During our last installment, shit hitteth the fan. Eth.

Frankly, I’m a little super-scared of all of you. You pretty much unilateraly chose Option D: grab Jacob’s arm and the stake from your back pocket and get ready to fight. That potion was more potent that you thought.

One time, when I was about 13, I was watching TV in my room when I noticed a giant, fat spider on the floor. I picked up a shoe and smacked the spider, which is when I learned that the spider wasn’t fat, she was pregnant (not the first time that sort of miscommunication has happened to me). Tiny little baby spiders went everywhere. I totally freaked out and ran from my room and wouldn’t enter it for a week afterward, and only then after my dad had vacuumed the entire room like 15 times.

What I’m saying is . . . I am not brave enough for option D. But, alas, here we go:

Chapter 18: To Blow Up This Joint, Turn To Page 301

You grab Jacob’s arm with your left hand and whip out the stake with your right. “Okay,” you mutter. “Let’s do this.”

“Let’s do what?” Jacob asks, looking down at you. “And where did you get my stake? Did you go through my stuff?”

“Um, yeah, and can we argue about it later? We’re supposed to be beating the Big Bad.”

“The Big Bad? Who are you, Buffy?” Jacob asks this as he slowly makes his way down the stairs.

“Oh, like you didn’t have a giant poster of Sarah Michelle Gellar hanging up in your room all through junior high?”

You’d like to continue this little spat, cause it’s taking your mind off the loud thumping on the door. And also, cause, okay, Jacob’s pretty cute when he’s ticked off. But you can’t delay the inevitable any longer, and you nod at Jacob and suck in your breath as he turns the doorknob.

“FINN! What are you doing here?!?”

You barely even get the question out before Jacob is on top of him, pummeling his face.

“Jacob! Jake! Stop that!” You tug on Jacob’s arms, which doesn’t work at all. So, with a deep breath, you leap on him.

“What the hell? Get off!” Jacob cries out as he stumbles backwards.

“Stop. punching. Finn.” you pant.

Jacob stops staggering and puts his hands up in a gesture of surrender. You hop off and come around to face Finn.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, as he licks a line of blood that is trickling from his nose.

“Can it, douchebag,” you reply, crossing your arms. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell us how to save Kayleigh. And you’re going to tell us how to defeat your crusty overlord. And then maybe, just maybe, I won’t use this stake to poke a giant hole in you.”

“Uh, the stake won’t actually work on him. He’s not a real vampire; he hasn’t transformed,” Jacob whispers to you.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to jam the stake in his heart,” you reply, pasting a saccherine-sweet smile on your face.

Finn gulps. He casts a look to Jacob, finds no refuge, and sighs.

“Kayleigh’s under the Thrall. Basically she’s a servant to Him. She will let him feed off her, and as long as He does, He will grow more powerful. The more power He has, the greater the thrall over Kayleigh, and the more she will let Him feed. You can’t break the cycle.”

“We can throw a wrench in it,” you quietly say.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously I don’t understand how this whole thing works, because I’m not a mysterious vampire scholar like you” – with a quick look to Jacob – “or a suck up with delusions of greatness like you,” you add, pointing to Finn, “but it seems to me that if someone is getting powerful from a supply of blood, you, well, poison the supply chain.”

“You want to poison Kayleigh?” Jacob looks at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“No, I want to replace Kayleigh. Get O Pasty Face a new blood supply.”

“But who?” Jacob asks, confused.

You sigh deeply and say:

A.  “Heather.”

B.  “Neil.”

C.  “Me.”

Erin is loud, foul-mouthed, an unrepentant lover of trashy movies and believes that champagne should be an every day drink.