” I said, in the same tone she’d used earlier.
Connie laughed again. “I’ll bet you talk to silly college girls like me all the time.”
“Like you?” I replied. “No, not so much.”
Her eyes sparkled again. “You may have found my weakness. I’m the kind of girl who likes a little flattery.”
“And here I was thinking you liked something completely different.”
She covered her mouth with one hand, and her cheeks got a little pinker. “Harry. That’s not how one talks to young ladies in the South.”
“Obviously. I mean, you look so outraged. Should I apologize?”
“Oh,” she said, her smile widening. “I just have to collect you.” Connie’s eyes sparkled again, and I finally got it.
Her eyes weren’t twinkling.
They were becoming increasingly flecked with motes of molten silver.
Cutie-pie was a frigging vampire.
I’ve worked for years on my poker face. Years. It still sucks pretty bad, but I’ve been working on it. So I’m sure my smile was only slightly wooden when I asked, “Collect me?”
I might not have been hiding my realization very well, but either Connie was better at poker than me, or else she really was too absorbed in the conversation to notice. “Collect you,” she said. “When I meet someone worthwhile, I like to have dinner with them. And we’ll talk and tell stories and laugh, and I’ll get a picture and put it in my memory book.”
“Um,” I said. “Maybe you’re a little young for me.”
She threw back her head and gave a full-throated laugh. “Oh, Harry. I’m talking about sharing a meal. That’s all, honestly. I know I’m a terrible flirt, but I didn’t think you were taking me seriously.”
I watched her closely as she spoke, searching for the predatory calculation that I knew had to be in there. Vampires of the White Court—
* * *
“Wait,” Dean said. “Vampires of the White Castle?”
I sighed. “White Court.”
Dean grunted. “Why not just call her a vampire?”
“They come in a lot of flavors,” I said.
“And this one was vanilla?”
“There’s no such thing as…” I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”
Dean nodded. “So why not just call ’em vanilla vampires?”
“I’ll … bring it up at the next wizard meeting,” I said.
“So the vampire is where all the blood came from?”
“No.” I sighed. “This kind doesn’t feed on blood.”
“No? What do they eat, then?”
“Life-energy.”
“Huh?”
I sighed again. “Sex.”
“Finally, the story gets good. So they eat sex?”
“Life-energy,” I repeated. “The sex is just how they get
“You’re, uh. You’re into bad boys, eh?”
“Maybe,” she said, lowering her voice and drawing the word out a little, as if it was a confession. She spoke with a very faint drawl. “Plus, I like meeting new people from all kinds of places, and you don’t exactly strike me as a local, darlin’.”
“You dig dangerous guys who are just passing through,” I said. “Do you ever watch those cop shows on TV?”
She tilted back her head and laughed. “Most boys don’t give me lip like that in the first few minutes of conversation.”
“I’m not a boy,” I said.
She gave me a once-over with those pretty eyes, taking a heartbeat longer about it than she really needed. “No,” she said. “No, you are not.”
My inner nonmoron kept on stubbornly ringing alarm bells, and the rest of me slowly became aware of them. My glands thought that I’d better keep playing along. It was the only way to find out what the girl might have been interested in, right? Right. I was absolutely not continuing the conversation because I had gone soft in the head.
“I hope that’s not a problem,” I said.
“I just don’t see how it could be. I’m Connie.”
“Harry.”
“So what brings you to Norman, Harry?”
“Taking a look at a player,” I said.
Her eyes brightened. “Ooooo. You’re a scout?”
“Maybe,” I said, in the same tone she’d used earlier.
Connie laughed again. “I’ll bet you talk to silly college girls like me all the time.”
“Like you?” I replied. “No, not so much.”
Her eyes sparkled again. “You may have found my weakness. I’m the kind of girl who likes a little flattery.”
“And here I was thinking you liked something completely different.”
She covered her mouth with one hand, and her cheeks got a little pinker. “Harry. That’s not how one talks to young ladies in the South.”
“Obviously. I mean, you look so outraged. Should I apologize?”
“Oh,” she said, her smile widening. “I just have to collect you.” Connie’s eyes sparkled again, and I finally got it.
Her eyes weren’t twinkling.
They were becoming increasingly flecked with motes of molten silver.
Cutie-pie was a frigging vampire.
I’ve worked for years on my poker face. Years. It still sucks pretty bad, but I’ve been working on it. So I’m sure my smile was only slightly wooden when I asked, “Collect me?”
I might not have been hiding my realization very well, but either Connie was better at poker than me, or else she really was too absorbed in the conversation to notice. “Collect you,” she said. “When I meet someone worthwhile, I like to have dinner with them. And we’ll talk and tell stories and laugh, and I’ll get a picture and put it in my memory book.”
“Um,” I said. “Maybe you’re a little young for me.”
She threw back her head and gave a full-throated laugh. “Oh, Harry. I’m talking about sharing a meal. That’s all, honestly. I know I’m a terrible flirt, but I didn’t think you were taking me seriously.”
I watched her closely as she spoke, searching for the predatory calculation that I knew had to be in there. Vampires of the White Court—
* * *
“Wait,” Dean said. “Vampires of the White Castle?”
I sighed. “White Court.”
Dean grunted. “Why not just call her a vampire?”
“They come in a lot of flavors,” I said.
“And this one was vanilla?”
“There’s no such thing as…” I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”
Dean nodded. “So why not just call ’em vanilla vampires?”
“I’ll … bring it up at the next wizard meeting,” I said.
“So the vampire is where all the blood came from?”
“No.” I sighed. “This kind doesn’t feed on blood.”
“No? What do they eat, then?”
“Life-energy.”
“Huh?”
I sighed again. “Sex.”
“Finally, the story gets good. So they eat sex?”
“Life-energy,” I repeated. “The sex is just how they get
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