Bite Me
him, so he didn’t think I was a slut. (Shut up, he had wood.)
    And he was all, “Stop doing that, I don’t think you’re a slut!”
    And I was all, “Yeah, well then how did you know that’s why I slapped you, and where the fuck have you been, mymad, manga-haired love monkey?” Sometimes it’s best to turn the tables and start asking questions when your argument sucks ass. I learned that in Introduction to Mass Media class.
    And Foo’s all, “Busy.”
    And I’m like, “Well you missed my heroic warrior-babe assault.” And I, like, told him the whole thing and then I said, “So, now there’s a lot of vampyre cats. What’s up with that, nerdslice?” Which is a pet name I have for Foo when referring to his mad science skills.
    And he’s all, “Well, we know that there has to be an exchange of blood from the vampyre to its victim before the victim dies, otherwise it just goes to dust.”
    And I’m like, “So Chet’s smart enough to know that?”
    And Foo’s all, “No, but if a cat’s bitten, what’s the natural thing for it to do?”
    And I’m all, “Hey, I’m asking the questions here. I am the boss of you, you know?”
    And Foo totally ignores me, and he’s all, “They bite back. I think Chet is changing the other cats by accident.”
    “But he drained that parking cop and she didn’t turn.”
    “She didn’t bite him back.”
    And I’m all, “I knew that.”
    And Foo’s like, “There could be hundreds of them.”
    And I’m all, “And Chet led them here. To us.”
    And Foo’s all, “He marked this as his territory before the old vampyre turned him. He sees this as his place. The stairway still smells like cat pee.”
    And I’m like, “That’s not all.”
    And Foo’s all, “What? What?”
    And I totally slip into my dark mistress voice and I’m all, “Chet has changed. He’s bigger.”
    And Foo’s all, “Maybe his coat has just grown back.”
    And I’m all ominous like, “No, Foo, he’s still shaved, but he’s a lot bigger, and I think—” I paused. It was very dramatic.
    And Foo’s like, “Tell me!”
    I sort of fainted all emo into his arms. And he totally caught me like the dark hero of the moors that he is, but then he harshed the romantic drama of it all by tickling me and going, “Tell me, tell me, tell me.”
    So I did, because I was close to peeing myself, and I’m totally not into that kind of thing. “I think we have to worry about the little samurai guy turning, which would not be good, as he is full badass, despite his deeply stupid hat and socks.”
    And Foo was all, “Did he bite them?”
    And I was all, “He was full-on covered in vampyre kitty blood. Maybe some drops got in his mouth. Lord Flood said he accidentally turned that blue ho from one kiss on the bloody lips.”
    And Foo’s like, “Well we need to find him, then. Abby, we may not be able to handle this. We need help.” And he’s all nodding to the statue of the Countess and Lord Flood.
    And I’m all, “Do you know the first thing that will happen if we let them out?”
    And Foo’s all, “Jody will totally kick our asses.”
    And I’m like, “ Oui, mon amour, epic ass-kickings pour toi and moi . But you know what’s even scarier?”
    And Foo’s all, “What? What? What?” Because French drives him mad.
    So I’m like, “You still have wood!” And I squeezed his unit and ran into the bedroom.
    ’Kayso, Foo chased me around the loft a couple of times, and I let him catch me twice, just long enough to kiss me before I was forced to slap him—well, you know why—and run away. But as I was prepared to let him think I would surrender to his manly deliciousness, I’m all, “You could turn me to a vamp and I could use my dark powers to scoop Chet’s litter box of destruction.”
    And Foo was all, “No fucking way. I don’t know enough.”
    Then someone started pounding on the door. And not a little “Hey, what’s up?” pound. Like there was a big sale on door pounds down

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