out of a Garfield mug, as if flaunting her immortality in the face of us petty, insignificant mortals. She had on only a bathrobe, which was partly open in front, so you could see that she had like great cleavage, ancient total skank that she was.
So I'm like, "Hi."
And she's like, "So, Wednesday, you know Buffy's not a real person, right?"
Bitch.
"What do you mean, dead?" Tommy said. He ran to the door and flung it open. "He's not here." He bolted down the steps in his bare feet, leaving Jody standing across the breakfast bar from Abby. "I'm going to look for him," Tommy called. The downstairs door closed, the lock clicked.
Jody pulled her robe closed when she saw Abby Normal staring. She could hear the girl's heart pounding, could see her pulse beating in her neck, could smell nervous sweat, clove cigarettes, and some kind of cheese snack.
They stared at each other.
"I found you an apartment, Mistress," Abby said. She dug into the pocket of her hoodie and came out with a rent receipt.
"Call me Jody," Jody said.
Abby nodded conspiratorially, like she was acknowledging it was only a code name. She was a cute kid, in a scary, will-probably-poison-the-dog-and-then-molest-him kind of way. Jody had never really had a problem with younger women as competition. After all, she was only twenty-six, and with the extreme antiaging treatment she'd gained from her vampirism, right down to her baby toes straightening out and every freckle she'd ever had disappearing, she felt superior, even a tad maternal toward Abby, who was a little knock-kneed in her red plastic skirt and green sneakers.
"I'm Abby," Abby said, and she curtsied.
Jody choked, sprayed coffee out her nose, and turned quickly so as not to laugh in Abby's face.
"Are you okay, Mistress - I mean, Jody?"
"No, I'm fine." It was strange just how sensitive the vampire sinus is to hot liquids. Jody was sure that she might never smell anything but bloody French roast again, and her eyes were watering, or so she thought, but when she turned back around, Abby jumped back six feet and yelped.
"Holy shit!" Abby had backed against the futon frame and was about to tumble over backwards.
Jody was around the breakfast bar, steadying the girl in less than a tenth of a second - which caused Abby to jump straight into the air about three feet.
Jody could tell the girl was going to fall. Abby was going to come down with one foot on the back of the futon frame, one in midair, and she was going to tumble over and land on her shoulder and head on the hardwood floor. Jody saw this coming, could have caught Abby and set her gently on her feet, but instead, she felt that maternal instinct kick in - the realization that if the child didn't take a knock or two, she'd never learn - so Jody stepped back into the kitchen, where she picked up her coffee and watched as the kid hit.
"Ouch!" Said Abby, now a black-and-red heap on the floor.
"Boy, that looked like it hurt," Jody said.
Abby was on her feet, limping and rubbing her head. "What the fuck, Countess? I thought you had my back."
"Yeah, sorry," Jody said. "Why the freak-out?"
"There's blood running down your face. I guess it startled me."
Jody dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, leaving little red spots on the white terry cloth. "Well, would you look at that?" She was trying to be casual, trying to act like someone four or five hundred years old might behave, but the blood tears were disturbing her more than a little.
Change the subject. "So, this apartment you found, where is it?"
"Don't you want to wait for Flood?" Abby asked.
"Flood? What Flood?"
"Flood, the orange-colored vampire who just ran out the door."
"Oh, him," Jody said. Tommy and his tanning lotion. He was out running around on the street with no shirt or shoes. Orange. "Was he orange?"
Abby threw out her nearly nonexistent hip. "Hello? You're crying blood and your partner is orange and you didn't notice? Do you guys get senile over the years or what?"
Jody set her cup down on the counter, just to make sure that it didn't shatter in her hand. She drew on her experience working in the claims department at Transamerica, where her immediate supervisor was a complete ass-bag, and it took everything she could do, every minute of the day, not to bang the woman's skull repeatedly in a filing drawer. She