5: how do I keep out magical stalkers?

Here's one difference between me, a half-demon, and my dad, a purebred one: I need sleep.

It comes from my human half, so my mom's side, I guess, but yes, I do need sleep. It is very important to me. My dad, on the other hand, is basically awake twenty-four seven. Which, when you are a teenager in your rebellious phase and you're trying to sneak out to chug booze and get so impossibly drunk that you kiss at least fifteen strangers in one night, sixteen if you count the one you projectile vomited at (I'm going to stop talking now), is not a good thing.

Anyway, after spending the rest of my day downing bowl after bowl of cereal and binge-watching a bunch of movies, what I usually do when I don't have work, I'm beyond tired. So far beyond tired that I nearly fall asleep when brushing my teeth, which is kind of dangerous for someone like me. I've gotten a few toothbrushes stuck on my fangs before, especially when I was a little. It sucks, because most of the time I have to chew the rest of the plastic off. Plastic does not taste like chicken.

The city's pretty quiet at night, at least around here. I cast one weary glance out my window, into the deep blue twilight. It's mostly dark save for the cars' headlights rushing by on the interstate in yellow-white blurs, the flickering streetlights where bleary-eyed people who shouldn't be awake come to meet.

I sigh, drawing the blinds shut. Sometimes I wonder why I'm even here. I could be in Egypt, with my mom.

But then I remember that she wouldn't want me there anyway.

I sigh again.

I should be sleeping.

I'm awoken by a curse word, and it isn't spoken by me.

There's a lot of rustling and then a loud thud from somewhere out in the hall, and then I hear, "Shit!"

I don't really recognize the voice, as it's too soft, but just the fact that there's another voice in my apartment when I live very clearly alone is enough to perturb me. I rub my eyes with a groan, wishing that something in this day would go like it's supposed to.

I toss the covers back and scramble to my feet, not bothering to tug on a shirt. So my hair's a mess and my eyes are probably puffy and, of course, my tail's untucked, but I don't care. If I move fast enough, the burglar won't see me before I knock the life out of him.

There's a baseball bat in my closet. I retrieve it, clenching it tightly with both hands as I approach my bedroom door and crack it open.

I can see a shadow moving slowly across the wall, something with arms and legs and a head. I take in a long breath, then I spring out into the open, yelling and swinging. "Be gone! Get out of my house! Get out—holy—are you freaking kidding me!"

She's not saying any words, just shrieking at me, and I'm shrieking back at her, and it's all very loud until I drop the bat and say, my voice low and dangerous, kind of an imitation of my dad's scary demon voice, "What. The hell. Are you doing in my apartment?"

Midge, or at least I think her name is Midge, is still cowering and sniveling there in the hallway like a little girl, and I'm just staring at her, trying to figure out 1) how the heck she found out where I lived, and 2) why she is here.

"Midge," I warn.

She shakes her hair back from her face and sniffles, "You were going to hit me with a bat?"

My eyes narrow. "I still might. Do you want to test me?"

Midge shivers, and I almost feel bad, but then I don't. After all, she asked for this when she decided to break in to my apartment at four o'clock in the morning. I do not like surprises.

"I'm sorry," Midge pleads, sniffling once more, heavily. "But I just—I really needed to talk to you."

"It couldn't have waited? How—how'd you even find me, anyway?"

"Location spell," Midge answers promptly, then exhales and shakes her head. "Doesn't matter, because, no, it can't wait. We need to talk."

I hold my arms up, mocking surrender. "Look, here we are. Talking."

Midge cringes, averting her eyes. "No, no, not like this."

"Like what?"

"I just—could you put on a shirt, please? Jesus."

"You crash into my house and you're telling me to put on a shirt?Look, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but that's not how—"

"Oh my God!"

She exclaims it so suddenly that I actually think Cthulhu is behind me or something and he's about to wrap one of his tentacles around my throat. But then I see that there's a smile on her face, which both makes the situation better and worse. "What?' I snap, past done with her antics. Witches. Have I mentioned they're all insane?

"You have a tail!" Midge says, and I grit my teeth, my cheeks heating up. I reach back to grab it, but then Midge is like, "No, don't. It's cute."

"It's—did you just call me cute?"

I can tell Midge regrets saying anything. And she should. "No, no, no! What? I mean, I said—"

"Drop it," I scold, tucking it anyway. I duck into my bedroom for a moment to grab up the nearest shirt. Not really for her, just because it's kind of cold in here. Midge is still in the hallway when I return. "Look, shortcake. If I agree to talk to you about, I don't know, whatever the hell it's about, will you leave me alone?"

Midge actually seems to be mulling it over. In the dim lights, her hair's even more pastel than it was earlier, and she's tugging at a strand with her thumb and index finger, pouting her lips a bit. I look away. Not because the gesture's attractive or anything. She just annoys me.

She finally replies.

"I can't guarantee that," Midge tells me, "but I can guarantee that I'm definitely not leaving you alone if you don't agree to talk to me."

"So I'm screwed if I do and I'm screwed if I don't."

Midge nods, once. "Pretty much."

I blink at her for a moment, wondering why I'm even doing this. I'm thinking, yeah, screw it. I actually would rather be in Egypt with my mom. Even if she dropped me for bottomless money and complete invulnerability. But that's a very far-off thing to want, so I just mutter, "Kitchen. Now."

In the kitchen, Midge is obviously uncomfortable. She's seated at one of my barstools, but she's drawn her legs up a bit, far enough to grip her ankles. She's got this giant gray sweater on, and a pair of some of those distressed shorts, I think they're called. You can kind of tell she'd been in a rush to get here, and it's all I can do not to look at her legs. She has nice legs, more muscular than most, a warm golden brown in the lamplight.

Jesus. What's wrong with me?

She watches me make tea. I can tell she wants to say something, and that's precisely the reason I shush her every time she tries.

Finally, I stand at the counter across from her, mug in hand.

Taking advantage of my silence, Midge huffs, glancing around my countertops in disdain. She nudges a used spoon out of her way with her pinky. "You should really clean up around here, you know."

"Well, gee," I reply. "Maybe I would have if I'd known I would have visitors at o-dark-thirty. Now are you going to tell me what you came here to tell me, or not?"

"You're the one who's been shushing me this whole time."

"I wasn't ready," I say, then take a moment to sip my tea. Clearing my throat, I continue, "Now I'm ready."

Midge looks a little like she wants to strangle me, or turn me into a frog. Or turn me into a frog and then strangle me. All she does, however, is give this annoyed little sigh and pull her phone from her pocket, switching it on and setting it down on the counter. I squint at it until words manifest themselves, and I realize it's a news article. "This just happened," Midge tells me as I pick the phone up. "Maybe two hours ago. And I don't think it's a coincidence."

My eyes have not adjusted to the brightness yet, so it takes me a second to read the headline. Once I do, though, I get this really cold feeling in my stomach, like I've just eaten a bunch of ice cubes. Vampire attack at local gas station. No survivors.

I give Midge her phone back. "Hell."

"My thoughts exactly."

"That's two in the same day," I point out. "I don't like you, but I think you might be on to something here."

"Then you agree that we have to go check it out," Midge says.

The cold feeling in my stomach doubles. Now I feel like I've eaten an entire freezer full of ice cubes. I step back, shaking my head. "No. I never said that. I never said that."

Midge puts her phone back in her pocket, then hops off the stool, placing her hands on her hips. "Come on, Grey. How else are we supposed to figure out what's going on? Not by sitting here and watching it happen, I'm sure."

"But we just—we just escaped half a clan of vampires. You're telling me you want to risk your life again?" I exclaim, exasperated. Suddenly, the tea's just not strong enough. "Nope. I'm way too sober for this."

"The vampires are probably gone by now," Midge muses, "and even if they aren't, we know how to defend ourselves. So the only problem, of course, would be avoiding the police."

God, I hate it. I hate it, but she's right about everything. I hate it, but my curiosity's already piqued. Safiya told me it wasn't a big deal, but it could be. It should be. Two in the same day. Something wrong with the city.

I close my eyes. I can't be doing this. I can't be...

"Grey?" Midge says, and when I open my eyes to look at her, her mouth's twisted a little in thought, one of her eyebrows risen.

"About the police thing," I tell her. "I may have a solution for that."