I didn't say anything as Aphrodite grabbed my arm, hauled me to my feet, and led me out of Charlie's Chicken. Darius took one look at us and was out of the car in a nanosecond.

"Where is the danger!" he snapped.

Aphrodite shook her head. "Not danger--ex-boyfriend drama. Let's just get out of here."

Darius made a grunting noise and got back in the car. Aphrodite shoved me in the backseat. I didn't know I was crying until Aphrodite, juggling a grumbling Maleficent, passed a handful of Kleenex across the seat.

"You're all snotty and your makeup is seriously running," she said.

"Thanks," I mumbled, and blew my nose.

"Is she all right?" Darius asked, glancing in the rearview mirror at me.

"She'll be okay. Normal ex-boyfriend crap sucks. What happened to her in there was definitely not normal and, well, that double sucks."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here." I sniffled and wiped my eyes.

"So you're going to be all right?" Darius repeated, this time talking to me.

"If she says no, will you go back and kill that stupid boy?" Aphrodite asked.

A little bubble of laughter escaped from my surprised mouth. "I don't want him killed, and I'm going to be okay."

Aphrodite shrugged. "Suit yourself, but I think the boy needs killing." Then she tugged on Darius's arm and pointed at the strip mall we were approaching. "Honey, would you pull in there to the RadioShack? My stupid iPod Touch has been messing up, and I want to grab a new one."

"Okay with you?" Darius asked me.

"No problem. I need some time to get myself together before we get to school. But, uh, would you stay in the car with me?"

"Of course, Priestess." Darius's kind smile in the rearview mirror made me feel guilty.

"I'll be back in like two seconds. Hang on to Maleficent for me." Aphrodite tossed the big cat at Darius and then practically ran into RadioShack.

After situating Aphrodite's hissing beast, Darius looked over the back of the seat at me. "I could speak with the boy if you'd like me to."

"No, but thanks." I blew my nose again and wiped my face. "He had every right to be pissed. I messed up."

"Humans who get involved with vampyres can be overly sensitive," Darius said, obviously choosing his words carefully. "Being the human consort of a vampyre, especially a powerful High Priestess, is a difficult path." "I'm not a vampyre and I'm not a High Priestess," I said, feeling utterly overwhelmed. "I'm just a fledgling,"

Darius hesitated, obviously wondering how much he should say to me. It was only when Aphrodite got back into the car, clutching her bogus iPod Touch package, that he finally spoke.

"Zoey, you should keep in mind that High Priestesses aren't born overnight. They begin to come into their own even when they are fledglings. Their power builds early. Your power is building, Priestess. You are far from just a normal fledgling and you always will be. So your actions will have the ability to profoundly affect others."

"You know, I was just starting to get a handle on this 'wow I'm so different' thing, and now I feel like I'm drowning in it."

Aphrodite resituated Maleficent on her lap and then turned in her seat so that she could meet my eyes. "Yeah, being extra-special isn't as great as you'd think it would be, huh?"

I expected her to give me one of her sarcastic, bitchy "told ya so" smirks, but instead her eyes were filled with understanding.

"You're being really nice," I said.

"That's because you're a bad influence on me," she said. "But I try to look on the bright side."

"Bright side?"

"The bright side is that almost everyone thinks I'm still a terrible hag from hell," she said, smiling happily and nuzzling her cat.

"I think you're spectacular," Darius said, reaching over to pet Maleficent, who started to purr.

"And you are absolutely right." She leaned over and, smashing the complaining cat between them, kissed him noisily on the cheek.

I made gagging noises and pretended to throw up in my tissue wad, but I smiled as Aphrodite winked at me, and I did feel just a little bit better. At least it's over, I told myself. Erik hates me. Stark is dead, and even if he undeads, I'm just going to help him get his feet on the undead ground. That's it. So after that nasty confrontation with Heath, I'm definitely finished with boyfriend issues for a good, long time.

Naturally I was late for drama class. By shifting my schedule around, I'd been put in an upper-level drama class, which was really okay. I'd been in Drama II at South Intermediate High School when I'd been Marked, and I liked drama (onstage, not off). Okay, that didn't mean I was a particularly good actress, but I tried. Of course, changing hours stuck me in a class with a new group of kids. I stood in the doorway, trying to figure out where to sit and really, really not wanting to interrupt Erik (Professor Night?) in the middle of his lecture about Shakespearean plays.

"Just have a seat anywhere, Zoey." Erik spoke without even glancing in my direction. His voice was brisk and professional and even a little boring. In other words, he sounded just exactly like a teacher. No, I do not have a clue how he knew I was lurking in the doorway.

I hurried into the room and sat at the first empty desk I found. Sadly it was in the front. I nodded to Becca Adams, who was sitting right behind me. She nodded back, but was clearly distracted by her need to stare at Erik. I didn't really know Becca very well. She was blond and pretty, as per the norm for fledglings at the House of Night (there seemed to be five blondes for every "normal" kid), and she'd recently joined the Dark Daughters. I think I remember seeing her hang around with a couple of Aphrodite's old friends, but I didn't have any particular opinion of her one way or another. Of course, her craning her head around me and drooling at Erik wasn't exactly endearing her to me.

No! Erik is not my boyfriend anymore. I can't get pissed when another girl goes after him. I have to ignore it. Maybe I'll even make a point to try to be her friend to show everybody how over him I am. Yeah, I'll just--

"Hi, Z!"

Very blond, very cute, and very tall Cole Clifton, who was currently dating Shaunee (which also meant he was very brave), whispered a perky greeting to me, breaking through my inner babble. "Hi," I said back, giving him a big smile.

"Oh, hey, this is excellent. Thank you for volunteering, Zoey."

"Huh?" I blinked up at Erik.

His smile was cool. His eyes were blue ice. "You were talking, so I assumed that meant you were volunteering to read opposite me in the Shakespeare improvisation."

I gulped. "Oh. Well. I--" I started to try to beg out of doing whatever the hell a Shakespeare improvisation was, but when his cool gaze turned mocking, like he was looking forward to me totally chickening out like a giant dork, I changed my mind. Erik Night was not going to embarrass and bully me all semester. So I cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter in my seat. "I'd love to volunteer."

The quick flash of surprise that widened those gorgeous blue eyes gave me an instant of smugness. That instant evaporated as soon as he said, "Good. Then come on up here and get your copy of our scene."

Ah, crap crap crap!

"All right." Erik and I stood on the stage that faced the drama class. "As I was explaining before Zoey came in late and interrupted, Shakespeare improvisation is a great way to exercise your characterization skills. It's unusual, yes, because Shakespeare isn't usually improvised. Actors stick close to the playwright's words, which is why changing up famous scenes can be interesting." He pointed at the very short script I held in my nervously sweating hand. "That is the beginning of a scene between Othello and Desdemona--"

"We're doing Othello?" I squeaked, feeling my stomach clench into a nauseated fist. It was Othello's monologue that Erik had recited to me with his eyes and voice full of love in front of the entire school.

"Yes." His eyes met mine. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Yes! "No," I lied. "I just wondered, that's all." Oh, god! Was he going to make me improv one of Othello's love scenes? I couldn't tell if my stomach was getting sicker by the instant because I wanted that or because I didn't want it.

"Good. So you know the story of the play, right?"

I nodded. Of course I did. Othello, the Moor (a.k.a. a black guy), had married Desdemona (an extremely white girl). They'd been majorly in love until Iago, a crappy guy jealous of Othello, decided to make it look like Desdemona had been messing around on Othello. Othello had ended up strangling Desdemona. To death.

Ah, crap.

"Good," he repeated. "So the scene we're improv-ing is at the end of the play. Othello is confronting Desdemona. We'll start by reading the actual lines. I've copied them onto the scripts for us. When I ask if you've prayed, that's your cue to improv. Then try to stick close to the plot, but make it work in today's language. Got it?"

Sadly, I did. "Yes."

"All right. Let's start."

And then, just like I'd watched so many times before, Erik Night stepped into the character of someone else and became that person. He turned so that he no longer faced me and began saying Othello's lines. I noticed that he'd dropped the script and was speaking from memory:

It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul; let me not name it to you, you chaste stars, it is the cause. I'll not shed her blood, nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow . . .

I swear he changed physically, and even through my nerves and the mortification I could feel building inside me because I knew this was bound to become a very public, very embarrassing scene, I could appreciate his amazing talent.

Then he turned to me and I could barely think above the pounding of my heart when he took my shoulders in his hands.

. . . I know not where is that Promethean heat that can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose, I cannot give it vital growth again, It needs must wither. I'll smell thee on the tree.

Then, utterly shocking me, Erik bent and kissed me on the lips. His kiss was rough and tender--passionate with anger and betrayal, yet it seemed he didn't want to take his lips from mine. He made me breathless. He made me nauseated. He made my head spin.

I soooo want to be his girlfriend again!

I pulled myself together as he spoke the lines that cued me to begin mine.

I must weep, but they are cruel tears. This sorrow's heavenly, it strikes where it doth love. She wakes.

"Who's there? Othello?" I glanced from my paper to Erik, blinking my eyes and trying to look like his kiss had been what woke me up.

"Ay Desdemona."

Oh, jeesh! I couldn't believe what my next lines were! I gulped, which made me sound all breathy. "Will you come to bed, my lord?"

"Have you pray'd tonight, Desdemona?"

Erik's handsome face had gone all tense and scary, and I swear it wasn't much of an act for me to look freaked. "Ay, my lord," I read the last lines of my script quickly.

"Good. You'll need to have a clean soul for what's going to happen to you tonight!" he improvised, still looking like the Othello who had been driven insane with jealousy. "What's wrong? I don't have a clue what you're talking about." Improvising to this wasn't hard. I'd forgotten about the class and all the watching eyes. All I saw was Erik as Othello, and I knew Desdemona's fear and desolation at the thought of losing him.

"Think hard!" he ground between clenched jaws. "If there's anything you're sorry for, you need to ask for forgiveness for it now. Nothing will be the same for you again, not after what happens tonight."

His fingers were digging into my shoulders so hard that I knew they were going to leave bruises, but I didn't flinch. I just kept staring into those eyes I knew so well, trying to find the Erik in there that I hoped still cared about me as my forgotten script fluttered from my numb hands.

"But I don't know what it is you want me to say!" I cried, trying to remember that Desdemona was not me. She hadn't been guilty of anything.

"The truth!" he stormed, his eyes looking wild. "I want you to admit just how much you betrayed me!"

"But I didn't!" I could feel tears stinging my eyes. "Not in my heart. I never betrayed you in my heart."

Erik's Othello blotted everything out of my world--Heath, Stark, Loren. There was only him and me and the need I had to try to make him understand that I hadn't wanted to betray him. That I still didn't want to betray him.

"Then your heart is a black, shriveled thing, because you absolutely did betray me."

His hands began to slide from my shoulders up to my neck, and I knew he could feel my pulse that pounded there like a frantically fluttering bird. "No! The things I did were mistakes! I broke my own heart, not just one time but three times."

"So you would break mine along with yours?" His fingers closed around my neck, and I could see that there were tears in his eyes, too.

"No, my lord," I said, trying to hold on to some part of Desdemona. "I just want you to forgive me and--"

"Forgive you!" he yelled, interrupting me. "How am I supposed to do that? I loved you, and you betrayed me with another guy."

I shook my head. "It was all lies."

"You're admitting that you've done nothing but lie to me?" His fingers tightened around my neck.

I gasped. "No! That's not what I meant. You're misunderstanding everything. What I had with him was the lie. He was the lie. You were right about him all along."

"Too late," he said thickly. "You've realized this too late."

"It doesn't have to be too late. Forgive me and give me another chance. Don't let us end like this."

I watched as several emotions played across Erik's face. I could easily see anger and even hatred, but there was also sadness and maybe, just maybe, what looked like hope waiting quietly way back in the warm summer sky blue part of his eyes.

Then all of a sudden the sadness and hope flattened from his expression. "No! You acted like a slut, so now you get a slut's reward!"

With a seriously crazy look in his eyes, he seemed to grow even taller until he towered over me. He stepped close, taking one hand from my throat so that he could use that arm to hold me locked against him. His other hand was big enough that it reached almost all the way around my neck. As he squeezed, our bodies were pressed together, and I felt a wild rush of white-hot desire for him. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was weird, but my heart was pounding with more than fear or nerves. I stared into his eyes, feeling Desdemona's terror along with my own passion, and I knew by the hardness in his body that he was feeling the same things. He was Othello--crazed with jealousy and anger, but he was also Erik--the guy who had been falling in love with me and had been hurt so badly when he'd found me with another guy.

His face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath against my skin. His scent was familiar, and it was that familiarity that decided me. Instead of pulling away from him or continuing with the improv and "fainting" in his arms to pretend I was dead, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into me, closing the short distance between our lips.

I kissed him with everything in me. I put all my pain and sorrow and passion and love for him into that kiss, and his mouth opened under mine, meeting me passion for passion, pain for pain, and love for love.

And then the stupid bell rang.