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Vampyre King?” I laughed, not believing a word.
    “I would suggest you get that out of your system right now, Assface,” my Guardian Angel said. “Cause pretty soon a bunch of Vamps are gonna come ’round, and laughing at your King is punishable by death.”
    “You’re joking,” I said with a huge grin on my face. I looked at Pam. I looked at Gemma. Pam. Gemma. Pam. Gemma. Nobody was smiling . . . except me. “You’re not joking.”
    I was no longer smiling. Were they serious or certifiable? Maybe I was crazy. It was difficult to deny that I just drank blood from Oprah’s, I mean , Pam’s neck. And I liked it. Maybe Bigfoot did exist.
    Gemma grabbed my hands and forced my focus to her, “Astrid, it’s not that bad. A slew of Vampyre girls are going to start arriving soon with gift baskets and invites to parties so you can join their Houses!”
    The word gift basket calmed my impending breakdown. “What do you mean, like sorority rush for dead people?” I put my finger in my mouth and felt around for my fangs. I considered this for a moment. Gemma knew I loved free stuff. I was kind of a free sample whore. It was clear from the smug look on her face that she thought she had me at gift basket . She couldn’t have been more wrong.
    “I don’t want to be a Vampyre,” I yelled, realizing that maybe they weren’t yanking my chain. “I want to chain-smoke an entire pack of Marlboro Lights and throw up! I do not want to join some Kappa Alpha Dead House and become BFFs with bloodsucking freaks that smell like the old lady bathroom at the country club.” I was on a roll. “That’s right . . . skanky, Gothy Draculas with blood breath, weird bun heads and super long fingernails that curl over at the edges because they should have been trimmed three years ago. And there’s no such thing as Vampyres!”
    You could have cut the silence with a knife. Gemma looked dazed and Pam . . . well, Pam just looked confused. Gemma finally roused herself from the visual stupor that my tirade induced. “Dude, that was gross.”
    “I’m not really following the country club part,” Pam stated.
    “Don’t try,” Gemma told her. “I’m getting a Diet Coke, you want anything?”
    “Mountain Dew or Budweiser,” Pam said.
    “I’m on it.” Gemma left the room.
    “What about me?” I whined. “Don’t I get to have anything?”
    “You already got to have Pam,” Gemma tossed back from my kitchen, laughing like she made a good one.
    I sat down on the couch and pouted. What had I done to deserve this? Of course nobody but me would do something to get healthy and end up kind of dead.
    “Oh for shit’s sake, you’re not going to look like some skanky, Goth wannabe bloodsucker. What did the Vamp who changed you look like?” Pam projected as if she were speaking to a crowd of three hundred without a microphone.
    The sheer volume of her question rendered me speechless for a moment.
    “She looked like a Russian supermodel. Wait!” I shouted at Pam. “Do I look different to you?”
    “How the hell should I know? I just met you, dumbass,” she replied.
    “Right. Gemma?” I yelled.
    “Behind you,” Gemma said, startling me. She handed Pam her beer. Angels drink beer?
    “Gem, do I look different to you?” I asked.
    “Well, you were being such a baby that I wasn’t going to tell you, but . . . You. Are. So. Hot,” she screeched. “If I didn’t like dangly parts so much, I’d consider switching teams!”
    I ran to my bathroom. Holy crap, I was fast. I looked in the mirror and I saw . . . nothing. Wait a minute . . . where in the hell was I? Gemma slipped into the bathroom behind me. She showed up in the mirror, but I was M.I.A.
    “Dude,” Gemma gasped, “you have no reflection.”
    We stood in silence absorbing this news. I tried several different angles in case there was a trick to it, but no go. It was strange . . . my clothes were invisible, too. Anything I touched ceased to have a reflection.
    “Okay,