The tunnels were absolutely silent. I was glad that the oil lanterns were still lit; darkness and I weren't exactly on good terms right then. I'll also admit that, even though I kept a wary eye on the shadows between lights for bats and whatnot, it did feel reassuring to be snuggly underground and not anywhere near open, moonlit meadows or trees with ghostly shadows perched in them. I shivered. No. Don't think about it.

On the way to the kitchen I paused by Kramisha's doorway and peeked quietly in. I could just make out her head in the middle of her bed under mounds of purple comforter and pink pillows. The Twins were zonked out on sleeping bags with their hateful cat, Beelzebub, curled up on the floor between them.

I closed the blanket flap quietly, not wanting to wake up the Twins before it was their turn to be on watch. Actually, I should grab my brown pop and relieve Damien and Jack and te6 Awould havell them to let the Twins sleep. I definitely wouldn't be doing any more sleeping for a while--like years. Okay, just kidding. Sort of.

No one was in the kitchen. The only sound was the small, homelike hum of the refrigerators. The first one I opened caused me to take a little step back in shock. The entire fridge was filled with sealed baggies full of blood. Seriously. And, of course, my mouth started to water.

I slammed the door shut.

And then reconsidered and opened it again. Resolutely, I grabbed a baggie. I'd had next to no sleep. I was under major stress. A stupid immortal fallen angel bad guy was after me and calling me some dead dirt girl's name. Let's face it, I needed a lot more than brown pop to get through the day.

I found the scissors in the top drawer of the butcher block island and, before I could guilt or gross myself out of it, snipped open the bag and upended it.

I know, I know. My slurping down blood like it was from a collapsible juice box sounds completely nasty, but it was delicious. It didn't taste like blood, or at least not that coppery, salty way blood used to taste to me before I was Marked. It was delicious and electrifying, like drinking rare gourmet honey mixed with wine (if you like wine) mixed with Red Bull (but better tasting). I could feel it spreading through my body, giving me a jolt of energy that chased away the lingering terror of my nightmare.

I crumpled up the empty baggie and tossed it in the big garbage can in the corner of the room. Then I grabbed a bottle of brown pop and a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. I mean, my breath already smelled gross from the blood. Might as well have Doritos for breakfast.

Then I realized: one, I didn't know where Damien and Jack were, and two, I really needed to call Sister Mary Angela and find out how Grandma was doing.

Yeah, I know it sounds weird that I was calling a nun. It sounds even weirder that I trusted said nun with my grandma's life. Literally. But all the weirdness stopped the moment I met Sister Mary Angela, prioress of the Benedictine nuns of Tulsa. Besides doing nun stuff (praying and whatnot), Sister Mary Angela and the nuns from the abbey run Tulsa Street Cats, which is how I met her. I'd decided that House of Night fledglings needed to get more active in the community. I mean, the House of Night had been in Tulsa for upward of five years, but it was like we were a little island of our own. Everyone with any sense knows isolation and ignorance equal prejudice--hello, I read Martin Luther King Jr.'s "Letter From Birmingham Jail" the beginning of my sophomore year. Anyway, what with two vampyre professors being nastily murdered, Shekinah had agreed with my idea of helping a community charity, as long as I was well protected. Which was how Darius had gotten so involved with me and my group. So, I'd chosen Street Cats, well, 'cause what with all the cats at the House of Night, it just made sense.

Sister Mary Angela and I had hit it off from the moment we met. She's cool and spiritual, and wise and nonjudgmental. She even thinks that Nyx is just another version of the Virgin Mary (and Mary is majorly important to the Benedictine Sisters). So I guess you could say Sister Mary Angela and I became friends, and when Grandma was attacked by the Raven Mockers and ended up in St. John's Hospital in a coma, it was Sister Mary Angela I called to sit with her and protect her from the Raven Mockers hurting her again. When all hell broke loose at the House of Night irit Zand Neferet killed Shekinah and had Stark shoot Stevie Rae, Kalona rose, and the Raven Mockers became substantial, it was Sister Mary Angela who got Grandma safely belowground.

Or at least in theory she was supposed to have gotten Grandma, and the rest of the sisters, underground. I hadn't talked to her since last night, just before our cell ser vice was cut off.

So, in order of importance, I needed to call Sister Mary Angela--assuming my phone was working again--and then get directions to Damien and Jack so I could relieve them. Figuring I could kill two birds at once, I retraced my path back down the tunnel, heading for the basement entrance and Darius. He'd know how to get to the boys, and I could probably get cell ser vice in the basement--unless the aboveground world had gone all postapocalypse and cell service was out forever. Thankfully, being filled with blood made me feel slightly optimistic, and even the possibility of a disgusting (and unattractive) I Am Legend?type world didn't seem utterly hopeless.