"How you feeling, Petey?" I ask, glancing up to the rear-view mirror. "Everything okay?"

Petey, newly revived and conscious, touches the stitch marks at his neck. Petey deliberates over the marks. He mulls over what I've told him. He considers his options. He goes through the entire collective five stages of grief before he looks up at me from the backseat.

Petey, with the voice of a weary prepubescent foghorn, says, "Please tell me it doesn't get worse than this."

"What? Psshaw. Of co-o-ourse not." I flip on my turn signal and check for oncoming traffic. Considering it's a small town, there is a surprising amount of people out today. Minor holiday? "Anyway, worst come to worse, we both die somehow. That's not the worst thing that could happen."

"Right," Petey yodels flatly. "And you clearly haven't upped the ante."

I glance back up in the mirror. Petey glares at the leather jacket I'm wearing, and then at the werewolf in the passenger seat. Cheekbones is currently wrapped up in my oversized hoodie, taking a quick nap. Apparently, being up all night negotiating for necromancy takes a toll when you're in a moving vehicle. Also, apparently, my scent is comforting. Get you a werewolf that loves you like that.

"What's your problem with him?" I ask. Cheekbones snores and grumbles a little, huffin' and puffin'. He furrows his eyebrows and noses further under the fabric like a kid that doesn't want to wake up and go to school. "He's cute. He's sweet. His teeth even show signs that he's extremely healthy for his age group."

"He's a werewolf, not a horse." Petey kicks the back of my seat right as I make the turn. Jerk. "Try again. What do you think my problem is?"

"You're speciest, old, and full of spite?"

He harrumphs. "I'm your goddamn cousin. I'm one of the few people who care if you ruin your life because you were horny. Listen. I don't want the Clan to come after you for this." Petey, now the literal the voice of puberty, puts his hand on the back of my seat and leans into my ear. "This is a very bad idea. Out of this entire vengeance trip, you have not made a single good call."

"That hurts my feelings. You don't deserve a bribe," I say, changing lanes. "Seriously, Petey. How many times have you almost died but not died because of me? Zero? I'm the paragon of good calls."

Except at the church. That was a Mistake. Big M.

Petey sits back in his seat. The sharpie moustache I drew on him on the first revival quivers more than ever. "I'm going to die without meaning," he moans, morose. "My muscles will atrophy. My legacy will be you."

Curiously enough, all three seem like unavoidable and terrible fates to him. Then again, that's Petey for you. No silver linings to be seen.

"Petey," I say, super patient. "I know what I'm doing. You don't. All you do is jack up on protein for a hobby and do some unquestionable things to blood. You're not better off dead, I promise."

"Yeah?" Petey slumps. "Bring me up to speed with the entire situation. My head's fuzzy from dying a second time."

"Uh." I have to think about it. It's hard when someone who can't drive is trying to cut you off. I speed up a little, honk my horn. Asshole. "The werewolves have a pact to corner me in a dark alleyway and do what they will in the non-sexy R-rated way. The bellboy and receptionist are having marriage problems, but they're very paternal and gave me this car. Vampires have implied that they will find and kill you--specifically, personally, and immediately--on sight because you're a health hazard. Someone also tried to cremate you in the woods? That's about it. Oh." I signal and slide right to a stop at the curb right in front of the convenience store. "Here we are."

Petey doesn't speak for a moment as he digests the entire episode. "Fine," he croaks, as I wake a sleepy Cheekbones up. "You know what? Screw it. What's the plan?"

The plan's like this.

Petey goes into the convenience store to ask about the shovel. He finds out who bought the shovel. Then we track down the person who bought it, we confront them for the killer, locate the killer, and we kill them.

"Why am I the one asking?" Petey demands. "Besides, you said someone's trying to kill me again, right? Shouldn't you be my backup?"

"Ugh," I say. "Why don't you make the plan?"

"It's your job."

"Okay, how's this?"

1. Petey goes into the convenience store to ask about the shovel.

2. Cheekbones and I sneak behind Petey to offer moral support.

"Wait," Petey splutters, "why are you sneaking behind me? Why am I the one still doing all the grunt work?" He takes time to think about it. "Wait, actually. Scratch that. I should definitely be the one asking. As for your part... You need to be specific about these things. Do you want the clerk to notice you? Do you want her not to?"

"You call me Cheekbones?" asks Cheekbones, hurt. "That's not a cute name."

2. Snickerdoodle Snookums and I " sneak" behind Petey using Petey's muscle mass as a shield?

"Contrary to popular desire, I'm not actually that big," Petey grunts, wistful. "If only."

"Try again," says Snickerdoodle Snookums with a grin he's trying to tamper down.

2. My boyfriend and I "sneak" behind Petey as Petey dazzles the clerk with his impressive and astounding good looks?

"Oh, I like that actually," warbles Petey gladly, not paying attention to my flustered looking boyfriend. "Tell me more."

"Knew you would," I say. "Okay, next..."

3. My boyfriend and I find a place to make out.

4. My boyfriend and I make out.

"There are two things wrong with this list," Petey snaps. "I change my mind. Don't tell me more."

"While I like making out with you," my boyfriend says, "we should be responsible."

"Why is this considered teamwork if I'm the one making all the calls? Okay, finally..."

5. The bad guys come to kill Petey but we kill the bad guys first. We win.

"That's not a plan," Petey thunders. "That does not resemble anything remotely like a plan at all. But what the hell, I've worked with worse, and somehow everything works out with you. I've come to terms with it." He slaps the roof of the car. "I'll go charm the convenience store clerk. If I die," Petey rasps to Cheekbones, "do not let this idiot bring me back to life. Let me stay dead."

He slams the car door shut after himself and stalks into the store. We wait a second and then get out of the car to follow, grinning big grins.

The glass doors slide open to reveal the clerk balling up the front of Petey's shirt in a delicate looking fist. Her upper lip's drawn back to bare regular teeth, but they're all werewolf gestures. Beside me, Cheekbones stands stock still. Tension radiates from every part of his body.

"Like I said," the clerk snarls in Petey's face. Her other hand not so subtly sinks underneath the table. "We don't keep records. Even if we did, I wouldn't be showing them to a walker. Dead should stay dead." Her eyes flicker to us. They widen at the sight of Cheekbones wearing my hoodie and me wearing his jacket. She flings Petey away as if burned. "Get out of my store or I'll call the cops."

"Here's my take on this," Petey says, calm. He doesn't even need to raise his voice and he already sounds like he's trying to extort her. "If you so much as spill blood here, we're going to have a problem." He bares his teeth at her in werewolf fashion. "A big problem."

"Yeah?" the human clerk sneers. "You think the Pack's afraid of two corpseraisers? We own half the police in this town. Isn't that right, you sellout?" She snarls something to Cheekbones that makes him take a step back. She gives another growl and Cheekbones takes another one.

Oh no. Oh hell no, you don't.

"Hey," I say loudly. "Growl, ruff, grunt, angry pissing on your leg too. He's none of that."

Cheekbones turns to me, distress in his eyebrows. He blinks quickly like he thinks I can't tell he's upset. "It's okay--"

Steps 3 and 4 of the plan was a joke. Not anymore. I slam him against the closest shelves with mouth on his mouth and my tongue down his throat. We knock some things off. In reaction, his claws dig into the leather of his jacket. They cling and scratch at my upper arms like they've got a vendetta against the fact nothing's ripping at all.

Cheekbones spins us so then it's my back against the shelves now. I lick into his mouth as he shudders against me, pressing closer. His fingers tangle into my hair when I hear...

"--ey!" Someone--the snitching speciest clerk--is banging on the counter. "Hey, no!" She bangs harder. Cheekbones doesn't look at her, nosing into my neck. He hefts out staggered breaths, and clutches me closer. "No dizzy heads! No kiss-swollen lips!" I'm distracted by the sensation. "No distractions by the sensation of anything! No hook-ups! Hands to yourselves! Mouths a ruler away! Lower halves like you've got a chastity belt and it actually works!" She pounds the counter. "There are other people here, you know!"

"What?" I croak out. My fingers tangle into Cheekbones's hair at his nape. He makes an appreciative noise. I appreciate him even more. I appreciate the helix of his ear and bite at it. I do not appreciate the clerk when she interrupts again. "Shit, can you- Can you go away for like three minutes?" Cheekbones draws his lips against my neck, kisses carefully at my throat after deliberation. At this rate, we're going to need a room. Oh wait, I have a room. And it's even in a hotel. Hotel rooms are great. I love my hotel.

Cheekbones lifts his head. I kiss him. 

The counter is banged, unsexily, once more, knocking me back into reality. This time it's Petey. "That's enough," he says, joining in on the rhythm convention. "Even I'm sick of it. This is obnoxious."

Cheekbones has a half-formed protest about this whole thing. It disappears when I lean in and bite his throat. He freezes and then relaxes into me.

"He's fantastic," I declare. "So there."