A jolt shot through her body, her feet hit the ground. The arm released her. Her knees buckled, but she caught herself at the last second and shot her eyes open. Blinking, she tried to focus, but everything appeared blurry.

"Breathe," someone said and she recognized the deep voice. Recognized Chan.

Ghosts did exist?

No, they couldn't.

A couple more seconds and her vision cleared and holy mother of pearls, she was right. Chan stood directly in front of her. Nausea hit. Her a palm still burned. She grabbed her middle, bent over and puked all over the front of her dead cousin.

"Oh, shit!" He lurched back.

She stood upright again and stared, thinking any minute now, she'd wake up. Or maybe it wasn't a dream. Had someone slipped something into her drink tonight? She pressed her palms into her eyes and didn't care that she was probably smearing blood from the cut on her hand all over her face.

When she dropped her hands, Chan stared, only now his black eyes glowed a bright green color.

He jumped back from her. "You're bleeding!"

"You're dead." She pressed her bloody hand on her middle hoping to squelch the nausea and hoping to wipe away the sting.

He pinched his black brows together and stared harder. "Friggin hell! You're turning."

"No, I'm not! I'm standing still. In one spot," she snapped. "Then again, I do feel dizzy." She closed her eyes and then popped them back open.

"You needed help so I . . . I didn't know you'd cut yourself or--"

"I did not need your help, I would have . . . I would have figured something out."

He shook his head. "Still hardheaded, huh?"

She hugged herself. "What just happened? No, what is happening." She looked around and saw they were no longer anywhere near Lisa's house or that dark alley where she'd gone looking for . . . "You're dead, Chan. How can you be here?"

He shook his head and stared at her forehead. "If I'd known you were bleeding, I wouldn't have. . . I should have known you were a carrier. But if I hadn't got you, the dogs would have eating you alive."

She stopped listening and tried to makes sense of the crap that had just happened. She remembered seeing the gang fight, then she fell, and then she'd been surrounded, and . . . "Oh damn, am I dead?"

"No. But you're going to think you're dying in just a bit. You touched me with an open wound. You're virus is turning live now. That's why you feeling like you do." He stopped talking and put his nose in the air. "Damn, the hounds are looking for us. We have to get you out of here." He reached for her and she jumped back.

"Stay away. You've got puke all over you."

"It's your puke."

"I don't care. I don't want it on me. I think--" Whatever she thought went out the mental window. Once again,the wind whipped her hair around her shoulders. Her long strands flipped around so hard, it stung when it slapped against her face.

* * *

Della's head hurt something fierce. Was this her official first hangover? How many beers had she had, only one, right? She never drank more than . . . She opened her eyes, and found herself staring at her bedroom ceiling. She knew it was her bedroom, because she could smell the vanilla scented candles and the Lemon Pledge she'd faithfully polished her furniture with every Friday. And her pillow still smelled like Lee, from when he'd dropped her off at home from school and no one was home. She loved how he smelled.

But how had she gotten home from the. . .

Fragments of memories started forming--Chan, the gang fight, flying.

Flying?

She jackknifed up. Her head nearly exploded. "Crap," she muttered and told herself it had been a dream.

"Hey, cuz'."

Chapter 2

His voice came at the same time the nausea did. She turned and for the second time puked all over her dead cousin.

"Ahh, gross," Chan said, but then he snickered. "I guess I deserve this. Not that I meant for this to happen. I really didn't." But then he laughed again.

Della wasn't laughing. "What's happening?" Tears, partly from the frustration, partly from the pain, filled Della's sinuses. She forced them away. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt and saw her leather jacket tossed over the foot of her bed.

Chan put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a nudge. "Lay back down and I'll explain."

"There was a gang war," she muttered trying to remember.

"Yeah, vampires and werewolves. I went to watch. It's cool to watch us take out a few dogs."

Her phone, sitting on her nightstand beeped with an incoming text. She tried to reach for it, but moving hurt. Another surge of tears filled her throat.

"It's your lover boy," Chan said. "This is like the tenth text he's sent. I think you missed your hookup date." Chan shook his head. "So my little cousin is getting it on with a guy, huh? I feel like I should go beat him up or something." She dropped back on the bed.

"Do you want me to text him and tell him you're okay?"

"I'm not okay!" Talking made her head pound worse. Realizing she was talking to a ghost make it pound twice as hard. Pain shot in the back of her eyes and she closed them, wishing for relief.

"What's wrong with me?" she muttered to herself and not to Chan, because logic told her that Chan wasn't really there.

Someone must have put something in her drink at that party. Yeah. That had to be it.