"You are incorrigible."

"Damn right."

A few hours later when Faith got off duty and went into the city to hunt, she doubled back afterward and presented herself on Miranda's doorstep, trying not to look as smug as she felt.

Miranda didn't answer on the first knock, and when she opened the door, all of Faith's humor drained out of her.

"Good God," Faith said. "You look terrible."

Miranda beckoned her inside and returned to the couch where she'd been camped-she was dressed in faded Mickey Mouse pajama pants and a black tank top and had several empty water bottles and a pizza box on the coffee table in front of her. The lid was open enough for Faith to see she'd taken one bite.

"All right, you have to eat," Faith informed her sternly. "You need protein and iron or you're going to feel worse by the end of the night. Do you have any multivitamins around here?"

"Bathroom," was the vague reply.

Faith fetched the bottle and pressed two capsules into Miranda's hand. She took them without protest. Then Faith went into the kitchen and dug through the fridge until she came up with half a leftover giant burrito from Freebird's. It was loaded with beans, rice, and vegetables and wouldn't be as hard on her stomach as all that cheese. Luckily it seemed to be only about two days old, and a minute in the microwave restored it to something of its former glory.

"Here. Eat this. Small bites."

Miranda seemed relieved, for a change, at having someone tell her what to do. She nibbled at the edges of the tortilla and then managed a few larger bites.

"He wasn't kidding when he said you exchanged too much," Faith observed, shaking her head. "Another few ounces and you'd be in real trouble. He shouldn't have left you here like this."

"I don't think he knew it was this bad," she murmured. "I was fine when he left. I went back to sleep and when I woke up I had the worst hangover of my life."

"That's one hell of a hickey you've got there. Eat."

Miranda's hand moved up to touch one of the bite marks on her neck, and a dreamy sort of look passed over her face before it was replaced by an acute pain that made her cover her eyes. "That's not the worst part," she said. "Earlier when I got out of bed . . . I felt so . . . depressed. Like I didn't even want to breathe anymore. I still feel that way, just not as bad. If I knew how to get to the Haven from here, I'd have walked barefoot." She wiped at her eyes. "I did something stupid-look."

Miranda stuck out her tongue, and Faith saw a bright red cut. "How did you do that?"

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a familiar knife-carved into the shape of a bird of prey with an ebony handle and a folding blade serrated along its lower half. Miranda flicked her wrist and the blade snapped out, shining and lethal.

"There was blood on it," she explained. "I licked it."

Faith stared at her. "Jesus."

"I didn't even realize what I was doing. I saw the blood, and I just . . . needed it."

"And how did you feel after that?"

"Aside from the fact that my tongue was bleeding? Wonderful, for a minute. Then I got freaked out and took a Xanax."

"Can't say I blame you. Look, Miranda, I know you feel like hell now, but as long as you eat and rest you should be much better tomorrow. You'll probably feel better than you have in your life."

"Does turning into a vampire suck like this?"

"Oh, it's much worse. But if it's done right you're not aware of most of it. Right now the problem isn't that so much as whose blood you drank-for one thing, the stronger your sire, the faster and more intense the change. For another, the two of you already had a connection, so this deepened it, and now you're going through withdrawal."

"God, how pathetic," Miranda muttered. "I'm pining. I'm actually pining."

"It could be worse. Some of us aren't lucky enough to be turned by someone who loves us. Imagine if your sire forced you, then abandoned you, without even telling you the rules you had to live by."

Miranda's eyes widened in sympathetic horror. "Is that what happened to you?"

"No. That's what happened to David."

"God." Miranda took a long drink from the half-empty water bottle at her elbow. "Did you love your sire?"

"No. I paid her. I loved the boy I changed for . . . but as it turned out, he didn't love me, at least not for very long." Faith sighed. "Remember how I said love wasn't a good reason to become a vampire? I spoke from experience."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. And in the end, I was grateful. All of that misery brought me here, to the life I feel I was meant to lead. I just hope it's easier for you." She gave Miranda a long, searching look. "Are you sure . . ."

"Yes," Miranda said, and despite the weariness in her voice there was also determination. "I never expected it to be easy. Nothing worthwhile ever is." She took another bite of her burrito, then set the plate down, looking a little nauseated. "I know that if I do this, I'll be where I belong . . . and everything I've been through will have some meaning."

"Well, you're going to need to make some arrangements-once you two decide when exactly you're coming back, you'll need to clear your schedule for a couple of weeks. You may have to stop performing-"

"No," Miranda cut her off. "Music is the only thing that's gotten me through all these years. My career's just getting started. I'm not giving it up."

Faith smiled at her. "You will need to take some time off, though. Even once the change is complete you'll need time to adjust. So you might want to start talking to your manager about it now-invent some kind of surgery, maybe."

"Good idea. Everyone dealt with my vanishing once. I don't want to do that to them again." Miranda looked thoughtful, and faintly dismayed. "I'm going to have to figure out what to tell Kat."

"What cat?"

Miranda laughed. "Not a cat. Kat. She's a friend of mine. I'm sure Lindsay has reported my going out with her a lot."

"Oh, right-the woman with the dreadlocks. Yes, we know about her. And about the boy."

"You mean Drew? I'm not so sure he'll be coming around anymore. He probably won't want to anyway. I think David scared the piss out of him."

"I'm shocked," Faith said wryly. "What did he do?"

"Threatened to kill him."

"Of course," Faith said. "How romantic. So, tell me more about this whole thing-what happened? After all that 'I have to stay away for her own good' bullshit, how did you two end up snacking on each other?"

Miranda got that dreamy look back in her eyes and pulled her knees up to her chin. "How much detail do you want?"

"Everything-just do me a favor and stay away from words like throbbing and turgid."

She snorted. "Fine, but I will say this: Remember what you said about Hades being spectacular in bed?"

"Yes."

"Well . . ." She turned bright pink. "You don't know the half of it."

Sunday evening Miranda woke all at once, with no eye-rubbing transition to wakefulness, and stared blinking at her bedroom ceiling for a full minute before she realized she could see in the dark.

The room was never a hundred percent black despite the heavy curtains-and layer of cardboard-she'd hung over the two windows; a little light always came in through the edges of the door. Still, she had never abandoned her nocturnal habits from the Haven, so she wanted it good and dark in her room during the day to let her sleep; usually the first thing she did once the sun was down was to snap on the bedside lamp so she didn't have to blunder around and knock her shins on things.

This time, she opened her eyes to find that it was unusually bright, yet she knew nothing had changed while she slept. The light level in the room was the same as always . . . but she could see. Everything was blue and lavender and gray, but perfectly distinct.

She sat up and looked around, fascinated. She could read the spines of books across the room. She could read the print on the electric bill she'd tossed carelessly on her desk.

Her mouth went dry with momentary fear. Was this normal? Had she . . .

She got out of bed and walked, without stubbing her toe once, into the bathroom, where she didn't have to turn on the light to see herself in the mirror.

She was still in the mirror. That was something.

David had said her senses would fluctuate. Was this how vampires saw? Everything was sharp and clear, and it was almost as if some things were more than three-dimensional.

Once she got over the newness of it and relaxed into the difference, she found she liked it. It was certainly going to come in handy reading music in dimly lit clubs.

She stripped off her pajamas-Mickey was getting pretty rank-and turned on the shower, and again found she was mesmerized, this time by the water raining down from the showerhead. If she concentrated, she could see individual droplets and watch the path each one took down the drain.

Shaking herself out of it, she got into the shower, but when she went to lather up her mesh bath sponge, the smell of her lavender body wash was so intense she nearly threw up. She capped the bottle and rummaged around in the miscellaneous half-used toiletries that cluttered her shower shelf, coming up with a travel-sized container of organic unscented soap that Kat had left when she spent the night back in January.

It still had a smell, but it was tolerable. She soaped herself up and, after considering her shampoo selection, used the same stuff for her hair.

Drowsy from the heat and steam, she wrapped herself in her bathrobe and wandered into the kitchen.

On the street outside a car alarm suddenly went off, and she shrieked and dove back into the hallway, hands clamped over her ears. Pain ricocheted off the inside of her skull.

She stared blindly into the fridge for a while. Nothing was remotely appetizing. She'd asked Faith to throw the pizza in the Dumpster when she left, and though there was technically plenty of food, she didn't want any of it. The thought of eating made her stomach churn.

She settled for some saltine crackers and a bottle of Vitamin Water.

Her phone rang; she jumped again but this time didn't panic. The ring wasn't nearly as loud as the car outside had been. Her phone was where she'd left it on the table.

She saw who it was, and her heart leapt.

"Hi," she said.

"How are you?" David asked.

"Better. But I can see in the dark."

A pause. "You can?"

"Yeah. Everything's blue. Is that normal?"

She heard him take a deep breath. "Not exactly. I think it's another sign that we overdid it."

"If you say so. I think it's kind of neat, actually. I can't wait to see what's next."

He laughed. "You are a rare woman."

"I'm something, all right." She sat on the couch, the sound of his voice making her toes curl, and said, "I wish you were here."

"So do I."

"When will you be?"

A sigh. "I can't get away until Friday-perhaps I could come by after your show."

"I'd like that." Almost an entire week; she'd stand it somehow. "How are you feeling?"

The humor returned. "Apparently I'm giddy. The Elite are finding me rather obnoxious."

"You, giddy?"

"Relatively speaking, I'm sure."

She heard something beep, and he said, "Damn. I have to go-I'm in the middle of recalibrating part of the network, and I had a minute while it was running. I just wanted to check on you. And hear your voice."

"I'm glad you called."

"I'll talk to you soon-perhaps even later tonight if you're awake. I love you."

She knew she was grinning like a fool, and she didn't care. "I love you, too."

They hung up. Miranda was thankful that the withdrawal seemed to have faded; she didn't feel like crying this time.

In fact, overall, she felt fantastic. The weakness had left her body, and she wanted to get up and do something, preferably something that involved a lot of running. She didn't have another scheduled session with Sophie until Tuesday, and she had gigs on Wednesday on through the end of the week, leaving her at loose ends at least for the night. She was pretty sure Kat would want to get together tomorrow.

She should go out and get something to eat. Perhaps being at a restaurant, with the smells of food around her, would stimulate her appetite; part of her resistance to eating was the idea of cooking. She could go to Kerbey and have all the pancakes she wanted.

Mind made up, she got dressed and pulled on her jacket. When she looked at herself in the mirror again, she had to smile. Her color had returned, mostly, and she looked awake. There was knowing in her eyes. She looked like a woman with a secret.

Outside, Austin was fairly quiet; there was little traffic, pedestrian or vehicular, and she was glad. As it was, the noise and fuss were a bit too much at first, but she stayed calm and kept breathing. The streetlights hurt her eyes-how did the Elite run around town without sunglasses on?

A fingernail moon hung in the sky, and she could taste the change of seasons in the air: wildflowers blooming, trees leafing out, everything had a scent that registered to her both all at once and individually.

It wasn't until she was on the bus that things started unraveling. There were only a few other passengers, and she took a seat in the very back a few rows away from a middle-aged woman in a shabby coat. As she passed, she could smell each person strongly; several had pretty intense body odor problems, and the only one who wasn't repellent was the woman herself, who smelled like old age and rose petals.

Old age had a smell? Miranda concentrated, and sniffed the air again. Sure enough, the woman smelled like a grandmother, and it was familiar enough-slightly musty, a little sweet. The scent had layers that her mind picked out one by one.

The woman was tired and had sore feet, but she was in good health. Miranda stared at her hard, her eyes fixing on the pale wrinkled skin, and on the faint blue tracings of veins in her neck. She listened . . . she could hear the woman's heart beating . . . air rushing in and out of her lungs . . . the quiet click of her bones against each other as she flexed her arthritic fingers . . . the vein throbbed, and Miranda felt the roof of her mouth start to itch, then burn.

She was hungry. Her stomach growled loudly, startling her, and also startling the object of her obsession, who looked up at her angrily when she realized she was being stared at.

"Sorry," Miranda muttered. She couldn't breathe. She yanked the stop cord, and as soon as the bus pulled over she practically bolted down the steps and back into the cool night air.

She grabbed a lamppost and leaned on it heavily, panting.