Trey
The call comes in right as I’m about to pack up and ride back. Sheridan’s number scrolls across the screen as if I’ve conjured it. In my rush to answer, I almost drop the phone.
“Trey?” Sheridan’s voice wavers, just a little, and I’m on my feet, muscles tight and ready to fight.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” If her father yelled at her, so help me...
“I have a...leech problem.”
I kick up my bike’s kickstand before she’s gotten half her explanation out. “Where are you?”
“At the casita.”
“Stay there. Stay put.”
“I’ve got it mostly under control, I just—”
“Do as I say,” I order, and roll out.
I break a speed record getting back to Sheridan’s place. My motorcycle races through the old barrio, pulling in behind a black sedan that smells of vampire.
Sheridan’s sitting on the stoop
