I woke up during the day, she thought next. My stomach hurts. That Lifeblood tasted really bad. But my fangs are still there and really sharp. I think my hands might be shaking. This car smells like leather. Or maybe that’s Lazarus. I’d love to steal his leather jacket. I would paint stars on it, galaxies, and purple fire. Purple fire… like Stale Fire. Her mind skipped through her thoughts without order and without slowing. They were in a fancy car, headed to some state in upper New England. They’d left Boston behind about forty minutes ago, and now the traffic had nearly cleared to nonexistent and Dahlia had never felt so much like the rest of the world had vanished. Cops can’t afford cars like this, she thought as she glanced at the gleaming angles of a Mercedes symbol on the steering wheel. I wonder if he stole the car using warlock magic. No, he’s not like that. Maybe he made it. Lots of warlocks do that. There’s a bridge up ahead. My stomach hurts. I need…. She closed her eyes and touched her forehead.
