Lily's eyes snapped open, consciousness returning like a switch had been flipped.
She bolted from the bed, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor as she sprinted to the living room.
The television remote felt small in her hands and she had to remind herself to be careful in order to avoid accidentally crushing it.
She jabbed the power button and the massive screen flickered to life, flooding the apartment with artificial light.
Channel surfing brought her to the local Dallas news station. The well dressed anchorwoman sat behind a polished desk, white teeth gleaming as she discussed community events and upcoming weather patterns. Lily paced in front of the screen, arms crossed tight against her chest.
Nothing major. Just fluff pieces and feel-good stories about rescued puppies and high school sports teams.
Then the anchor's expression shifted as someone entered and whispered into one of her ears. The professional warmth was quickly replaced by an all business-like attitude.
"Breaking news tonight regarding the arson incident that occurred in East Dallas last evening. The Dallas Police Department now believes the fire and subsequent death to be drug-related violence. The victim has been identified through dental records as twenty-eight-year-old Marcus Williams, who had prior arrests for narcotics trafficking. The official cause of death has been ruled a homicide by blunt force trauma to the head, which occurred prior to the fire. Police are asking anyone with information that could lead to an arrest to contact Dallas Crime Stoppers..."
Lily's thumb found the power button and the screen went dark.
She stood there, hand clasped over her mouth, as tension left her shoulders.
Relief washed through her in waves. They didn't suspect her, didn't suspect anything supernatural. They thought it was gang violence or a deal gone wrong. The fire had worked.
But the guilt followed close behind, a shadow she couldn't shake. Marcus Williams. He had a name now, not just "the dealer" or "the drug pusher." What if he had a family? Parents who wondered where he'd gone? Siblings? Maybe even kids?
They'd never know what really happened to him. Never get closure. Never get justice.
Lily shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts before they took root. She needed a distraction. Something to occupy her mind before the self-loathing consumed her completely.
That's when she remembered her phone. She'd lost it somewhere between New Orleans and Dallas. Either her sire had taken it or it still lay in that alleyway where she'd died.
A new phone would be useful, essential really, for navigating this city. Maps and internet on the go would make things easier for her than blindly trusting luck all the time.
And paint supplies. Her fingers already itched for a brush, for the familiar comfort of canvas and color. Working through emotions with art had always helped out before. Maybe it would help now.
"Shopping," she said to the empty apartment, "shopping it is."
***
As usual the cold didn't touch her. It was now November and the month already felt like it was moving too fast for her.
The signs of the incoming winter season were evident as Lily walked through downtown Dallas, surrounded by people wrapped in heavy coats and scarves, their breath forming small clouds in the air. She wore only her leather jacket over a black sweater and a simple pair of black jeans. Just another goth out for a night on the town.
People flowed around her like water around a stone. Hundreds of hearts beat in a symphony only she could hear, each pulse accompanied by the rich scent of blood flowing beneath skin. The hunger stirred but it remained dormant. Controllable. It was a smoldering ember that she could safely ignore for now.
An ATM glowed blue and white ahead, drawing her attention to the fact that she hadn't checked to see how much money was available to her. It was probably a good thing to know, she reasoned to herself.
She pulled the debit card from her pocket, the one her nameless sire had left behind with nothing but a cryptic note and near-impossible expectations.
The machine beeped as she inserted the card and punched in the PIN that had been on the white sticker on the back. It took a few seconds for the balance inquiry to fully load.
The number on the screen didn't make sense at first. Too many digits. Lily leaned closer, counting zeros.
"Huh?"
She counted again.
Five million, three hundred and forty-two thousand, six hundred and seventeen dollars.
"What the fuck," she whispered.
A woman waiting behind her coughed pointedly as she tapped an impatient foot on the sidewalk.
Lily grabbed the card and stumbled away from the machine, still processing what she had just discovered.
Five million dollars. Who just leaves someone five million dollars? She'd never seen money like that. Never imagined having money like that. Her grandmother's entire estate had been worth maybe thirty thousand, and that included the house.
The resentment she felt toward her sire, toward the man who'd turned her into this thing and abandoned her, began to waver. He'd left her a luxury apartment in downtown Dallas and left her enough money to survive for decades without worrying. This meant she didn't have to rob the people she fed from like some kind of common criminal.
Gratitude mixed with anger in her chest, two warring emotions that refused to settle.
She pocketed the card and peered around her, she needed to focus. First thing she wanted was a phone. Thankfully she quickly spotted a place that could fulfill that desire.
The small electronics store blazed with LED light. A young man in a blue polo shirt materialized beside her before she'd taken three steps inside.
"Welcome! Is there anything in particular you are looking for? Anything I can help you with?"
His smile stretched wide, genuine enthusiasm radiating from every word as he bounced up and down with energy.
"Uh…sure. I need a new phone."
"Excellent! You've definitely come to the right place! We've got some amazing options."
He gestured toward a display wall covered in sleek devices.
"Now, are you looking for something with top-tier camera quality? Or maybe processing power is more your speed? We've got models with—"
The sales pitch continued. Specifications and features blurred together. Megapixels and gigabytes and battery life percentages. Lily couldn't bring herself to care. A phone was a phone. She'd never been the type to camp out for the latest release, never understood people who upgraded every year.
But the salesman's face glowed with such earnest excitement. He genuinely loved talking about these devices, explaining their benefits, helping customers. She didn't want to crush that.
"Just pick one for me. With so many awesome options, I can't decide. You choose."
His eyes lit up like she had just handed him a puppy for Christmas.
"Really? Okay, so based on what you've told me, well, what you haven't told me, I'm thinking you want something reliable, solid, not too complicated?"
He plucked a phone from the middle of the display.
"This one. Great battery life, intuitive interface, and the camera's good enough for whatever you need without being overwhelming."
Lily nodded.
"Okay, you've convinced me, that's perfect."
He rang her up, activated the service plan, walked her through the initial setup with the patience of a kindergarten teacher. When he handed her the bag, his chest puffed with pride.
"Thanks," Lily said.
A smile tugged at her mouth despite everything.
"Thank you for your business! Enjoy!"
The art supply store was her next stop. She found one that sprawled across an entire city block, three times the size of her old haunt in New Orleans. Lily's face took on a relaxed, pleased expression as she walked through the aisles.
Paint tubes lined the walls in gradient rainbows. Brushes of every size and texture filled bins. Canvas stretched on frames leaned in organized rows.
Everything an artist could want. Everything she needed.
She loaded up. Oil paints in titanium white, ivory black, cadmium red, ultramarine blue. She even found burnt sienna and raw umber. One of each brush size was added to the pile, her old ones had been left behind in New Orleans. She grabbed a dozen canvases, added palette knives and turpentine as well. The hardwood floors of the apartment sprang to mind which prompted her to grab a few large rolls of plastic to place on the floor.
Satisfied with her hunting she pushed her cart to the front of the store. A friendly looking cashier, a middle-aged woman with paint stains on her fingers, rang up the supplies. Occasionally the woman shot concerned looks at Lily who was now busy staring at the rest of the store she hadn't explored.
"Are you feeling okay, honey?"
Lily's guard snapped up like a brick wall, "I'm fine. Why?"
"You just look a bit pale, sweetie. Make sure you bundle up out there, don't want to catch a chill."
The concern in her voice was genuine, even motherly. Lily forced her shoulders to relax.
"I'll stay warm," she lied, "I promise."
She quickly paid for her supplies and made her way back outside, weighted down with shopping bags in both hands.
Lily pulled out her new phone and figured out how to call a taxi. The app wanted her location, her destination, her credit card. She fumbled through the setup, juggling bags like a pro grocery shopper.
"Need a hand?"
Lily glanced up. A young man stood a polite distance away, hands in the pockets of his jacket. Dark hair fell across his forehead. Warm brown eyes with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"I'm good, thanks. Just waiting for a taxi."
"Same."
He stepped closer, not invading her space but joining her vigil.
"I'm Joey, Joey Hanson."
He held out his hand.
Lily shifted bags awkwardly and accepted. His hand felt warm in hers, alive, blood pumping just beneath the surface. She squeezed and released quickly.
"Lily Adders."
"Nice grip," Joey said, flexing his fingers, "you work out? Also, do you have gloves? Your hands are freezing."
He started patting his pockets, "I've got an extra pair somewhere—"
"I'm fine." The words came out sharper than intended. Lily softened her voice, "really, I'm good. I just always run cold."
Of course her hands felt like ice. Dead bodies tended toward room temperature after all.
The taxi pulled up to the curb with a honk of its horn. Joey gestured toward it with a sweep of his arm.
"All yours."
"Are you sure?"
"A gentleman always lets the lady go first."
His smile widened.
"I'll catch the next one, no worries."
Lily loaded her bags into the back seat and climbed in. Just as she closed the door, Joey tapped on the window. She rolled it down.
He held out a torn piece of paper with numbers scrawled across it.
"This is probably too forward, and tell me if I'm being disrespectful, but would you maybe want to get coffee sometime?"
The question hung in the air between them. Coffee. A date. Normal things that normal people did.
Lily took the paper, "I'll think about it."
"Good enough for me."
Joey stepped back, still smiling as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
She gave the driver her address and watched the city blur past the window. Streetlights streaked into lines of gold and white. Pedestrians became shadows. And in the glass, her own reflection stared back, a pale face, with dark circles under green eyes, black hair falling across sharp cheekbones.
A corpse in a leather jacket.
Joey had been nice. Polite and handsome in that wholesome, boy-next-door way. The kind of guy who probably volunteered at animal shelters and called his mother every Sunday. He deserved someone normal. Someone who could meet him for coffee without worrying about accidentally crushing his hand or losing control and ripping his throat out.
Someone human.
"You okay back there, miss?"
The driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
Lily kept her eyes on the reflection in the window.
"Yeah," she said quietly, "just now realizing what I've truly given up."