The third day of your honeymoon finds us sitting at your kitchen table, using the knives my parents gave you as a wedding gift to whittle wooden stakes from broken chair legs. I spent my whole life in love with you, and even allowed myself a brief moment of hope that you might return my affection one drunk morning when we crossed over the line between friendship and something more.<br><br>Then you went and got married. To a vampire.<br><br>When you called me for help killing her, how could I say no?

Til Death

Thankfully it was. Maybe that was part of the reason she picked the Justice of the Peace in the first place. Your mother didn’t even get enough time to work herself up to a good cry before you were pronounced man and wife.


My parents gave you these knives as a wedding gift. They’re meant to cutsteak, not whittle one out of the cherry hardwood of your kitchen chairs.


Finishing the last of your coffee, you ask, “Are you sure this will work?” 


“A stake through the heart,” I assure you. “Everyone knows that’s the only way to kill a vampire.”


Chapter 8