I groaned and opened my eyes. The hangover was incredible. Had I read a book or downed a liter of vodka?

The light made me blink, and I tried to process the eighty zillion thoughts rocketing through my head. There was one tiny bit of good to come out of the whole mess: I knew a lot more about the devil's daughter. But there were other issues I had to-

Wait a minute.

The light?

I looked. I was in a small room on the west side of the house; there was no furniture, but it had a good solid oak door. In fact, it was going to be the wine cellar until Sinclair pointed out that we couldn't keep wine in a room with so much light, the big know-it-all. So the bottles had been moved to the basement, and this room had stood empty and...

The light.

It was the sun.

I climbed to my feet-I was still in my robe-and walked over to the window.

The sun.

I stared. Then I stared some more. The big golden ball was just about level with the tree line; it looked like late afternoon to me.

I hadn't seen the sun since my thirtieth birthday, way back in April.

I'd read the Book of the Dead and let it turn me into a real asshole. That was bad. Very, very bad. But in return, I could now wake up when it was still daylight out. That was good. Very, very good.

And since I was the Queen and the sun didn't burn me, I could go out. Walk around and feel the light on my face, the warmth.

I tried to pull the window up, but it wouldn't budge. The mansion had so many rooms and there were so few people living in it, the window probably hadn't been opened in fifty years or more.

Too impatient to mess with prying, too wild to get outside, I broke the window with my fist and punched out the bigger pieces. Then I dove through it, feeling like Starsky. Or Hutch-which one was the blond again?

I thudded to the ground two stories below, spat out the dirt, and flopped over on my back to soak up the sunshine. The grass was chilly (it was a mild October for Minnesota, but it was still October), but I didn't care. The sun wouldn't be up much longer, but I didn't care. I had some tall apologizing to do, but-well, I cared about that, and I'd get right to it, too.

In a minute.

Thank you, God. Thank you so much! I totally don't deserve it. But thanks all the same.

Thoughts of the previous evening's activities kept crowding into my brain, wrecking my sunbathing. Unfortunately for me, the Book didn't provide amnesia.

Last night's itinerary flashed through my mind. Trying to kill Tina-who had handily kicked my ass. It was embarrassing to get stomped by someone half my size, but I was glad I hadn't succeeded. Those awful things I'd said to Marc... He'd been a good friend to me, and I'd called him Dr. Leech.

And Jessica... Oh, Jess. I screwed up so bad. I'd set myself on fire before I'd hurt you again. You re the best friend a vampire could have. Yeah, that sounded good. Repeat as needed.

And repeat. God, if she just hears me out, I'll apologize for the next thirty years. Just please, please let her listen.

And Sinclair. I groaned and threw an arm over my eyes. Skanky villain sex with Eric Sinclair! That was almost as bad as feeding off of Jessica. I was mad at myself for using him and mad at him for letting me do it.

And for not noticing I was evil! How could that little fact escape his attention? The sucker noticed when a fly landed a block away, but he didn't realize I'd turned into SuperBitch?

I sat up, annoyed and dismayed, and heard the unmistakeable cha-chik! of a shotgun shell being chambered. I'd been on enough duck hunting trips with my mom to know what that sounded like. (Those were my pre-PETA days, just like now was post-PETA; they were getting a little extreme for my taste.)

I looked around. Marc was standing about twenty yards away, holding my old twelve-gauge. What was that statistic? More people who kept guns in their home were fated to be the victims of that gun than victims of other violence?

Since I was right in his sights, I silently vowed to pay more attention to such statistics in the future.

"Uh, I'm not dangerous anymore," I said.

"Mmmm," he replied. He wasn't wearing scrubs or shoes, just jeans and a Tori Amos T-shirt. He either didn't have work or he'd taken the day off to deal with his psychotic undead roommate. "You all right? Did you cut yourself going out the window?"

He wanted to know if I was all right! It was almost enough to make me overlook the shotgun. "No. I mean, no, I didn't cut myself, not no, I'm not all right. I am all right. Now, I mean."

"Eric heard you go out."

"Okay. Uh, what are you planning on doing with that thing?"

"Well." He took a step closer, but the barrel didn't waver. "It won't kill you, but we figured it would slow you down. You can dodge bullets, but Tina doesn't think you can dodge buckshot."

"Tina's probably right. Is she okay?"

"Sure." He smirked a little. "She won the fight, in case you don't remember."

"I remember." I sighed and rested my head on my knees. "I remember everything, unfortunately. I guess now's a good time to start with the groveling. I'm sorry for what I said to you, Marc." I looked up at him. "I didn't mean it. I'd be pretty upset if you moved out."

"Uh-huh."

"Really, Marc. I'm really sorry. I screwed up."

"Okay." The gun stayed up.

"Is-is everybody else inside?"

"Yeah. Tina's still resting, but Eric and Jess and I are all awake. We were trying to figure out-never mind."

Trying to figure out what to do with me when the sun went down and I was still evil. I almost smiled; bet Sinclair didn't expect me to get up at four o'clock in the afternoon.

"It wasn't much of a prison cell," I couldn't help pointing out. "It had a glass window."

"We were counting on the effects wearing off."

"Well, is it okay if I go in?"

At last, the shotgun came down a little. "What are you going to do?"

"Grovel until I make it right. Oh, and yell at Sinclair. You believe he didn't notice I was psycho?"

"Yeah, well... he's kind of upset, too."

"He's upset?"

"Yeah."

I couldn't help but notice Marc hadn't put the safety on. He might believe I was back to myself, but he wasn't going to take any chances. It made me sad; he'd never been especially wary around me before.

I wondered what else had changed.

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