Words from the book spring unbidden: How best to protect yourself from werewolves? Stay away from them.

The office phone rings and I glance at the caller ID. Then at my watch. Yikes. I snatch up the receiver, “Sorry, Mom. Time got away from me. I’m on my way.”

She laughs. “Good. We’re giddy with excitement over here. Our lives are about to change. Your life is about to change. Hurry, Anna. We’re waiting for you.”

Giddy with excitement? Change my life? My mother is not one for hyperbole but here she is, sounding for all the world like a spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House. Is there a goofy-looking guy with bad hair and a toothy grin holding balloons and a big cardboard check lurking on our front porch?

“You didn’t enter a sweepstakes, did you?”

Again, the silver lilt of her laughter. “Better. I’m not going to tell you anything else. You need to come home. Now.”

“Okay. On my—”

But she’s already rung off.

Weird. Very weird.

MOM, DAD AND TRISH RUSH OUT OF THE FRONT door and spill down the porch steps like lemmings over a cliff. I’ve barely gotten out of the car before I’m surrounded. They crackle with excitement. I feel it on my skin. Little electric shocks like static from a light switch.

“Whoa.” I hold up both hands. “What’s going on?”

Mom recovers first. She puts an arm around Trish’s shoulders. “Anna, you won’t believe what happened today.”

“A lawyer came,” Trish interjects, hopping around like an eager puppy.

“With news,” my dad adds.

“From France,” Mom says.

“We’re going to live there,” Trish says. “All of us.”

“In a château,” Dad says.

“Oh, Anna,” my mom gushes. “It’s so wonderful. We’ve inherited a winery.”

A winery?

It takes some doing, but I finally get my family corralled and back up the porch steps and into the house. They never stop babbling. All three. All at once. I’ve never seen my parents so animated. Trish? She’s jumping up and down.

I scoot them over to the couch and hold up a hand. “Sit.”

They do, still chattering like agitated squirrels.

“Quiet.”

The prattle dies away, leaving me staring at three glowing faces, bright with expectation and anticipation. They’re waiting for me to ask questions. I hardly know where to begin.

“You said a lawyer came here? Today?”

They look at each other, and then Dad and Trish both look to Mom, making her the official spokesperson. She takes a deep breath and plunges in.

“Yes. He came to see me first yesterday at school. Asked me some questions. Mostly about my grandmother and her side of the family. I told him she died when I was young and my memories are vague. I gave him her maiden name and her place of birth. He wondered about my mother. I told him she died many years ago and as far as I know, we have no relatives left on that side of the family except us. He asked to make an appointment with your father and me this morning. Said he had some details to check, but he was fairly certain he’d have some good news for us when he saw us again.”

She can sit still no longer. She jumps up and starts pacing. “Well, he showed up this morning and presented us with a thick portfolio of documents. He went through the papers one by one. There were birth records and death certificates. A family tree. Photos of my grandmother and her mother taken almost a century ago. In France. There’s a will. The will of a great uncle I didn’t know existed. An uncle who owned a great deal of property in France, including a working winery. An uncle who evidently has no living relatives left to inherit his estate.”

She stops pacing, turns to face me, and her face is once again wreathed in as joyful a smile as I’ve ever seen. “Wait until you see the pictures. It’s unbelievably beautiful. There’s a château on the property and a staff that’s worked for the family for decades. They’re waiting to meet us. We can go anytime. It’s ours, Anna. All of it.”

I was born a cynic, and becoming a vampire didn’t temper my natural inclination to distrust anything that looks too good to be true. If anything, it’s worse. So it’s hard not to say, “Are you all crazy? People don’t inherit property in France out of the blue. It’s got to be some kind of scam.”

But I can’t say it out loud. I don’t want to be the one responsible for eradicating the pure joy I see on the faces of the people I love most. It would be like stomping on a kitten.

My dad, who knows me too well, stands up and puts an arm around my shoulders.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “It’s too good to be true. I did my homework. I have business contacts in France, you know. I had them check out the lawyer. He’s legitimate. Got a prospectus for the winery. It’s well-known. Exports product to the United States. The château has been renovated and well maintained. It’s fully furnished and staffed. I’m telling you, Anna, there’s nothing bogus about this. Sometimes people really do get lucky.”

He opens his other arm to Trish and Mom. They join us in a kind of awkward group hug. “I think this calls for a celebration,” he says. “Let’s get dressed up and go to Mister A’s. Champagne on me.” He plants a kiss on Trish’s forehead. “Ginger ale for you, ma petite chère.”

That does it. Now my father is speaking French? I’m sick. With shock. With apprehension. My father may be right. This might be legitimate. I sincerely hope it is. The realist in me screams there’s a better chance it’s not.

I LEAVE MY FAMILY, PROMISING TO JOIN THEM downtown in an hour. I know as I speak the words that I’ll not be staying for the celebratory dinner. Once again, too many ways to give away the fact that I’m no longer human. I can fake it when I eat with them at home by taking small helpings and spreading the food around my plate. I’ve been known to sneak into the kitchen and dump a napkin full down the garbage disposal.

Can’t do that in a restaurant. Especially one famous for large quantities of food, to say nothing of platter-size steaks. It’ll be impossible to pretend. I’ve used the late lunch excuse too many times already to have it sound credible, especially since my mother specifically asked me for dinner tonight. No, better to come up with another reason for leaving before dinner.

Damn it, David. If you were home the way you should be, I could ask you to call me and say there’s a fugitive who needs apprehending. Give me an excuse.

Makes me realize how completely I’ve cut myself off from the few friends I had before the change. I can think of no one else to call and ask the favor. No one to rescue me.

Shit.

When I get back to the cottage, I shower and fluff dry my hair, then stand naked in front of my closet to decide what to wear. My wardrobe is limited. Jeans. Black, navy, tan. A few pairs of linen slacks with matching blazers (court attire). A few skirts, assorted blouses. One simple silk sheath, black, V-neck, narrow waist accented by a wide belt.

I choose the dress and slip it over my head. It’s body hugging and soft against my skin. I have no way of knowing how I look in the dress, I bought it after becoming, but I know how it makes me feel. Slinky. Sexy. The skirt is midthigh length. I pair it with a pair of three-inch strappy Jimmy Choos. I bought them because the lady at the shoe store said I had pretty feet and trim ankles and they show them off. The skirt is short and the heels high.

All this for an evening with my folks?

Of course not.

I can’t fool myself any more than I can change what I’m feeling. My blood is on fire. This prolonged anticipation is almost unbearable. The incongruity of what I’m thinking does nothing to mollify the mounting passion.

I make no attempt to understand or explain it. In fact, I can let myself enjoy it. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this kind of anticipation.