Chosen

humans knew vampyres existed—adult vamps didn't conceal themselves. But the rules for fledglings were different. I guess it made sense—teenagers didn't always handle conflict well—and the human world did tend to conflict with vampyres.
    "That's just the way it is. Rules are rules, Grandma," I shrugged it off.
    "You didn't cover the beautiful Marks on your neck and shoulder, did you?"
    "No, that's why I'm wearing this jacket." I glanced around to make sure no one was watching us, then I brushed back my hair and flipped down the shoulder of the jacket so that the sapphire lacework on the back of my neck and shoulder was visible.
    "Oh, Zoeybird, it's just so magical," Grandma said softly. "I'm so proud that the goddess has Chosen you as special and Marked you so uniquely."
    She hugged me again, and I clung to her, incredibly glad that I had her in my life. She accepted me for me. It didn't matter to her that I was turning into a vampyre. It didn't matter to her that I was already experiencing bloodlust and that I had the power to manifest all five of the elements: air, fire, water, earth, and spirit. To Grandma I was her true u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya, the daughter of her heart, and everything else that came along with me was just secondary stuff. It was weird and wonderful that she and I could be so close and so much alike when her real daughter, my mom, was so completely different.
    "There you are. The traffic was just awful. I hate leaving Broken Arrow and fighting my way to Tulsa during the holiday rush."
    As if my thoughts had somehow tragically conjured her, my mother's voice threw cold water on my happiness. Grandma and I let go of each other to see my mom standing beside our table, holding a rectangular bakery box and a wrapped present.
    "Mom?"
    "Linda?"
    Grandma and I spoke together. It was no surprise that Grandma looked as shocked as me by my mother's sudden appearance. Grandma would never have invited my mother without letting me know. Both of us saw totally eye to eye about my mother. One, she made us sad. Two, we wished she would change. Three, we knew she probably wouldn't.
    "Don't look so surprised. Like I wouldn't show up at my own daughter's birthday celebration?"
    "But, Linda, when I talked with you last week you said you were going to send Zoey's birthday present to her through the mail," Grandma said, looking as annoyed as I felt.
    "That was before you said you were meeting her here." Mom told Grandma, then she frowned at me. "It's not like Zoey invited me to come herself, but then I'm used to having an inconsiderate daughter."
    "Mom, you haven't talked to me in a month. How was I supposed to invite you anywhere?" I tried to keep my tone neutral. I really didn't want Grandma's visit to deteriorate into a big drama scene, but my mom hadn't said ten sentences and she was already totally pissing me off. Except for the stupid Christmas-birthday card she'd sent me, the only communication I'd had with my mom had been when she and her awful husband, the step-loser, had come to parent visitation at the House of Night a month ago. It had been a complete nightmare. The step-loser, who was an Elder for the People of Faith Church, had been his usual narrow-minded, judgmental, bigoted self and had ended up basically being thrown out and told never to come back. As usual, my mom had scampered along after him like a good little submissive wife.
    "Didn't you get my card?" Mom's brittle tone started to crumble under my steady look.
    "Yes, Mom. I did."
    "See, I've been thinking about you."
    "Okay, Mom."
    "You know, you could call your mother once in a while," she said a little tearfully.
    I sighed. "Sorry, Mom. School's just been crazy with semester finals and all."
    "I hope you're getting good grades at that school."
    "I am, Mom." She made me feel sad and lonely and angry at the same time.
    "Well, good." Mom wiped her eyes and started bustling around with the packages she'd brought. In an obviously forced cheerful voice she added, "Come on, let's all sit down. Zoey, you can go into Starbucks and get us something to drink in a minute. It's a good thing your grandma invited me. As usual, no one else thought to bring a cake."
    We sat down and Mom wrestled with the tape on the bakery box. While she was busy, Grandma and I shared a look of complete understanding. I knew she hadn't invited Mom, and she knew I absolutely hated birthday cake. Especially the cheap, overly sweet cake my mom always ordered from the bakery.
    With