*** NOTICE: While this story takes place in the world that Charlaine Harris has created in the Southern Vampire Mystery series, it's not a Sookie Stackhouse story. All of the characters are my own, but world and plot are very Charlaine-esque. Also, at least most of the places I mention actually exist***

Once again, my conscience had gotten me into a situation where I was uncomfortable. Well, not just my conscience; my quirk, too. And it's not that I was about to do something illegal or immoral; just the opposite actually, it's just that vampires made me a little nervous. Sure, I have plenty of vampire acquaintances; you can't go very long living in a college town without at least knowing of one or two. I just never really made an effort to really get to know one. And you can put your high horse away right now: I'm not bigoted at all. It's just…well, they tend to look at me like I'm a juicy steak. It's unnerving.

I was sulking, slumped at the end of the bar at Rum Runners, a half regular bar, half piano bar frequented by Michigan State students. I happened to know that this bar recently came under new management—vampire management. Usually packed, the upstairs piano bar was almost empty, partly because it was Tuesday, an unpopular night for barhopping even in college towns, and partly because the semester was yet to start and most of East Lansing's population had yet to arrive. As a year-long East Lansing resident, the time between semesters was my favorite time of year. Everything was usually blissfully quiet. Sure, there were a few early arrivals here, but they were on the first floor, which was more of a regular bar. I was the only Michigan State student upstairs, listening to the dueling pianos and biding my time while nursing a water.

I have a few quirks. I mean, who doesn't? But my quirks aren't strange OCD-type compulsions. Mine are tell-anyone-and-you're-heading-for-a-nice-padded-room quirks. For instance, I am especially sensitive to who is and who isn't a vampire. Those of the night persuasion are as obvious to me as if they had 'BLOODSUCKER' tattooed across their forehead. I don't know what it is, really, that make it so obvious; they don't sparkle, they don't have invisible horns only I can see; it's just obvious. The same goes for shifters. There's nothing special about their outward appearance. It's like I can sense their aura. When I see someone who looks perfectly human and just happens to turn into a wolf at the full moon, I don't think 'human', I think 'wolf'.

That's why when the 30-something wolf dressed in a cheap suit approached me and asked to buy me a drink, I couldn't help but smile at the humanity in his approach. He didn't sniff my butt or mount my leg. He just sat on the stool next to me and asked what I was drinking.

"Just water," I replied, trying to simultaneously hide my giggle and make my voice loud enough to be heard over the pianos. His sheepish smile that exposed his slightly crooked but exquisitely white teeth made me laugh harder, even though I had seen this entire interaction yesterday as if it were HDTV streaming in my head.

I liked to call my little quirk 'advanced intuition-ism', but most people would call me psychic, a term which I hate. It makes my quirk sound like a parlor trick, like something I might be able to control. No, if only things worked that way. Sure, sometimes I could control it, but not often; that is a secret Sydney and I will take to our graves. And no, it doesn't always manifest in the visions like you see in movies. Sometimes it does, but sometimes it's a lifelike dream, sometimes it's just a feeling or an overwhelming urge. The latter has made it difficult for me to make and keep friends without them thinking that I was either erratic or crazy. Nothing like absolutely refusing to sneak out of the most popular girl in school's house during a fifth grade Girl Scouts sleepover to help you earn the 'weirdo' reputation. And sent home with your parents after a panic attack that subsequently got the little princess of a hostess in a bunch of trouble.

My advanced intuition-ism was the reason I was here tonight. Hopefully, I could change the outcome.

"What's so funny?" asked 30-something. I shook my head never mind sheepishly, as if I wasn't going to tell him. I learned the hard way to keep my advanced intuition-ism a secret. Only three people knew: my parents, who refuse to believe I'm anything more than a lucky girl with an overactive imagination, and my pagan, tarot card reading best friend Sydney, whom I love dearly. I told her about every vision I had, up until this one. I knew she'd insist on coming with me, and I couldn't risk her getting hurt. 30-something nodded to the bartender, who slid another glass of water in front of me with a sarcastic eyebrow raised.

"Thanks, I guess," I said. The water was free, so the gesture lost much of its meaning. Plus he was already staring at my chest, which didn't make me want to get to know him at all.

"My name's John. What about you?"

"Sloane," I answered. "What do you do, John?" I knew the answer to the question. Being precignizant, conversations can sometimes be tedious. Everyone has that great aunt that tells you the same story about Uncle George's colonoscopy every ten minutes—it's like that, only all the time.

"I'm an assistant professor at State. I teach art history. What about you?"

"I'm a student at State, actually."

My answer had the desired effect. He frowned slightly; I could see the wheels in his head trying to calculate my age. "I'm 22."

"Oh," was all he could manage for a second. Suddenly, as if knowing my age flipped some sort of switch, he went from outright flirting to 'teacher' mode. "What are you doing up here? All the college kids are downstairs."

"Actually, I'm a grad student; therefore no longer a 'kid,' and I'm meeting someone."

I shouldn't have mentioned I was a graduate student, that made me fair game for him. "Oh? Your boyfriend?"

I sighed out my loneliness. Knowing how and when you are going to break up before the guy even asks you out made it incredibly difficult to date.

"No, no boyfriend. I'm meeting a woman." I was purposely vague. While I often got BluRay quality video in my visions, I didn't always get sound. Since I hadn't yet perfected lip reading, I didn't know the name of the woman I was here to warn.

John's eyes lit up. "Girlfriend?"

I smiled but shook my head 'no' as I glanced away impatiently. Before he could ask the obvious question and I could outright shut his advances down, the woman I was waiting for entered the bar from the back room. She was gorgeous, and a vampire. She might have been turned when she was about my age, maybe a little younger and still had that youthful vitality to her look. Her exquisitely wavy auburn hair just barely brushed her shoulders while framing big emerald eyes, and the slightly upturned lips on her heart-shaped face gave her a look of constant amusement. She was wearing bright red lipstick, striking against the pallor of her face and managed not to clash with the red in her hair. A red silk floor length dress to rival Jessica Rabbit's matched the red on her lips to a tee and which fit beautifully on her petite figure. The thigh-high slit in her dress permitted a glimpse of gold stiletto sandals. She wore a large diamond and teardrop ruby cocktail ring on her left hand with a matching necklace scribing the strike and dip of her clavicle. Strangely, even though her figure was petite and the gems were large, they didn't seem to overwhelm her. Instead, they turned what would look gaudy on me to regality on her. And even though she and I shared many of the same attributes, she was intimidatingly beautiful and I was decidedly plain.

Behind her were two very different men. The one on her left was only slightly taller than she was in the heels; maybe 5 foot 9 inches tall with a strongly gracile bone structure. He wouldn't fill out any doors, no matter how many weights he lifted, but I also wouldn't bet against him in a fight. Hailing from east Asia, his once toasted almond coloring had blanched to a more ivory pallor. Even though age drifted from his skin like a cologne, his hair was cut short in a modern style. He obviously worked to blend in with the trends of the day. And the only word to describe his face was stoic. His nose was wide, flanked by strong cheek bones and a stronger jawline. These ivorine planes were uninterrupted by facial hair except a small soul patch. His eyes were almost black and in perfect accordance with the lips. I'm not sure have ever smiled. He dressed simply in a simple white button down shirt, dark jeans, black dress shoes, and a gold wedding ring, the simplicity of which contrasted starkly with the woman whose hand he was holding affectionately. On the woman's right was a more robust male, someone who would have to duck under the shower curtain rod. Even though his shaggy hair was as dark and as wavy as mine, I noticed how strikingly alike he and the woman looked; with the same full lips and heart shaped faces. However, his eyes were light hazel with streaks of green and gold, and he was anything but petite. A roughly cut, scruffy version of the smaller woman. He was dressed completely in black; black button down shirt, black dress pants, and black shoes. There was only one simple piece of jewelry: a platinum ID bracelet with the name 'O'Hara' on it.

I hadn't caught that much detail in the split second after they had entered the bar but I had studied them for what seemed like hours in the past week's worth of dreams filtered through the eyes of another. Annoyingly, my quirk had limitations. Sometimes I get sound, sometimes I just get images. Secondly, I never see through my own eyes, I always get the someone else's perspective. Lastly, I have never been able to get the vampire channel. The later made this particular job all shades of difficult, since John the wolf and I were the only humans here, and John was now utterly focused on the woman in the red dress. His preoccupation made it more difficult to tell how this was all going to go down, and more importantly, when.

I rubbed my clammy hands on my jeans. Now or never, I thought. I rose from the bench and walked purposefully toward the trio, approaching the woman first. In all the dreams, and even now, she was the one who appeared to be in charge. I was about to break all the rules I had made for myself regarding my quirk, but I had to. I hadn't foreseen this working any other way.

"Excuse me, ma'am? All the vampires in this bar need to leave. In fact, everyone should leave. Two card-carrying members of the Fellowship of the Sun are about to barge in here with guns loaded with silver and start shooting…"

Before I could get my whole spiel out, O'Hara had me up against the wall, holding me a foot off the ground, great paws around my throat. "How do you know this, woman?" he demanded. In his anger, hints of an Irish brogue appeared. He shook me slightly for effect, which just ended up giving me a lump on the back of my head.

I could only croak out one word. "Psychic."

For the first time, the woman spoke in unaccented English. "David, brother, put the woman down. She came as a messenger at great peril to herself. This is not how we show gratitude." David wrapped an arm around my waist before he let go of my neck, then slowly lowered me to my feet. When my feet first touched the ground, my knees wouldn't cooperate. They just buckled as if I were a two-year old that didn't want to be put down. O'Hara supported me just long enough for my knees to start functioning and for me to lean heavily against the wall. I was trying not to gasp for air and/or pass out; no amount of psychic forewarning prepares you for your first assault.

"My apologies miss. Now what do you know of this attack?" Now calm and collected, there was no hint of an accent in his voice.

He was still holding my elbow. Apparently, my wobbly state of mind was not lost on him.

I made the explanation succinct because my throat was raw. "Two men in Fellowship shirts. From the stairs. Just start shooting." I glanced at the Asian man. "You die." I looked back to David. "You're hurt protecting her."

"When?" the Asian man demanded in his sharp, staccato accent.

I glanced at my ineffective medium, John. "Soon."

"David. Lee," said the woman. After a silent conversation, Lee brushed a kiss on the woman's cheek and rose to stand by the stairs with David. While the woman in red took my elbow and guided me to a booth in the back. The bartender, who had heard the entire thing, slid a new water in front of me and gave me an appreciative smile.

"My name is Emma O'Hara. You've just encountered my brother, David O'Hara, and my husband, Lee Wong."

I resisted the urge to extend my hand. "Sloane McIntosh." I got a slight bow from the waist in response.

I audibly gasped as I got the sudden urge to duck. "Now!" I tried to yell to the vampires, but it came out more as a raspy whisper. Just then, the two men from my dream bounded up the stairs, guns blazing. Before I knew what was happening, each of the vampires was draining a gun-toting assailant.

"Oh. Oh." I couldn't believe what I had just seen. When David and Lee returned from disposing of the corpses, Lee slid in the booth next to Emma, while David waited for me to move so he could slide in next to me. One small problem: I couldn't move. I was staring at him, I knew what he wanted me to do, my body just wouldn't respond.

He flicked an amused glance at Emma. "She seems to be in shock." He slid one arm under my knees and one around my waist and scooted me farther into the booth so he could sit next to me. I was still staring at him when he'd settled into his spot and glanced back at me.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," I whispered. David rocked with laughter while Emma and Lee smiled. That seemed to bring me back to the present. My head was starting to pound from being smacked into the wall, and my throat was so sore I wasn't sure I could get more than a gargled whisper out. I leaned my head back into the booth and closed my eyes, absently rubbing my temples.

"Are you not well?" asked Lee. I didn't open my eyes to see his face, but his voice was devoid of all emotion.

"Just a headache," I replied.

"I'm afraid I might have done that, Sloane." David must have heard Emma's and my conversation earlier. I was sure I hadn't told him my name. "Maybe I should see that you get home safely. It's the least I could do."

I turned to look at him. He was completely serious. "I can drive myself, but thank you."

"Just a minute ago you couldn't move. You are in shock and bruised. Please let me drive you home."

I could see I wasn't going to win this battle, but I was going to fight it anyway. "I need my car tomorrow."

"I will drive your car for you, and run home. Hand me the keys." I had no other excuses. I reached into my back pocket and handed a vampire I barely knew the keys to my pride and joy. "Where are you parked?"

"Street parking, just out front." With that, David deftly slid out of the booth and extended a hand to help me. I wasn't feeling completely steady, so I took it. I turned to Emma and Lee. "It was nice to meet both of you."

"And you, Sloane. You are welcome back at any time," said Emma.

I smiled and turned to my new chauffeur, motioning that I was ready to go. When we got to the front door, David pressed the unlock button on the key fob, and the lights to my white hatchback blinked. With a flourish of his arm, he gestured me toward the lights and helped me into the passenger seat. At a full foot taller than me, he struggled to slide into a seat adjusted for my petite frame. Once we were both situated, we pulled from the curb.

My house wasn't far from the bar. In five minutes and with minimal directions, he was pulling into my driveway. My house was a WWII special; small and simple, but sufficient.

As David got out of the car, he courteously grabbed my purse that I'd stashed behind the driver's seat, and was helping me out of the car and up to the front door before I could even think about getting the passenger side door open. After was what surely to him the most agonizingly slow progress up to my front steps, I quickly unlocked the door and slipped in. All I wanted to do was fall into bed.

"Erm. Are you going to invite me in?" David was standing at the threshold to my house, my purse in hand.

"Oh, yea. Sorry. Please come in," I croaked in response. He followed me to the kitchen, depositing my purse on the couch as we passed.

At that moment, my roommate and best friend came bounding down the stairs. Her long, dirty blonde hair was caught up in a sloppy ponytail, with mismatched pieces making bids for freedom from the hair tie. Her well-endowed chest was constrained by a t-shirt from our high school and long pajama bottoms covered her surprisingly boyish lower half. Her oval face was devoid of makeup, which I always thought made her blue eyes seem brighter. Those eyes were frantic. "Sloane, where have you been? I've been worried." The words caught in her throat as she noticed we had company. "Oh, hello. I'm Sydney," she managed while offering her hand.

David kept his arms at his sides as he introduced himself "David O'Hara. Pleasure to meet you," he said with a slight bow.

"Um, so….I'll just be going back to bed, then." Sydney winked at me, then gave me a you're-going-spill-everything-later look.

"Night, Syd." My voice wasn't at all better, but I was past the drowning cat sound.

David took a seat at the kitchen table as I grabbed myself a lemonade and some Advil. "So you saw the attack. How?"

"Recurring dream." I was going to keep this simple. No need to get into the long version of the mechanics of it all with someone I was hoping to never see again.

"Are they always dreams?"

I sighed. "No, sometimes they're true visions, sometimes they're just feelings. Sometimes just urges. That's how I knew when the attackers were coming; I got the urge to duck."

We sat in silence as he processed this information. I took the opportunity to take a couple of swigs. The sugary acid burned as it worked its way down my hoarse throat. A couple of minutes later, he spoke again. "Did you see the whole thing?"

I sighed and leaned my head against the palm of my hand. "What do you mean?"

Frustrated, he fidgeted. "Did you see…my reaction?"

I shrugged ever so slightly. "Unfortunately."

"And you warned us anyway," he commented, surprised at my answer.

I thought momentarily about my reply. "Yes."

"Why?"

I sighed. If only I knew the answer to that. "I don't know. I guess, if I knew that something bad was going to happen, and didn't do anything about it…I don't know."

He seemed to ponder this for a while, too. "I should let you sleep." He rose from the chair he was in. With a quick turn towards the door, he said, "Goodnight, Sloane."

"Bye," I replied as I sat and watched him walk out the door. I should have walked him to the door, but I just didn't have the energy. Once I was sure he had gone, I walked to the front door and locked it.

Sydney was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. "What did he mean, 'reaction.'"

When dealing with Syd, nonchalance is key. If I act like nothing's wrong, she's more likely to take bad news in stride. "He just overreacted to the news I was giving him, that's all. He strangled me a little bit and hit my head against the wall."

Apparently that approach wasn't going to work tonight. Syd stared at me. "Start from the beginning. What did you see?"

I told her everything, starting with the dream, about John the wolf, and about the attackers. I told her about the vampire trio, all the way until present moment. She looked appalled, worried, and sad. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to sleep." She looked like she had another twenty questions brewing in her mind. I held up my hand in a 'stop' motion. "I'll still be here in the morning."

Without even undressing or washing my face, I fell into bed. My dream was blissfully like a Salvador Dali painting: confusing and decidedly un-lifelike.