Have you walked into the club? he asked. You don't think your friends are weird, Ronnie. He laid his head on the floor, and the ponytail of his auburn hair spilled out around him like a cloak. I turned around in my seat and put my forehead against the steering wheel.
A pale hand, a spill of red hair, and I was staring down into Damian's face. I'd run from him to Jean-Claude, because the vampire had seemed less the monster that night. Some of that burning power began to fade. Bert, either tell me the truth, or get away from the door.
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