“Don’t tell me,” I snickered. “You’re in a club that gathers together like raving Trekkies to share secrets of the afterlife. I bet you even have an Enigma CD you crank up to get in the mood.” “Don’t be silly.” His face lit up with an enormous grin. “We listen to Enya, not Enigma.”

“If her death taught me anything, it’s this. Cherish the time you have. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Right now is all we are promised.”

“I can’t help it; this isn’t like you at all. I know the blood exchange changes things—including mood and body chemistry—but this is beyond any kind of scientific explanation.”

“Listen,” I sighed and reached for my plastic bottle. “I want to get this sh!t over and done. Can we strive to obtain that goal? I have a meaningless existence, and I can’t put that kind of action on hold indefinitely”

“And you don’t want to be involved with my people, Max. They’re the type to bleed you dry and leave your corpse to rot. When the reckoning comes”—I lifted my hand and made an arch, pointing across the room—”you’ll want to be way the f*ck over there. Do you feel me?”

“Stop a knife? You're serious.""As a heart attack.""You are something else."I couldn't tell if he was giving me a compliment or a veiled insult. "I try to be an individual. It's all the rage.”

“You know.” My voice was laced with sarcasm. “I love being reminded of just how f*cked up people find my company. One minute, I’m asked to be more loving and sweet. In fact, someone once told me it was downright adorable. But when I actually give the public what they want, they think I’m suffering from a chemical imbalance.”