Page 97 of Blood and Buttercups

“He doesn’t,” Cassian says coolly. “He wants to use you as a scapegoat.”

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Noah takesseveral seconds to process that. Shaking his head, he steps closer to Cassian and lowers his voice. “You thinkReidtampered with Piper’s file?”

Cassian glances back toward the police station doors. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere?”

“We can go back to my place.” I pause, frowning at Cassian. “Except, I don’t know if I should invite you in.”

He barks out a laugh. “That’s a myth. I can go wherever I please, invited or not.”

“Right.” I turn to Noah, raising my brows in question.

Though he doesn’t look like he likes it, he confirms it with a nod. “Let’s go.”

Noah and I end up riding with Max, and Cassian follows us. Finally deciding this isn’t some big hoax, Max has questions.

“What about garlic?” he asks when we’re almost back to the house.

“Myth,” Noah says. “All vampires lack the ability to properly digest vegetables, but warding your door with garlic is no more effective than warding it with broccoli.”

“And daylight?”

“Not a myth.”

“But NIHA scientists are working on medicine to counteract that, right?” I ask Noah.

He clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Wooden stakes?” Max asks.

“True.”

“What about bullets?” I ask. “You held that thug at gunpoint. Would a bullet kill a vampire?”

“Vampires can regenerate flesh and bone, but the damage inflicted by a bullet to the brain is almost always fatal.”

“Ah,” I say, trying not to think about that too hard.

Max drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “And if you cut off a vampire’s head? Like in the movies?”

Wryly, Noah answers, “Nothing can survive that, save the rare case of a chicken in Fruita.”

“And do vampires only eat blood?”

“No, they need sustenance like other humans. The blood is a supplement, for lack of a better word. Most final-stage vampires need five to six ounces a day at the most.”

“What about water?”

“Yes, like all living creatures, vampires require water.”

“Do they sleep in coffins?” Max asks.

“Max,” I exclaim.

“There’s actually a funny story behind that myth,” Noah begins, and then he falls silent when we turn the corner and see several police cars still in front of my house.

Max pulls up to the front and parks. I follow Noah to the taped-off porch as Cassian navigates his sleek silver car around the police cruisers.

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