Sometimes, fact mixed with fiction so thoroughly that, though no lies were told, it was hard to remember what was strictly true.

How sad. How frightening. To be filled with so much hate that you could not even rejoice in the healing of a child...How did anyone ever come to that point?

Will you be?” I asked, suddenly anxious. “Will you really be here?” “As long as you want me,” he assured me. “I'll always want you,” I warned him. “Forever.

He was giving up on keeping me alive, letting nature–or rather mob justice–take its course. When he returned, and I was dead, he wouldn't hold anyone responsible. He would not mourn. All this I could hear in those three words.

And it was different because I'd already lost her so many times, so many ways, in my head. And different because she was never really mine to lose. And different because this wasn't my fault.

It's pretty obvious, isn't it? I'm joining your crappy little renegade pack. The vampires' guard dogs.

His gift is slower than Jane's. It creeps. It will touch us in a few seconds.