I Can Dig It
by Jaye Wells
Digging graves is hell on a manicure. But Grandma Lavinia always said good girls clean up after every meal.
My job completed, I leaned on the shovel. The moon was high—plenty of time left before sun rise.
A twig snapped off to my right. Sniffing the air, I realized it was just David. Probably coming to give me shit.
He stalked into the clearing.
Yep, definitely pissed about something.
"What's up?" I asked, playing it cool. Grandma always said a true lady avoided confrontation until absolutely necessary.
"Do you want to explain to me why you are standing over a fresh grave?"
So much for easing into the conversation.
"This grave?" I asked.
"Don't play dumb with me, Sabrina. What happened to bagged blood I gave you?"
"That stuff tastes like shit, David."
He sighed, familiar disappointment in his eyes.
"You know I have to report this."
"Come on. It was just a stupid drug dealer. He was selling to children, David. Though, I have to say, nothing beats the taste of cannabis mixed with blood."
A muscle worked in his jaw. "The law is the law, Sabrina. It's my duty to inform the Council."
With surprise on my side, I swung the shovel in a high arc. The decapitation splattered blood all over my new dress.
Great, in addition to a massive dry cleaning bill, I had to dig another grave.
But smart vampires dispose of problems—even if the problem was a friend.
[Jaye disposes of writing problems at www.jayewells.com.]