I handed Stevie Rae my bag. "Here ya go. We'll talk when you come out."

"Blood first," Stevie Rae said.

"Go on back and I'll bring a bag to you."

Stevie Rae was glaring at Aphrodite, who was staring at the TV. "Bring two," she practically hissed.

"Fine. I'll bring two."

Without another word, Stevie Rae left the room. I watched her move down the short hall with a weird, feral stride.

"Hello! Gross, nasty, and totally disturbing," Aphrodite whispered. "Like you couldn't have warned me?"

"I tried. You thought you knew everything. Remember?" I whispered back. Then I hurried into the little kitchen and got the bags of blood. "You also said you'd be nice." I knocked on the closed bathroom door. Stevie Rae didn't say anything, so I opened it slowly and peeked in. She was holding her jeans, T-shirt, and boots, and was just standing there, in the middle of the very nice bathroom, staring at the clothes. She was partially turned away from me, so I couldn't be sure, but I thought she might have been crying.

"I brought the blood," I said softly.

Stevie Rae shook herself, rubbed a hand across her face, and then tossed the clothes and boots onto the top of the marble counter by the sink. She held out her hand for the bags. I gave them to her, along with the pair of scissors I'd grabbed from the kitchen.

"Do you need help finding anything?" I asked.

Stevie Rae shook her head. Without looking at me she said, "Are you waiting around because you're curious about how I look naked or because you want a sip of the blood?"

"Neither." I kept my voice perfectly normal, refusing to get pissed at her when she was so clearly baiting me.

"I'll be out in the living room. You can pitch your old clothes out in the hall and I'll throw them away for you." I shut the bathroom door firmly behind me.

Aphrodite was shaking her head at me when I rejoined her. "You think you can fix that?"

"Keep your voice down!" I whispered. Then I sat heavily on the opposite end of the couch. "And, no, I don't think I can fix her. I think you and Nyx and I can fix her."

Aphrodite shuddered. "She smells as bad as she looks."

"I'm as aware of that as she is."

"I'm just sayin', ugh."

"Say whatever, just don't say it to Stevie Rae."

"Then for the record I just want to say that the girl doesn't feel safe to me," Aphrodite said, holding up her hand like she was taking an oath. "I have two words for her: time bomb. I think she'd even freak out your nerd herd."

"I really wish you'd stop calling them that," I said. God, I was exhausted.

"You have geek-ends," she said.

"Huh?" I had no clue what she was talking about.

"There are weekends where your whole gang gets together to watch marathons of Star Wars and Lord of the Rings movies."

"Yeah, so?"

Aphrodite gave a melodramatic eye roll. "You not getting how geeky that is proves my point. You guys are definitely a nerd herd."

I heard the bathroom door open and close, so I didn't bother to tell Aphrodite that, yes, indeed, I knew exactly how geeky those movies were but that geeky could also be fun, especially when you're dorking out with all your friends and eating popcorn and talking about how totally hot Anakin and Aragorn are (I kinda like Legolas, too, but the Twins say he's way too g*y. Damien, of course, adores him.). I grabbed a garbage bag from under the sink in the kitchen and crammed Stevie Rae's disgusting clothes in it, tying it up and then opening the apartment door and tossing it down the stairs.

"Vile," Aphrodite said.

I plopped down on the couch, ignored her and stared, unseeing, at the TV screen.

"Are we not going to talk about it." Aphrodite jerked her chin in the direction of the bathroom.

"Stevie Rae is a her, not an it. "

"She smells like an it."

"And no. We're not going to talk about her until she joins us," I said firmly.

Chapter Thirteen

Refusing to gossip with Aphrodite about Stevie Rae, I went back to staring at the TV, but after a while I could not sit still, so I got up and went from window to window closing the shutters and the thick drapes. That didn't take long, so I headed into the kitchen and started to dig though the cupboards. I'd already noticed that the fridge had a six-pack of Perrier, a couple of bottles of white wine, and a few bricks of that expensive imported cheese that smells like feet. There were some packages of butcher-paper-wrapped meat and fish in the freezer and ice cubes, but that was it. The cupboards had a bunch of stuff in them, but it was all rich-people food. You know, imported tins of fish that still have their heads on, smoked oysters (eesh), other strange meat and pickled stuff, and long boxes of something called water crackers. There was not one can of decent pop.