Foo’s all, “We didn’t have time to actually get jackets. They need to be leather and they’re expensive.”

So it’s clear that despite his mad ninja science skills, even my beloved Foo cannot be left without female supervision. But he has been going home lately, and his parents are a bad influence on him.

So I’m like, “I got this. I’ll go see Lily.”

Lily is my backup BFF. She used to be my BFF, but at the same time I met Lord Flood and the Countess, Lily got a book in the mail at her work, which is Asher’s Secondhand, and it convinced her that she is Death, so I’m all, “Whatever, ho.”

And she was all, “Free to live my own nightmare, skank.”

So we were cool.

’Kayso, I took the 45 bus from the dead-ratted love lair to North Beach. Walking through Chinatown sort of creeps me out ’cause of all the Chinese grandmothers on the street, who I’m pretty sure are talking about me because they think I have ruined Foo with my Gothy-Anglo charms. Also, I get mad dim sum cravings for which I should someday seek treatment, or, like, snacks.

’Kayso, at Asher’s, Lily comes out from behind the counter and gives me a hug and a big kiss on my forehead (because she is taller than me in addition to having surplus boobage).

And I’m like, “There’s a big violet lip print on my forehead, huh?”

And Lily goes, “Kiss of Death-get used to it, beyotch-matches your hair tips, très cute.”

So I’m all, “’Kay.” It wasn’t really the kiss of Death, but it did match my tips. Then I was all, “Lils, I need men’s leather jackets in these sizes.” I gave her the note Foo wrote out with the sizes and cut and whatnot.

And she was all, “WTF, Abs? Fifty long? You buying a jacket for an orca?”

“Ginormous gay cop. You got it?”

“Yeah. You wanna smoke a clove?”

And I’m all, “Do you have enough violet lipstick?” Because smoking is, like, the worst for your lipstick and it did match my hair.

And she’s all, “Bitch, please.” Meaning, “Do I ever not have enough makeup?” Which is true, because Lily carries a PVC ROBOT PIRATES messenger bag you could hide a small kid in, only she carries beauty products.

So I was all, “’Kay.”

So Lily and I went out the back door and stared at the Dumpster like it was the very abyss of our despair while we smoked. And I’m just getting ready to tell her about the love lair, and Foo, and vampyre kitties and all, because I’ve sort of been in boyfriend mode, so, like, out of contact, which Lily totally gets.

And Lil’s like, “So, the big gay cop have a Hispanic partner?”

And I’m like, “Rivera and Cavuto. Crusty day dwellers, but Rivera kind of has a secret-agent vibe. You know them?”

And Lily is all, “Yeah, they were here yesterday. Rivera wears expensive suits. Smells good, too. I’d do him.”

And I’m like gagging. “Lils, he’s like a thousand years old, and a cop. The Motherbot was getting squishy over him. OMG! You’re disgusting!”

“Shut up, I’m not saying I’d do him normal. I mean like zombie Apocalypse trapped in the mall right before we have to shoot each other to keep them from eating our brains and turning us to the undead-then I’d do him.”

So I’m all, “Oh sure, then.” To make her feel better, because she doesn’t have a BF and often oversluts to compensate, but I still thought it was disgusting. But to change the subject, I was all, “So what did they want?”

“They were asking all kinds of irrelevant bullshit. Had I seen any strange cats, did I see the Emperor, or some redhead.”

And I’m all, Fucksocks! Fucksocks! Fucksocks! inside. But on the outside I’m all chill and I’m like, “So, you like didn’t know anything, right?”

“No, Asher said a hot redhead came into the store the other night, and then I was on the cable car last night, going down to Max’s Deli for a sammy, and I think I saw her going into the Fairmont Hotel. Like a crazy cape of long red curls I would slaughter puppies for.”

“Red leather jacket?”

“Sweet red leather jacket.”

“You didn’t tell them, did you?”

And Lil’s all, “Well, yeah.”

And I was all, “You traitorous whore!” And I punched her in the shoulder.

In my defense, you’re supposed to tell your ex-BFF when you get fresh ink, so the screaming was completely over the top. I had no way of knowing that she had a new tattoo on that shoulder, so her punching me in the boob was totally uncalled for.

So, I’m ouching très loud and this Russian lady from upstairs peeks her head out the window and she’s all, “Quiet please, is sounding like burning bear out there.”

’Kayso, Lils and I start to laugh and say, “Like bear,” over and over again until the Russian lady slams the window shut, like bear.

Then it comes back to me and I’m all, “Lils, I have to get those jackets and get to the Fairmont. I have to save the Countess.”

And Lily is like, “’Kay,” not even asking details, which is why I love her-she is so nihilist it’s, like, not funny.

’Kayso, I take the jackets and catch a cab to the Fairmont, which totally pisses off the cabbie because it’s only like six blocks, but when I get to the hotel I’m all, “Fucksocks!” because I’m too late.

Falling asleep was one of the things Jody missed about being human. She missed the satisfied, tired feeling of falling into bed and drifting off in a dreamy twilight sea of dreams. In fact, since she’d turned, unless she’d just gone too long without feeding, she never even felt tired. On most mornings, unless she and Tommy had been making love, and they went out in each other’s arms, she just found a relatively comfortable position and waited for the sun to rise and put her out. Maybe a flutter of an eyelid, lasting a second, then off like a light.

The closest thing to a dream state she’d experienced as a vampire was when she’d gone to mist inside the bronze statue, and even then, the door into dreamland slammed shut at dawn. The constant alertness of being a vampire was, well, it was a bit irritating. Especially since she’d been searching the City for Tommy for a week, pushing her jumped-up senses to their limits, and had to return to the hotel every morning with nothing. Apparently, Tommy had limped down an alley and vanished. She’d checked everyplace in the City that she’d ever taken him, every place he’d ever been, as far as she knew, and still there was no evidence of his having been there. She’d hoped she would have some special vampire “sixth sense” to help her find him, like the old vampire who had turned her seemed to have had, but no.

Now, she was returning to her room at the Fairmont for the seventh morning. And for the seventh morning she would put out the “Do Not Disturb” signs, lock the door, put on her sweats, drink a pouch of the blood she kept locked in a mini-cooler, brush her teeth, then crawl under the bed and go over a mental map of the City until dawn put her out. (Since she was technically dead at dawn, sleeping on top of a comfortable mattress was a dangerous luxury, and by climbing under the bed she put one more layer between her and sunlight, should a nosy maid somehow find a way into her room.)

Part of her new pre-dawn ritual had been returning to the hotel a little later each morning; like the skydiver who will let himself fall closer and closer to earth before pulling the ripcord to boost the adrenaline rush just a little more. The last two mornings she’d just been entering the hotel when the alarm watch she wore, which was set to go off ten minutes before sunrise on any given day, based on an electronic almanac, had started beeping. She’d bought one for Tommy, too, and wondered if he was still wearing his. As she strode down California Street, she tried to remember if he’d been wearing it when they cut him out of the bronze shell.

Two blocks from the Fairmont her alarm watch went off and she couldn’t help but smile a little at the thrill. She picked up her pace, figuring that she’d still be safely inside her room with time to spare before sunup, but she might have to forgo the sweats and the blood snack.