By Friday afternoon, I was ready to check out of the hospital. My body was recovering nicely—I could stay awake for the whole day again—and although it was very weak, my radius was defined again. I could tell Eli was inside it, but it wasn’t changing him back into a human, which was okay for the time being. I was just relieved that it was coming back. It’s scary being vulnerable.
It took hours to get through the last-minute exams and paperwork—I was starting to think one nurse in particular was dragging everything out—and it was getting dark by the time everything was done. I was practically bouncing in the wheelchair as the nurse drove it down to the emergency room entrance. I was sick of hospital food and bad cable, and to my own surprise, I missed running and work and the rest of my life. I even missed watching romantic comedies with Molly, who had told me she was planning a Brat Pack marathon for when I got back.
When we got down to the lobby, Eli went ahead to bring his car around. The nurse who had driven the wheelchair was looking nervous and fidgety, so I finally told her I could wait on the bench outside the hospital entrance by myself. As soon as I was settled down, she hustled back for the door. My thoughts were elsewhere, thinking about how I could get time off work to go learn about being a null—not to mention Eli and Jesse.
It’s right when you’re distracted by boys that the powers of evil will come for you.
I idly watched a little boy with a blue balloon walk into the hospital, and when I turned my head back toward the street, a vampire sat on the bench next to me, looking smug and dangerous in a tailored red dress. She grabbed my arm, digging her fingernails in, and tossed back waves of chestnut hair to smirk at me.
And the bottom dropped out of the world.
“Hello, Scar-bear. Did you get my flowers?”
“No,” I breathed. “That’s not possible.” I shook my head frantically. “It’s not possible!”
“Oh, but it is possible,” Olivia cooed at me. I tried to pull away, but she just dug her nails in deeper. “No, honey, you’re not going anywhere. You and I just have so much to talk about.” Blood began to drip from my arm where her nails had pierced it, and she licked her lips. “I came to the hospital to see you, even though you stopped coming for me. And why was that? Did you find out something you shouldn’t?” Her voice was syrupy sweet, and silent tears began to run down my cheeks. “Why did you have to go digging up the past, Scar-bear?”
I heard the squeal of tires and saw Eli’s truck careen out of the parking garage, bearing down on us.
“Oh, darn, looks like your ride is here already. To be continued, honey.” She released my arm and licked blood off her fingers, giving me her old, serene look. Then she was gone.
I began to scream.
Acknowledgments
Like Scarlett’s, my life once took a surprising sudden turn away from the path I had planned for myself. Unlike Scarlett, however, I had quite the heavy-duty support system to help me adjust, and this book happened because of them. A huge thank-you to everyone who had my back as I started writing, especially my aunts and uncles, and my laid-back husband, who was always willing to help by brainstorming or taking over parenting duties, and who read the first draft and delivered (still) the best compliment I’ve gotten: “I kept forgetting it was you.”
Thank you to my crack team of beta readers—Nicole Rosario, Kay Basler, Jason Martell, Brieta Bejin, Stephanie Olson, Megan Lane, Linda Crossett, Lisa Mysker, Tracy Tong, and Elizabeth Kraft—and to Carrie Welch, who was gracious enough to watch my daughter so I could work on Dead Spots. This book wouldn’t have been what it is without all of you. I also want to thank Scarlett’s namesake, Scarlett Welch, still the most terrifying toddler I have ever encountered. Please don’t read this book until you’re much older.
Much gratitude also goes to my mentor-heroes, author Alex Bledsoe and my graduate advisor Liam Callanan. You guys were always willing to entertain mundane questions about publishing and plotting, far beyond the call of friendship or duty.
Thank you, of course, to the “official” team: my agent, Jacquie Flynn; my wonderful development editor, Jeff VanderMeer; and Alex Carr, who saw Dead Spots the way I had hoped someone would. If I’m forgetting anyone, please forgive me. I’m new at this.
A big thanks to the Madison Writers Institute folks at the UW-School of Continuing Education, who provide wonderfully valuable classes and conferences in my very own town. In particular, I want to thank Madison-area author and retired teacher Marshall Cook, who probably doesn’t even remember my face, but who took the time to encourage me the first time I tried to write fiction, and then wrote a lovely letter of recommendation to help get me into grad school. Your generosity for a student you’d just met made a big impression on me, and gave me a much-needed boost of confidence when I had none. Every student you’ve worked with has been truly lucky to have you, me especially.
Finally, thank you again to my mom and dad. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve won every “who has the best parents” contest, real or imagined, in my lifetime. I love you guys.