House Of Night Chosen | Page 8

total moron. "It's, uh, from Heath." I
wished I could make myself disappear.

"Please. Just please. Why didn't you tell anyone that you
don't like birthday presents that have anything to do with
Christmas?" Shaunee asked in her usual no-nonsense way.

"Yeah, all you had to do was say something," Erin said.

"Uh," I said succinctly.

"We thought the snowman theme was a cute idea, but it's not
if you hate Christmas stuff," Damien said.

"I don't hate Christmas stuff," I managed to say.

"I like snow globes," Jack said softly, looking like he was
about to cry. "The snowy part makes me happy."

"Looks like Heath knows more about what you like than we
do." Erik's voice was flat and emotionless, but his eyes were dark
with hurt, which made my stomach clench.

"No, Erik, it's not like that," I said quickly, taking a step
toward him.

He moved back like I had some kind of awful disease he
might catch, and suddenly it really pissed me off. It wasn't my fault
that Heath had known me since I was in third grade and had figured
out the mushed birthmas present issue years ago. Okay, yes, he
knew stuff about me that the rest of them didn't. There was nothing
weird about that! The kid had been in my life for seven years. Erik
and Damien, the Twins and Jack had been in my life for two months
—or less. How was that my fault?

Purposefully, I made a show of looking at my watch. "I'm
supposed to meet my grandma at Starbucks in fifteen minutes. I
better not be late." I walked over to the door, but paused before I
left the room. I turned around and looked at my group of friends. "I
didn't mean to hurt anyone's feelings. I'm sorry if Heath's note made
you guys feel bad—but that's not my fault. And I did tell someone
that I don't like it when people try to mush my birthday together
with Christmas—I told Stevie Rae."
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CHAPTER THREE

The Starbucks at Utica Square, the cool outdoors shopping
center that was right down the street from the House of Night, was a
lot busier than I'd thought it would be. I mean, sure, it was an

unusually warm winter night, but it was also December 24, and
almost nine o'clock. You'd think people would be home getting
ready for visions of sugarplums and whatnot, and not out looking
for a caffeine buzz.

No, I told myself sternly, I am not going to be in a bad mood
for Grandma. I hardly ever get to see her, and I'm not going to spoil
the little time we have together. Plus, Grandma was totally hip to the
fact that birthmas presents were lame. She always got me something
as unique and wonderful as she is.

"Zoey! I'm over here!"

At the far edge of the Starbucks sidewalk area I could see
Grandma's arms waving at me. This time I didn't have to plant a
fake smile on my face. The rush of happiness seeing her always
brought me was authentic and had me dodging through the crowd as
I hurried to her.

"Oh, Zoeybird! I've missed you so, U-we-tsi-a-ge-ya!" The
Cherokee word for daughter wrapped around me, along with my
grandma's warm, familiar arms that held the sweet, soothing scent
of lavender and home. I clung to her, absorbing love and security
and acceptance.

"I've missed you, too, Grandma."

She squeezed me one more time and then held me back at
arm's length. "Let me look at you. Yes, I can tell that you're
seventeen. You look so much more mature, and I think a little taller
than you did when you were merely sixteen."

I grinned. "Oh, Grandma, you know I don't look any
different."

"Of course you do. Years always add beauty and strength to
a certain type of woman—and you're that type."

"So are you, Grandma. You look great!" I wasn't just saying
that. Grandma was a zillion years old—at least somewhere in her
fifties—but she looked ageless to me. Okay, not ageless like vamp
women who looked twenty-something at fifty-something (or one
hundred and