Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Praise for the Blood Coven Vampire Novels

Girls That Growl

“An amusing teenage vampire tale starring a fascinating high school student . . . Young adults will enjoy growling alongside of this vampire slayer who has no time left for homework.”

—Midwest Book Review

“A fast-paced and entertaining read.”

—Love Vampires

“A refreshing new vampire story, Girls That Growl is different from all of those other vampire stories . . . a very original plot.”

—Flamingnet

Stake That

“A fast-paced story line . . . both humorous and hip . . . A top read!”

—Love Vampires

“Rayne is a fascinating protagonist . . . readers will want to stake out Mari Mancusi’s fun homage to Buffy.”

—The Best Reviews

Boys That Bite

“A wonderfully original blend of vampire/love/adventure drama which teens will find refreshingly different.”

—Midwest Book Review

“Liberal doses of humor keep things interesting . . . and the surprise ending will leave readers bloodthirsty for the next installment of the twins’ misadventures with the undead. A ghoulishly fun read.”

—School Library Journal

“A tongue-in-cheek young teen tale starring two distinct, likable twins, the vampire between them, and a coven of terrific support characters who bring humor and suspense to the mix . . . [F]illed with humor and action . . . insightfully fun.”

—The Best Reviews

Berkley JAM titles by Mari Mancusi

BAD BLOOD
GIRLS THAT GROWL
STAKE THAT
BOYS THAT BITE

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada
(a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)
Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia
(a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)
Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India
Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand
(a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)
Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196,
South Africa

Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

BAD BLOOD

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2010 by Marianne Mancusi.

eISBN : 978-1-101-17121-9

eISBN : 978-1-101-17121-9

[1. Vampires—Fiction. 2. Twins—Fiction. 3. Sisters—Fiction.
4. Las Vegas (Nev.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.M312178Bad 2010
[Fic]—dc22
2009038238

http://us.penguingroup.com

Prologue

When Grandma was a little girl, they had these special books designed to teach kids to read called Fun with Dick and Jane. The prose wasn’t very eloquent. See Jane. And the action sequences were rather weak. See Dick run. Run, Dick, run! Not exactly Harry Potter, in complexity, let me tell you.

Not surprisingly, these not-so-riveting storybooks soon went the way of the dinosaur, with only people like Grandma bringing them up from time to time while reminiscing about “the good old days” (which, if you take into account the two-mile walk to school barefoot in three feet of snow she claims to have endured daily, don’t actually seem so good after all).

In fact, truth be told, I’d pretty much forgotten about those prehistoric primers all together. That is, until a real-life Jane came into our lives and my boyfriend suddenly turned into a real dick.

Seriously, the last week or so I’ve wanted to strangle the old guy.

Oh, and by the way, when I say “old,” I mean it. My boyfriend, Magnus, is literally coming up on his one thousandth and first birthday. Even though he doesn’t look a day over eighteen. And he doesn’t act his age either. You’ll never once hear him going off about the good old days like Grandma. Even though, taking into account his background, he could totally give the old woman a run for her three-foot of snow-walking, barefoot money.

Magnus, you see, is a full-fledged vampire. In fact, he’s the Master of a major vampire coven. And I, Sunshine (Sunny) McDonald, am his normal, average, seventeen-year-old Massachusetts girlfriend.

I know, I know, you’re all like, “But, dude, vampires don’t really exist!” Well, believe me, five months ago I would have totally been with you on that. But back in May I had a major awakening of the undead kind that not only left me believing in vamps, but almost becoming one myself!

Yeah, it was a weird week, let me tell you.

To understand, you have to know Rayne. My twin. Who’s not so normal and not so average. She and I may be identical on the outside, but on the inside we’re as different as—well, sunshine and rain. (Yes, yes, Sunshine and Rayne—blame our barefoot, commune-living, daisy-chaining mom for those delightful selections.)

Anyway, all Rayne wanted to do once she got into high school was become a vampire. Don’t ask me why, I still can’t exactly figure out her reasoning. Suffice it to say, she’s a total Goth and you know how they can be about that sort of thing. Anyway, somehow she discovered this ancient vampire coven that had set up shop in St. Patrick’s Cemetery and hooked up with a few of them. Got herself on some waiting list, took a certification course, etc., and prepared herself for the night she was to be transformed into a vampire. (Again, why someone would willingly want to go through all this trouble just so they could drink blood and avoid the sun, I have no idea, but that’s Rayne for you.)

Problem is, on the night she was supposed to be bitten, the vampire who was supposed to be doing the biting (Magnus) accidentally bit ME instead. I was so not happy about this, as you can probably guess. I mean, imagine if you were told for the first time that not only did vampires exist, but you were about to transform into one, one week before prom!

Luckily, Magnus was as mortified at his mistake as I was about my impending undead status. So we ended up working together to figure out a cure. (Which involved a trip to Europe, a kick-ass Glastonbury festival, the Holy Grail—yes, the real one, not the Monty Python DVD—and a whole other adventure, but that’s another story.) Luckily, we were successful and before the prom was over I was mortal again.

In the meantime, Magnus and I fell in love and we’ve been dating ever since. Sure, it’s a little weird to have a nocturnal, blood-sucking BF, but really, most people go on dates at night anyway, and the blood thing is a whole lot more hygienic and civilized than you might imagine. (And no, he never drinks from me. Ever. I mean, ew! They have screened, paid donors for that kind of thing nowadays.)

And Rayne—well, what can I say about Rayne? She was pretty bummed she lost her chance to become a vampire. Even more so when she found out she was destined to become a vampire slayer instead. Luckily for her, there are good vampires and bad vampires and she’s only commissioned to take out the bad ones. So she sharpened her stake, embraced her destiny, and proceeded to slay baddie vamp Maverick, who was trying to poison the Blood Coven with this awful virus. (Again, a whole other story!)

In the process, Rayne got infected by the virus herself and to save her from an untimely death, her new undead BF, Jareth, turned her into a vampire as well. So now Rayne’s got her wish. Sort of. She’s currently a kind of half-vamp, half-slayer. She has none of the vamp superpowers (because of the virus), but unlike regular vamps she has no problems with the sunshine (which helps since she still has to graduate high school).

For me, being a vampire’s girlfriend has been a good gig so far. In fact, up until now, I’ve had few complaints. But now, everything’s different. Since she came into town. Magnus’s newly assigned blood mate, Jane.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here . . .

1

“So, should I or shouldn’t I?”

Rayne groans and throws herself back on my bed. “Do you think just maybe you could contemplate your potential deflowering without taking a public opinion poll this time?” she asks. “I’m trying to memorize these cheers for tomorrow’s game.”

“Oh fine. I see how it is.” I frown. “You always have some excuse on why you can’t help your dear twin sister in her time of need. What was it last week, again?”

“Saving our town from rampaging werewolf cheerleaders.”

Oh. “Okay, there was . . . that,” I admit. “But still! You can’t tell me a few extra minutes of rampaging would have really made that big a difference. Sure, maybe we would have lost a Star-bucks or two to the wolves, but would it really have hurt the townspeople to have to walk one extra block for their triple venti dry soy lattes?”

“Look, if I hadn’t saved the town from the rampaging, there would be no decision for you to make,” Rayne rationalizes. “Except maybe if you were going to cheap out with the pine box coffin or cough up the cash for the deluxe model. Which technically wouldn’t be your decision at all, since you’d be the one lying in it. Dead. So how about cutting me a little slack here?”

I frown. So much for a sweet, caring twin sister to assist me in my time of need.

“Look, it’s not that I’m not here for you, Sun,” she adds. “It’s just that we’ve been through this like five gazillion times already. I’ve given you advice. You’ve ignored it. Which is fine. I’m not bitter. After all, it’s your decision. Your life. But don’t keep asking for what you’re not going to listen to anyway.”

“I know, but . . .” I’m totally whining, but I can’t help it.

“But what? If you think you’re ready and Magnus is the right guy, then go for it. If you’re unsure, then wait. This is not rocket science. It’s not even seventh-grade blow-stuff-up-in-a-test-tube science.”

“You’re right.” Not that acknowledging this makes the decision any easier.

Rayne peers at me suspiciously. “What’s really bugging you, Sunny? And why are you having this conversation with me and not the vampire in question?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. He’s . . . out.”

“Again?” My sister raises a disapproving eyebrow.

“He’s Master of the Blood Coven, Rayne!” I remind her, a bit defensively. Probably because this isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation. Like the sex thing, it seems to come up a lot.

“He’s got a ton on his plate. I mean, you try running a coven of nearly a hundred vampires, not to mention the newbies in training who joined after the Blood Bar incident last spring. And then there’s the whole big consortium thingy he’s getting ready for. And ...”

Rayne gives me a sympathetic look, which I hate. The last thing I want is for someone like her to feel sorry for me. My life is fine. Great, actually. So my boyfriend’s been a little preoccupied lately. Things will calm down after the consortium is over. No big deal.

“Sunny, if you’re afraid of losing him, you need to have a talk, not sex,” my sister says gently. “Don’t you think?”

“We talk,” I retort. “We talk all the time.” My cell starts ringing. Saved by the Kanye West ringtone. “See? Here is he now!” I make a show of pressing the TALK button to prove my point. Rayne just rolls her eyes and exits the bedroom. A good thing, too, since the caller on the other end isn’t actually my boyfriend, but my friend Audrey, asking if I want to go to a party with her tonight.

“Sorry, Aud,” I say regretfully. “I think I’m going to stay in. I’m . . . not feeling a hundred percent.”

“Aw, come on, Sun. You never come out anymore,” Audrey begs. “You’re always with your boyfriend.” She pauses, then adds, “Hey, why don’t you see if he wants to come, too? There’ll be a bunch of football players there. Did you hear Mike and Trevor are back? It’s so weird. They don’t even remember where they were the whole time they were missing.”

I chuckle. If only they knew they spent the last month in a rogue werewolf cave on a Northern England mountainside. Though I wonder if they’d admit it, even if they didn’t go under memory reorganization by the other werewolves.

“So what do you think? You and Magnus want to come?” my friend presses.

I shake my head regretfully, then realize she can’t see my movement over the phone. As much as I’d like to go, there’s no way Magnus would want to go to a high school party, filled with annoying, immature high school boys. He may look like a teenager, but he’s over a thousand years old and way past his keg party days. If I dragged him to one of those I’d never hear the end of it.

“Sorry, Aud, I’m going to have to pass,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice light. “Next time.”

“Sure. Whatever. Later.” Audrey hangs up the phone.

I stare down at the disconnected cell, feeling sad. Audrey’s the only one who still calls me these days. The only one who hasn’t given up on me from my old life, pre-vampire. The rest of my friends dropped off over the summer, when I was so in love with Magnus and we were hanging out every day and I had no time to call them back. Sure, they still say hi in passing in the hallways, but I’m never invited out with them. I only see the photos the next day, tagged on Facebook, without me in them.

I have my sister, I suppose, but she’s a vampire now and so into her new world—always attending coven events and seminars that I can’t get into due to my still-mortal status. (And wouldn’t want to even if I could. I mean, Blood Letting 101, anyone?) And Jareth has plenty of time to spend with her, not being the Master and all.

My cell rings again. This time I look at the caller ID before answering. My heart leaps to my throat as I realize it’s Magnus. He’s calling! Thank God. I was beginning to think I’d be spending yet another night alone in my room.

“Hey, baby,” I coo into the phone. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Good thoughts, I hope,” he teases and I can hear a smile in his voice. He’s in a good mood, thank God. He’s been so grumpy lately, with all that he’s been dealing with. I never know how he’s going to be when I talk to him.

“Oh yes, very good thoughts,” I purr. “Am I going to get to see you tonight?”

There’s silence on the end of the phone. Crap. I shouldn’t have asked him that. I shouldn’t have pushed. Isn’t that what the self-help books say? Let him make the first move? Does that still apply after you’ve been going out for nearly six months?

“Um, actually tonight I have some meetings,” he confesses at last, sounding regretful. “But I was thinking . . . tomorrow night?”

My heart sinks. Out of the entire lonely week, tomorrow is the only night I have plans. I’m supposed to go see my sister cheer at the football game. My whole family’s going to be there and there’s no way Mom’s going to give me a pass on this one. She even made reservations at Olive Garden, my favorite restaurant.

“Er, tomorrow’s not so good,” I confess. “It’s homecoming and I’m stuck with the fam watching Rayne cheer.”

“A football game?” I can hear the distaste in his voice. Damn it.

“I’m free any other night!” I add, hopefully. “Sunday? Monday? Any night next week?”

“Sorry, Sun. I’ve got meetings up until the convention and then we’re heading out on Tuesday afternoon. I’ll be gone through Sunday.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. So Saturday night it is. I wonder how much Mom would kill me if I bailed . . .

“Wait, why don’t you come with us?” I ask, an idea coming to me. “We’re going to Olive Garden and then the game. It’ll be fun.”

Yeah, Sunny, I’m sure it’d be a great time for him. As a vampire, he doesn’t eat and he hates football more than life itself.

“How about . . .” He’s thinking. “How about I meet you after the game? It can’t go too late, right? We’ll spend some time together then.”

“Sure. Perfect!” I agree eagerly. “Awesome.” Mom has to be cool with that. Do the family thing, then the boyfriend thing. Perfect.

“What if . . .” Magnus sounds hesitant, which speeds up my heart rate all over again. “What if I got us a room?”

I almost drop the phone. “A room?” I squeak. “Like a . . . hotel room?”

I can hear his amusement on the other end of the phone. “Yes, Sunny. Like a hotel room.” He pauses, then adds, “No strings attached, of course. Just a quiet, romantic place where we can spend some time alone together. Candles, flowers, a silver plate of strawberries . . . how does that sound?”

It sounds heavenly. And just what we need to reconnect. To make things right.

“We’ll have a great night, just you and me,” Magnus promises. “And we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to . . . It’s not about that. It’s about spending time with my girl, who I love very much.”

My heart melts at his words. “Oh, Magnus,” I whisper into the phone. “I love you, too. And it all sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

2

We’re down by three, fourth quarter, fourth down, and Mike has the ball. Only seconds to go and the clock on the scoreboard counts down relentlessly. Mike backs up, looks for an opening . . .

On the sidelines, Rayne and the other cheerleaders are going crazy—yelling and dancing and jumping up and down. “I never thought I’d see the day,” Mom mutters from my side. She and David are cuddled under a big stadium blanket and looking nauseatingly cute as they feed each other cotton candy. “If I’d had to guess, I would have put all odds on you up there, Sunny. Never Rayne. I mean, not that I’m complaining. I think it’s great. Just . . .”

“Weird?” I prompt.

She nods, looking relieved that she didn’t have to say it. Having Rayne as a child would be hard on any mom. If only she knew the real reason her freaky daughter first picked up the pom-poms . . .

We turn back to the game.

Mike sees Trevor enter the end zone. He’s wide open.

As red uniforms converge on our quarterback, Mike throws. Trevor leaps into the air and manages to catch the ball—a split second before he’s tackled to the ground. Touchdown. The crowd leaps up in unison, a chaos of blue jackets, hats, and sweaters—cheering and clapping and whooping the old wolf pack howl.

“Whoo! Yeah! Go Mike and Trevor!” yell the cheerleaders. Mandy does a back flip. Shantel and Nancy bounce up and down. Rayne does . . . something . . . that looks like a cross between a split and a dog lifting its leg to pee. She’s sweating profusely, I notice. She may have gotten spirit, but she’s still a bit weak on the physical fitness. Maybe this will teach her to quit smoking.

“Let’s go congratulate Rayne!” Mom says, as the Wolves are pronounced victors of the night. We scramble down the bleachers and spill out onto the field with the rest of the crowd. Mom waves Rayne over with the kind of huge sweeping gestures that moms are innately gifted with to embarrass their offspring.

“Hey, Mom,” Rayne greets, shaking a pom-pom in her direction. Mom embraces her tightly and my sister hugs her back. Aw. I’m glad to see them getting along again. After Mom pulled a Trading Spaces on Rayne’s bedroom and moved her into my room so David could have hers, things were pretty dicey between them.

“Wow, Rayne. You were amazing. Really amazing,” Mom gushes, clearly overwhelmed by motherly pride. “I’m so impressed. I had no idea you could do those kinds of moves.”

“Well, it did take some practice,” Rayne says with a bashful grin. She doesn’t take compliments well. Probably because she doesn’t get too many in her typical role as the bad girl.

“Yeah, you were really something,” David says, walking up behind Mom. “A total natural.”

“Isn’t she?” I say, wanting to encourage her. “I keep telling her that but she refuses to believe me.”

“Can I speak to you for a minute, Rayne?”

We all whirl around. Mr. Teifert, the drama teacher and vice president of Slayer Inc., the company Rayne freelances for, is standing there. Hmm, I wonder what crazy assignment he’ll give her this time? Demon lord about to be let loose? A banshee screeching in, set on nothing short of our total destruction? Or perhaps some leprechauns have swung into town, after their Lucky Charms?

“Well,” Rayne says with some reluctance, glancing back at the fam. She’s probably not ready for a new assignment either. After all, she just got finished saving the town from cheerleading werewolves. You’d think she’d get a couple comp days or something after a major accomplishment like that. Or, I don’t know, a pay-check at the very least. After all, as she loves to remind me, even chicks with destinies have bills to pay, black lipstick to buy.

“We’ll be right over here,” David assures her, not about to get in the way of his Slayer Inc. boss talking shop. He may be developing fatherly feelings for Rayne and me, but at the end of the day he’s still a company man.

He and Mom and I take a few steps back. I try to stay close enough to listen, but I can’t quite make out Teifert’s words. Darn.

Rayne rejoins us a moment later. She has a big grin on her face. Hmm. Usually a conversation with Teifert has her swearing and spitting. This really is a weird night.

“Was that Sunny’s drama coach?” Mom asks her. Of course, she’s completely clueless about Teifert’s secret identity. “What did he want?” Mom knows that while Rayne may be a drama queen, I’m the one actually performing in the plays.

“Nothing much,” Rayne bluffs. “Tried to convince me I’d make a kick-ass Morgan Le Fay in his King Arthur play. Which I would. But I told him I’m pretty overcommitted at the moment.”

“So you’re staying on the . . . team?” I ask, meaning Slayer Inc., not the Wolves cheering squad. Though, come to think of it, I’m curious about the answer to that, as well.

“Yeah,” Rayne says. “I think so. At least for a bit. Why not, right? After all, they definitely need me.”

“Well congratulations again, Rayne,” my mom says, completely missing the undertones of the convo as usual. She kisses Rayne on the forehead. “I’m really proud of you.” She turns to David. “Are you ready to hit the road? I think the girls have some celebrating to do.”

I glance at my watch. Magnus was supposed to be here a half hour ago. Where is he? He’d better not stand me up . . .

David nods. “Bye, guys. Rayne, good job.” He offers a quick handshake (he’s not quite at “hug” stage yet) and then he and Mom turn to leave.

Once alone, I grin at my sister. “A vampire, vampire slayer cheerleader,” I say. “Who would have thought?”

“Yup. That’s me. Multitalented.” She laughs. “Actually Teifert was just trying to get me to quit the Slayer biz. I guess Bertha the vampire slayer’s all recovered from those blood pressure issues and ready to get back into business. But I told him he should keep me on retainer. You never know, he might need me.”

“Well, I know I feel safer knowing you’re still on patrol,” I assure her.

We’re silent for a moment and then I realize I should tell her about tonight. She’s going to be psyched that I made the decision without bugging her about it. “By the way,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’ve decided to do it.”

“Do what?” Rayne asks, feigning complete innocence. As if she doesn’t know exactly what I’m talking about. She just likes to see me squirm.

“It,” I say, my face reddening. “You know, with Magnus.”

“Ahhh,” she says, realizing what I mean. “My little twin is going to lose her innocence once and for all.”

I punch her in the shoulder. “Don’t put it like that!”

“I’m sorry,” she says mockingly. “My sister is going to bonk her boyfriend for the first time.”

“Rayne! I’m telling you a huge thing! And you—”

She laughs. “I’m just teasing, Sun. I think it’s great. You and Magnus are a wonderful couple. He’s completely loyal and devoted to you and he loves you with all his heart. It’s obvious just by watching you two together. And if you think you’re ready and have really given it a lot of thought, then I say go for it.”

I beam. “I mean, I know we’re not blood mates like you and Jareth. We’re not linked by blood to stay together forever with no one able to tear us apart. But we’re really close. I love him so much, Rayne. I don’t even know how to explain it.”

Luckily I don’t have to because Rayne’s BF, the drool-worthy vampire Jareth, chooses that moment to approach from across the field. He’s wearing a navy blue, tailored Armani suit and dark sunglasses, even though clearly there’s no sun in the sky. He’s all Jude Law meets David Beckham, sans tattoos. Guess this means Rayne finally wore him down on the whole beach bum/ surfer ensemble he donned all summer and has convinced him to embrace his inner metrosexual. Normally I’d be against such a blatant abuse of girlfriend power, but I have to admit, he does look good.

“Hello, my darling,” Jareth says in his deep English-accented voice. He wraps his arms around Rayne and pulls her close, planting a way-too-PDA-for-the-football-field kiss on her mouth. A total “ew” moment, but I’ll let it slide this time, namely because I’m just so relieved they’re not bickering like an old married couple for two seconds. Poor Jareth. I’d stab a wooden stake through my own heart before I’d have agreed to be blood mates with my crazy, control-freak sister. I don’t know how he puts up with her. He must have the patience of a saint, if not the soul.

“Hey now, don’t start the party without me!”

I whirl around, my eyes lighting up as I see Magnus approaching. He made it! My heart starts palpitating too fast in my chest and my palms become sweaty. Not long now, a voice reminds me. This is it.

“Did you rent the room?” I whisper as he wraps his arms around me.

Magnus nods. “It’s all set, my love.”

He leans down and kisses me. Now that the tables are turned, I so don’t mind the PDA. His cool lips feel so good, brushing softly against mine. I cuddle a little closer, so very happy that I will be able to kiss this vampire for the rest of my life. Everything is going to be fine. This night will be beautiful and perfect. And nothing can stop us from—

“Magnus?”

We break from our kiss and turn around in the direction of the voice calling my boyfriend’s name. Crossing the field is a tall, porcelain doll-faced girl with huge, green, almost catlike eyes and a red bow mouth. She has long red hair falling down to her waist and she’s wearing a slinky little black dress with platform heels.

Who the hell is she?

I glance back at Magnus and realize his normally pale face has gone stark white. Does he know this girl? And why is her sudden presence upsetting him so much?

“There you are, Magnus,” the girl purrs. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’m so glad I finally caught up with you, my love.”

Her love? Her LOVE? What the hell is going on here? I look at Magnus, then the girl, then back at Magnus again. “Um, why did she just call you her love?” I demand. And here I thought my heart was beating fast before. Now it’s the tempo of a hardcore techno song.

“Yeah, who the hell are you?” Rayne demands, looking as if she’s ready to kick the crap out of whoever this is. I smile a little. She may be a freak, but at the end of the day she can be a good sister.

The girl smiles. But not in a sweet kind of way. I so don’t like her already. “Who am I?” she repeats in a voice that sounds sly and catlike. “Why don’t you ask your fearless leader, Magnus?”

Something’s wrong. Really, really wrong. I feel like I’m going to throw up, though I’ve no idea why. “Magnus?” I manage to choke out. “Who . . . is this girl?”

Magnus swallows hard, running a hand through his hair. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Sunny, this is Jane Johnson,” he says. “The vampire council has ruled that she is to become my blood mate.”

3

I stare at Magnus, then at the girl—Jane—then at Magnus again. My heart has pretty much bottomed out at this point, hovering somewhere around my kneecaps. The council assigned Magnus a blood mate? My boyfriend is getting a blood mate? My boyfriend is getting drop-dead gorgeous Jane Johnson as a blood mate?

I guess in the back of my mind I knew this could happen someday. After all, Magnus is immortal. He’s going to live thousands of years on this planet while I, if I’m lucky, probably only have about seventy or eighty left. Many of which I’ll be spending growing old while he remains the spitting image of a hot high school student. At first, people will start calling me a total cougar, saying I’m robbing the cradle and stuff. Then they’ll ask if he’s my son. Grandson eventually.

At some point we’ll have to break up ’cause it’ll just be too weird for us to be seen together. Either that or go into solitary confinement for a few years. Until, you know, I die. Of course, I sort of always figured he’d be so heartbroken about the whole thing he’d go around wringing his hands and swearing he’ll never love again for all of eternity as he could never find anyone as perfect and wonderful as me.

But evidently he’s not even going to wait ’til I’m cold in my grave to find someone new. Or, you know, in my grave to begin with.

“Magnus,” I say through my clenched teeth. “Can we talk alone for a second?”

Jane frowns, sticking her full lower lip out (totally collagen-injected—I’d bet my life on it) into a full blown pout. “You know,” she whines, “anything you have to say to Magnus can be said in front of his blood mate.”

I’m about to remind her that technically she’s not anyone’s blood mate yet, least of all my boyfriend’s, and, if I have any breath left in my body, she’ll never live to become one either, but suddenly Rayne chooses that moment to butt into the conversation.

“Oh my God, Jane. What fabulous nails you have. What is that color?” she asks, grabbing the interloper’s hand.

I stare at my sister. Can Rayne really be that fascinated by the lesser known shade of this fall’s Opi color collection at the worst moment of my life? But then I take a look at the nails in question. Hot pink. A color my Gothy sister wouldn’t use to paint the nails of her worst enemy. She must be trying to distract the girl to give me a word in edgewise with Magnus.

I seize my opportunity and drag him a few feet away from the group. Out of Jane’s multipierced earshot. I can see from the corner of my eye that the bitch is struggling to follow, but my sister’s got her black polished claws into her—literally—and isn’t about to let go. Sometimes it’s good to have a twin.

I turn to my boyfriend. “Magnus,” I hiss. “What the hell is going on here?”

He shuffles from foot to foot, staring at the ground and refusing to meet my eyes. “Um, well, I don’t know,” he stammers.

“Bull. You do know.” I put my hands on my hips. “You totally know. And you didn’t tell me.”

“Okay. Fine,” he admits. “I knew the council was putting some feelers out, looking for a potential blood mate. But I had no idea they’d settle on someone quite so soon. I only learned this afternoon that she had passed all the background checks and was flying in. And I felt it was a bit harsh to break the news to you over the phone. Not to mention it would totally ruin our evening.”

My stomach lurches. Our evening. In other words he wanted to make sure he got some hot sexual action before filling me in on the fact that our entire relationship was suddenly going to change, big-time. I see how it is. Love me and leave me. Bang me and bounce. Screw me before screwing me.

“Don’t you think it’s information I’d probably prefer to know before we did what we were planning to do this evening?” I demand. “I mean, a blood mate? Does this mean we’re . . .” I swallow the lump back down into my throat. “Are we breaking up?”

Magnus grabs me, cupping my cheeks in his hands so I’m forced to meet his eyes. “Sunny, calm down!” he commands. “Stop jumping to crazy conclusions. Of course we’re not breaking up. Don’t be ridiculous. I love you. And that’s not going to change. Everything will be as it was before, except that I’ll have a blood mate.”

I squirm away. “A blood mate is like a freaking soul mate, Magnus,” I remind him. “What, are you going to be like a Mormon vampire? Have two wives or whatever?” As soon as the words leave my lips I regret them. It’s not like Mag and I have ever discussed marriage. I’m still in high school for goodness’ sake. And I don’t think vampires usually get married technically anyhow. Especially since they’d literally catch on fire from setting foot in a church.

But still? A blood mate and a girlfriend? I’ve never heard of such a thing. From what I understand, in the vampire world, you can mess around with girls, boys, whatever, while you’re a newly reborn undead, but once you turn one thousand, it’s time to commit to the vampire you’ll spend eternity with. Your blood mate. And then it’s time to put away childish mortal romances.

“A blood mate fills a very different role than that of a wife,” Magnus insists. “It’s more of a civil partnership. Sure, sometimes that partnership is a romantic one—like Rayne and Jareth’s is—but that’s not always the case. And it won’t be with Jane and me, I promise you. She’ll simply aid me in running the affairs of the Blood Coven.”

“I could do that!” I cry. “I could help you run the coven just as well as she could.”

Magnus shakes his head. “Don’t be silly, Sunny,” he says. “Jane has been handpicked from a large pool of potentials for her advanced intelligence and expertise in diplomacy and political science.” He ruffles my head in that patronizing way I hate. “You haven’t even graduated high school yet.”

I squeeze my hands into fists. This is so unfair. Back before Magnus was Blood Coven leader—when everyone assumed Lucifent would stay alive and in control of the coven forever—I was selected to be Magnus’s blood mate. Okay, technically Rayne was, not me, but we’re twins, which is close enough in my book. If only I hadn’t freaked out about the whole vampire thing and forced Magnus to turn me back into a human. Then I’d still be his blood mate and Jane wouldn’t even be a blip on anyone’s radar. Sure, I didn’t have the stupid poli-sci degree, but I could have helped the coven in other ways. For example, I make a damn good vegetarian quiche.

Oh, who am I trying to fool here? The vampire council doesn’t want a qualified vegetarian quiche-maker as their Master’s partner in crime. Unless I could somehow make it out of blood. Which would totally ruin its consistency. Not to mention its vegetarianism.

I feel the tears well up in my eyes. I so have to get out of here—before I lose it in front of everyone. Especially stupid Jane. The last thing I need is for that tacky vampire wannabe bitch to see me cry.

“I’ve got to go,” I mutter, pushing past Magnus and walking as fast as possible without breaking into a run.

“Sunny, wait!” Magnus calls after me. “Come back.”

I almost turn around. Almost. But then Jane’s voice cuts through the crisp October night.

“Mag-nus,” she whines. “I’ve flown all the way from England today and have killer jet leg. Can you take me to my hotel room already?”

Sure he can. In fact, he’s already got a great one reserved.

4

It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night and I’m supposed to be having the best night of my life, snuggled up with my perfect boyfriend under luxurious five hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and a feather duvet at a five-star hotel. Instead I’m squashed in my own not-so-luxurious, not-so-thread-counted, flannel-sheeted bed next to my sister, Rayne. Instead of the cries of ecstasy I’d imagined I’d utter tonight while in Magnus’s arms, I’m just plain crying. My face is blotchy, my eyes are red, and I’m wearing an oversized, black T-shirt, courtesy of Rayne, that claims Zombies Make Better Boyfriends—which, while may be true in theory, isn’t exactly all that comforting at the moment.

Nor is my dear sister.

“Sunny, you’re probably totally overreacting,” she tells me unnecessarily for what seems the thousandth time tonight.

“I don’t care,” I reply, for the thousandth and first. “This was supposed to be the best night of my life. Now it’s turning out to be the worst.”

“Only if you let it.”

“Please don’t. You sound like Mom,” I grump. “What would you be doing if Jareth suddenly told you he was hooking up with some random trashy redheaded chick?”

Rayne thinks about it for a moment, then smiles evilly. “I’d claw out his eyes. Slowly and painfully. I mean, he’d probably grow them back, you know, being an immortal vampire and all. We’re so good at regeneration. But I bet it’d really hurt at the time.”

“Exactly.”

“But Magnus didn’t say he was going to hook up, Sun,” she clarifies.

“No, he’s going to do something much, much worse. He’s going to make her his blood mate. That’s like freaking marrying her under vampire rules. They’ll be bonded together forever—just like you and Jareth.” I stare down at my hands, feeling the tears well up in my eyes again. “They’ll be side by side, staying ridiculously beautiful forever, while I wither up and prepare to die.”

“Please. Even as a white-haired granny, you’ll still be hotter than that white trash ho. Do you know she had acrylic fingernails with little pink bats painted on them?” Rayne snorts. “How tacky. And here she’s supposed to be some Rhodes scholar or some crap like that.”

I look up at my sister. “Really? That’s weird, right? I mean, her whole outfit was weird. Not to mention how she talked.” The more I think about it, the stranger the whole encounter with Jane seems. At the time I’d been so pissed at Magnus that I hadn’t really given it much thought. But now that I’m running tonight’s events through my head again, I’m realizing that something just isn’t adding up. Why would this supposed political mastermind, hand-selected by the Blood Coven to become their Master’s blood mate, dress only half a step up from a Miami hooker? And why had she shown up now, just days before the big vampire consortium in Vegas?

“Hmm,” Rayne says thoughtfully, “maybe she’s an evil plant, sent by a rebel vamp coven to infiltrate the organization and destroy it from within.”

I stare at her. “Oh my God! Do you really think so?” I imagine Jane, seducing Magnus and then staking my poor helpless boyfriend in his sleep. Blaming it on a slayer (maybe even my sister!) and then taking control of the Blood Coven and manipulating it for her own evil purposes—which may or may not include taking over and/or destroying the world as we know it. “We should warn Magnus.”

Rayne rolls her eyes. “Please.” She snorts. “I was totally kidding. I mean, conspiracy theory much, Sun? Trust me, bad taste in fashion does not an evil vampire make. You should have seen the vamp chicks from the English coven. Then again, they were a bit evil, I suppose, throwing us out in the cold and making us sleep in a barn, just because of that whole pesky vampire slayer thing ...”

I glare at her. So much for sisterly support.

“Fine. But I still think there’s something fishy about her,” I mutter.

“I’ll admit, she does smell a bit fishy,” Rayne says brightly, still evidently determined to make light of my desperate woe. I throw a pillow at her and she dodges it.

“Don’t you have some kind of secret slayer mission or something to go on tonight?” I grump, lying down on my side and turning so my back faces her. A hint, if there ever was, to get out of my bed and leave me alone. I’m done with her brand of cheering me up.

“Nope. I’m here for you, Sun. All night, if necessary.”

“Awesome. Lucky me.”

Rayne tries to put her arm around me, but I shrug away. All I want to do now is curl up in my bed—alone—and fall into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep. Trying to forget that my boyfriend, the love of my life, is currently hanging out with another girl. Another girl who might very well be evil, no matter what anyone else says.

I roll over and look at my sister, who’s already fallen fast asleep, her breathing easy and her face completely relaxed. I sigh. If only I were a vampire like her. Or a slayer, even. I could kick Jane’s ass from here to Oxford and demand she never set foot in Oakridge again as long as we both shall live.

But no, there will be no ass-kicking. No demanding she leave my boyfriend alone. Because at the end of the day, I’m not Rayne. I’m just helpless, little old Sunny—a completely mortal girl, without any superpowers to help me prevent a potentially evil vampire from stealing my boyfriend away.

This bites big-time.

5

When I wake up in the morning, Rayne is still sacked out on my bed, instead of her own cot, which Mom installed after David took over her bedroom. I like to think it’s because she doesn’t want me to feel all alone in my suffering, but I know for a fact she just doesn’t find the cot gives her enough lumbar support. Not that she needs any—seeing as she’s an immortal vampire and all. They tend to be immune to back problems. Or any health problems whatsoever, for that matter.

I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I spent the night tossing and turning and getting very little actual sleep. Thank goodness it’s Saturday and I don’t have to go to school.

I notice my cell is blinking and I flip it open to check my missed call list. Magnus. Like a dozen times. And just as many messages. I smile a little. At least now I know he wasn’t out with Jane, forgetting I even exist.

I crawl out of bed, careful not to disturb Rayne, and tiptoe out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Mom and David’s doors are still closed, so I pad downstairs and curl up on the couch to call him back.

No answer. I glance outside and realize the sun’s already risen, meaning all good vampires (except for mutated ones like Jareth and my sister) have gone to bed. Great. Now I won’t be able to talk to him until nighttime. I decide to check his messages and listen to him grovel to pass the time away. At least he better be groveling.

Sure enough, I shuttle through thirteen pleas of forgiveness from my boyfriend before the voicemail lady informs me I have no more messages. And, I’m pleased to note, he sounds appropriately worried, freaked out, and apologetic in every single one. As well he should after what he pulled last night. He also asks me to meet him tonight, after the sun sets, at Club Fang, the Goth dance club where I first laid eyes on him last May. The night he mistook me for Rayne and tried to make me his blood mate by biting me in the neck. If only I’d learned to live with the transformation and not gone on that crazy quest to change back into a human. Then I’d be Magnus’s blood mate still. We could have lived happily ever after, without ever meeting anyone named Jane.

Sigh. No use crying over spilled blood, I suppose. I dial Magnus and leave him a message, saying I’ll be there tonight at seven. I hang up and consider watching some television, but none of the shows on at six A.M. are worth watching. So I head over to the family computer in the den and switch it on. I’m not as computer savvy as my sister, but I do know how to Google with the best of them. Maybe I can dig up some dirt on Jane. To expose her as the fraud I know she is before she does something to harm the coven or, more important, my boyfriend.

Due to popular demand, Club Fang recently opened up its back room on weekends, creating a makeshift café that serves blood in chilled wineglasses to vampire patrons who have worked up a sweat on the dance floor. They keep the music low here, allowing for decent (or indecent as the case may be) conversation—something impossible to have in the main dance hall where Goths whirl and twirl to bands like VNV Nation and do what I call that foot-stuck-in-the-mud dance that they all seem to know and love.

Rayne insists on coming with me, getting completely Gothed up, cheerleader uniform long forgotten. I wonder what her fellow squad members would think to see her decked out in a lacy, black, Gothic Lolita dress she claims she imported directly from Japan. (I, however, saw the receipt and know she bought it off eBay from some Cosplayer in Reseda.) I’m actually thankful to have backup in case things go badly with Magnus tonight, so I agree and we both get into the ancient Volkswagen Bug we share and head down to the club.

After parking, we pay our five-dollar cover to the burly bouncer at the door and head into the club. As usual, I feel completely underdressed in my simple jeans and sweater combo as I step through the archway and enter Hot Topic territory. It’s funny; at school I’m the one who always blends and Rayne is the freak. Here our roles are completely reversed. The other patrons think of me as a tourist, ready to gawk at their Gothic beauty, then go home and tell the frat daddies what a freak show it is. I get more than a few dirty looks as I cross the room, heading for the café. Rayne’s already long abandoned me for the dance floor—unlike me she loves to dance—and I’m sure I won’t see her again for quite some time. Which is fine. I’ve got business to discuss with the boy.

I step into the café and scan the room. My heart skips a beat as I catch Magnus sitting at a corner table, across the room, tapping his long fingers against the glass surface anxiously. He’s dressed in a simple black sweater and slim black jeans and is just so beautiful I can’t help but melt a little, even though I am still technically, for the record, totally pissed off at him. After all, he’s still my boyfriend. Still the love of my life. Not to mention one of the hottest creatures to ever walk the planet.

He catches my eye and flashes me a sheepish smile. I cross the room and he rises to his feet to greet me, pulling me into an embrace so strong it’s as if he’s holding on to me for dear life. The thought warms me even more. He loves me. I know he does. And at the end of the day, that’s more important than vampire politics and traditions, right?

We hug for a few moments, then sit down at the table. A tall, pale vampire waitress comes over and I order a black coffee, the only thing in this place not containing some sort of blood infusion. (At least I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.) As she leaves to retrieve my order, Magnus leans over the table and takes my hand in his.

“Sunny, my baby,” he murmurs, pulling my hand to his lips and kissing it softly. His English accent caresses my name in a way that gives me shivers. As much as I like to play tough, I’ve got it bad for this vampire and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Still, we have a lot to talk about tonight and I refuse to get swept up in romance until we do.

“Magnus, why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, feeling my throat clog up with the tears I swore I wouldn’t cry. So unfair that I inherited all the sensitive genes in the family and Rayne got all the kick-ass ones. “I had a right to know.”

My boyfriend lets out a long sigh. “I know,” he says. “And I wanted to tell you, too. Believe me, the whole thing’s been weighing on my mind for weeks. But the council insisted on absolute secrecy until Jane had passed all her certification and DNA tests; they didn’t want word of her selection to get out and have her candidacy compromised by a rival coven. I kept hoping she’d fail—that she’d somehow prove unworthy of the position and subsequently be rejected. Then I would never have had to tell you. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you for no reason.” He squeezes my hand. “I had no idea that she’d just show up out of the blue like she did yesterday. It was completely against protocol.”

“Well, she did. Protocol or not.” I sulk, knowing deep in my heart I should be trying to be more understanding about the whole situation, but not finding the energy to do so. “And I was totally blindsided since I didn’t even have any idea you were in line for a new blood mate to begin with. In fact, from what Rayne’s said, I thought a vampire only got one chance at a blood mate in a lifetime and your chance was with me.”

“No. That’s just what they tell the noobs,” Magnus says gently. “In order to get them to take the relationship seriously. In reality, if a partnership is broken, a vampire can take on a new mate at any time. It just doesn’t normally happen.”

“Vampires don’t normally take on new blood mates?”

“The partnership isn’t normally broken.”

Oh. So once again, it all comes down to this being my fault. Great. Just great. The waitress sets my black coffee down in front of me, but I no longer feel much like drinking it.

“Sunny, you had to know that this would someday become a reality,” Magnus says, not helping matters by his logic. “I’m the Master of the Blood Coven, one of the largest vampire conglomerates in the nation. That’s a huge responsibility for one person to uphold and I could really use a partner to rule by my side. In fact, in a way it’ll be better for us. I know you hate how I’m always stuck in meetings all night. Just think, this way Jane can shoulder some of the load and I’ll have more time to spend with you.”

Please. As if Jane will go for that. My mind flashes back to her possessive little fingers clinging tightly to my boyfriend. He may only want her as a second in command, but she obviously has other plans.

“What about Lucifent?” I ask, remembering the coven’s previous Master. The one who Rayne’s predecessor, Bertha the Vampire Slayer, had dusted back on my second evening as a vampire. “He didn’t have a blood mate.”

“Actually he did at one time,” Magnus corrects. “A young vampire named Tabitha. She came as a referral from the High Stakes Coven out in Vegas. A beautiful girl with long, white-blond hair and big blue eyes. Everyone was shocked when she applied to be Lucifent’s blood mate. She could have had any vampire in the world.”

“Yeah, Lucifent wasn’t exactly Casanova incarnate.” In fact, he looked like a young Macaulay Culkin—having been turned into a vampire when still a child. “It does seem weird that she’d pick him out of all the really hot vampires out there.”

“Well, it didn’t take long for us to figure out why she did,” Magnus says, shaking his head. “In addition to her beauty, she had ambition. Too much ambition. And once she was permanently installed as blood mate, she started working to supersede her sire’s powers and take control of the coven. She abused my master, treating him like the child he only appeared to be and overpowering him physically when he protested her actions.”

“So what happened?”

“A fire broke out one night in her chambers. She burned to death. Many believe that Lucifent set the fire himself. Killed his very own blood mate. Which, of course,” he adds, “is completely unacceptable under our laws.”

Something dawns on me. “Is that why Slayer Inc. had him killed?” I had always wondered that—since Rayne swears the company only goes after the baddie vamps who don’t play by the rules.

Magnus shrugs. “Perhaps. Though I imagine they’d been looking for an excuse for quite some time. As you know, child vampires are considered mutants—an abomination in their eyes.”

It was true. Once upon a time Slayer Inc. killed Jareth’s little sister simply because she was living as a mini-vamp. It took hundreds of years and Rayne’s declaration of love for the guy to get over that one, let me tell you.

“Look, Sunny, let’s try to focus here,” Magnus says. “Jane will never take your place in my heart. She will never be more than a business partner to me and you are so much more than that. I love you and need you and cherish our relationship more than you can ever know. After all, I waited a thousand years to find you; do you think I would give you up so easily?”

He looks at me with pleading eyes and I can feel my icy heart melting as fast as Jack Frost in Miami.

“That said, I have no choice but to go forward with this,” he continues. “It’s my job and the lives of a lot of vampires hinge on how well I do my job. Sometimes, though I don’t like it, my duty as Master must come first.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I manage to choke out. After all, I don’t want him to think I’m some idiot selfish high school girl here. “I do. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, okay?”

Magnus rises from his seat and walks around the table to pull me into his arms. I bury my face in his shoulder as the sobs overtake me. I know I have to be mature here and accept what’s going on but, at the same time, I can’t shake the fact that things are going to be different from here on out. He’ll have a blood mate. A partner in crime to share things with. Things that, as a mortal, I’m not allowed to know. Sure, they might be strangers now, but soon they’ll grow to have secrets and inside jokes and stories they share with one another and I’ll just be that aging human, on the outside, looking in.

This whole thing really sucks. Maybe I should have just stayed with high school sex god Jake Wilder when I had the chance. Sure, he may have been a little slobbery with his kisses, but at least he was around my own age and would stay that way!

“Hi, guys!”

A bright, chipper voice cuts through my gloomy thoughts. Magnus pulls away from our embrace and my eyes fall upon the person I least want to see in the whole world.

“Hello, Jane,” Magnus says in a gravelly voice and for a moment I wonder if he’s been crying, too. “I didn’t realize you planned to dine here this evening.”

“Well, I heard it was really the only cool place in town for bloodsuckers like ourselves,” she replies, throwing her arms around my boyfriend. I love how she’s already calling herself a vampire, even though she hasn’t gone through with the biting yet.

Magnus pats her awkwardly on the back, then pulls away. Her eyes fall on me and let’s just say they’re not exactly friendly. “Am I interrupting something?” she asks pointedly.

I open my mouth to say yes, yes she is and she needs to leave Club Fang and never come back, but Magnus is too quick.

“Not at all,” he says. “Have a seat.”

I squeeze my hands into fists. Have a seat? Have a seat? Did he just tell that bitch to have a seat? The one he claims will never come between us is now literally between us, squashed into a table designed for two and ordering a cappuccino with a double shot of A negative. Which is completely ludicrous since she’s not even a vampire yet and has zero reason to be drinking blood.

“This is good, actually,” Magnus says. “It’ll give you two a chance to get acquainted. Jane, this is Sunshine McDonald, my girlfriend.”

“Oh Mags, that’s so cute. You have a human girlfriend! I love it!” She offers me a small white hand and I notice that Rayne was totally right about the pink vampire designs on her fake nails. So cheesy. “Hello, Mortal,” she says in total baby talk, as if I’m four years old. “How are you tonight?”

Is she for real? “Um, Jane, I don’t know if you’ve looked in the mirror lately, but I don’t see any fangs in your mouth either,” I snark, unable to help myself. This chick is way too much.

She waves a hand dismissively. “Simply a temporary technicality. I’ve already got through all the training and am officially certified by the council. In a few days, I will be as undead as a doornail.” She tosses me a patronizing smile. “It’s kind of complicated, Sunshine,” she adds. “I don’t expect you to fully understand our ways.”

I squeeze my hands into fists. Complicated? I’d give her complicated. How about some complicated right up her ass? If only Rayne were here. God, sometimes it really sucks to be the helpless human half of team twin.

Magnus places a hand on my knee under the table, an attempt to calm me down I guess. “So, Sunny, Jane comes to us from England, where she just completed her Master of Science degree at Oxford,” he explains. “With a concentration in political theory.”

I suck in a deep breath, trying to channel my inner Zen, for his sake at the very least. “Wow,” I say. “That’s . . . impressive. And to think I barely passed Western Civ last year.”

Jane snorts. “Western Civ?” she repeats. “What, are you, like, in high school?” To my chagrin, she starts laughing. Loudly. “Ohmigod, you are! You’re in high school. That’s so adorable!” She turns to Magnus. “You’ve been robbing the cradle, huh, baby?”

I sit there, teeth clenched, waiting for Magnus to defend me. But he’s just as bright red as I probably am at the moment and isn’t saying a word. Is he embarrassed? About me still being in high school? He never had a problem with it before . . .

Oh God, it’s already happening. I’m being displaced, right before my very eyes and there’s not a thing I can do about it.

“Excuse me, I’m going to go see about your cappuccino,” Magnus mutters in a barely audible voice as he gets up to make a hasty retreat. Coward!

And now I’m stuck one-on-one with Jane. Which, I try to tell myself, isn’t necessarily a bad thing since it gives me a chance to put all my Internet research to work.

“So, Oxford,” I say casually. “That’s really pretty awesome.”

Jane rolls her eyes and snaps her gum. “Yes, it’s very . . . awesome,” she repeats, obviously making fun of my word choice. “Like, totally tubular.”

“You know, I’ve been researching the place a ton,” I inform her, taking a sip of my now perfect temperature coffee. “Since I’m thinking of attending next fall.”

Jane suddenly looks a bit uncomfortable. Aha! “You are?” she asks. “How . . . nice. Hope you can get in.”

“Me, too!” I squeal in my best silly high school girl voice. “It’s like, so tough, I know. But how cool would it be to live in England. I just love England. Where’s Oxford again? Is it London?”

“Oxford is in Oxford,” Jane replies, a big “duh” in her tone. Darn, guess I couldn’t fool her that easily. But I’m guessing she’s going to need one of her lifelines for round two.

“Oh right. Of course. London’s just the hometown of Professor Davis, the best political science teacher ever, right? Did you have Professor Davis when you went to Oxford, Jane?”

Now Jane looks like she’s just swallowed a raw turnip. “Um, I’m not sure,” she says picking at one of her fake fingernails. “I don’t think so.”

“Huh,” I mused. “That’s really strange, since I read that Professor Davis’s Theory of Politics course is one that’s required for anyone to earn a political theory degree.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I guess I did have him then,” Jane stammers.

Yes! “Her you mean.” I smile smugly. “Professor Davis is a woman.”

“Of course.” She’s now searching the room, desperate for Magnus to come back. But it looks like her blood mate got stuck talking to one of his constituents. Sorry, Jane. “I knew that.”

Sure she did. “Great. So then maybe you can enlighten me. I’ve always wondered what Dominus illuminatio mea means. Can you explain its significance in a hundred words or less?”

Now she’s looking truly scared. “Dominos . . . illuminati . . . what?”

“You know, Oxford’s motto,” I say, in my best patronizing voice. “It’s on, like, all their stuff. You must have seen it while you were, you know, attending the school?”

“Oh right.” She recovers. “Of course I’ve seen it. I just didn’t take any . . . French classes . . .”

“You mean Latin classes?” I ask, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “The school motto is in Latin.”

“Or Latin,” she hastens to correct. “I concentrated my studies more on the European countries. Like Italy and stuff. Not . . . Latin countries. Hell, I don’t even like tacos.”

Oh geez. She’s dug herself in so deep with her lies now she’s probably about to hit China. But before I can point out the three thousand geographical mistakes this supposed master of international relations has just made in one breath, Magnus returns, carrying her steamed blood cappuccino. Saved by the vamp.

Magnus hands the drink to Jane, then takes his seat. “Have you two been getting acquainted?” he asks hopefully.

“Oh yes,” I say, shooting Jane a smug smile. “I’m learning so much about her.”

Jane hastily rises from her seat, knocking over her drink in the process. I jump back so none of the bloody coffee gets on my outfit. “Sorry,” she mumbles, looking completely flustered. “I actually have . . . an appointment . . . that I forgot about. I need to get . . . there. So I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that, she makes her escape.

Yes! She totally fell for my trap! I couldn’t ask for a better outcome to my investigation. Just call me Nancy Drew. Or at least Veronica Mars.

I turn to Magnus. “So, I’ve done some research,” I inform him proudly. “And it’s clear that Jane is not who she says she is.”

Magnus stares at me. “What?”

“Well, she didn’t go to Oxford for one thing. I can tell you that.”

“Sunny, what are you talking about?” my boyfriend demands in a voice that seems to indicate he’s more annoyed at me than proud of my excellent detective work. What’s up with that? “Of course she went to Oxford.”

I feel bad having to tell him the truth. But it’s for his own good and will save us all from much frustration later. “But she didn’t, actually. I asked her some questions about the school and she was completely clueless. Hell, the girl didn’t even know about this famous teacher I Googled.”

“Sunny, Oxford is a huge school. Maybe she didn’t have that professor.”

“No, you don’t understand—”

But Magnus cuts me off. “I think I do,” he says, looking at me with pity. “Sunny, I think you’re feeling a bit jealous of Jane. Which is perfectly understandable, given the circumstances. But please, I beg you, let’s not make this situation even more difficult than it already is, okay?”

I stare at him, speechless. I can’t believe it. He’s not even going to listen to me. He’s going to go ahead and make her his blood mate no matter what I say. Second in command of the Blood Coven. And who knows what kind of nefarious things she’ll do once she’s placed in the position of power. She’ll be just like Lucifent’s blood mate, trying to take over. And then Magnus will be forced to kill her, which will get Slayer Inc. on his ass. And then they’ll commission Rayne to slay him and my own twin sister will basically be forced to murder my boyfriend.

I can’t let this happen. I have to get him to believe me about Jane. But it’s clear I need more evidence. Irrefutable proof that this Jane girl is a big fat fake.

“When are you going to do the blood mate thing with her?” I ask, needing to know how much time I have to make my case.

He relaxes visibly, probably assuming I’ve given in. Which means he obviously doesn’t know me very well. “On Friday night,” he explains. “When we’re in Vegas for the consortium. The Blood Coven will host a traditional biting ceremony at midnight, where I will make Jane a vampire in front of all the other coven masters who will be in town for the meetings.”

In other words, just like a freaking wedding.

“It’ll actually be really good PR for the coven,” Magnus adds, as if I care about something like that. “After all, we’ve had a tough year. First the screwup with me biting you by mistake last spring, then Maverick’s attempted takeover, which permanently weakened a good many of our members. Not to mention Jareth—the coven general himself!—daring to bring a slayer into another coven’s lair without even telling them who she was. All I can say is thank God your sister didn’t stake anyone while she was there. It would have been devastating for our reputation.”

I can see his point, but that still doesn’t change anything. “Can I come?” I ask. “I’ve never been to Vegas.”

“You have school,” Magnus reminds me. What is he, my dad? “And anyway, it’ll be really boring for you. I’ll be stuck in meetings all night and will barely have any time to see you. This isn’t a vacation, you know.”

Of course. He doesn’t want me to go. Mainly because he’s already going with Jane. Big fake-ass Jane who I know for a fact did not get some fancy degree from Oxford like she says she did. In fact, I bet she’s never even set foot on the university grounds.

“Fine,” I say, rising to my feet, done with this scene. “Have a nice trip. I’ll see you when you get back. Maybe.”

And with that, I turn tail. I can hear Magnus calling after me as I storm from the café and back into the dance hall, but I don’t turn around.

I need to find Rayne. She’ll know what to do.

6

“Okay, okay, here I am,” Rayne says as she slides into the passenger seat of our car. “What’s the big emergency?”

She hadn’t wanted to leave the club, claiming she’d requested an Apoptygma Berzerk song and the DJ was sure to play it any moment now. I had to go so far as to remind her that the two of us had once shared a womb, which left her morally obligated to sacrifice certain dance numbers to come to my aid if/when I suffered a time of need. (And I definitely felt, under the circumstances, I qualified right now as particularly needy.) Even with that logic, she refused to adhere to this twin code of honor unless I agreed to grant her a “just three more songs” exception. Some loyal twin sister she is.

I, on the other hand, had gone straight to the car (Apoptygma Berzerk sounds like a disease I don’t want to catch) and sat in the driver’s seat with the radio turned up (to a much more sensible Katy Perry tune), trying not to cry as I waited for her to finish getting her dance on. I couldn’t believe that only yesterday all I’d been concerned with was whether or not to go all the way. Now I was worried about losing my boyfriend altogether. To a girl who may or may not have devious designs to kill him, nonetheless.

“It’s Jane,” I explain as Rayne slams the car door shut behind her and promptly proceeds to turn off the radio. Not a big Katy Perry fan, my sister. Some random moral stance about pseudo lesbianism practiced solely to get the attention of horny boys. Which is, like, totally whatever. I mean, I just think her tunes are catchy.

“I thought we talked about this, Sun,” Rayne says, sounding a bit out of breath and more than a bit exasperated. “Magnus loves you. It’s so obvious.”

“Then why doesn’t he want me to come to Vegas with him?”

Rayne’s eyes light up. “Vegas?” she questions. “What about Vegas?”

“You know, that big vampire consortium thing they’re having this week. Where all the coven leaders meet to discuss world events or whatever.”

“They’re having it in Vegas?” Rayne cries.

“Yeah.” I look over at her. “Didn’t Jareth tell you?”

“He mentioned the consortium thingy a while back, but he’s not going. Has some overseas business to take care of for the coven.” Jareth had been reinstated to his post as Magnus’s general once he got his vampire powers back and he’s been working like mad ever since, trying to make up for lost time, I guess.

“He never said it was in Las Vegas though!” Rayne’s eyes shine. “I love Vegas. All those neon lights and tacky tourists. All those hopes and dreams and big-stakes poker games. Not to mention there are Elvis’s everywhere. In fact, I think you can even get married by Elvis in Vegas. Could you imagine getting married by Elvis? That would seriously be the best wedding ever. Not that I necessarily want to get married. But if I did, it’d definitely rock to have Elvis as my minister.”

Really, sometimes I think the girl has a serious case of undiagnosed ADD. “You’re missing the point here,” I say, interrupting her Vegas visions of grandeur.

“Which is . . . ?”

“He’s taking Jane with him. To Vegas. And they’re going to have some big ceremony where he’s going to make her his blood mate in front of all the coven leaders in the world. It’s like this close to being a wedding.”

“Ooh! Maybe they could have a vampire Elvis preside over the ceremony. There’s got to be a vampire Elvis or two, right? In fact, maybe the real-life Elvis is now a vampire. That could be why people still see him every now and then in the frozen foods section of their local grocery stores.”

“I swear to God, Rayne . . .”

She laughs. “Okay, okay. Jeez, I was just trying to cheer you up.” She pats my arm in her patented patronizing manner that I hate. “So he’s going to get hitched in Vegas. What does it matter? I mean, he’s going to do it somewhere and, hey, at least if he’s there you don’t have to watch, right?”

“If you’d just listen to me for one tiny minute . . .”

“Sorry. I’m all ears.”

“Jane’s a fake. A big, fat fake. I asked her a question about Oxford—the school she claims to have gotten her degree at—and she knows nothing about it. Not to mention she seems to think Latinas speak Latin . . .”

Rayne raises an eyebrow. “Oh-kay then.”

“And if she’s lying about going to Oxford,” I continue, “I can only wonder what else she could be lying about. What if Jane’s not who they think she is? She could do serious harm to the Blood Coven if installed as Magnus’s right-hand girl.”

“Hmm,” Rayne muses. “You have a point.” Thank God she’s finally taking me seriously. “Did you talk to Magnus about what you found out?”

“Yeah. But he just thinks I’m jealous. Which is completely ridiculous.”

Rayne gives me a pointed look.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I am a teensy-weensy bit jealous. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” I remind her. Just ’cause I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me. “Anyway, originally I was going to spend some time this week investigating her. You know, find out the four-one-one and all that. Gather some more evidence so he’ll take me seriously. But then I found out they’re leaving for Vegas tomorrow. And I can’t exactly figure out what she’s up to if she’s all the way out in Vegas.” I sigh, slouching down in my seat, suddenly weary and depressed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, that’s easy, sis. We go to Vegas, too!”

Leave it to Rayne to make it sound so simple. “I asked Magnus, but he said I couldn’t go with him. He said I would be bored.”

“Well, you don’t have to tell him, do you? We’ll just buy airline tickets and fly out there ourselves. In fact, maybe it’s better if Jane doesn’t know you’re coming. After all, she’s got to know you’re suspicious of her at this point. This way she’ll think she’s home free and won’t try to hide her true colors as much.”

“That’s all well and good, but what about a little woman living in our house named Mom?” I ask. “She’s not exactly going to let us just jet off to Vegas by ourselves.”

“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny,” Rayne says, again with the patronizing voice. She really needs to cut that out. “Don’t you get it? We’ll play the Dad card.”

I turn to her, impressed. It’s brilliant. Inspired! Why didn’t I think of that?

When our parents broke up four years ago, Dad took off with his secretary to Vegas. (Cliché, I know!) And he still lives there, in an apartment with the secretary (now wife) and two stepsibling types. Mom always feels super guilty about the fact that we never get to see him and would pretty much do anything to improve our relationship with him, including sending us out for an impromptu visit if we so requested.

“When Dad came here on our last birthday he said we should come out and hang with him in Vegas,” Rayne says. “He has an apartment right on the Strip so we wouldn’t even need a car.”

“We’ll miss a few days of school . . .”

“We can get our homework in advance and do it on the plane,” Rayne says, her eyes shining her enthusiasm. “We can even tell our teachers we’ll do a special assignment and write about our trip or something. Since it’s for family, they have to say yes. I think that’s even like the law or something.”

I’m not sure this is the case, but it doesn’t matter. We have a plan. A beautiful plan and I have hope once again that maybe things will turn out okay. I smile at Rayne, feeling tears mist my eyes. For all my bitching, she really is a good sister when it counts. Loyal, devoted, and true. What would I do without her?

“Thanks, Rayne,” I say. “It means a lot that you believe me about Jane and want to help expose her.”

Rayne snorts. “Oh, I don’t believe you for one millisecond,” she replies. “I think Jane’s perfectly harmless and you’re just jealous. But hey, I’m dying to go to Vegas. And if this is the excuse you need to make it happen, then let’s go investigate Jane.”

I sigh. So much for sisterly devotion. But I guess in this case the ends justify the means. Rayne gets to party in the city of sin and I get to find out if my boyfriend’s blood mate is actually a sinner.

Viva Las Vegas.

7

Even taking into consideration the DG (divorce guilt) factor, Mom is surprisingly amenable to us jetting off to Vegas last minute on a school week. In fact, she actually says it’s a really good idea. (Who would have thought?!) David seconds the motion, which is less surprising. After all, Slayer Inc. has a vested interest in keeping an eye on what goes down at the consortium and what better way to do so but to send the slayer herself down there to spy? (Not to mention, Rayne reminds me, it gives him a week of alone time to bonk Mom’s brains out. Ew.) He even has some spare frequent flyer tickets—first class!—to fly us out in style. Sweet!

So after a luxurious plane ride with hot towels, a real meal with actual silverware, and all the Diet Cokes I can drink, we land at the Vegas airport. Which, I’m surprised to learn, has actual slot machines right in the terminal. As we wait for our bags, Rayne throws a quarter in one of them and not two seconds later, the machine spits out a receipt worth twenty bucks.

“Oh my God! I love Vegas!” she squeals, jumping up and down, her newfound riches in hand.

“Well, don’t forget, we’re not here to have fun,” I remind her as I yank her ridiculously heavy suitcase off the conveyer belt without any help. (What did she pack in here, rocks?) “We’re here to save the Blood Coven.”

“I know, I know,” she replies, still staring down at her golden ticket. “And now we have the cab fare to do so. Well, at least one way.” She glances over at the glittery slot machine that had gifted her the twenty. “Maybe I could try to double our money . . .”

Oh geez. I dive for her second bag off the carousel, wondering if maybe I should have come to Vegas alone.

With traffic, the cab ride from the airport to Dad’s apartment takes about twenty minutes. We watch out the window as we enter a desert oasis of flashing neon lights, carnival-like rides, and high-rise hotels. The Vegas Strip. Sin City here we are.

It’s a den of iniquity. But it’s also Disney World. Billboards featuring scantily clad women cling to every available surface, while a roller coaster rushes screaming children through its loop -de-loop. There’s a Sphinx-guarded pyramid, a colorful medieval castle, a half-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower. The strip is a canopy of light and sound and it’s packed with people wandering the streets. Some looking for that next lucky game, others for an amusing show or a hot club, still others for just a pretty girl to chat up. The excitement in the air is intoxicating and I almost wish we weren’t here on important business and could just enjoy the madness.

The cabdriver takes a right turn immediately after passing the elegant Wynn Hotel and pulls into the circular driveway of a steel and glass high-rise apartment building called The Tower. I glance down at the directions I printed out. Sure enough, this is it. Nice digs, Dad.

“Are you nervous?” I ask my sister as I pay the driver. (Back at the airport Rayne had inserted her “cab fare” ticket back into the “lucky machine” and subsequently lost all of it, including her original quarter.) “About seeing Dad I mean.”

“Not about seeing Dad necessarily,” Rayne says as she steps out of the cab and heads to the trunk to retrieve her luggage. “More about meeting the new family.”

Good point. We’d never met the woman who Dad left Mom for. Or our stepsiblings for that matter. What would they be like? I guess we’d be finding out very, very soon.

A blast of hot air hits me square in the face as the taxi pulls out of the driveway and back onto the Strip. It’s got to be at least a hundred degrees out here—a far cry from the typical forty-degree weather we’ve been having back in Massachusetts. I’ve only been outside for like two seconds and already I’m soaked to the skin.

Rayne, on the other hand, looks cool as a cucumber as she effortlessly walks her two heavy suitcases to the front doors of the building. She doesn’t even have any sweat stains under her arms and she’s wearing a black wool sweater, for goodness’ sake! Damn vampires. Lucky for her, she’s mutated, allowing her to endure the hot sun. Otherwise the girl would be quite the crispy critter right about now. Though I do notice, to my secret satisfaction, that her pristine white and black Goth makeup is looking a bit melty.

The front doors slide open and a portly porter steps out, hotel cart in tow. He smiles at us and asks if we’d like him to take our bags up to the suite. Nice. I could get used to this Vegas hospitality. We stack the bags onto the cart and follow him into the lobby.

A blast of welcome air-conditioning greets us the second we step inside, instantly dropping my body temperature to a non-fatal level, thank God. I look around the luxurious lobby, drawing in a breath. Beyond sweet—it reminds me of the Polynesian Hotel down at Disney World in Florida. A lush, colorful jungle, complete with four-story waterfall, cascading down into the lobby, misting my sweaty arms with cool droplets of water. Red and green parrots perch on branches, squawking merrily in greeting and golden koi swim up to the edge of the pool, puckering their lips with wordless pleas for fish food.

“Wow, Mom might want to consider upping our child support payments,” Rayne remarks with a low whistle. “Dad’s evidently been winning at the slots.”

“No kidding,” I reply, taking in all the luxury. “I wonder how much a pad in a place like this goes for.”

“Studios start at five-hundred grand.”

We whirl around at the voice and come face-to-face with a skinny, bleached-blond teen girl, dressed in ridiculously short shorts and a low-cut pink tank top designed to showcase her probably store-bought boobs. She’s got green eyes, white skin, puffy pink lips, and an expression that says she wants us to know she’s bored as hell. Snapping her gum loudly, she gives us what can only be described as a disapproving once-over.

“Are you, like, Sunshine and Rayne?” she asks, as if she couldn’t be less interested in our replies. I notice my sister glaring back at her, so I decide to jump in before she can open her mouth.

“That’s us,” I say brightly, trying to diffuse the tension. “You can call me Sunny, actually. Everyone does.”

“Sunny,” she repeats with a small snort. “How adorable.” She turns to my sister. “And should I call you Rain-eee?” she asks, in the most condescending voice.

“Only if you want permanent damage to those pearly white teeth of yours,” Rayne replies sweetly, not missing a beat. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

The girl sniffs. “I’m Crystal. Your stepsister.”

Rayne and I exchange looks. This was our stepsister? The girl who got to have access to our father 24/7 while we sat back in Massachusetts, praying the man who gave us life would remember to stuff five bucks in an envelope and mail it in time for Christmas?

“Crystal,” I cry, deciding to make the best of it. “Ohmigod, it’s so great to meet you.” I throw my arms around her and give her a big hug. (After all, we’re practically related, right?) But her body is bony and stiff and, while she allows the hug to be given, she doesn’t exactly reciprocate. It seems our stepsister isn’t completely thrilled about us descending on her turf. Which is understandable, I suppose. It’s a weird situation for all of us. Hopefully she’ll loosen up once we get to know her.

“Yeah, great,” Rayne repeats woodenly, not even attempting to pretend there’s really anything great about it. “Like, totally awesome.”

Crystal narrows her eyes and shoots my sister a death look, then turns back to me. “You ready to go upstairs?” she asks. “I think Alejandro already took up your bags.”

“Sure. Lead the way.”

“Actually I think I’m just going to stay in a hotel,” Rayne says suddenly. “That Wynn place looked pretty nice. I bet they have some rooms available.”

“Yeah, at like five hundred dollars a night,” Crystal says in a smug voice.

“That’s what credit cards are for.”

“Rayne!” I admonish, elbowing her in the ribs.

“What? I’m just saying I think it might be nicer in a hotel. I mean, they probably have those white fluffy robes and you know I’m a sucker for those. Not to mention room service. There’s not going to be any room service in this place, right?”

“Oh my God, please don’t start. Just come upstairs, okay?” God, she is so impossible sometimes. The queen of cutting off her nose to spite her face. I mean, room service indeed. The girl’s a freaking vampire. She doesn’t even eat.

Rayne’s silent for a moment, her eyes squinty and mad. I give her my best pleading look, praying for the tiniest shred of reason to surface. I know Crystal’s not exactly the type of girl you’d always dreamed of to be your stepsister, but at the end of the day, we’re here to see Dad, not her. And it’d be pretty stupid to let her snotty attitude ruin that for us.

Finally, Rayne lets out a frustrated breath and shakes her head. “Yeah, whatever. Lead the way, I guess.”

Crystal rolls her eyes, then takes us down the hallway, stopping in front of a bank of copper-colored elevators. She presses the UP button and a moment later one of the doors slides silently open. We step in and Crystal hits the PH button. So Dad lives in the penthouse. Maybe Rayne’s right about that whole child support thing . . .

“I can’t wait to see Dad, can you?” I whisper to my sister, trying to coax her into a better mood. I know girls like Crystal piss her off royally, but she really needs to learn to control that temper of hers and not let stupid people ruin her day. After all, we’re in Vegas, baby! And we’re about to see our father, who we haven’t seen since our birthday last spring. Nothing should be able to bring us down.

Rayne grants me a small smile. She likes to pretend she doesn’t care about the whole Dad thing—that she’s too cool for all that family drama—but I know deep down she misses our father just as much as I do, if not more so.

“Yeah,” she admits. “It’ll be good to see him.”

“See who?” Crystal interjects.

“Our father. You know, the guy who owns the penthouse you’re squatting in?” Rayne replies before I can speak.

“Oh. Um, he’s actually not here. He was called away on business and left this morning.” Crystal shrugs. “I don’t think he’s coming back for at least a week or so.”

“Wait, what?” Rayne cries, losing her cool before she can stop herself. “Are you effing kidding me? He’s not here?”

“Nope.” Crystal smiles smugly. “He said to say hi though. And to give his love and all that.”

I know I should say something—something to calm Rayne down before she goes off the deep end, but the lump in my throat makes it impossible to speak.

This is so typical. So damn typical. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. Let’s just say our dad isn’t exactly the most devoted parent on the planet. He never calls and when he does he’s always making promises that he can never seem to keep. The only reason we saw him last spring on our birthday was because Jareth wrote to him and told him Rayne was dying of a blood virus. Still, you’d think he’d at least have the courtesy to stick around for at least a day or two when he heard his daughters were flying more than two thousand miles across the country to meet up with him.

I glance over at my sister. She’s actually looking more composed than I thought she would. Which is maybe even more worrying. Angry Rayne I can calm down. The Rayne that pushes the hurt deep down inside is more of a problem. Mainly because all that anger and pain eventually starts bubbling up inside of her until she becomes a powder keg, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. Recently her temper almost cost her her relationship with Jareth. And that would have been a true tragedy, because they love each other so much.

The elevator door slides open at the twenty-seventh floor of the building. We follow Crystal down the hallway and she stops in front of a nondescript door labeled PH17. She flashes a small card key at the reader and the LED light blinks green. The door swings open and we step into a light, airy apartment with floor-to-ceiling windows.

I let out a low whistle as I look around. The place is incredible. Decorated totally in white, with the most modern-styled furniture I’ve ever seen. Instead of a regular couch, there’s a white leather bench kind of thing and a chaise lounge made of a material that’s suspiciously similar to seventies shag carpeting. A collection of multi-height glass-and-chrome tables sit nestled between them and the pièce de résistance—a ginormous flat-screen television—takes up the entire west wall. (I’m not so much on the modern furniture, but that TV is damn impressive.)

A woman who appears to be in her early forties sits in the middle of the room, her body contorted into some sort of complicated Yoga position. She’s wearing very little—white bra, short terry-cloth shorts—but with a body like hers I might not bother with clothes either. Her legs are long and tanned and you could bounce a quarter off her taut stomach. Her hair is chopped short, in a blond pixie cut.

This is our stepmother? The woman that Dad left our beautiful, barefoot, hippie earth mother for? I think about Mom and her soft curves, long curly hair, and flowing skirts. This woman is definitely the anti-mom.

She squeals as she sees us, untangling her limbs and bouncing up to her feet. Before I’m even quite sure what’s going on, I find myself wrapped in her arms. I have to admit, for someone who was just working out, she smells nice—like vanilla ice cream. I, on the other hand, likely smell like an Olympic gymnast on the day she forgot her deodorant.

“Rayne! Sunny!” she cries, her enthusiasm rivaling that of a cheerleader on crack. “It’s so great to see you!” Her skin is a bit leathery (from too much sun) and her lips puffy (from too much collagen?). She plants kisses on both my cheeks, then moves on to Rayne.

Having received more warning than I had, Rayne sticks out her hand before our stepmother can hug her and the two awkwardly shake instead. I rub my cheeks, trying to get rid of the lip gloss stickiness she left behind.

“Um, great to meet you, too, Mrs. . . .” I trail off, not sure how to address her. (Besides HWB—Homewrecking Bitch—of course, which was what we call her at home.) Did she take my dad’s last name? Is she a McDonald? Do Rayne and I actually share a last name with HWB? “Mrs. McDonald?”

Our stepmother laughs. “Oh, please. Call me Heather. Mrs. McDonald sounds like my mother.”

Actually it sounds like our mother. Who got the name first, I might mention.

Heather claps her hands together. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you girls, I can’t even begin to tell you.”

“So where the hell is Dad?” Rayne demands, evidently not in the mood to play stepfamily reunion.

Heather’s face fell. “Sorry girls,” she says. “Your father got called away on an emergency business trip this morning. I’m not sure when he’ll be back” She looks at us sympathetically. “Sucks, I know. You were probably excited to see him.”

I can see Rayne struggling to keep her composure. There’s nothing the girl hates more than pity. “I don’t give a damn,” she declares. “I only came for the slots. In fact, I think I hear them calling my name.”

“Well, before you answer that call, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Heather says. She turns to face the hallway. “Stormy! Come out here!”

Rayne shoots me a surprised look. I shrug. A dog maybe? A cat?

But a moment later a skinny tween girl with thick glasses and two messy blond braids pads into the living room. She’s barefoot and wearing baggy jeans and a T-shirt that reads Leave Me Alone (to which she’s added, with permanent marker, Yes, Mom, This DOES Mean You). She’s got her head down in her Nintendo DS and doesn’t look up from her game.

“Stormy, put down the video game and meet your sisters,” Heather orders.

“I’m right in the middle of a battle,” the girl—Stormy?—argues. She sounds like Rayne.

“One of these days I’m going to throw that thing in the trash,” Heather mutters. Then she turns to us, her face all apologies. “Sorry about that,” she says. “She’s just going through a stage. Always has her face buried in a computer or video game. We’re hoping she’ll grow out of it when she starts high school.”

Rayne ignores Heather and, to my surprise, gets down on her knees next to Stormy. She squints at the game screen, then her face lights up in recognition. “I love Final Fantasy,” she tells the girl. “I just got the latest one for my PS3. It’s freaking awesome.”

Stormy looks up for the first time since entering the room. “Really?” she asks, her big brown eyes shining. “I want a PS3 so bad. But Mom . . .” She shoots her mother the kind of disdainful look only daughters can master. “ . . . .won’t get me one.”

“Because you already have an X-Box, a Wii, and a PlayStation 2,” Heather reminds her.

“Don’t worry,” Rayne says. “My mom doesn’t like me playing video games either. But eventually you’ll grow up and be able to buy your own console and she won’t be able to stop you.”

Stormy giggles. “Yeah,” she cries, smiling up at Rayne. “That’ll be awesome.” She sets down the DS on one of the nesting tables and holds out her hand. She’s got chipped black fingernail polish on her nails. “I’m Stormy,” she says. “You must be my sister. Are you Rayne or Sunshine?”

“I’m Rayne and she’s Sunny,” my sister replies, pointing up at me. “Nice to meet you, stepsister Stormy.”

“Half-sister,” Stormy corrects. Rayne freezes, mid-handshake.

“What?”

I look over at our stepmom. She shrugs. “Actually Stormy is correct,” she says. “You guys have the same father. Uh, didn’t you know that?”

Oh my God. I look at Rayne in shock, calculations whirring through my head. Stormy looks about eleven years old. Dad and Mom only got divorced a little more than four years ago . . .

You don’t need to be a genius to do the math on that one.

Suddenly I feel sick to my stomach. No wonder Dad’s always been evasive about his family out here. Does Mom even know about Stormy? And . . . that name! Sunshine, Rayne, and Stormy. He even named her like one of us. Has he no shame at all?

Rayne drops Stormy’s hand like a hot potato and rises to her feet, her already pale face now white as a ghost. Stormy looks up at her, an unmistakable hurt look on her face at the obvious dis. Then she grabs her DS and runs down the hall. A moment later a door slams.

The room is silent. Heather stands there, biting her lower lip. Rayne’s looking one step below enraged serial killer. And I . . . well, I’m just wondering if I should go run after Stormy. After all, our parents’ sins are certainly not her fault. She didn’t ask to be born into this mess.

“So, um, are you guys hungry?” Heather asks, hopefully. “I’m not much of a cook, but there’s a great Chinese place just around the corner that delivers. Anyone for some dim sum?”

“I’m not hungry,” Rayne replies through clenched teeth. Of course as a vampire she’s never hungry—at least for human food. But I have a feeling something besides the undeadness is ruining her appetite at the moment. “Can I just go to my room?”

“Of course, dear,” Heather replies, looking more than a little nervous. “You two will be sharing a room with Crystal. It’ll be like a great big girlie sleepover!”

Crystal smiles smugly at Rayne’s look of horror and I have a feeling the experience will be less of a sleepover and more of a visit to one of the lower circles of Dante’s hell if she has anything to do with it. And, seeing as it’s her room, I figure she kind of does.

Rayne looks like she’s about to explode at this point so I decide to interject. Play the peacemaker twin. “Great,” I say, forcing a cheery voice. Believe me, I’m just as upset as Rayne is at the news, but what good does it do to flip out? We’re here in Vegas, more than two thousand miles from home, and we’re stuck here for the time being. Nothing to do but make the best of a bad situation, right? “We really appreciate your hospitality. I think actually we want to go check out the Strip before it gets too late. We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Heather looks relieved and I suddenly realize it must be as hard for her to have us here as it is to be here ourselves. Living reminders of her husband’s past life, invading her home space, without even the husband in question to smooth out the transition. I feel kind of bad for her, actually. Once again, Dad’s irresponsibility ruins the day.

“Okay,” she says. “Have fun. And be careful.” She reaches over and gives me another hug. “I’m really glad you guys are here!”

If only we could say the same.

8

Rayne storms out of the elevator ahead of me, steam practically coming out of her ears as she pushes through the double glass doors of the apartment’s entrance, leaving behind the cool, over-air-conditioned tropical lobby in exchange for the hot, arid desert air. I try to catch up to her and finally am forced to literally grab on to her shoulder to slow her down.

She turns around, her hands squeezed into white fists, her face stormy with rage. “I can’t believe this!” she cries. “He lied to us. All these years. He cheated on Mom and had a kid with that bimbo up there and didn’t even have the guts to tell us about it. After all these years! I mean, we’ve had a baby sister now for eleven years. A baby sister and we didn’t even know about it. What a bastard! An absolute bastard.”

“He probably was afraid you’d react just like you are now,” I venture, not sure why I’m even defending the guy. In truth, I’m pretty pissed myself. But that doesn’t mean we should take it out on the sweet little girl upstairs. Who is, it seems, our own flesh and blood. As I think back on her now, I realize the resemblance is unmistakable. Same blond hair, same big brown eyes. Our very own Mini-Me.

“Sunny, don’t you see? He doesn’t care how I react, he only cares about himself. I mean, he’s not even here. We come more than two thousand miles to visit him and he can’t even be bothered to stay home to greet us.” She shakes her head and I can see she’s trying desperately not to cry. Rayne likes to make like she’s the tough one. Never letting anything bother her. But inside she’s actually the greater marshmallow of the two of us, if you want to know the truth.

“Rayne, we only gave him, like, a day’s notice,” I remind her. “Maybe he really did have a last-minute business trip. And besides, we didn’t really come here to bond with him. That was just the excuse we used to get Mom to say yes, remember? We came to investigate Jane and to make sure she isn’t an evil imposter who plans to kill Magnus and tear apart the Blood Coven.” No matter what’s up with the home life sitch, I’ve got to stay focused on my main objective here. Suss out Evil Jane and bring her down.

Rayne rolls her eyes. “That’s why you came,” she corrects. “I was just humoring you for a chance to drink some booze and play some slots.” She pauses, then adds, “Which I’m thinking of going to do. Right now.”

Oh man. I hate when she gets like this. All self-protective Rayne. She can do more damage to herself in times like this than anyone she’s trying to protect herself from could ever hope to do. I remember a few weeks back she even crashed her own car because she was so angry at David moving in with Mom. Like, yeah, that’ll show them!

If only Jareth were here. He’s the only one ever able to stand up to her when she gets like this. Knock her down a few pegs, talk some sense into her. The guy has the patience of a saint to deal with my crazy sister on a daily basis, let me tell you. Maybe because, as a vampire, he has all the time in the world.

I glance at my watch. Speaking of time, it’s nearly dark and I need to get over to the convention center at the Mandalay Bay Hotel, where the consortium is being held. Time to start spying on Jane.

Of course, now I need to sweet-talk my angry, sullen sister into coming with me.

“Come on, Rayne,” I plead, placing a hand on her arm. “Can’t gambling wait an hour or two? I need you to help me with Jane recon over at the convention center.”

Rayne frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t see why you need me. I mean, isn’t spying easier when you’re solo anyway?”

“Not when it’s a bunch of vampires,” I remind her. “If they catch me without a slayer at my side, I’d be in serious trouble. Do you want me to become someone’s snack?”

She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Sun, I’m sure you’d be fine. After all, you don’t have to be a slayer to slay a vampire. Just make yourself a stake out of a nearby hunk of wood and start stabbing.”

“Oh yeah, ’cause it’s so easy to drive one of those into a vampire’s heart without slayer skills. Are we forgetting about rib cage of steel here?” I remind her.

She considers this. “Well, you could always take to carrying around a blowtorch. They certainly burn easily enough . . .”

I give her a look. She grins, letting me know she’s teasing. “Okay, fine,” she says. “I’ll come with you. But once we see the coast is clear and you’re in no mortal danger, I’m so hitting the tables. We are in Vegas, after all! Gotta win my millions.”

I nod, knowing this is as good as I’m going to get. “Agreed. Let’s grab a cab and head to the Mandalay.”

The hotel is huge, as is, I guess, par for the course here in Las Vegas. Best known for its gigantic water park out back—including an actual wave pool and meandering lazy river—it’s the last resort on the strip and has its own attached convention center. I have the cab drop me off out front, then wander through the smoky, crowded casino on the main floor, the cha-ching of slot machines sound-tracking my journey. Buxom waitresses in low-cut leotards (what, no bunny ears?) walk by me with trays filled with colorful cocktails and every now and then I hear a clanging bell, followed by the ecstatic cheer of a slot machine winner.

We exit into a hallway, connecting the club and convention center. It’s a mini-mall, flanked with restaurants and clubs, including one called Rumjungle with an actual in-club waterfall cascading down from the ceiling. I have to admit, the whole setup is pretty sweet and if I wasn’t on such a life-and-death mission, I’d definitely enjoy checking the place out more thoroughly.

On the convention side of things, it’s decidedly quieter, with only a few businessmen, dressed in suits, dashing past me in a desperate attempt to get to their dinner meetings on time. We ride the escalators to the second floor where we come across a sign: COVEN CONSORTIUM. We’ve arrived.

Unlike most of the other conventions held here, the Coven Consortium has only rented out their meeting rooms for evening sessions, seeing as the majority of their members are fast asleep in their hotel rooms for most of the day. Which actually, now that I think of it, isn’t that different than your average Vegas attendee. Except for the fact the consortium members are actually sleeping in red velvet-lined coffins they’d had Fed Exed over the night before.

“Okay, I think we should get into costume,” I tell my sister. After all, we don’t want someone to recognize us and tell Magnus we’re here.

“Don’t you think that’s a little overkill?” Rayne asks, giving me a skeptical look.

“No. I don’t. And I’d appreciate it if you take this seriously,” I tell her. “These are vampires, you know. And some of them very well might be evil.”

Rayne looks unconvinced, so I add, “I brought you the purple wig . . .”

She grins. It’s her favorite, I know. “Well, in that case, let’s go Cosplay.”

We head into the bathroom and I rummage through my bag, pulling out our wigs. They’re not the most subtle choices, of course, hers being the aforementioned purple and mine a fluorescent pink. But it’s Vegas, right? Anything goes.

I hand Rayne her wig and shove mine on my head. Then I add a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses I found on David’s nightstand. Perfect. I glance in the mirror. Now we’re completely disguised and will be able to spy to our hearts’ content without anyone even having a chance of recognizing us.

“Sunny, Rayne?”

Huh? We whirl around, realizing too late that Magnus’s blond, bitchy secretary (who’s a ringer for Marcia Brady) has entered the bathroom and is currently giving us a snotty once-over. Hmm. Guess our disguises aren’t as foolproof as I’d hoped they’d be . . .

“What are you guys doing here? And with those crazy wigs!” She shakes her head. “Is that what passes for fashion in the mortal world these days? God, I’m glad I’m a vampire.”

Lovely. There have to be at least three hundred vampires at this consortium and we have to run into the one I like least of all first thing. The one who, I might add, would happily cut in line to be the first to sell me out to her boss. If I don’t do something quick, Magnus is going to know I’m in Vegas in three seconds flat.

Think, Sunny! My mind races desperately, trying to come up with a plan. Something—anything to distract her from telling on me. But I’m completely coming up blank. I glance over at my sister, praying for Rayne’s intervention.

“Oh, Marcia, I’m so glad we’ve found you!” Rayne suddenly cries, throwing her arms around Marcia and pulling her into a huge hug. She’s stiff as a board and when my sister pulls away she’s wearing a very annoyed and confused expression on her face.

“You were looking for me?” she repeats skeptically.

“Why yes,” Rayne says, nodding her head so vigorously she has to straighten her wig afterward. “Well, technically Magnus is. Evidently he left some really important papers back in his hotel room. Stuff he desperately needs for his next meeting.”

“Oh!” Her eyes widen with concern. I smile smugly, liking my sister’s plan already. If I know one thing about Marcia it’s that she’s obsessed with Magnus and would do anything to help him. Then she narrows her eyes suspiciously. “So why doesn’t he just go get them?” she asks. “After all, they’re just an elevator ride away.”

Good point. Damn. But Rayne wasn’t giving up. “Oh please,” she says, shooting her a disdainful look. “Do you have any idea how crazed Lord Magnus is tonight? His schedule is jam-packed. He doesn’t have time to run errands. That’s why he has a secretary to begin with.”

“Executive assistant,” she corrects. As if there’s a difference. And what’s Rayne’s plan here, anyway?

“Will you go get his papers, Marcia?” Rayne asks, eyes wide and pleading. “I mean, I’d have Sunny go, but she’d just mess everything up—being a dumb, silly human and all.”

I bristle a little at that last statement, but remind myself it’s for a good cause.

“Of course,” Marcia says, straightening her shoulders with pride. “The last thing Lord Magnus needs is for you two clowns to be rummaging around his things. I’ll go and deliver his papers to him. You can go back to playing slots or whatever it is you’re wasting time doing here.”

“Do you know the room number?” Rayne asks sweetly.

She gives me a smug look. “Room twenty-one-forty-three, of course,” she sniffs. “Lord Magnus tells me everything.”

“Of course he does,” Rayne agrees, smiling patronizingly. “And he’s given you a key to get in?”

She rolls her eyes. “Please. I’m a vampire. I don’t need a key to break these pathetic mortal locks.”

“Perfect.” Rayne beams at her. “Well, you’d better get going then.”

“Indeed.” And with that, she turns and sprints down the hallway, all vamp on a mission.

Rayne turns to me with a grin on her face. “There. She won’t be troubling us for a while.”

“But she’s just running up to get some paperwork,” I remind her. “Then she’ll be back downstairs to let Magnus know we’re in town.” I didn’t want to criticize Rayne’s plan, but it did seem a bit short-sighted to tell the truth.

“Quiet, oh sister of little faith.” Rayne pulls her cell phone from her purse and dials a number. “Yes, this is Room twenty-one-forty-two,” she says into the phone. “I believe someone’s breaking in to the room next door. You might want to call the cops or something.”

I stare at her as she hangs up. She grins at me, a smug look on her face and pulls a wallet out of her pocket. Marcia’s wallet. She must have stolen it out of her bag during that big, friendly hug.

“Breaking-and-entering with no ID to speak of . . . that ought to send her to a Vegas jail for a few hours at the very least. Sure, she might try to call Magnus to bail her out, but he’ll be in meetings all night. With his cell turned off.” She nods at me, triumphant. “Am I good or what?”

I hesitate. “Good in the short term,” I say carefully. “But she’s eventually going to get out. And then she’s going to tell Magnus what we did. And we’ll be in more trouble then than we’d be if she just told him she happened to see us.”

“Well, you’ll just have to work a little quicker then,” Rayne says with a scowl, evidently displeased that I’m not gushing over her oh-so-clever act.

“I know but . . .” I try to rationalize without making her angry. “I was sort of hoping to have at least until Friday. That’s when the biting ceremony is.”

“I see. Well, I’m so sorry I screwed up your perfect investigation schedule,” Rayne retorts. Oh great, now she’s going into defensive mode again.

“Rayne, come on. You know I appreciate what you’re doing. It’s just—”

“Whatev,” she says, taking off her wig and handing it back to me. “If you have a better plan, I suggest you start implementing it. I, on the other hand, am heading down to the slots.”

A half hour and a quick costume change later, I’m once again wandering through the Mandalay Bay convention center, this time alone. At least now I’m positive no secretaries or anyone else related to the Blood Coven will recognize me. Mainly because I swung by the Hustler store and found a Vegas showgirl costume, complete with feathered hairpiece. I look absolutely ridiculous, I’m sure. But, hey, when in Vegas do what the . . . Vegans? Vegasites? Vegasers? do, right?

I find the check-in booth for the consortium and casually grab a schedule off the table. Looks like there are several different sessions going on now. A panel discussing whether or not blood donors should be allowed to form unions. A team-building workshop where participants are asked to walk over a bed of hot crosses. A demo from VampCovenz.com showcasing their latest high-tech coffin security system dubbed “Who Let the Bats Out?” And a Coven Masters round table on what to do about the growing issue of unlicensed, unaffiliated covens popping up around the world. Covens that do not, the brochure explains, follow the consortium charter (which usually means their vamps are all munching on the necks of random peeps, rather than consenting blood donors).

While the cross-walking thing sounds pretty cool (how do they keep their feet from catching fire?) I decide my best bet to find Magnus and Jane is at the round table. I know the unlicensed coven thing is a hot issue with my boyfriend after the evil Maverick attempted to poison his coven last year. Jane would probably be decidedly less interested, but I’m sure she’s glued to Magnus’s side regardless.

I head down the hallway to Room 23B, where the round table is happening. Luckily, they’ve left the meeting room door ajar, allowing me to peek inside without making my presence known. Sure enough, Magnus is there, dressed in a very delectable black suit, his long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. At his right sits Jane, looking more than a little bored. Gone are her trashy clothes—today she looks like she stepped right out of a Banana Republic window display. Her badly dyed red hair is pulled back into a severe bun and her formerly dangly disco ball earrings have been replaced by sensible studs. She looks the part of an Oxford-educated, political mastermind, blood-mate-to-be, which only serves to annoy me further.

I watch as she whispers something in my boyfriend’s ear and he laughs. Laughs! As if he’s having a great time. A great time without me. A great time without me with a girl who isn’t supposed to take my place. My heart aches as I watch her paw at his shoulder with those fake fingernails of hers. (The pink bats are long gone, replaced by a sensible French manicure.) It takes everything inside of me not to barge into the room and claw her throat out for touching my boyfriend like that. Of course he’s not guiltless either—allowing her to do it, thinking I’m safe and sound back in suburban Massachusetts and won’t ever know.

“Excuse me?” She raises a hand. The round table leader gestures for her to speak. “Um, yeah,” she says. “I was just, um, wondering why we don’t legalize all the unlicensed covens? I mean, they’re already here, after all.”

“Maybe you’ve never seen an unlicensed coven,” sniffs a tuxedoed vampire from across the table. “Their ways can be barbaric. They kill dogs, cats, children, all to feed their bloodlust. By accepting them into our midst, we’d be condoning that sort of behavior, which we would never do.”

“Indeed,” adds a woman with bright red lipstick and jet-black hair to his left. “What would Slayer Inc. do if they learned we allowed such vampires into our inner circles? They’d go on the offensive and our tenuous peace would be broken forever. I don’t think anyone here wants that.”

Jane frowns. “You’re totally generalizing,” she says. “Just because they’re unlicensed doesn’t mean they’re all a bunch of child chompers. They may simply be vamps, unable to buy their way into a coven, bonding together for safety purposes.”

“We also don’t need to take on a bunch of charity case vampires,” interrupts tuxedo vamp haughtily. “We have enough problems without instating a welfare system within the consortium.”

A bunch of the vampires at the table titter. I smile. Take that, Jane! No one cares about your opinion.

“Actually Jane has a point,” Magnus interrupts.

Except evidently my boyfriend, that is. Sigh.

All eyes are now on Magnus. He clears his throat and then speaks. “I recently allowed a group of unlicensed vampires to apply to become members of my coven,” he explains. “They had been working as biters at the illegal Blood Bar downtown—abused by their tyrant employer. They were extremely grateful for the chance to join a coven and, I have to say, have adjusted very well to coven life. In fact, I’ve put one of them, a former bouncer named Francis, in charge of security and he does a fantastic job.” He looks at Jane and smiles. (Yes, smiles! Like he’s giving her all the credit for this move, when I know very well it was Rayne and Jareth who talked him into doing the whole open-door policy thing to begin with.) “There is no segregation at the Blood Coven and we like it that way.”

I feel a sickening jealousy crush down on me at his careless use of the word “we” when referring to the boyfriend-stealing bitch beside him. How dare he refer to himself and Jane as a “we”—that’s our pronoun. I’m so mad it’s all I can do to keep from falling over. (Though it’s a distinct possibility this is partially due to the seven-inch platform stripper shoes I’m currently wearing rather than simply my fury.)

The vampires at the table clap respectfully as Magnus yields the floor. A vote is called for, to determine whether the consortium should rule on unlicensed vamps or leave it up to the individual covens. Magnus and Jane smile at one another; they know they’ve won.

And I suddenly realize I’m the one who’s lost. What am I even doing here in Vegas, trying to prove some ridiculous conspiracy theory based entirely on some random college trivia I found off Wikipedia? I mean, what if I’m wrong? What if she actually is who she’s claiming to be—a Rhodes scholar, a political mastermind, a worthy leader looking only to protect and serve the vampires who will fall under her jurisdiction as co-master of the Blood Coven. Why, her expertise could become a real asset to the coven and help them rise to power and wealth beyond imagination, just as Magnus has dreamed of since taking over. Who am I to selfishly try to sabotage all of that goodness simply because I can’t bear to see my boyfriend bonded for eternity to another woman?

I slump into a nearby armchair, discouraged and depressed. In a way I should be happy, right? I mean, it’s not like I want the Blood Coven to be infiltrated by an evil imposter vampire set on its destruction or anything. So if Jane’s on the up and up, that’s a good thing. Sort of. Okay, not really. God, is all of this really just due to plain and simple ugly jealousy on my part? Have I jumped to ridiculous conclusions simply because I can’t deal with the idea of my boyfriend hooking up with someone other than me? After all, the Blood Coven is a highly sophisticated, highly technological organization. Surely, they would have checked out Jane before selecting her and checked her out well. Put her through DNA testing, blood testing, a three-month training course—just like Rayne had to do when she first got certified—before they’d match her up with a blood mate.

The last thing they needed was some stupid high school kid jumping in with her own investigation. What did I think I’d find that they couldn’t?

I’m feeling majorly sorry for myself at this point and decide maybe I’ll go find Rayne and tell her we should just head home to Massachusetts. I don’t belong here in Vegas and, really, there’s nothing left for me to do. Dad’s not even here to make sticking around half worthwhile.

But just as I’m about to punch in my sister’s number on my cell, the meeting room door is pushed open and Jane slips out of the room. She either doesn’t see me or doesn’t recognize me in my showgirl gear as she walks past me, down the red-carpeted hallway in expensive-looking heels. I watch her for a moment, debating what I should do.

Half of me says I need to just look the other way. Forget about her. Go home. Stop wasting time. But the other half, a more curiosity-killed-the-cat half, is telling me I need to follow her to see where she goes.

She turns the corner. Oh what the heck. I rise to my feet. I might as well just follow her one time. Prove to myself that she’s just headed to the ladies’ room and that there’s really, truly nothing nefarious going on here at the consortium conference.

She has a good head start and I’m admittedly more than a bit slow on my platform shoes, so by the time I peer around the corner, Jane’s already pretty far ahead of me. And way past the bathroom, I note. So where is she going? She stops, leaning back on her heels, then turns around. I duck behind the corner, praying she didn’t see me. When I peek back around, a man has approached our Jane. Dressed all in black, he looks like a cowboy from the Old West, complete with ten-gallon hat and a shiny pair of boots. Oh, and did I mention he’s gotta be almost seven feet tall?

He nods to Jane, tipping his hat and says something softly. Damn it, if only I still had that vampire super hearing I used to have when I was turning into a vampire last May. Or at least the Whisper 2000 hearing device I saw on TV. My pathetic human ears are completely useless right now and I can’t hear a thing Jane’s saying to the cowboy. And there’s no way to get closer without being spotted and risk being identified, even with my costume.

All I can do is try to decipher her body language; she’s gesturing wildly and alternating between shaking and nodding her head. Whatever she’s saying, she’s definitely adamant about it, that’s for sure.

The conversation goes on for a few more minutes and then, to my surprise, cowboy man leans down and plants a kiss right smack on Jane’s lips. Not a brotherly one either.

Okay, I’m so confused. Jane has a boyfriend? A boyfriend in Vegas? If she has her own boyfriend why has she been all over mine? Unless, of course, this guy—her boyfriend—is in on her whole evil plan. Maybe she’s just pretending to be all flirty with Magnus so he’ll let his guard down, all while she feeds top-secret coven information to her cowboy lover.

Jane pushes him away and wags her finger at him. This time I can make out her scolding him. “Try to at least be a little subtle,” she says. “After all, we don’t want my little blood-mate-to-be catching us out here.”

Okay then. That means this dude knows about vampires. Not only about vampires, but my vampire in particular. My theory of him being in on her plot is getting more likely by the moment.

Cowboy Man rolls his eyes. “Oh fine,” he says. “Good luck, babe. I’ll see you later tonight.”

She shrugs. “We’ll see if I can break away,” she says. “After all, Magnus needs a lot of attention. If you know what I mean.” She gives him a sly wink and he laughs appreciatively.

I, on the other hand, bristle, not liking for one moment the idea of her giving “attention” to my boyfriend. Especially not the kind of attention one would normally describe with a sly wink.

The two part ways, Jane walking right past me on her way back to the meeting room. (Thank goodness for my disguise!) The cowboy headed in the exact opposite direction, down the escalator toward the convention exit.

For a moment I find myself torn. Should I follow Jane? Make sure the attention she gives Magnus is strictly G-rated? Or should I see where her little friend is going? Try to figure out who he is and if his identity might give me some clue as to what she’s up to?

What would a slayer do?

In the end, I force myself to the escalators to follow the cowboy. It seems like the most logical, big-picture thing to do. After all, if I can’t figure out how to prove Jane is an evil plant set on the coven’s destruction before the blood mate ceremony Friday night, she’ll have an eternity of opportunities to give my boyfriend any kind of “attention” she feels like giving. (Even the NC-17 kind.)

I trail behind as Cowboy exits the Mandalay and slips into a cab. Realizing this may be my once-in-a-lifetime chance to do what they always do in the movies, I jump in the taxi behind him and cry, “Follow that cab!” to the driver. Unfortunately the whole thing is rather anticlimactic when we pull out of the hotel driveway and get stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. A snail could have given chase just as easily. (And for a lot cheaper, judging from the meter ticking upward.) Oh well.

We crawl up the Strip, past the Luxor’s Sphinx and the Excalibur’s castle. We keep going past the New York roller coaster and the waterworks of the Bellagio and are still trailing him past the Stratosphere tower—at the extreme northern end of the Strip. Where is this guy going, anyway? Finally, after about an hour of an extremely slow chase, the guy’s cab pulls off the road, into the circular driveway of a small hotel, very off Strip. Its half burnt-out neon sign identifies it only as THE SUN and its big advertised feature is AC and telephone. Not exactly high-roller digs for Mr. Cowboy. I pay my own cabbie and wait a moment before stepping out and following him inside.

The Hotel Sun is like the anti-Mandalay Bay. Whereas Mandalay Bay has a lush, youthful vibe, complete with waterfalls, tropical foliage, and exotic architecture, the Sun is more the type of casino you go to right before you die. Its décor certainly hasn’t been updated since the seventies—orange and green carpet, old-fashioned crank slot machines that actually spit out real quarters. (It was a shock to me when I first got to Vegas to find out they did away with those at the regular casinos and that now all you get when you win is a slip of paper you have to go cash in, rather than a cup full of cash. Kind of sad if you ask me.) A handful of dumpy-looking, poorly dressed old people sit listlessly in front of the machines, coins in hand, feeding the beast and praying to hit those lucky sevens so they can go back downtown and gamble in style. Judging from the number of junk-filled shopping carts parked outside, I’m guessing more than a few of them are homeless.

But Cowboy doesn’t stop to gamble; he heads straight to the back of the casino, his long strides hard for me to keep up with. As I get closer, I realize there’s actually a theater in the back of the hotel, though who the heck would come all the way up here to see a show, I have no idea. But sure enough, the faded marquee advertises a play—a vampire revue, nonetheless. The kind of song-and-dance number where actors dress up as creatures of the night to entertain any tourists who might need a break from the craps table.

I approach the theater cautiously. At this point I’ve lost sight of Cowboy. Did he go inside? I guess he must have, seeing as there’s nothing else back here. Now what? Did I come all this way just to meet with a dead end?

“Looking to try out? You’re early. Auditions aren’t until tomorrow.”

My heart leaps to my throat at the voice behind me. I whirl around, then let out a sigh of relief as I realize it’s not Cowboy Man, snuck up behind me, ready to kill me and dismember me and feed my bones to the vultures. Rather the voice belongs to a boy who couldn’t be much older than me, leaning casually against the wall, giving me a curious once-over. He’s super cute—though a bit on the emo side—with black razor-cut hair falling into intense green eyes, rimmed with guy-liner. He’s wearing a Straylight Run black hoodie, a pair of skin-tight black jeans plastered to his skinny legs. On his feet are the requisite black Converse and a pair of small silver hoops are threaded through his ears.

“Huh?” I say, then remember what I’m currently wearing. He probably thinks I’m some wannabe showgirl, down on her luck, hoping for a gig. I can feel my face heat, wishing I’d had time to change back into my normal clothes and pull the ridiculous wig off my head. “Oh, no, I’m just thinking about . . . um . . . going to the show. It looks cool.”

He chuckles. “It’s not, actually. Trust me. And even if you were some kind of masochist who still wanted to see it anyway, you can’t. At least not until we replace our leading lady.” I realize, suddenly, that he must be one of the actors. He sighs “We are currently Mina-less here at the Sun Theater ‘Dracula Revue.’”

“Mina-less?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a playbill and hands it to me. I thumb through it, checking out the photos and bios of the actors in the play. Sure enough, Emo Boy is featured as one of the actors, and there’s Dracula, played by Cowboy Man, a few random actors, then Mina, Dracula’s girlfriend . . .

. . . played by a girl who looks a hell of a lot like our Jane.

I do a double take and it’s almost enough to make me trip over my platform shoes all over again. The photo is unmistakably her. But the name listed below the photo is not Jane. It’s a girl named Sasha.

I look up. “Sasha?” I say, realizing my voice is trembling.

The boy nods. “Yup. Girl just up and left the show a few days ago without so much as a good-bye text and we haven’t seen her since. The next show’s supposed to be on Saturday night and we still don’t have a replacement. Kind of getting desperate, let me tell you. In fact, I bet Cornelius would hire just about anyone who was to apply, if you catch my drift.” He winks at me, then adds, “And please do. Because we get paid by the show here and I’m completely broke. If we don’t do Saturday’s performance I have no idea how I’ll come up with my rent money.”

I nod vacantly, my head positively spinning. Jane was here a few days ago, working as an actor for a cheesy, off-Strip Vegas vampire revue? Oxford-educated, Rhodes scholar Jane? It didn’t make any sense. But what other explanation was there? She’d been talking to Cowboy Man and he’d led me here. And the photo in the playbill is unmistakably her.

Something is definitely rotten in Vegas.

“I’m Sunny,” I introduce myself to Emo Boy. I pull off my wig and hold out my hand. He shakes it with a firm grip. I notice his fingernails are painted black. Rayne would like that. Actually I don’t mind it either. For some reason it works on him.

“I’m Jayden,” he says. “One of the vampires here.”

I drop his hand like a hot potato.

He laughs. “An actor playing a vampire, that is.” He smiles at me, a friendly, infectious grin. “Don’t worry, there are no such things as vampires outside of popular teen girl books and silly Vegas revues.”

If only he knew. “I suppose not.” I smile back. “Which is probably for the best. Don’t want you to be all trying to suck my blood or something.”

Jayden starts to reply, but at that moment his pocket starts beeping. He pulls his cell out and scans the screen. “Sorry,” he says, looking back up at me. “Looks like Cornelius just arrived and wants to start rehearsal. I’ve got to get inside.” He sounds almost reluctant and suddenly I realize I’m wishing I could talk to him longer as well. “It was nice to meet you. Hopefully we’ll have a show for you to catch on Saturday.”

He starts toward the door, but I stop him. “Hey, can I keep this playbill?” I ask. After all, this is proof of Jane’s double life. I need to show it to Rayne. “You know, in case I want to . . . come back and audition tomorrow? This way I’ll have all the information.”

He shrugs. “Sure, no problem. We have to print new ones anyway when we get our new Mina. If we get her.” He sighs deeply. “Please consider auditioning,” he says. “You’d be perfect for the role.”

“What is the role, anyway?” I ask curiously.

“Oh, just this virgin girl who accidentally gets bitten by a vampire.”

Yup. Got the resume for that one all right.

9

It’s harder to find a cab this far off the Strip, but eventually I get lucky and am able to hail one over. The driver looks a little suspicious until I tell him I’m headed down to the MGM Grand Hotel, which is, I guess, a nice sensible place for normal suburban teenagers to hang out at when in Vegas. (Unlike Hotel Sun, which seems to have a “degenerates only” door policy.)

Tucking the Dracula show playbill securely under my arm, I settle in my seat and we begin the long drive back to civilization. At this rate I’m going to burn my entire savings account on taxis this trip. But this particular adventure uptown was worth it. I finally have solid evidence that there’s something very wrong about Jane.

I text my sister to let her know I’m on my way. While I’ve been working my ass off to solve this mystery and save the Blood Coven, she’s evidently been hanging at the MGM, ripping it up at the blackjack tables. But maybe she’ll be more on board once she sees the playbill. Sees that I’m not just a crazy jealous girlfriend with paranoid delusions.

The cab drops me off at the hotel, which appears to have stepped off the pages of the Wizard of Oz’s Emerald City. The whole place is striped with neon green. There’s a huge bronze lion—MGM studio’s symbol—guarding the place, which I think is kind of cool.

Stepping into the casino, I find myself engulfed by a sea of light and sound. The place is packed with gamblers—the kind that seem like they can actually afford to lose a few bucks and still have enough money to go out on the town later, unlike the ones at Hotel Sun, who were maybe, possibly gambling away the last pennies of their welfare checks. Sexy cocktail waitresses weave around the tables, balancing trays piled high with cocktails, while meaty pit bosses dressed in tuxedos take in each tourist with watchful eyes.

I scan the gigantic room, no clue where to even start looking for my sister. Guess I’d better start wandering. It takes me ages to even find the blackjack tables and even more time to locate her dyed black head of hair. She’s at a ten-dollar table, surrounded by a crowd of much older men, a huge stack of chips piled in front of her and a big smile on her face.

“Twenty-one, bay-bee!” she cries, high-fiving the greasy-haired guy next to her. “Twenty-one! I’m on fire tonight.” She turns to the cocktail waitress who has approached the table. “Another vodka soda, please.”

“Going well?” I ask, approaching the table once the waitress leaves to fill the orders.

“Oh hells yeah,” she replies, tossing two chips onto the felt circle in front of her. The dealer gives her two cards in return—an eight and six. “I’ve won two hundred bucks tonight.” She takes a handful of chips and starts restacking them one by one.

I look at her skeptically. “And how much did you have to spend to win that?”

She stops stacking. “Um, I don’t remember exactly how much I took out of the ATM . . .”

“Rayne!”

“What?” she asks, defensiveness creeping into her voice. “I just didn’t count it, okay? All I know is I’m ahead. I’m winning, baby! I’m a winner!”

The dealer deals her another king. “Bust,” he says, sweeping her cards and her chips away.

“Winner with a capital W,” I observe.

She scowls. “Dude, you’re totally bad luck,” she scolds me. “Go away. Shoo.”

I stand my ground. “Not until you see what I’ve discovered about Jane.”

“Oh fine.” Rolling her eyes, she turns to her seatmates. “I’m sitting this one out, boys,” she informs them. Oddly they don’t seem that broken up about this information. “Save my seat.” She hops off her stool and drags me a few feet away. “So what?” she asks. “What’s this big find you couldn’t wait to show me?”

I ignore her impatient tone and take my time opening the playbill. Rayne raises an eyebrow as she scans the page. “Um, hate to break it to you, Sun, but these aren’t real vampires,” she says in a patronizing tone. “In fact, I believe they’re . . . actors.” She says “actors” as if she’s trying to explain the meaning of the universe to a dim-witted child and it’s all I can do not to smack her upside the head to get her to take me seriously for once.

“Yeah, thanks. I know they’re actors,” I reply, feeling a bit grouchy. To think I’d been so excited to show her my discovery. “But take a look at this particular actor.” I point to Jane. “Does Sasha here look like anyone you might know?”

She does a double take and I’m pleased to see I now have her full attention. “No way!” she cries, grabbing the playbill to get a closer look. She squints at it for a moment, then looks back up at me. “That’s definitely her. Where the hell did you even get this?”

“The tiniest little theater in a sad, decrepit, off-Strip casino hotel,” I explain.

“Sasha Star. Maybe it’s her actor name?”

“Maybe. But why the heck is she in the play to begin with? She’s supposed to have been straight off the plane from England after receiving her master’s degree. Not to mention I’m guessing most Rhodes scholars don’t star in cheesy Vegas revues in their spare time.”

“I would think not.” Rayne hands the playbill to me. “Have you shown this to Magnus yet?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I wanted to see what you thought first.”

“Hmm.” Rayne considers this for a moment. “Well, maybe you should hang on a little longer,” she decides at last. “I mean, what if there’s a rational explanation?”

“What could possibly be the rational explanation for something like this?”

She looks impatient again. “I don’t know, Sunny,” she replies. “But do you really want to admit to your boyfriend that you followed him to Vegas to spy on him and only have some random playbill to prove you were justified in doing so? What if Jane claims this thing is just Photoshopped? That she’s being framed by some rival coven or long-lost enemy or . . . you . . . even? It’s not like it would be a stretch. I think to really make a case, you need to find out more information, before accusing Jane of anything.

I hate to admit it, but she has a point. I need more than just some playbill that Jane can explain away. I need solid facts. Did she really work for this theater company? If so, why did she quit? Who is Cornelius and why did he come to meet her at the Mandalay Bay? And last, but definitely not least, why does she really want to become Magnus’s blood mate?

I make a decision to continue my investigation. “Well, do you want to maybe come and—” I start to ask.

“Excuse me, Shaniqua?” the dealer calls to Rayne, interrupting me with her fake ID name. “Are you back in? ’Cause if not, you’re going to need to take your chips and give up your seat.”

I wait for Rayne to tell the dealer that it’s okay, she’s hanging with her sister now and she can come back and gamble anytime. But instead, she shoves the playbill at me and practically leaps back into her seat. “Oh, sorry. I’m back,” she chirps. “Hit me.”

I glare at her back. Oh, I’d like to hit her all right. Just not with something as flimsy as a playing card. I mean, what? Was I supposed to be grateful for those five seconds of attention Her Majesty chose to bless me with just now? After all, if it weren’t for me, neither of us would even be here to begin with.

“Aren’t you going to help me at all?” I ask, tapping her on the shoulder. “I mean, I could really use a little assistance in my investigation. And you’re the trained one in this kind of thing. You’re the slayer. I’m kind of helpless without you . . .”

She waves me off, not even turning around. “I will, I will,” she says dismissively. “I just need to get a few games in. This is a hot table and I really need to break even before I leave.”

“Um, I thought you said you were ahead. What about that two hundred dollars in winnings you mentioned?”

“Oh right. Well, gotta spend money to make money. You know how it is.”

In truth, I have no idea “how it is” but decide I’m not going to get anywhere arguing about it. So I give up and walk away without bothering to say good-bye. I doubt she noticed anyway.

I exit the casino with a heavy heart. This is so not how I imagined this trip to be. For some stupid reason, I thought my sister would actually give a damn and help me out. A twin effort like we’ve done in the past. But no. Rayne may be here in body, but she’s completely on another planet in mind and spirit. Looks like I’m on my own for the foreseeable future.

I glance at my watch, realizing it’s late. Like nearly midnight. And unlike some people, I’m not a vampire who can just stay up all night. I decide to head back to the apartment and see about getting some sleep. My investigation can continue tomorrow. I still have two days left before the biting ceremony. And if I don’t sleep now I’ll be useless tomorrow.

I decide to walk up the Strip and save the cab money this time around. The street’s brightly lit and packed with people, many of them extremely loud and intoxicated. Guess they aren’t kidding when they call this place Sin City. As I weave my way through the throng, I consider my next move. My best lead so far is that theater. Maybe I should go back there. Talk to Jayden some more. He was super nice; maybe he could give me some more information about Sasha/Jane.

I arrive at the apartment and ride the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor and approach the apartment door with hesitation. Will everyone be asleep? I should have asked for a spare key. I ponder for a moment, then give a light knock. A moment later my stepmom comes to the door, fully made up and dressed in a hot pink Juicy Couture tracksuit. She smiles widely when she sees me and ushers me inside. An inside, I realize, that smells strongly of delicious Chinese food. My stomach growls in appreciation and I realize I haven’t eaten since the plane. (And let’s face it, the microscopic snack mix you get with two peanuts and a pretzel doesn’t exactly cut it.)

“I wasn’t sure when you’d be back,” Heather says, leading me over to the dining room table. “But I thought you might be hungry.” She gestures to the table, piled high with containers of food. “Care for some vegetarian fried rice?”

My mouth is watering so badly I’m worried I might be drooling. “Absolutely,” I cry, taking a seat at the table. Heather walks over to the kitchen area and pulls a plate down from the cabinet. She walks it over to me. “Veggie fried rice is my total favorite,” I tell her, pulling open the container and digging in.

“I know,” she says, smiling down at me.

I look up, mid-shovel, surprised. “How?”

“She grilled Dad about it for, like, a thousand hours,” Stormy replies, coming out from the hallway, Nintendo DS in hand, as usual. Doesn’t anyone sleep in this house? “What you eat, what you wear, what you like to do. Not to mention she did, like, professional recon on your Facebook and MySpace pages, too.”

“I did not!” Heather protests, her face turning a beet red.

Stormy giggles. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Okay, maybe I asked a few questions. And I might have done a quick Google search,” my stepmom admits, sliding into a seat across from me. “It’s just that I wanted to make sure you girls felt at home here during your stay.”

“Thanks,” I say, remembering too late my mouthful of food.

“That’s really nice of you.” And I mean it. She didn’t have to go through all that trouble for us. But I kind of like that she did. Not that I’d ever tell Rayne. She’d say I was being a total traitor to Mom. But honestly, Heather’s been pretty cool. Nothing like the homewrecking bitch we always imagined her to be.

“Where’s your sister?” Heather asks.

I swallow my food this time before answering. “Last I saw she was at the blackjack tables in the MGM Grand. I wouldn’t wait up.”

“Gambling? She’s not eighteen, is she?”

“Fake ID.”

“Of course.” Heather chuckles. “Silly me. I must be getting old.”

“Duh. You’re, like, ancient,” Stormy says, dipping her chicken in the red sweet-and-sour sauce.

“Thanks, darling daughter of mine.”

“Anytime, mother crone.” Stormy pops the chicken in her mouth with a pleased grin. I can’t help but giggle at their banter.

“Now stop eating and go to bed,” Heather says, poking her playfully. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

“M-om!”

“Don’t Mom me,” Heather scolds. “Child social services would probably take you away if they knew I let you stay up so late to begin with.”

“But don’t you want me to bond with my sister? That’s what you’ve been saying all week.”

I look up, surprised.

Heather sighs. “You’re really determined to embarrass me to death tonight, aren’t you?”

Stormy grins. “Is it working?”

“Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting a pass to stay up. You can bond with Sunny all you want tomorrow, if she’s around.”

She says this completely matter-of-factly, but her words still sting and I’m suddenly feeling super guilty for coming home so late. I mean, this isn’t a hotel—these people have opened up their lives to me without reservation. And it’s certainly not little Stormy’s fault that my dad’s a bastard who never lives up to his promises—heck, he might disappear on her on a regular basis, too, for all I know.

“Don’t worry, Stormy,” I assure her. “We can hang out tomorrow. Maybe make some waffles in the morning?” I look questioningly to Heather. She nods, a relieved look on her face.

“Of course. Stormy loves waffles, don’t you?” she says.

Stormy gives a typical tween too-cool-for-school shrug, but I can tell she’s pleased. She slides down from the table and heads down the hall to her room, shouting good-nights as she goes.

Heather turns back to me, shaking her head fondly. “Sorry about that,” she says. “The kid’s eleven, going on twenty-one.”

I laugh appreciatively. “It’s cool. I mean, she’s cute. And I’ve always wanted a little sister I could teach stuff to.” Unlike the annoying know-it-all one I usually live with.

“Yeah, good luck with Stormy.” Heather snorts. “She’s the one always teaching me stuff. The girl is a freaking whiz on the computer and has pretty much mastered every Trivial Pursuit game in existence. Definitely her father’s daughter, that’s for sure.”

Ugh. Way to accidentally bring up the big elephant in the room. The air between us suddenly is thick with awkwardness. I stare down at my fried rice, no longer very hungry.

“Um, about that . . .” Heather starts hesitantly. “I’m really sorry I blindsided you with that whole half-sister thing earlier. For some reason I just assumed that your mother would have told you. Or your dad even. I can’t believe he didn’t say anything, all these years.”

“He and I don’t talk much,” I mumble, finding myself unable to look up and risk seeing the pity in her eyes. Her father’s daughter . Am I my father’s daughter? Am I like him at all? Or is he more like Rayne? I have no idea. He never stuck around long enough for us to find out.

The warmth has gone out of the room and my hands feel cold as ice.

Heather presses on. “I feel terrible. If I’d known I’d . . .”

“You’d what?” I lash out, whipping my head up, suddenly furious at this homewrecker sitting at the table with me, pretending to be my friend. Pretending she didn’t do the unthinkable, back when I was around Stormy’s age. Stealing away the man who gave me life. Giving him a replacement daughter to make it easier for him to abandon his twins. Hell, I think half the time the guy forgets we even exist. “You’d have broken the news differently? Or maybe passed her off as a stepsister—no relation whatsoever? How would that be better? Nothing can change the fact that she exists in the first place. That my dad cheated on my mom and now there’s a living, breathing proof of his infidelity walking around this house.”

Heather shakes her head slowly. “I know it seems bad,” she says. “But you have to trust me when I say you don’t know the whole story.”

“You’re right. I don’t know the whole story,” I snarl back. “In fact, I don’t even know the first chapter. The freaking prologue even. My whole life no one’s ever bothered to tell me anything. Just that Dad’s gone and he’s probably not coming back.”

“I know,” Heather says. “Believe me, over the years I’ve begged your father to sit you two down and tell you what really happened. To explain why he did what he did. But . . . he’s afraid, I guess.”

“What could he possibly be afraid of?”

She seems to think about this for a moment. “I guess that you won’t understand. And you’ll judge him for doing what he felt he had no choice but to do.”

Okay, now I’m really confused. No choice? There’s always a choice. You either choose to leave—to abandon the family who needs you and never look back—or you choose to stay and be a father to the children you brought into the world. Pretty basic, actually.

Heather’s silent for a moment, as if she’s struggling with something internally. Then she looks up, a sad expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Sun. This isn’t something I feel comfortable talking about. It’s not my place. Your father needs to be the one to tell you the story.”

“Well, we both know that’s not going to happen,” I remind her, feeling the anger well up inside of me all over again. “I mean the guy didn’t even bother to stick around for five seconds after hearing that his two daughters were flying two thousand miles just to see him.”

“He wanted to be here,” Heather insists, now looking extremely distraught. “Believe me, he really wanted to. But he had . . . important business he had to attend to. You have to trust me on this.”

“Yeah. He always does.” I let out a frustrated breath and try to calm myself as much as I can. I want to lash out at her, make her feel as bad inside as I do. But at the same time I know I’m just misdirecting my anger. She’s not the one who abandoned me, after all. In fact, she’s been nothing but kind. Opening her house up to us without question. Taking care of everything we need without complaint. She doesn’t have to do that. We’re not her kids.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take this out on you. I’m just . . . well, the whole thing just makes me a little crazy if you didn’t notice,” I confess.

Heather nods, reaching over and touching my hand with her own. I can’t help but notice how smooth her fingertips are as they lightly stroke my palms. An almost magical touch that provides an instant soothing.

“I know,” she says. “And I understand better than you can imagine. If you ever want to talk, please know I’m here. No matter what it is you have to say.”

I can feel the tears rushing to my eyes now, tears I don’t want her to see fall. I want to tell her I’ll never be ready to talk to her. That she’s an abomination, a whore, a homewrecker, and someone I’ll hate forever. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Can’t bear to see the hurt in her wide blue eyes. I push my chair back and stand up quickly, wanting to get away but not sure where to go.

“Look, I actually have to head out to work now,” Heather says, rising from her own chair as well. “And I won’t be back until morning. So why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight? This way you won’t have to deal with Crystal.” She smiles wryly. “My daughter can be a bit much, especially when you’re not feeling well.”

She’s so nice. If only she were an evil stepmother like from a fairy tale. It’d make it so much easier to hate her. But I nod in agreement, too afraid of how choked my voice will sound if I try to speak. She tells me there are fresh sheets and towels in the linen closet, then grabs her purse and says good-bye. Almost as if she’s purposely trying to give me space. I don’t want to appreciate her gesture as much as I do.

I finish eating and put my plate in the dishwasher, then pack the leftovers into the fridge. When I’m done, I head down the hall, in search of her bedroom. It’s two doors down and decorated in contemporary white, like the rest of the apartment. There’s only one difference.

This room smells like Dad.

I’d recognize his aftershave anywhere. As a kid I used to have him prop me up on the bathroom counter so I could watch him shave, fascinated by every stroke. I’d tell him I wanted to shave, too, which would make him laugh. He’d dab my nose with a dollop of shaving cream and tickle me ’til I begged for mercy.

I collapse on the bed, no longer interested in changing the sheets. I hug my knees and breathe in deeply, inhaling his familiar scent. Even though it should make me mad, mad that he’s not here after he said he would be, it smells comforting and I feel my body give in.

I roll over and feel a lump in my pocket. My cell phone. Pulling it out, I sleepily click through to check for messages. But there are none. None from my high-roller of a sister and none from my boyfriend either. I’m not too surprised about Rayne—she seemed pretty preoccupied at the blackjack table—but it is strange that Magnus hasn’t called. On nights we can’t hang out back home he always calls at eleven p.m. on the dot, to wish me good-night and sweet dreams. Guess he’s too busy tonight, distracted by all those consortium sessions.

Or is it by Jane?

I remember her words to Cowboy Man, about giving Magnus some attention since I’m not around to do it, and the lump returns to my throat once again. First Dad, now Magnus. It seems like no matter what I do I can’t stop the men in my life from abandoning me for other women.

I can’t believe I’d been ready to give up my precious virginity for him. To let him go where no man has gone before. That was a pretty big step for me. A step of faith, of trust, of me opening up to him and saying I believe you love me and won’t hurt me as I’ve been hurt before.

And then she shows up and the next thing I know he’s running off to Vegas to get legally hitched, vampire style. How can he say that’s not a big deal? That I shouldn’t be worried or jealous about Jane?

Why hasn’t he called? According to the schedule I looked at, the convention sessions should be over by now. Did Jane talk him into going dancing with her at Rumjungle or some other hot Vegas club maybe? I try to imagine the scene. Magnus, not the best dancer in the world by any stretch of the imagination, would try to keep the beat as best he can while Jane grinds up against him, her sultry, voluptuous body draped in the barest minimum of gauzy fabric required to skirt public nudity laws (which, let’s face it, in Vegas probably aren’t all that strict).

And what happens next, my cruel imagination wonders. They’ll grow tired of the noise of the club and go somewhere quiet to talk? Like his hotel room, perhaps? I’m sure, unlike me, Jane’s no babe in the woods. She’ll seduce him slowly, pulling him down on the bed and doing to him what I’ve never been able to do myself. She’ll rock his world and he’ll forget my name as he’s screaming out hers.

Yeah, no wonder he forgot to call me. I might forget to call me, too, if I were having the best sex of my life.

I consider calling him myself, but find I can’t bring my fingers to punch in his number. Mostly because I don’t think I can handle the chance that she might answer his phone and tell me he’s in the shower or something and can’t come to the phone.

No! I shake my head. I can’t think like this. I can’t spiral down into a delusionary pit of despair based on some ridiculous wild thoughts. Magnus would never cheat on me. Not with Jane, not with anyone. He’s the best boyfriend ever. Loyal, loving, patient, true. Even if he has been distracted lately . . .

I’m sure there’s a very good explanation for why he didn’t call tonight. Maybe he’s stuck in a session that’s gone over its time. Or he left his cell phone in the room. Or maybe it’s out of batteries or was stolen by a petty thief. There are a million different possibilities for why he didn’t call me that have nothing to do with him hooking up with Jane.

I have to trust him. There’s nothing without trust. And once I figure out who Jane really is—and what her evil game might be—I’ll expose her for the fake she is and save the day. Then Magnus will thank me, grateful tears in his eyes, and he’ll banish Jane from the Blood Coven, never to return.

And then he’ll be mine, all mine. Forever.

10

I sleep surprisingly well, considering all that’s running through my mind, and don’t awake until a cruel burst of bright white light assaults my eyelids the next morning. At first I’m confused—not sure where I am—I’ve been in such a deep sleep. But then I notice the pair of fuzzy dice hanging from a lamp beside me. Ah yes. Vegas. My stepmom and father’s bed to be precise.

And the bringer of the unwanted light? My dear, dear prodigal sister, home from her adventures at long last.

“There you are!” she cries, plopping down on the bed. “I had to wake up both Crystal and Stormy looking for you. And let’s just say our lovely stepsister, Crystal, is not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. Why are you in here, sleeping in the den of sin anyway?”

I glance over at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand. Five A.M. Which is, I suppose, eight A.M. back East where we live. But still not a reasonable time to be woken up on a day you don’t have to go to school.

I rub my eyes and sit up in bed. “Are you just getting in?” I ask, realizing that’s the only explanation to Rayne’s sudden presence. Sure enough, she’s still wearing her clothes from the night before and smells more than a bit ripe. “Were you out all night?”

“Of course. I am a vampire, after all,” Rayne replies in a completely unwarranted “duh” voice. “Creature of the night and all that?”

“Right. Except you’re one of the mutant vamps that can go out during the day,” I remind her. “So really not that perfect of an excuse.”

“Oh my God, Sunny, I love it here so much!” Rayne gushes, completely ignoring my jab. “It’s like the best place ever. A dream come true. I played craps ’til two A.M. over at the Bellagio with a guy who turned out to be an actual Saudi prince. Like a real life sheik, complete with turban. He bought a bottle of this Cristal champagne—costing more than a thousand dollars—and split it with me. And then Paris Hilton showed up to our table wearing the most ridiculous pink and white bunny outfit—like it was Halloween or something. Evidently she knows the guy from some club in Dubai. And so he made her blow on the dice for luck. But she totally got snake eyes and he ended up losing like thirty thousand dollars. But he was all like, ‘Whatever, I make that every five minutes from my dad’s oil biz.’ At three A.M. I was up two thousand dollars.”

“At three A.M.?” I repeated. “What about now?”

She shrugs. “Oh. Well, I can’t really remember. I think I’m down a bit. But I’m going to make it all back tonight. The sheik got me into this top-secret high-rollers poker game. Just need a few hours’ sleep.” She attempts to yank the covers off me and wrap them around herself.

I tighten my grip on the blanket. “I’m not so sure you should sleep in here,” I tell her. “After all, Heather might come back from work and want her bed back.”

Rayne huffs and sits back up. “She’s working?” she exclaims. “Now? What is she, some kind of hooker?”

“You know, lots of people are stuck working the graveyard shift,” I remind her, feeling the need to defend the stepmother who was nice enough to give up her own bed when I needed it. “Especially in a place like Vegas where creatures of the night—like you, evidently—crawl the streets until the sun starts to rise.”

“Oh my God. I bet she’s a stripper,” Rayne concludes, completely ignoring my rational, sensible explanation. “That’s got to be it. HWB is a tawdry, cheap Vegas stripper. How awesome is that?”

“I really doubt she’s a stripper, Rayne.”

My sister shoots me a suspicious glare. “Why are you suddenly all rah-rah Stepmom?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. She’s actually pretty nice. She bought us all this Chinese food and—”

“Oh please.” Rayne rolls her eyes. “Sun, once again you prove to be the most naïve girl on the planet. Chinese food? Don’t you remember what this woman did? She stole our mother’s husband—our father—right out from under us and dragged him out West, never to be heard from again. She deserves nothing short of our complete and utter contempt that should not be diluted by freaking Chinese food.”

I shrug uncomfortably. I so don’t feel like getting in an argument this early in the morning, but at the same time, Rayne’s refusal to see this situation as anything other than black and white is really starting to get on my nerves. Sure, I’m still not pleased about what Heather and my father did years ago, but as she reminded me last night, we don’t know the whole story. And until we do, we might not want to judge her too harshly.

“I bet she’s out there right now, taking off her clothes for dirty old men so they’ll stuff dollars in her G-string,” Rayne continues, undaunted. I groan.

“You know what, think what you will,” I tell her, giving up the blanket and crawling out of bed, realizing there’s no sleep left for me, at least here. “You always do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you even going to help me at all during this trip?” I demand. “I can’t do this without you, you know.”

“Help you what?” Rayne asks. “Oh. The Jane thing. Sure. I told you I will.” She pulls the covers over her head.

I pull them off. “When?”

“As soon as I get some sleep. Jeez.” She yanks the blanket back and snuggles up in a fetal position. “You know, this bed smells funny. Did you even change the sheets?”

I can’t take it anymore. I storm out of the room and slam the door behind me. How we ever lasted nine months sharing a womb I’ll never know. She’s so selfish. So pigheaded. So set in her ways and determined to find the worst in everyone. Mom should have named her Eeyore. Or simply “Bitch.”

I head into the living room on my way to the kitchen. There, I find Stormy awake and sitting at the family computer, legs pulled up and under her and typing furiously on the keyboard. She stops when she hears me enter the room and throws me a cautious smile.

“Oh phew, I thought for a moment you were the evil twin returning,” she says. Evidently my sister’s made an impression on the entire household, even though she’s only spent about five minutes here in total.

“No, I’m the good twin,” I assure her. “The evil one’s lying asleep in your mom’s bed.”

“Thank God.” Stormy turns back to her computer.

“You know, Rayne’s not really evil,” I force myself to explain, even though I’m not feeling particularly generous toward my sister at the moment. “She just gets grumpy, that’s all. Especially when she’s tired.”

Stormy nods, knowingly. “So does Crystal,” she says. “I know the deal. It’s too bad they don’t come with warning lights or something. Let us know when it’s unsafe to approach.”

I laugh, taking a seat on the couch. “That would be awesome.” I peek over at the computer screen. “So what are you up to?” I ask. “Playing some early-morning video games?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, just hacking into a small casino off the Strip to reprogram their slot machine payouts.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’re not serious.”

“Sure am,” my sister replies, pride in her voice.

“Trying to get rich quick or something?”

“Oh no.” She laughs. “It’s not for me. I have everything I need already. But these casinos take advantage of a lot of poor and homeless people who gamble there. They promise them, like, riches and stuff, then just steal away their life savings with machines that are totally rigged.” She frowns at the computer screen. “So I’m just giving the gamblers a little home court advantage for once.”

I stare at her, impressed. Eleven going on twenty-one? How about forty-three? “You’re like a regular twenty-first century Robin Hood,” I exclaim. “Robbing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

“Something like that.” Stormy beams.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”

“Nah. I go through a ton of international proxy servers to hide my trail.”

“You realize I have no clue what you just said.”

She laughs. “No one ever does. But don’t worry, these places are already way corrupt. If they report a disturbance, they’ll get the gambling commission nosing around. And then they’d definitely have some explaining to do.”

Okay, that logic I can understand. “Well, just don’t tell the evil twin you can do this. She’ll probably make you hack into the Bellagio or something to increase her odds.”

“I don’t think she’s poor enough to need my help.”

“She might be soon, at the rate she’s going.” I shake my head. “Anyway, how about those waffles?”

Stormy turns to me, an excited look on her freckled face. Suddenly she’s eleven again. “Really?” she asks. “You really want to make some?”

“Absolutely.”

She leaps off her seat and dances to the kitchen. I join her there and soon we’re in major waffle-making mode, mixing the batter, heating up the iron, making a total mess. I accidentally drop an egg on my shoe, and she cracks up. Her laughter is infectious and soon we’re both giggling like crazy.

“Let’s add chocolate chips!” she cries, pulling over a breakfast barstool to stand on so she can reach the high shelf. “I know Mom has some up here somewhere,” she adds as she starts rummaging through the cabinet.

“Chocolate chips in waffles?” I say, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Gives them added yum,” Stormy explains confidently as she pulls the Toll House morsels from behind the bag of flour. Unfortunately in doing so, she manages to knock over the flour and a moment later I find myself completely covered head-to-toe in white powder. Stormy looks down at me, her expression hesitant. “Oops?” she says.

“Oops?” I cry, grabbing her by the waist and yanking her down from the stool. She squeals in protest as I grab the Toll House bag away from her. “I’ll give you oops,” I tell her, tickling her and laughing so hard I can barely catch my breath. I grab a handful of chocolate chips and try to stuff them into her mouth. She screams as I roll her in the flour on the floor at my feet and wiggles free, retreating to the other side of the breakfast bar for cover.

“What’s going on here?”

We whirl around and realize that in the midst of our laughter we hadn’t heard Heather walk through the door, home from work. Yikes. I assess the kitchen, which is completely trashed by this point. Flour and chocolate chips strewn everywhere. She’s going to be so pissed. And I, as the almost adult and the guest in the home, am really the one to blame.

“We’re making waffles, Mom!” Stormy announces cheerfully. “With chocolate chips for extra yum.”

“And we had a little accident,” I start to explain. “But don’t worry—I’m totally going to clean—”

“So who’s winning?” she interrupts.

“Um, what?”

“The food fight, of course.” She grins at both of us.

“I think we’re about tied,” I manage to say, relief washing over me. I can’t believe she’s not mad.

“No way. I’m kicking Sunny’s butt,” Stormy insists.

“Mmm-hmm.” Heather rubs the top of her daughter’s head affectionately. “Sure you are.” She turns back to the kitchen. “Need some help?” she asks. “With the waffles, I mean, not the food fight.”

I toss her a grateful smile. “Definitely.”

Somehow, with Heather’s help, we’re eventually able to produce a few edible waffles out of the mess and sit down at the breakfast bar to eat them. I glance over at my sister, who’s stuffing waffle into her mouth, still unable to stop giggling. I reach over to brush a smudge of flour from her cheek, affectionately. It still feels weird to have a newfound sister and even more so to know where she came from. But at the end of the day she’s adorable and sweet and smart and really impossible to dislike. If only Rayne would give her half a chance.

We finish eating and Stormy begs me to play Dance Dance Revolution with her on the Wii. I agree—after a shower to wash off all the flour, that is—and soon we’re dancing up a storm. I’m sweating like crazy trying to keep my balance and pound out the dance moves, which, if you’ve never tried it, is a lot harder than it sounds. Of course Stormy is a total natural (or has had a lot of practice) and whips my butt in every game.

“Okay, okay, I give in,” I say, collapsing on the couch next to Heather, who’s been watching us with amusement. “You win.”

“Aw,” Stormy says. “One more round?”

“Stormy, it’s almost time for school,” her mother reminds her. “I need you to go get dressed. You can see Sunny when you get home this afternoon, if she’s free.”

“But Mo-om!”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be ready for a rematch then,” I assure her.

She looks appeased. “Okay. You’d better be.” Then she scrambles off to the bathroom.

“Sorry about that,” Heather says. “She can be a bit of a whirlwind.”

“I don’t mind. I like it.” I rise from my seat. “I should probably clean up the kitchen anyway.”

Heather shakes her head. “No need. I’ve got it. You just enjoy your day.” She looks around the apartment. “Did your sister ever get home?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Just like an hour before you did. She fell asleep in your bed.”

“That’s okay,” Heather says with a grin. “I’m fine for now.”

The woman has energy, I’ll give her that. I, on the other hand, am already exhausted and it’s only eight A.M. After thanking her for being a saint about the whole kitchen thing, I head back into the bathroom for shower #2, this one to get rid of the dance sweat.

After showering and changing into clean clothes, I decide to head out and continue my investigation by returning to the Hotel Sun and seeing if I can find out more dirt on Jane/Sasha. It’s my best lead so far. And maybe Jayden will be there again; after all, he did say they were holding auditions today.

This time I force myself to wait for the bus instead of taking a cab to the hotel. An effort to save some money. After all, with Rayne seemingly burning through her life savings on a nightly basis, I can’t depend on her as a backup if I get low.

The bus is slow and I have to transfer three times, so it’s past ten A.M. by the time I finally make my way into the hotel. It’s just as I left it, filled with degenerates intent on gambling away their last quarters on Earth. Did any of them even leave for a few hours of sleep? I wonder if I should mention this particular casino to my little hacker sister. Being a Vegas Robin Hood, I realize, must be a full-time job.

Passing through the dingy casino, I enter the theater lobby and notice the double doors leading to the theater are wide open and I decide to take a peek inside. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but eventually I’m able to get a good look. The place is no Carnegie Hall by any stretch of the imagination. Small and run-down like the rest of the building, it’s filled with rows upon rows of faded red velvet seats below a wooden stage that’s in desperate need of refinishing. A drawn, moth-eaten purple curtain rounds out the décor.

I hear voices and quickly duck behind a row of seats. A moment later, three people enter the auditorium. The first I recognize as Jayden, the cute emo actor from yesterday. Then there’s a twenty-something guy who sports the same kind of mustache as Brandon Flowers of the Killers often does. The third of the trio is a pretty brunette who’s the spitting image of Katy Perry—complete with envy-inducing curves. Cowboy Man is not with them.

The three take their seats two rows back from the front of the stage. They pull out clipboards and pens and settle in. A moment later, the boy with the mustache calls out, “Next!”

The curtain pulls back and a girl wearing a dangerously low cranberry-colored tank top (showcasing her enormous and oh-so-obviously fake breasts) appears onstage. She smiles down at the trio below her and I notice she’s missing a few teeth.

“I’m Candy and I’m going to read a poem,” she announces in an overly nasal voice.

“Wonderful,” says Mr. Mustache, not bothering to stifle a grimace.

It’s not long before I realize the reason for the face. The girl is absolutely terrible. She stumbles over her words as she tries to recite the most horrific poem I’ve ever heard in my life. It’s all I can do not to run screaming from the auditorium just to get away. I guess they don’t get Broadway-caliber actresses trying out for parts at the Hotel Sun.

“Thank you, that’ll be enough,” the Brandon guy says, interrupting the girl onstage, mid stanza. He yawns again, then adds, “Like, don’t call us, we’ll call you. Or, you know, not.”

The girl on the stage scowls and stomps off in a huff. I feel bad for her, even though her performance was cringe-worthy. I know how stressful auditions can be. After all, I’m the actress in my family. Last year I played Kim, the lead role in our school’s production of Bye Bye Birdie. (Which ended up being a bit awkward since I had to play opposite Jake Wilder after dumping him mid-prom.) This year I’m planning to try out for our senior class production of Camelot, even if it means going up against Heather Mills for the part of Guinevere. (The way I figure it, I’ll be way more authentic than her, seeing as my boyfriend was once a real knight in King Arthur’s court and totally knows the 411 on the place.)

I watch as three more girls take to the stage, each worse than the last. Finally, after they boot the fourth girl off stage without even bothering to hear her speak, the Katy Perry girl rises from her seat with a frustrated huff.

“I’m so sick of these ridiculous auditions!” she whines, snapping her gum loudly. “Can’t we just rent one of those call girls for, like, an hour or so on Saturday? Just have them walk onstage? “I mean, Mina doesn’t even have any lines. She just has to cross the stage, fall into Dracula’s arms, and allow herself to be bitten. So as long as the girl isn’t, like, a paraplegic or something, we should be good. And even then—she’s bound to have some sort of wheelchair access, right?”

“Please. You know very well what a picky bastard Cornelius is, Allegra,” Mustache boy—Eric, I guess—reminds her. “Think about how many Minas we’ve brought him over the last year who try and fail to meet his high expectations. You think he’s going to be cool with some hooker—or a paraplegic for that matter—playing his precious Mina? Yeah right. He said he wants someone innocent looking. Completely naïve and virginal, remember? Like Britney Spears, pre-mental meltdown.”

“Exactly! There’s a slew of schoolgirl-style call girls out there!”

“Yeah? How many of them will work for ten dollars an hour?”

She groans. “God, I totally picked the wrong profession, didn’t I?”

“You’re not going to suddenly pull a Sasha on us, are you ’Legs?” Jayden butts in, causing my ears to perk up. “Leave us Lucy-less as well as Mina-less?”

“Um, no, thank you. That would mean I’d have to hook up with Cornelius. Can I just say, ‘Bleh?’ I mean, have you guys ever smelled his breath?”

Eric fashions his hands into claws and looms over Allegra, baring his teeth. “Hello, my pretty. I vant to suck your blood!” he hisses in a completely overdramatic, stereotypical vampire voice. Allegra swats back at him, giggling.

“In your dreams, vamp boy wannabe!” she cries, pushing him back into his seat. “You’d better keep your mortal day job.”

“Come on, guys,” Jayden cuts in, interrupting their play. “Let’s just keep moving. Get the next person onstage.”

The other two groan in unison.

“Next!” Jayden calls out loudly, ignoring the both of them.

There’s a rustling behind the curtain and a moment later a woman steps onstage. She’s old enough to be my grandmother, complete with leathery, over-tanned skin, fried from too many years in the Vegas sun. A poster child for why not to go tanning, but probably not what they’re looking for when it comes to Mina.

“NEXT!” Jayden cries.

The woman stumbles off stage.

“This is pathetic!” Eric mutters. “I’m going to kill Sasha if I ever see her again. Leaving us in the lurch like this. Not even so much as a good-bye.”

My ears perk up at the mention of Sasha again. Unfortunately, at that moment a piece of dust tickles my nose, making me sneeze. The three auditioners turn in their seats to look at me. Busted! I sheepishly rise to my feet.

“We’re closed, if you didn’t notice.” Allegra sniffs, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Unless you want to audition,” adds Eric, in a hopeful voice.

“Um,” I glance at them, then at the exit, wondering if I should just make a hasty retreat. But no. These people know Jane—or Sasha as they call her. They’re my best lead for figuring out who she really is and what she’s up to. “I’m actually here to see Jayden?”

Jayden squints at me, then a look of recognition washes over his face. “Oh my God! I’m sorry!” he exclaims, rising from his seat and crossing the theater to greet me. Today he’s wearing a button-down striped shirt with big cuffs and a pair of skinny navy blue jeans. His black hair is straightened and plastered to his face, half covering his striking green eyes. Seriously, so cute. I may actually have to turn in my prep card and become an official Emo Boy fan club member if there are more like him out there somewhere. Or heck, maybe just on the basis of his existence alone. “I didn’t recognize you in those clothes.”

I remember yesterday’s silly showgirl disguise and blush. “Oh yeah,” I say, staring down at my feet. “These are more my . . . normal clothes. I, um, yesterday I lost a bet.” Pretty stupid excuse, but the best I could come up with on the fly.

“I’m so glad you came back!” He reaches me and throws his arms around me in a warm hug. Normally I’d be weirded out by someone I barely know hugging me, but in this case, he’s a good hugger, so I let it slide. “And I like your normal clothes,” he whispers, mid-hug, his hot breath tickling my earlobes. It gives me a chill and I shiver involuntarily, which makes him laugh, effectively breaking the tension between us.

Pulling away from the hug, he takes my arm and leads me down to the front of the auditorium. “I’ve found our Mina,” he announces to the other two.

They stare at me excitedly. “You’re right! She’s perfect!” cries Eric, rising to his feet and giving me a thorough once-over. “Definitely Mina-ish.”

Wait a second. “I’m not here to—”

“Where on Earth did you find her in this city of sin?” Allegra asks, looking impressed. “Innocents for Sale? Virgins R Us?” She peers at me. “You’re not a call girl, are you? ’Cause we only pay ten dollars an hour.”

My face burns. “No way.”

“Look at her blush!” Jayden points out. “She’s perfect. Just what we’ve been looking for. Sweet, pretty . . .”

Now my face is on fire. Pretty. Does he really think I’m pretty? “But I’m not going to be in Vegas very long,” I stammer, finding myself running out of arguments. “Sunday at the latest.”

“Sunday’s fine!” Eric butts in. “We just need someone to do Saturday’s performance. You’ll keep the show alive so we can keep auditioning next week. Try to find someone on this planet that will please Cornelius for the long haul so we never have to audition again for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s not even a speaking role,” adds Allegra. “So no lines to learn. Super easy. Even a call girl could do it.” The other two shoot her a look. “Well, if we paid her more than ten dollars an hour, that is,” she amends.

“Please say yes!” Jayden begs, catching my eyes with his own pleading ones. “We’re desperate. We need you.”

I gnaw at my lower lip, trying to decide what I should do. The main purpose of this trip is to investigate Jane, of course, not fulfill my dreams to become a (somewhat) professional actress, acting side-by-side with cute emo boys. But on the other hand, by taking this particular role—the one Jane used to play—I’d be literally stepping into her old shoes. These people knew her and they could probably give me the 411 better than anyone. Each rehearsal would be like major recon and it might very well be my best chance to expose her for who she really is.

“Okay,” I say, making up my mind. “I’m in. But just for Saturday’s performance.”

The three cast members cheer and give me quick hugs to welcome me to the show. I feel happy as they excitedly chatter about my role. The impromptu hugging and enthusiasm for acting sends a jolt of familiar adrenaline through my body. I really do love the theater, after all. After feeling kind of lost in Vegas, it’s almost as if I’ve come home.

“By the way, I’m Sunny,” I say, realizing I hadn’t officially introduced myself.

“This is Eric and Allegra,” Jayden introduces. “They play Van Helsing and Lucy in the play.”

“Jayden here plays Jonathan Harker,” adds Allegra. “And Cornelius plays Dracula.”

“It’s not a great play,” Eric admits. “But it’s fun. Well, we’re fun anyway. You’ll like it here. Well, you’ll like us anyway.”

“Except maybe for Cornelius. He can be a bit much.”

“Where is Cornelius?” I ask, looking around.

“Oh, he won’t be here for a while,” Jayden says. “He only comes out at night.”

“Yeah. Which means that’s when all our rehearsals are held,” adds Eric. “Guy never steps foot in the theater until after the sun goes down.”

“He’s a real-life vampire,” Allegra adds in a spooky voice. Then she giggles. “Or at least that’s what he’d like us to believe.”

I remember the cowboy kissing Jane the night before. Could he really be a vampire? A vampire pretending to be an actor in some cheesy Vegas revue? It seems so unlikely—ridiculous even—but at the same time he was talking to Jane. He knows she’s infiltrating the vampire world. And he didn’t seem all that shocked about it.

“So what’s the deal with Ja—I mean Sasha?” I ask. “The girl who had the role of Mina before me?”

The three actors scowl. Jane is evidently not their favorite person.

“She took off,” Eric informs me. “Left us high and dry.”

“Not a huge loss,” Allegra adds. “She was a terrible actress. Not to mention a horrible dresser. The girl wouldn’t know fashion if it came up and bit her on the ass.”

“She only got the part because she was sleeping with Cornelius,” Jayden finishes.

I nod absently, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. So Jane/ Sasha has been dating Cornelius (which I had already inferred from their earlier make-out session) and starring in this small production as Mina. She takes off on them one day and suddenly shows up two thousand miles away in suburban Massachusetts, claiming she’s a Rhodes scholar from Oxford and ready to become blood mates with my boyfriend.

None of this makes any sense.

The thing is, the council takes this blood mate thing pretty seriously. They’re way picky and do a ton of background checks on candidates—even DNA stuff, which never lies—before granting approval of a candidate. And that’s just for the blood mates of minor vamps. Imagine what they do in the case of someone like Magnus, a major coven’s Master! They should have gone through Jane’s history with a fine-tooth comb. And any of these red flags I’m seeing would have been picked up quicker than you can say rejected blood mate.

So how did Jane pass her test? How did she become certified? And what’s Cornelius’s role in all of this? Did he put her up to it all somehow? And if so, why? What does he hope to gain by getting his girlfriend into the blood coven?

Nothing good, that much I’m sure of.

“Anyway, she’s gone and you’re here and you’re perfect,” Jayden exclaims and I flush at the compliment. Perfect. I can’t remember the last time a boy called me perfect. Certainly not my boyfriend, who, I might add, has still yet to call me once this whole trip.

My cell phone starts belting out a Taylor Swift song. Of course.

I glance down to the caller ID, but only out of habit. Gotta hand it to the vamp, he has very good ESP. Wonder what he’s doing up during high daylight.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I say to the actors, backing up toward the auditorium door. “I need to take this.”

Once outside, I answer. “Hey, baby,” I say, a thrill tickling my stomach. “What are you doing still awake?”

I hadn’t been aware of how much I’d been missing Magnus until I saw his name on the caller ID. I realize I can’t wait to hear his deep, throaty, English-accented voice murmur how lost and lonely he’s been and how terrible Vegas is without me by his side. How he made a horrible mistake leaving me behind and if only I had somehow decided to break his rules and come anyway, he’d be so happy. He’d pull me into his arms, whispering . . .

“Sunny, are you effing insane?”

Hmm, I was thinking more like “I love you” but okay . . . Maybe he means insane with love for him?

He doesn’t.

“I just spent five thousand dollars bailing Marcia out of jail.”

Oops. I kind of forgot about her.

“Marcia was in jail!?” I cry, putting on my best shocked, horrified, can’t-believe-this-is-happening voice. I am an actress after all. An actress with a real part in a real play that isn’t put on by a high school, I might add. “I mean, I always knew she was kind of a bitchy loose screw, but jail? What on Earth did she do to wind up in jail?”

“Don’t give me that innocent BS,” Magnus snarls on the other end. “She told me everything. I know you set her up and I know you’re somewhere in Vegas. Why the hell are you in Vegas, Sunny? I thought we talked about this.”

So much for “wish you were here.”

“Rayne and I wanted to see our dad, of course,” I reply, switching to defensive mode. Stupid Marcia. And stupid Rayne, too, for thinking her stupid plan would solve everything. “He lives here, remember?” I’m not lying, I might point out. Rayne and I did want to see our dad. And he does live here. Just not this particular week.

“I see,” Magnus says slowly. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard him so pissed. Except maybe the time he accidentally bit me instead of Rayne that first night at Club Fang. Which, I might point out, was technically his fault, not mine. “So after years of never visiting Vegas you two randomly decide that this would be the perfect week to head out West for a little father/daughter bonding? The same week, per random coincidence and wild chance, that I would be in Vegas for the consortium and specifically told you that you could not come with me?”

Hmm, when he puts it that way it does sound kind of bad. But still!

“I’m seventeen years old. You can’t tell me what to do!” I blurt out. “If my sister and I want to go to Vegas, we should be able to go to Vegas!”

He sighs deeply into the phone. “Really?” he asks. “That’s how you want to play this? That I’m some evil tyrant, holding you back, treating you like a child?”

“You’ve got to admit, sometimes you do.”

“Only for your own good. To protect you,” he insists. “Vegas is dangerous enough when all is well and mortal. Now add vampires to the mix. Not a great place for a seventeen-year-old to be wandering around.”

“What are they going to do to me,” I demand, furious now, “that you haven’t already done?”

He’s silent for a moment and I know I’ve finally gotten to him. But instead of feeling triumphant for getting the upper hand, I just feel sick to my stomach.

“Sunny,” he says at last, “I’m sorry if you think I’m some horrible, unreasonable jerk-off. But I’m only trying to protect you.”

“And I’m only doing this to protect you!” I insist.

“Why on Earth would you think I’d need protection from you?” he asks, incredulously. “I’m a thousand-year-old vampire. You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

“Not from forces at work behind the scenes that you know nothing about,” I reply. “Not from Jane.”

I suck in a breath, waiting for his reaction. It bursts over the phone lines a second later like a high-powered explosion. “Oh my God, Sunny, you have got to be kidding me. You’re still on about her? Is that what this is all about? You came to Vegas to spy on me and my blood mate?”

“You don’t understand!” I cry, furious. “She’s not who she says she is. I mean, did you know she was in a play about vampires? I saw it on a playbill and—”

“Seriously, Sunny, this jealousy thing has got to stop,” Magnus interrupts in a weary voice. “As I told you before, numerous times, I might add, there’s nothing wrong with Jane. She’s been vetted by the coven librarians a hundred times over and checks out with flying colors. Do you think these guys would let anyone slide through who wasn’t totally worthy of running the Blood Coven? Of being partnered with me? I can promise you, without hesitation or doubt, that these researchers have nothing but my best interests at heart. And if they say Jane is worthy, then that’s good enough for me.”

I gnaw at my lower lip, frustrated beyond all hell. “Well, it’s not good enough for me,” I insist. “Because I know she’s an evil fraud. And I’m going to prove it to you if it kills me.”

Magnus sighs into the phone. “You know, I really thought you were more mature than this, Sunny,” he says in a disappointed tone. “I guess I sometimes forget you’re only seventeen.”

“I am mature,” I squeak back, my voice going into the Minnie Mouse octaves, as it always does when I’m upset. Which is not, unfortunately, the best argument for maturity. “If you’d just listen to me for two seconds!”

Magnus is so quiet that I have to check to make sure he hasn’t hung up. Finally he speaks. “Okay, I’ll listen. If it’s that important to you, I will. Can you meet me at the Mandalay at eight o’clock tonight? I think I have a five-minute break between meetings. We can get a coffee and talk.”

Five-minute break. That’s all I get, huh? Meanwhile Jane gets to spend the whole week with him. Really nice. Not to mention eight o’clock is when play practice starts. And I have to show up to that or they’ll kick me out of the play and I’ll lose my chance to investigate Cornelius.

That said, I’m guessing Magnus is so not going to understand.

“Um, actually . . .” How am I going to explain this without coming off as a complete flaky lunatic? “Eight o’clock is not really good for me, to tell you the truth.”

“What?”

“I have to . . .” I trail off as the auditorium door opens and Allegra, Jayden, and Eric stroll out of the theater. Damn it! Now I can’t even explain this is all a front for an important undercover investigation.

“Sunny? Why can’t you meet me tonight?”

“I have play practice!” I blurt out, not knowing what else to say.

“Play . . . practice?” Magnus sounds like he’s one millisecond away from exploding again. Great. Just great. “I thought you were in Vegas.”

Jayden peers at me with concerned eyes. It’s then that I remember I must look a mess. All blotchy red skin and tear-stained face. He mouths, “Are you okay?” I nod and give him a one-second gesture, then turn back to the phone.

“Look, can I call you in a little bit?” I ask, needing to get out of the theater where I can’t be overheard before I can really explain what I’m doing suddenly starring in a Vegas vampire revue.

“No, I’ve got to get to bed. I’ve been up way too long already, bailing Marcia out of jail. Do you know how hard it is for a vampire to get to the Vegas police office in the middle of the morning without being fried alive? Even with one-hundred-plus sunblock slathered on every inch of my body, I’m burned all over.”

I expel a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Call me tonight when you get off. Whatever time it is, I don’t care.”

“Fine.”

He sounds so pissed off and I’m desperate to explain. But what can I do? I can’t give him the whole story with the three actors loitering in the lobby. I mean, they seem nice and all, but what if one of them is loyal to Cornelius? They’d kick me out of the play and then I’d never have the chance to get all the dirt on Jane. And with no proof, I’ll have no way to stop the biting ceremony Friday night and Magnus will end up bonded together with Evil Bad Girl for all eternity. Or at least until she figures out a way to slay him and take over.

“Magnus, you have to trust me,” I say, not wanting to hang up without giving it at least one more try. “I know something’s wrong here.”

“Trust you?” he spits out. “Kind of like how you’re trusting me with Jane?”

I grip the phone. Oh so it’s going to be like that, is it? “That’s different!”

“Sure it is. Good night, Sunny. Enjoy your . . . play practice.”

And with that, the line goes dead.

I force back the tears as I stuff my phone into my bag. The fact that he doesn’t believe me hurts more than I care to admit. Why can’t he see that it’s not him I don’t trust—but Jane? I mean, I’m only doing any of this because I love him and don’t want to see him hurt. Heck, it would have been a lot easier to just stay back home in Massachusetts and let the whole thing play out. It’s not like I’m having any fun out here.

And yet he won’t listen to me. Instead he treats me like a child. Someone who wouldn’t understand the intricacies of his life. Is that really what he thinks of me? Some little girl? Someone dumb and naïve and good enough to make out with, but not smart enough to treat like an equal and truly share his life with?

It’s times like these that I’m forced to remember that Magnus is a thousand-year-old vampire and I’m not even yet an eighteen-year-old human. He’s lived his life ten times over and I’m still on my first go around. Of course he’s going to treat me as a child. To him I am one. And I’ll still be one, no matter how old I get. Thirty, forty—he’ll still never see me as an equal—a partner, if you will. Like Jane will be.

I think back to the round table at the conference yesterday. Jane and Magnus, side-by-side. Her voicing her opinions on the bylaws of the consortium. My boyfriend, looking over at her, proud of what she has to say.

I’ll never be there. I’ll never be invited to give my opinions and serve as a respected equal like Jane. I’ll simply be the child. The trophy bride if we got married. Forever.

Not exactly the kind of relationship I’ve always dreamed about, let me tell you.

“Hey, Sunny, we’re going to go grab some food,” Jayden informs me, seeing that I’m now off the phone. “You want to come with?”

I’m about to say no, but then suddenly realize I do want to come with. In fact, I might very well need to come with. To spend the day with normal humans who don’t treat me like a little kid whose opinions don’t matter.

“Sure,” I say. “Sounds great.”

11

When Jayden and company find out this is my first trip to Vegas, they insist on giving me a whirlwind tour. I try to protest—after all, I know that for people who’ve lived their whole lives in the shadow of Sin City the touristy things are probably completely lame. But they insist, saying they never have a reason to do them otherwise and truly are just using me as an excuse to have fun, tourist-style. I don’t quite believe this, but they’re not taking no for an answer so I laughingly agree and we’re off on the town.

We hit the Strip—taking on rides like Insanity at the Stratosphere (which, I might add, truly lives up to its name) and the loops of the roller coaster at the New York New York Hotel. We check out the colorful fountain light show at the Bellagio and the intoxicating Lake of Dreams at the Wynn. We even ride the huge waves in the Mandalay Bay water park wave pool before heading back up the Strip to Circus Circus to catch some big-top action.

And everywhere we go, my hosts seem to know everyone at the door. We get free rides, free admittance, and limitless chances to cut in line. Totally VIP and none of it costs a cent.

“Vegas is actually a pretty small city,” Jayden explains as we walk through the midway of Circus Circus, which is packed full of food stands and carnival games of chance. (This is one of the only places in Vegas where kids get to play, too.) All around us, trapeze artists swing through the air with the greatest of ease, as if we’re in a real, live circus. “Everyone knows someone who knows someone. And so it becomes a big trade-off—if you’re in the service industry you can write your own ticket. You let someone’s cousin get in somewhere and next time around he returns the favor. Like Eric. When he’s not acting, he works the door at Studio 54, a dance club at the MGM. So he’s always giving and getting favors from people who want to get someone they know on the list.”

“That’s awesome,” I exclaim, fascinated by the inner workings of the casino town.

He grins, his face flushed with pleasure. “It doesn’t hurt that Allegra’s so pretty either,” he adds. “Opens up a lot of doors for us.”

I glance over at Allegra, who’s currently wrapped up in a conversation with a food vendor, who blushingly hands her three pink cotton candies, free of charge, I bet.

I turn back to Jayden. “What about you?” I query. “What secret Vegas door-opening superpower do you have?”

Jayden blushes. “Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as Eric’s and Allegra’s,” he confesses. “In fact, I don’t even know if you’d even be interested, after we’ve already done all this much cooler stuff today.”

His assuming I wouldn’t be interested makes me all the more intrigued. “I’m game,” I tell him. “Show me what you can do.”

He grins, looking suddenly excited. “Okay,” he says. “But if you’re bored out of your mind, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

For some reason, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to be the case. Maybe because I’ve already had more fun today than I can remember having in forever. All the pressures I’m facing have faded into the background and I’m just having a good time, like a normal seventeen-year-old girl who has no idea things like vampires even exist.

Jayden turns to his friends. “Okay, she asked for it. I’m taking her to Planet Hollywood for the show.”

The other two groan, making mock gagging noises. Eric clutches his throat in a choking motion. Allegra makes like she’s clawing her eyes out.

“Not again, Jay!”

“Remember what happened the last time you took a girl there?”

Jayden shrugs sheepishly. “I think Sunny here is different,” he says. “I think she’s going to like this.”

His faith in me makes me want to like it, whatever the “it” in question may turn out to be. So we say our good-byes and I allow Jayden to lead me through the casino, toward the front door. The place is completely packed with tourists and their children and for a moment we get separated. But he stops in front of me, grabs my hand, and proceeds to drag me through. I can’t help but notice how his careless touch sends my heart rate sky-rocketing all over again and I scold myself for being so easily affected.

As we cross over a pedestrian bridge to the other side of the Strip, I try to picture what Magnus might be doing now. It’s already nearly dark—he’s likely just waking up and getting dressed for the night’s meetings. Maybe he’s retrieving his FedEx package from the concierge, filled with donor blood for his dinner. Will Jane meet him down in the lobby or swing by his room? Will Magnus escort her to the conference center, arm in arm? Will tourists stop and stare, amazed at what a beautiful couple they appear to be?

He was so rude on the phone earlier. Such a jerk. And I’m really getting sick of him not believing a single thing I say. I mean, how come he takes Jane at face value, but anything I try to present to him he dismisses instantly?

I shake my head, my thoughts too troubling to focus on. I’ll deal with Magnus later. When I have proof about Jane—the kind he can no longer ignore. For now, I’m having fun for once. Normal human girl fun. I deserve that.

I also deserve, I think, to know where we’re going. But every time I ask, Jayden only offers a mysterious, “You’ll see!” He won’t even cave under tickle torture. (And I’m a master at tickle torture.)

We head inside Planet Hollywood and down a corridor, lined with shops. Finally we come to a small theater. My eyes shoot upward, attempting to read the marquee, but Jayden’s too quick—covering them with his hands before I can grasp anything except the word “Popovich” written up there. Which, of course, makes zero sense to me.

“Hang on, girlie,” he teases. “We’re almost there.”

From here on out it’s like that old game of trust, where one person pretends to be blind and the other tries to lead them. I quickly learn that Jayden, while cute and sweet and adorable, should never be left alone with a blind person, ever. I’m tripping over everything and I’m pretty sure I’m going to fall and break something if we don’t reach our destination quickly.

“Okay, here we are,” he whispers, his hot breath scorching my ear. We step into a room and suddenly I feel a weird, fluttery movement at my legs. I scream in shock and surprise.

Jayden bursts out laughing and removes his hands from my eyes. I look around, scanning the room, trying to get my bearings. It’s then that I realize the place is packed with dogs and cats. Big dogs, small dogs, fluffy cats, short-haired cats—the place is a regular canine/feline menagerie. Bright-eyed puppies look up at me, wagging excitedly, while sleek black kittens rub against my legs.

Delighted, I crouch down to my knees. The animals surround me, each hungry for my attention. I start petting, trying to get my hands on as many as I can and soon my hands and face are covered with exuberant, if not slobbery, kisses.

“What is this?” I ask, looking up at Jayden who’s picked up a small white cat and is casually leaning against a small desk, stroking its head, grinning from ear to ear. He’s wearing a pair of thick work gloves he didn’t have on before—maybe to keep his hands from getting dirty?

“The World Famous Popovich Comedy Pet Theater,” he says, pride in his voice. “It’s a show run by this juggler named Gregory Popovich who used to be part of the Russian circus. He’s a huge animal lover so he incorporates these guys into his show.” A flopsy-looking gray and black dog paws at his leg, a chew toy in mouth. He wrestles it away from the dog and tosses it across the room, causing all the animals to scurry after it. “They’re all rescue dogs and cats—once strays—now Vegas superstars. You should see the tricks they can do.” He looks down at the cat, still nestled in his arms. “And they say you can’t train a cat. Please.”

I watch the dogs wrestle to gain ownership of the squeaky toy. “So how do you fit in here?”

He grins. “I look after them. Feed them, refill their water bowls, play with them. That kind of thing. Gregory does, too—he loves animals—but with fifteen cats and ten dogs on staff, he needs some assistance. So when I’m not acting, I’m usually here.”

I’m so impressed I don’t even know what to say.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m always so broke,” he says ruefully. “If I were a waiter or something, I’d clean up in this town. Money, not dog messes. But I can’t help it. I just love these little guys.”

A wirehaired terrier noses his hand, then looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Oh, Rex,” Jayden says, rubbing the dog’s head affectionately. “Always looking for food, aren’t you? You little rascal.”

“Aw, he’s cute,” I say. “I wish I had some food to give him.”

Jayden looks at his watch. “The show’s going to begin soon, so these guys have to get ready.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pass. “Here, take this and exchange it for a ticket, then go save us seats. I’ll be in to join you in a few minutes.”

I’m sad to leave the roomful of animals, but I’m also excited to check out the show. So I head out the door and back to the box office. A small line has formed outside so I stand in the rear of it. A few minutes later, I have my ticket and I’m inside the theater with a front row seat.

The curtain rises and the show begins. I watch, amazed, as the show’s star, Gregory, does an amazing juggling act, incorporating the dogs and cats into many of the routines. Some are silly—dogs pushing cats in baby strollers or attending school, sitting at actual desks and seemingly performing math problems—while others are amazing—like when Popovich balances a dog sitting on a platform high above his head, throwing the dog balls and the dog dropping them down a shoot. It’s hard to explain but totally awesome.

The best thing is, the dogs and cats seem to love performing. It’s not like going to a regular circus, where the animals look downtrodden and neglected. You can tell these guys adore their master—and he them.

Jayden slides into the seat next to me a moment later, a shy grin on his face. The seats are narrow so his knee casually touches mine, sending crazy electricity running through me. I squirm, feeling both excited and uncomfortable at the same time. I shouldn’t like this guy so much. After all, I already have a boyfriend—a perfect, wonderful, vampire boyfriend who I am deeply in love with. When he’s not being an ass at least . . .

I’m just making a new friend, that’s all, I tell myself. There’s nothing wrong with having guy friends. I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t want Magnus to see me doing.

But it isn’t what I’m doing, I realize, that’s making me nervous. It’s how much I like doing it. How simple it all seems. How easy. I’d forgotten how uncomplicated things could be when you’re spending time with humans as opposed to vampires. There’s not this pressure, this enhanced sense of urgency and importance to everything. We’re simply hanging out, watching a show, without a care in the world. And I like that.

I clap along with the audience as one of the dogs performs an amazing jump-roping stunt, pushing away my troubled thoughts and forcing myself to just enjoy the show. Before I know it, the curtains close and lights go on. It’s over.

“So what did you think?” Jayden asks, turning to me.

“So amazing!” I cry, my eyes probably shining as bright as the dogs’ were. “This has to be, without a doubt, the best show in Vegas.”

He laughs. “I’m glad you think so. It’s certainly my favorite.” Glancing at his watch, he adds, “And now it’s time to head back to the Sun. Play practice starts in twenty minutes.”

“Let’s do it,” I say, smiling at him.

“Cool.” He starts to walk.

“Oh and Jayden?” I say, stopping him.

He turns to me, questioningly.

“Thank you for this. For today. It was awesome. I’ve had sort of a rough time since I’ve gotten here and—well, this was exactly the kind of thing I needed.”

He smiles again, his sweet, shy smile. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “I like sharing this. Not everyone understands why I do it. But you do and that makes me happy.”

And I realize, at that moment, I’m feeling pretty happy, too.

12

We arrive at Hotel Sun at eight P.M. on the dot. I’m going to get really good leg muscles with all the walking I’ve been doing. We enter the theater and I see that a few of the actors are already there, practicing their dance moves.

From what Jayden’s explained on the way, I’ve learned this is basically a simple retelling of the classic Dracula story. Now I know, from my time spent at the Blood Coven, that Bram Stoker’s popular tale isn’t the least bit accurate as to how it happened in real life. Count Dracula did exist, mind you, but he wasn’t this evil bloodsucker who turned innocent virgins into vampires like the story would have you believe. The guy had way more important things to do with his time, let me tell you, like working to unite the world’s covens together to form the original consortium that we still have today. And the man who eventually killed him, Van Helsing, wasn’t some great vampire slayer as Bram Stoker made him out to be. The guy was actually just a jealous lover who got pissed off when Dracula chose his girlfriend, Mina, to be his blood mate. (See, this blood mate thing has been causing trouble for vamps since the beginning!)

Of course the Hotel Sun’s vampire revue goes for the more classic interpretation. Just a horror/love story between Dracula, played by Cornelius, and Mina, played by me.

Speaking of Cornelius, now that we’re back at the hotel I’m getting more and more nervous to meet him. After all, he is Jane/ Sasha’s friend. He knows about vampires. He knows about my boyfriend. What if, somehow, he knows about me? What if he recognizes me somehow? Decides I must be up to no good, nosing around where I don’t belong? I know in my head the chances are slim to none. After all, Jane’s gone out of her way to remind me how insignificant I am to her, but that doesn’t stop my heart from beating a little faster with nervous anticipation for our meeting.

“Are you Sunshine McDonald?”

I nearly jump out of my skin as a stage hand comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder. I force myself to suck in a shaky breath and nod. I really need to chill here. It’s just a play. Nothing bad is going to happen to me here. Even if Cornelius wanted to be rid of me, he couldn’t do anything in front of all these people.

“Yes, I’m Sunny.”

“Cool. Here’s your schedule and crew contact information. Everyone’s e-mail is on there—we eventually need to add yours so if a rehearsal is canceled we can let you know.” He hands me a white sheet of paper and I stuff it in my pocket. “And here’s your costume,” he adds, handing me a plastic shopping bag with handles. “This is a dress rehearsal so you need to put it on now. Bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Oh cool, thanks.” I take it from him, all scared thoughts of Cornelius being replaced by curiosity. The play takes place in Victorian England and I’ve always been such a fan of the clothing of the time period. Long, beautiful dresses with miles of fabric . . .

I open the bag. Er, make that inches of fabric.

In fact, this “costume” can hardly be called a costume at all. Maybe half a costume that the seamstress ran out of material while making? I hold up the skimpy leotard for a closer look, hoping it’s just an optical illusion. I mean, here I thought my Vegas showgirl disguise was revealing. This thing is microscopic—low cut at the top and only a swatch of fabric away from being properly classified as a thong on the other end. Accompanying this half-a-costume is a pair of fishnet stockings, a gauzy veil, and a pair of platform shoes of a height that rivals what I was tripping over yesterday. Yikes. I’m supposed to “float” across stage in those? I’ll be lucky if I make the journey without causing myself permanent harm. (Suddenly the whole “break a leg” saying makes a lot more sense.) I thought Mina was supposed to be virginal, for goodness’ sake! What virgin would be caught dead wearing such a thing?

Well, besides me, I guess.

I draw in a breath, trying to calm my rising panic. How can I wear this crazy getup onstage? In front of an audience! I mean, sure, I wouldn’t know any of them, I suppose, but still! What if someone takes a photo? What if it ends up getting posted onto Flickr or Facebook? What if someone tags me in it? Maybe that’s why Jane’s listed as Sasha in the playbill. She’s incognito. Doesn’t want her political aspirations to be dashed by some slutty web pic. (Though why a Rhodes scholar would be in a cheesy little low-rent play to begin with, I still don’t understand.)

“Quiet on the set. He’s here!”

A silence falls over the stage as the auditorium doors swing open and “Dracula” walks into the theater. I draw in a breath. Dressed in a black, fitted tuxedo and a sweeping black and red cape, Cornelius is a walking, talking stereotype of the infamous vampire of Hollywood imagination. A Bela Lugosi in the flesh. (My sister insists Bela is the only Dracula she’ll accept, completely dismissing works by actors like Christopher Lee and Gary Oldman. I secretly believe, however, this isn’t due to any superior acting, but rather the fact that her favorite Goth band, Bauhaus, once wrote a song about him.)

The other actors watch, seemingly frozen in place, as he walks down the auditorium aisle with a grace and presence you don’t actually see much from guys who are seven feet tall. Human guys, that is.

His piercing gaze sweeps the room, taking in each actor, until his eyes lock on me. He stares at me as if he’s trying to probe my mind and reveal my deepest thoughts. I shiver involuntarily. I can’t help it; he just looks evil. Instinctively, I throw up a quick mind block to stop him, something Magnus taught me how to do after his friends and fellow coven members kept bringing up things in conversation that I hadn’t said out loud, which can be more than a bit awkward.

“Hey, Cornelius, I want you to meet our newest Mina,” Jayden says. I hadn’t heard him come up behind me and his presence makes me feel more at ease. “This is Sunny. She’s really great. And she looks perfect for the part, don’t you think?”

Cornelius gives me a critical once-over and for a moment I think he’s going to disagree with Jayden. Say I’m completely wrong for the role and need to leave immediately. But instead, after a moment, he nods. “Indeed,” he says in a deep, rich voice. He bows low to me. “Thank you, milady, for agreeing to join our little troupe. We are most honored to count you as one of our own.”

“Sure, no problem. I’m excited about the role,” I reply, realizing my voice sounds shaky and squeaky as it always seems to when I’m nervous. (My kingdom for Rayne’s sexy, throaty smoker’s voice.) Why am I freaking out here? The guy’s just an actor. A wannabe vampire in some cheesy little show. Nothing to be scared of. Right?

Except that he knows Jane. And Jane knows vampires. Meaning there’s more to Cornelius than the other actors here probably know.

“Is everyone ready to begin tonight’s rehearsal?” Cornelius asks the group.

Eric salutes. “Ready when you are, boss.”

“Excellent. Then let us begin.”

And with that, everyone takes his place and the dress rehearsal begins. I’m not in the first act so, after changing into my crazy costume (which is even tinier on me than I thought it’d be), I wait in the wings, watching the performance. It’s not really your typical play, I soon realize, but more of a string of themed dances, strung together by a bit of bad dialogue. Jayden’s playing, as he said, the Jonathan Harker character, lawyer and boyfriend to my character, Mina. In act one, Jonathan goes to Transylvania to consult with his client, Dracula, about some land the vampire is trying to purchase. It’s not much of a role, but Jayden plays it in style. He delivers even the cheesiest lines with just the right inflection. And he looks positively conflicted when Dracula sends three scantily dressed female vampires—played by some very attractive young blond dancers—to seduce him. He’s a great dancer himself, I soon realize: lithe and limber as he crosses the stage with breathtaking grace. I just love a guy who can dance and dance well. Magnus, well, he tries when I insist, but his coordination leaves a bit to be desired.

Act two takes place back in London and that’s where I come in. I’m lying in a makeshift stage bed (basically a board covered with a sheet, so not all that comfortable) when Dracula comes to my window. I rise sleepily, stretching once, before gliding over to the window as gracefully as I can, to greet him. I pull open the window and Dracula climbs in, dancing around me with fluid grace. According to the script, next he will sweep me into his arms, brushing aside my hair, exposing my neck. All around him the chorus dancers whirl and twirl and sing.

Cornelius grabs me and I suddenly realize he’s not only tall, but pretty damn strong, too. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt if his fingers leave bruises on my arms. I swoon, as I’m supposed to do, looking up into his eyes. He sweeps aside my hair, peering down at me and then . . .

. . . starts sniffing me.

I cock my head in confusion as he takes another whiff. What the heck is he doing? This is so not in the script. At first I wonder if perhaps I forgot to use deodorant this morning, but his expression seems more puzzled than repulsed.

A moment later I find myself unceremoniously crashing to the stage floor, slamming my butt against the wood.

“Ow!” I cry as a sharp pain jabs through me. “What did you do that for?”

“Sunny, are you okay?” Jayden’s at my side a moment later. He looks up at Cornelius. “Dude, what are you doing?”

But Cornelius ignores him, his piercing eyes seeing only me. “How dare you?” he demands in a low growl that can only be described as feral and frightening. “How dare you infiltrate my play?”

I see a flash of teeth. Fangs. My heart stops beating. Oh my God, please tell me those are implants. The music dies. The chorus stops swirling. Everyone’s eyes are on me.

“Wh-what?” I ask, my mind racing. “What do you mean?” I realize, suddenly, unequivocally, that he knows. I’m not sure how or how much, but he knows something. He smelled something on me. Some lingering trace of Magnus, dusting my skin, perhaps?

He’s a real vampire, probably evil, and he knows who I am and probably what I’m doing here. Oh God, this is not good. Where’s Rayne and her stake when I need her?

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he hisses. “You’re marked. Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed?”

It’s then I remember. I have a small scar on my neck from where Magnus bit me that first night at Club Fang. It’s never completely healed and it’s definitely visible for someone who knows what they’re looking for.

Someone like another vampire.

I glance around the room, my heart beating wildly in my chest. Am I in danger here?

Cornelius stares down at me, his face twisted with rage. Jayden tightens his grip on me, a sweet, protective move, but stupid, under the circumstances. What’s he going to do against a vampire?

Then it strikes me. He has no idea. None of them do. They all think their boss is a little weird. A little crazy. But they have no idea what lurks beneath his dark tuxedo and pale flesh.

Cornelius’s eyes dart around the room; he realizes he’s being watched. He lets out a reluctant sigh and then shakes his head at me. “Pack up your things and leave,” he says, sounding like it’s killing him to let me go. “You’re not welcome here.” He looks up at the other actors—the voyeurs who very likely just saved my life. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But she isn’t right for the part. We must continue our search for Mina.”

From the other actors’ groans, I realize this probably isn’t the first time they’ve gone back to the drawing board when it comes to assigning Mina’s part. But they obediently slink offstage, accepting without question that the rehearsal is over. I get the feeling not many people ever stand up to Cornelius.

Except for Jayden, that is. He rises to his feet and stares up at Cornelius, arms crossed over his chest. The guy has to be at least a foot taller than my friend, but Jayden doesn’t seem the least bit scared. If only he knew there was so much to be frightened of. “What’s wrong with her?” he demands. “She’s perfect for the part. I chose her myself.”

Cornelius shakes his head. “She won’t work. I’m sorry.”

“We have a show in two days,” Jayden argues. “One that people have bought tickets for. We don’t have time to keep looking for another girl. Either get Sasha back here or let Sunny do her thing. At least for Saturday. Then we can hold more auditions next week.”

But the vampire just shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry, but no.” And with that, he turns and walks offstage. I scramble to my feet, realizing my legs are still more than a bit wobbly from my scare. And my wrist hurts from trying to break my fall.

Jayden gives me an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what goes through that guy’s mind sometimes. I think you’re perfect. For the role that is,” he adds, looking a little sheepish. “But he’s the one funding the show, so we’re really just stuck doing what he says.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him. As much as I want to uncover the Sasha/Jane mystery, I don’t want to wind up dead from doing so. It’s probably better to try another tack. One that preferably doesn’t piss off an evil vampire. Though what that will consist of, I have no idea. I’m running out of time and don’t have very many leads.

“Let me make it up to you,” Jayden says, looking honestly upset. “Let me buy you dinner, at least.”

I force a shaky smile and nod my head. Maybe all is not yet lost. “Sounds like a plan.”

13

Jayden takes me to a small taqueria, very off-Strip. The type of place that sells three tacos for a dollar. Of course I have to break it to him that I’m actually a vegetarian, which, I’ve found, is usually a major disappointment for guys. But Jayden takes it all in stride, ordering me a plate of refried beans, grilled peppers and onions, homemade guacamole, and corn tortillas. It turns out to be one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had and I’m stuffed before I can even finish half of it.

The tables are all outside, giving us a chance to enjoy the milder Vegas temperature, now that the sun’s gone down. Covered with checkered tablecloths and illuminated by stubby candlelight, the place has a quiet, quaint feel that’s so different from what you find on the Strip. I’m really enjoying learning about the backstreets of Vegas, I realize, as I take another bite of beans. Getting the insider’s tour.

As we eat, Jayden entertains me with silly pet stories from the Popovich Theater and soon I’m laughing so much I can hardly swallow my food. It’s also nice, I realize, this simple pleasure of sitting down to a meal with another person. Magnus can’t eat human food, so we usually skip the whole dining out thing that’s a staple of most dates. Not that he wouldn’t go if I asked him to; I just find it too disconcerting to chow down while he just sits there, watching with food lust in his eyes. (Most vampires, I’ve learned, find the fact they can’t eat anymore the most troublesome of all the changes of becoming creatures of the night. My sister, I believe, would gladly exchange her ability to go out during the daytime if she could just eat one more Kimball’s Dairy extra massive ice cream sundae without puking it all up.)

I glance over at Jayden, who’s stopped talking to concentrate on cutting his carne asada with a plastic fork. Laughing, I hand him my knife.

“Need help?” I ask.

He shakes his head and waves off the knife. “I try to stay away from knives,” he says, going back to his totally gimped version of cutting.

“But why?” I ask, puzzled. “Don’t you think it would be easier?”

He looks up, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m a hemophiliac,” he explains, his voice sounding a little unsteady. “Do you know what that is?”

I think back to eighth-grade science class. “That means you can’t stop bleeding, right?”

He nods. “If you got a cut, your blood would clot after a few minutes and seal the wound. My blood doesn’t do that. So if I cut myself—with a knife or whatever—I would bleed myself dry. Even a tiny scratch could be life threatening.”

“Wow,” I say, not sure how to respond. “That must be risky then to be working with animals.” Not to mention vampires.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not the best profession to choose with my condition. But I love animals so I take the necessary precautions.”

It suddenly makes a lot more sense why he was wearing those thick gloves backstage at the show. And here I had thought he was afraid of germs.

“It’s no big deal!” he adds brightly, as if he’s afraid he’s scared me off. “I’m still normal in every other way. It’s just a nuisance really. And hey, if something were to happen, I have this.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small device. “It’s hooked up to a satellite and will automatically call nine-one-one for me if I press a button. If I’m bleeding, I can get an ambulance at my door in less than ten minutes. They’ll be able to inject me with clotting replacement plasma and then, unless the bleeding’s super massive, all will be well.”

“That’s a handy little toy,” I agree, checking out the device. “Have you ever had to use it?”

He shakes his head. “And hopefully I’ll never have to,” he says. “But it’s good to have, just in case.” He stuffs the device back into his pocket. “Enough about me,” he says. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about the whole play fiasco tonight. I had no idea Cornelius would react like he did. He can be a bit strange, to tell you the truth. One day he’s completely charming and fun; the next day he might transform into a royal tyrant.” He shrugs. “I can’t believe anyone—even Sasha—actually goes out with him. He’s got ‘abusive boyfriend’ written all over.”

“Yeah, he’s definitely creepy,” I reply, realizing this is my big chance to push. “What’s his deal, anyway? He thinks he’s a vampire?”

Jayden rolls his eyes. “Yeah, he’s completely obsessed with the whole vampire thing. Never going out during the day . . . though this is Vegas, I suppose. That’s not too unusual here.”

He has a point. Vegas is probably a great city for a vampire to set up shop. Everyone’s on their timetable.

“So what about this girl Sasha?” I ask, going in for the kill. “The one who played Mina before me. Did he kick her out of the play, too?”

Jayden shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, he liked her. And she lasted way longer than any of our other Minas did.”

“You go through a lot of Minas?” I ask, perking up at the admission.

“God yes,” Jayden declares. “Hell, it seems like we’re recasting that part twice a month. That’s why everyone’s so frustrated. They work a show or two and then Cornelius fires them.”

Fires them? Or snacks on them backstage? I shudder, remembering the flash of fang at my neck. What if Magnus’s mark—or my smell—hadn’t stopped him? Would I be just another Vegas vampire casualty?

“I thought he’d be okay with you for at least a show or two. And since you were leaving anyway, it was kind of perfect. Or so I thought.”

Not counting on me being a vampire’s girlfriend. “But he didn’t fire Sasha?” I ask, wanting to get back to the subject at hand.

“No. And it was weird ’cause she wasn’t like any of the other Minas we’d cast in the past. According to the script, Mina’s supposed to be pure as the driven snow. Sasha, on the other hand, is one of the trashiest girls I’ve met. Former stripper, I believe. From some low-rent hole Cornelius picked her up in. We tried to mention this to him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted she was the perfect Mina. For months the two of them were inseparable. We were pretty sure they were hooking up, though we never saw them actually together.”

“And then she just left?”

Jayden nods glumly. “Yup. Just like the others. Disappearing without a trace, leaving us high and dry once again.”

Except she didn’t exactly disappear. She showed up in Massachusetts, claiming a pedigree she obviously doesn’t have. But the question remains, how the hell had this stripper-turned-actress been able to fool an organization like the Blood Coven? I mean, even if she’d figured out a way to study for the certification with Cornelius’s help, DNA testing doesn’t lie.

“Do you happen to know where she lives?” I ask. “Or used to live, I guess?”

Jayden looks at me. “Why?” he asks, sounding puzzled.

Why indeed. Way to ask the subtle questions, Sun.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe someone should . . . check on her? Make sure she’s okay?” That, at least, seems like a reasonable excuse, right? “I mean, she did disappear.”

“True.” Jayden looks thoughtful. “Though I wouldn’t know the first place to look. Only thing I know is she lives in some trailer park. But there are millions of those outside the city so that doesn’t do us much good. Only Cornelius would know her exact address, I guess, and he refuses to talk about her at all. I’m wondering if maybe they just broke up.”

“Or he did something to her,” I suggest, feeling bad about misleading him as to my intentions. But I need this information. “Does he have files we could look at? Just to check things out?”

Jayden shakes his head. “He keeps it all on the computer,” he says. “Makes things easier for him since we switch cast members so often.” He shrugs. “Anyway, it’s sweet of you to be concerned about Sasha, but I’m sure she’s fine. Probably skipped town to avoid paying a bad debt or something. It’s Vegas. People disappear. Especially no-good people like her.” He pauses, then peers at me with worried eyes. “You look stressed. Is everything okay?”

I force a smile that I’m sure doesn’t quite meet my eyes. If only I could explain it’s not Sasha I’m worried about, but my boyfriend: He’s the one who might be in trouble. I need to find the address of that trailer and fast. It may be my only chance to gather evidence as to what’s really going on. Maybe she has a stripper ID card or something. I could show Magnus she’s not who she says she is. At least get him to postpone the biting ceremony until more information can be gathered.

I just need someone who’s good with computers to help me get that address from Cornelius . . .

“Forget Sasha,” Jayden suddenly declares. “I asked you out so I could learn more about you, not talk about her all night. How did you come to visit our fair city? No offense, but you don’t seem like the Vegas tourist type, to be honest.”

“No, I’m definitely not,” I admit, forcing my mind away from Jane. “Though I do love all the stuff you’ve shown me today.” I smile at him from across the table. “Especially Popovich Theater.”

He grins. “I love that you love that. Some people have been . . . less than impressed.”

“Yeah, well, some people like reality TV.”

“Or tofu casserole.”

“Hey! I like tofu,” I cry.

He nods solemnly. “My point exactly.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, my sister and I—I have a twin, you know—an identical twin.”

“There’s two of you?” he shrieks in mock horror. “God help us all!”

“Hey!” I swipe at him playfully from across the table. He dodges easily, eyes dancing merrily. “No comments from the peanut gallery or the story ends here.”

“Okay, okay! I’ll shut up.” He folds his hands in front of him like a good little schoolboy. I giggle.

“Much better. Anyway, my sister and I came out here to see our dad. He lives here with our stepfamily. Unfortunately he . . . got called out of town . . . last minute.”

The playfulness in the air evaporates as I think back to Crystal haughtily informing us that Dad isn’t upstairs and won’t be back until well after we leave. I remember the disappointment pooling in my stomach, the hurt in Rayne’s eyes as she tries to push the pain down deep inside, as she’s done so many times before. So not fair.

“Hey!” Jayden’s concerned voice cuts through my sudden haze. I look up and see him staring at me from across the table with worried eyes. “Are you okay?”

I shrug, tears splashing messily from my eyes. Damn it, I hadn’t meant to cry. He’s going to think I’m a total baby. “Sorry,” I say, swiping at my face with my sleeve. “I just . . . well . . .”

“You miss your dad,” he concludes, reaching into his pocket and handing me a tissue. “And you were looking forward to seeing him.”

I nod, taking the tissue from him and blowing my nose. “It’s just that he’s always doing stuff like this,” I tell him. “Like earlier this year. He was supposed to visit on Rayne’s and my birthday.”

The story bursts out from me with a force I’m unprepared for. This is the first time I’ve ever told anyone about what happened. How I reached out to my father, sending him an e-mail and asking him to come. How he replied that he would—even e-mailed me his plane reservations. We held the party for hours, waiting for him to walk through that door, birthday cake in hand, as he’d promised. Finally I went to bed; I knew he wasn’t coming. But my sister waited up all night. Still hoping. Still praying he’d somehow show. But, of course, he never did.

Sure, he came later. When Rayne was sick with the blood virus, he came—full of apologies and excuses and admissions that he was a lousy father. But what did that really prove? That it would take one of us nearly dying to get his attention?

“So we’re headed back on Sunday,” I finish up, dabbing my eyes with the tissue again. “And that’ll be it. A wasted visit, really.”

“Oh, Sunny,” Jayden says, getting up from his chair and walking around the table. He puts his arms around me and pulls me into a warm embrace. I bury my head in his shoulder, the sobs overtaking me. I hadn’t realized until this moment, when I allowed myself to feel, how upset I was about the whole thing. Maybe I’m more like Rayne—pushing things down—than I want to admit.

“The crappy thing is,” I say, still gripping his shoulders, “I still love him. I want to hate him. I really do. But I can’t. I just remember what he used to be like when I was a kid. He’d read us stories. Take us to the zoo. He was like the model dad. Until he just up and left.” I pull away from the hug. “And now we find out he was having an affair the whole time. We have a half-sister who was born when he was still together with our mother.”

Jayden gives me a sympathetic look. “That must have been rough,” he says.

“Yeah. It wasn’t fun.”

“I wonder . . .” He sits back down in his chair and I do the same. “I mean, I always thought I had it bad—I never knew my father. My mother won’t even tell me who he is. Says it was a big mistake and it’s better for me not to know. Hearing your story, I don’t know, maybe she has a point.”

I consider this for a moment, then shake my head. “No,” I say. “I wouldn’t trade the memories I have. Even though they hurt. They’re good memories. And I cherish them.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “That makes sense.” He stares down at his plate.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I tell him, reaching across the table to touch his forearm. “Is there any way your mother would change her mind?”

He shakes his head. “Not a chance,” he says. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” He shrugs. “But maybe it’s for the best. It’s not like he’s all coming looking for me either. Probably doesn’t know I exist or wants to know either.”

“Well, then, he misses out,” I declare vehemently. “’Cause you’re awesome.”

He looks up at me with a crooked grin. “Yeah?” he says. “Well, you’re pretty awesome, too.” He grabs my hand and squeezes it in his own. “And in a way I’m glad your dad wasn’t around this week. Gave me a chance to hang out with you.” His eyes sparkle at me.

Jayden strokes my palm with his thumb, sending a chill down my spine. It’s so cozy and intimate here. Other diners surround us from all sides, yet it feels like just the two of us, sitting alone in the calm, flickering candlelight and warm breeze.

Jayden captures my eyes with his mesmerizing emerald ones, a look of adoration on his beautiful face. My breath catches in my throat as I realize exactly what he’s thinking. What he wants me to do. And it would be so easy, too. To lean forward—just an inch or two—giving him the sign he’s searching for. Letting him know I’m feeling the same things he is—that rush of blood in my ears, that intense flutter in my heart, the weakness in my knees. Which of course I am.

It would be so easy to give him the go-ahead. To let him know it’s okay to push through the unspoken barrier between us and press his mouth against mine. They’d be warm, his lips—hot maybe—burning with desire, but tempered with sweetness. Unlike Magnus’s kisses, which are cold as ice, seeing as the guy is technically a walking corpse . . .

“You’re so beautiful, Sunny,” Jayden murmurs, not dropping his gaze. “And so sweet.”

Argh! I want to kiss him so badly it hurts. But I can’t. I won’t. I shake my head, trying to surface from the lust I find myself drowning in. As simple as it seems, as easy as it would be, it would also open up a world of not-so-easy, not-so-simple complications. Because while in some other life, Jayden may very well be my soul mate, in this one, I belong to a vampire. I am not free.

I push back on my chair and scramble to my feet, effectively breaking the spell between us. Jayden looks dazed and more than a little disappointed, but he doesn’t press me, which honestly makes me like him even more. But I push it all down, deep inside, and give him a bright, completely fake smile that all but kills me to make. “Thanks for dinner,” I say. “It was fun.”

Fun. Please. It was so much more than fun and I’m screaming inside to tell him. To tell him how lonely I’ve been with a boyfriend who doesn’t have time for me. One who doesn’t want me with him, even though he’s less than a mile away. One who calls me jealous and immature and refuses to listen to my reasoning or look at my proof. I hadn’t realized how upset and unhappy I’ve been until I experienced something else. A guy who doesn’t make me his last priority. Who doesn’t make me feel unwanted or like I’m just a kid.

Probably because he’s just a kid, too. And he knows where I’m coming from in a way Magnus never will.

Jayden reaches out and touches my shoulder, finding my eyes again. His expression is kind. Understanding. He may be a kid, but he’s not stupid. “You have a boyfriend,” he assesses. “That’s why you look so nervous.”

Half of me wants to deny it, but instead I nod miserably.

“It’s okay,” he says, giving me a quirked smile. “Really.”

Argh! Why does he have to be so sweet about everything? It only makes it harder. I’d rather he were some lusty horn dog who only wants to jump me and then never call the next day. But instead, he’s classy. A perfect gentleman. Just the kind of guy I always imagined myself with. The kind of guy I thought Magnus was when we first started dating.

“Thanks,” I say, dropping my gaze to my feet, where I don’t have to contend with his unfairly alluring eyes. “It’s complicated.” If only I could explain exactly how complicated.

“Come on, Sun,” he says, nodding his head to the restaurant exit. “Let me take you home.”

I follow him out of the taqueria and onto the street. “Do you want to take a cab or walk?” he asks.

“Walk.” I’m not ready to say good-bye just yet.

So he leads me through the streets, back toward the Strip. He doesn’t talk much, but it’s not awkward. If anything the situation feels kind of desperately romantic. Like a funeral procession for our new friendship.

I don’t know his phone number or have any idea where he lives. I don’t even know his last name. And in the long run, that’s probably for the best. We’ll say our good-byes and make them stick, instead of torturing ourselves with a temptation I cannot submit to. I’m going home to Massachusetts on Sunday and that is that. I mean, what am I going to do, Facebook friend him? No. It’s better this way.

I involuntarily find myself slowing my step, my heart feeling as if it’s being torn in two. I try to think of Magnus. Of all we’ve shared over the last six months. But all I can think about is our last conversation on the phone. When he called me jealous and childish and didn’t believe a word I said. Is this how he shows his love for me? Will it change, once I have proof that I was right?

“We’re here,” Jayden says, a few moments later as we turn off the Strip and I see the apartment looming in front of me. “This is where you said, right?”

I nod, wishing suddenly that Dad lived a lot farther away. Or that I could at least say he did, to prolong our walk. You know, like to Massachusetts or something.

Jayden turns to me, taking my hands in his, and the chills electrify me all over again. “Good-bye, Sunshine,” he murmurs. “I’m really happy I got to spend the day with you. You’re special. Very special. And I’m honored to have met you.”

I find I can’t speak. I just stare at him, forcing the tears not to fall. He leans forward and kisses me gently on the cheek, just a whisper of a butterfly’s wing against my skin, but it scorches all the same. He smells of Old Spice, an old-fashioned cologne that my grandfather used to wear that has no business being worn by an eighteen-year-old boy and yet smells perfect on him.

And then, before I even realize it’s happening, he turns and walks off back toward the Strip.

“Good-bye, Jayden,” I whisper to his retreating figure, my words falling into the night desert winds, whisked away, unheard. “I’ll miss you.”

14

Not shockingly, I suppose, everyone’s awake when I enter the apartment, even though it’s nearly eleven. This is definitely a household of Vegas night owls. Heather’s doing some Pilates on the floor while Crystal watches some kind of MTV reality show on the big-screen TV. Stormy’s next to her on the couch, cross-legged and lost in the world of Nintendo DS. Rayne’s the only one missing—shock, surprise, and all that.

Heather looks up when I close the door. “Hey, girl,” she says. “Did you have a good night?”

“Actually I did,” I’m able to answer truthfully. My cheek still burns from Jayden’s kiss and I involuntarily reach up to touch the spot. “It was a good night.” Maybe too good.

She smiles. “Awesome. Well, please help yourself to any food in the fridge,” she says.

“Yeah,” Stormy remarks. “There might even be a rotten banana left over from Fourth of July if you’re lucky.”

“Or we can order you something if there’s nothing you like,” Heather adds, throwing a pillow at her daughter. Stormy dodges it easily and then throws it back.

“It’s okay.” I laugh. “I actually just came from dinner.”

“Want to play Dance Dance Revolution?” Stormy asks hopefully.

“No freaking way,” Crystal interjects. “I’m watching TV here.”

Stormy looks disappointed. It’s then I remember what I was going to ask her. “I actually could use some help with my computer homework,” I tell her. “There’s this problem I’ve been having and . . .”

Stormy’s already off the couch and bouncing toward me. “I can help you!” she squeals. “Come to my room. My computer’s the best in the house by far. I’ve totally souped it up with a custom processor and, like, two terabytes of RAM.”

I have no idea what that even means, which, I guess, is why I need her help in the first place. It’s time for a lesson in Hacking 101 from the little prodigy I call sister.

I follow her to her room. Unlike the rest of the apartment with its sleek all-white modern décor, her room is a riot of color, as if a rainbow exploded everywhere and no one bothered to pick up the mess. Her walls are plastered with manga of every type and her bed is so covered with books that I wonder where she even sleeps. But the center of her room, the shrine, is obviously her computer, which sits next to the window and is covered with glittery stickers.

“So what do you need help with?” she asks, pulling up two chairs to the computer and sitting down in the command seat.

“I’m trying to get information from someone’s computer,” I explain. “An address from their address book.”

“Hmm.” Stormy considers this and I cross my fingers that this isn’t a crazy, impossible request. Then I remind myself that, glitter stickers or no, this little girl can break into real-life casinos in her spare time. Of course she can find one teensy little address. “Do you have this person’s e-mail by any chance?”

It’s then I remember the show schedule I got from the stage-hand at the theater. Reaching into my pocket, I pull it out and hand it to her. “It’s the guy at the top,” I tell her. “Cornelius.”

Stormy nods and sets the paper down on the desk. “Okay,” she says, “so the easiest way to snoop into someone’s computer remotely without them knowing is to send in a Trojan.”

“A Trojan?” Wasn’t that some old Greek horse? Or a condom company?

“It’s like installing a secret back door into their computer. So we can go in and out and access whatever we want to on their computer.”

“And you can do this? What about . . . firewalls?” I really needed to start paying attention in computer class.

“Well, if we can get them to open a certain e-mail attachment themselves then it’ll launch an auto-install and bypass the firewalls, because the computer will assume it’s an authorized install.”

“But who opens attachments these days?” I ask, leaning back in my chair. “I mean, we’ve been warned about that kind of thing since birth.”

“We have, but older people aren’t always as computer savvy as we are,” Stormy reminds me. “Is this guy older?”

Good point. From the way he favors clothing from the Old West, I’d guess Cornelius is at least a couple hundred years old. Definitely born before the age of Google. Maybe this could work.

“The key is to play on their curiosity and vanity,” Stormy tells me. “Like, sending an e-mail that says, ‘Check out this video of you and me.’ That was a Facebook virus a while back and sooo many people got infected.” She shakes her head. “In fact, Crystal got the virus four times before I finally had to disable her downloading ability.”

I laugh appreciatively. “Okay. Well, let’s write Cornelius an e-mail he can’t refuse.”

Stormy grins. “Cool. What do you know about this guy?”

He’s an evil vampire, possibly vying for the Blood Coven’s demise? Hmm. Probably something else.

“He’s an actor of this really low-rent play. Fancies himself a vampire.”

“Okay,” Stormy says, head down and typing furiously. A few minutes later, she looks up. “Got it,” she informs me. “I’m sending an e-mail that will appear to be from the Stratosphere Hotel, inquiring about his show. Turns out they’re sick of their current vampire revue, Bite, and are looking for a new act. They’ve attached a formal proposal to this e-mail, of course.” She winks at me.

“Are you sure you’re only eleven?”

She giggles. “I take it you like my idea?”

“It’s brilliant. I bet he’ll totally fall for that.”

“Okay, then I’m hitting SEND.” She clicks the mouse. “Done.”

I’m impressed. “Brilliant!” I cry. I give her a high five. “You rock, Stormy,” I tell her. “Thank you so much.” I stare at the computer screen. “So now what?”

“Now we have to wait until he accesses his e-mail and hopefully downloads the file.”

“Okay.” Darn, I was sort of hoping for instant feedback. Not that I can go find her trailer tonight anyway, but still. It’d be nice to know I have something to look into tomorrow. After all, it’s my last day to investigate before the biting ceremony at midnight. The night Jane/Sasha will become one with Magnus forever. And no matter what ends up happening between Magnus and me personally, I would never, ever want to see him hurt.

“So why do you need this address?” Stormy asks, curiously. “I mean, not that I mind doing it, but why can’t you just ask the guy himself?”

I sigh. Even though she’s precocious, she’s still only a little kid and I don’t want to drag her into this mess any more than I have to. “I’m trying to find a girl who used to work on the show,” I say, purposefully vague. “She’s gone missing and I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“Cool. You’re like Veronica Mars or something.”

“Or something.” I snort. My detective skills so far have been decidedly amateur. “I think if anyone’s Girl Detective around here, it’s you, Ms. Hacker.”

She looks pleased. “I like doing it. It’s fun.”

“So’s Hannah Montana to most kids your age.”

“Ugh. Don’t even go there,” she cries, swatting me playfully. I grab a pillow off her bed and get her back. Squealing, she dives for cover, retrieving a large stuffed bear as her weapon. Soon we’re in a full-fledged pillow fight, screaming and laughing.

“Having fun?”

A voice at the door makes me pause. Stormy takes advantage and whacks me good one last time, still giggling. Then she sees who’s watching and her arms drop, the stuffed bear falling to the floor. The smile fading from her face.

Rayne’s standing at the door, arms crossed over her chest and a sour, disapproving look on her face. She’s wearing a long black dress, complete with black gloves that go up to her elbows. An elegant look, save for her mussed-up hair and the black raccoon makeup bleeding from her eyes.

“We were just playing around,” I say, feeling my face heat as I replace the pillow on the bed. I suddenly feel super guilty, even though I know I did nothing wrong. My twin has a knack for making me feel like that.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” Rayne says. Then she adds, “Alone?”

I turn to Stormy, who’s glaring at Rayne. “Thanks for your help,” I say, ruffling her head. “I really appreciate it.” Then I turn to my twin. “Sure. Let’s go take a walk.”

I tell Heather where we’re going and then we leave the apartment and head downstairs to the lobby and out the door. Only when we’re well clear of the building does Rayne finally speak.

“You’re looking pretty cozy up there,” she snarls. “All adopted by the new family.”

“They’re nice,” I defend, not liking her tone. “I like them.”

“How sweet.”

“You just hate them because of the Dad situation. You haven’t even given them a chance.”

“Why should I give them a chance?” Rayne demands. “She hooked up with Dad when he was married to Mom and had a baby with him. The girl in there you were pillow fighting with is an evil spawn of Satan as far as I’m concerned.”

“Give me a freaking break, Rayne,” I growl back at her, no longer content to let her bash the people I’m really starting to care about. “You have no idea what the deal was between Mom and Dad back then. Maybe they had an open marriage. I mean, they were both hippies, right? Or maybe their marriage was already over by that point and they were just staying together for us kids. You don’t know. You’re just guessing. And you’re making these people out to be monsters. Even Stormy. I mean, my God, it’s not as if she asked to be born.” I shake my head in disgust.

Rayne looks upset. I guess she’s not used to me fighting back. Well, tough luck ’cause I’m not done. Not by a long shot.

“Look, I know all of this has been a pretty big shock. Coming here and finding out Dad’s not even around and that we have a sister we didn’t know about. It sucks. But you can’t just keep hiding from it all, in the casinos all day and night, just to avoid them. These people are in your family, whether you like it or not, and someday you’re going to have to accept this and start dealing with it.” I reach over and touch her arm, trying to comfort her. It’s then that I realize she’s trembling.

“How come it’s so easy for you?” she asks, her voice choked. “It’s not like I want to feel like this—all knotted up inside, being eaten away by my hate.”

“You just have to let it go,” I tell her. “Stop being so proud. Stop walling yourself off in fear of getting hurt. Let them in. I promise they won’t hurt you. They’re not evil. They’re not out to destroy you. In fact, Heather has been bending over backward to make sure we’re okay. She’s really nice. I know it’d be easier if she really was a home-wrecking bitch, but she’s not.”

“But what she did . . .”

“You don’t know what she did. You really don’t.” I stroke her hair, trying to soothe her. “When we get home we can sit down with Mom and ask her to tell us the whole story. Then we’ll know. Heather says there’s more to it and I believe her. We’ll find out the truth and then you can make a decision on how you want this stepfamily to fit into your life. And if you never want to talk to them again, that’s your decision to make. But I’ve made mine and I’m not going to let you make me feel like a traitor for doing so.”

Rayne lets out a sob and I pull her close, wrapping her in my arms and comforting her as best I can. She’s so sensitive under all her bravado, all her hate. I really wish she could let down the walls she’s built up, just a tiny bit. Because by seeking to protect herself, she’s actually trapped herself inside.

“So you really think they’re nice?” she asks, pulling away from the hug. “Even Crystal?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No. She’s still a total beeyatch,” I reply. “But Heather and Stormy, they’re great.”

Rayne draws in a breath, a determined look coming over her face. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go back upstairs. I’d like to get to know my family a little better. If it’s not too late.”

“It’s Vegas bay-bee,” I say, grinning at her, happy she’s taking a chance at last. “It’s never too late here.”

15

Sunlight streams through the window and I groan, pulling the covers over my head, just wanting five more minutes of sleep. After Rayne and I went inside last night, Heather suggested hot chocolate and a game of Cranium. We played ’til one A.M.—with even Crystal joining in. Rayne was quiet and awkward at first, but eventually loosened up and by the end of the night was laughing and teasing along with the rest of us. Finally Heather announced that she was exhausted and had to get some sleep. So she set us up in Stormy’s bedroom and let her daughter sleep with her. I’d fallen into a comalike slumber and didn’t wake up until now.

“Sunny,” cries Stormy, bouncing on the bed. “We’re in!”

Groggily, I try to figure out what she’s talking about. “In?”

“To the computer. He opened the e-mail.” She jumps off the bed and into her computer chair. “Look! He’s got his desktop totally vamped out.”

I glance over at the screen. Sure enough, Stormy’s rainbow and unicorn wallpaper has been replaced by a black background with dripping red letters.

“He really takes this vampire thing seriously, huh?” Stormy asks.

“Oh yeah.” But then most vampires do, I suppose.

“So here you can operate his computer just as he would,” she explains. “You can read his e-mail, check what websites he’s visited, whatever. You’re basically in the driver’s seat. Just don’t make any changes or he might notice something’s wrong next time he sits down at his computer.”

I nod, taking the mouse from her and gliding it across Cornelius’s desktop. I find the icon marked ADDRESS BOOK and double click. A few moments later I am the proud owner of the address of Ms. Sasha Star on Fifth Avenue, Lake View Mountain Park, Calle Verde, Nevada.

I scribble it down on scrap paper and then turn to my sister. “You rock, Stormy. Thanks so much.” I start to get up from my chair.

She stops me. “That’s it? I give you the ultimate inside access to this dude’s computer and all you do is steal one little address?” she asks incredulously. “It hardly seems worth the effort. Don’t you want to check out his e-mail? Maybe see what websites he regularly visits?”

“Okay, okay.” I sit back down, amused. “Let’s see if he’s into porn or something.”

I load up Internet Explorer and hit the HISTORY button. But instead of websites like “HotVampsLoveBlood.com” I find that Cornelius has actually been looking up opportunities in higher education.

At Oxford University to be precise. The puzzle pieces are starting to align.

I take a screenshot and hit print and a moment later the evidence sits waiting on the printer. I grab the paper and rise from my seat, kissing Stormy on the top of her head. “Thanks so much, sis,” I say. “That was awesome. You really need to join the CIA or something when you get older.”

She laughs, logging out of Cornelius’s desktop and going back to her own. “No way,” she says. “I want to be an actress.”

“You really are my sister, aren’t you?” I smile at her. It’s then that I glance at the clock on the bedside table for the first time. “Three P.M.?” I cry, realizing I’d slept way later than I could have ever imagined.

“Yeah,” Stormy says, looking amused. “I’ve already been to school and back and you’ve been sleeping the whole time.”

Crap. This leaves me with only nine hours before the biting ceremony tonight. I’m running out of time. “Stormy, have you seen Rayne?”

Stormy nods absently from her computer. “She left about an hour ago,” she says. “Something about a date with a slot machine she couldn’t refuse.”

Damn it. She’s gambling again? And here I thought once she had made peace with the family she’d be done with all of that and ready to help me. Now we’re down to the wire and I could really use her help. After all, the last thing I want to do is break into a probably evil crazy person’s trailer by myself. It’s not like I have slayer training like her.

Since I can’t properly plead on the phone with others in the apartment within hearing distance, I decide to get dressed and call her on my way. So I take a five-minute shower and change quicker than Superman in a phone booth, then say my good-byes and head downstairs and out of the apartment building. Once I’m down the block, I pull out my cell phone and dial my twin.

“Hello?” she answers on the fourth ring.

“Rayne, it’s me,” I say into the phone. “Where are you? I need your help.”

“Oh hey, Sun,” she says, a bit too cheerfully. “I’m down at the Harrah’s Casino. There’s a huge poker match today—preliminary try-outs to become contestants on the World Series of Poker. You know, the TV show? I’m so trying out.”

She’s got to be kidding me, right? “Rayne, listen to me.” I grip the phone tightly, forcing myself to keep my cool. “Tonight’s the night Magnus is going to turn Jane into a vampire unless I can prove to him that she’s evil and up to no good. I have her last known address. It’s out in the desert somewhere, according to Google Maps. I’m sure if we break in we can find some evidence. Some kind of irrefutable proof Magnus can’t help but pay attention to.”

Rayne’s silent for a moment. “We?” she asks at last. “But I just told you, I’m in a tournament. Sunny, this is a once in a lifetime chance. I could win a million dollars.”

“But, Rayne, I need you,” I say, ready to resort to begging if necessary. “You’re the slayer.”

“I’m really getting sick of you saying that, Sun.” I can practically hear her rolling her eyes over the airwaves. “It’s not like I have some crazy superpowers or anything. Really, anyone can kill a vampire. You just need a chunk of wood to stab through his heart. So easy.”

“Rayne, come on.” I can’t believe she’s being like this. Choosing some stupid poker game over her flesh-and-blood sister. After all the times I’ve helped her out over the years, the one time I need her and she blows me off.

She sighs into the phone. “Do you really need me?” she asks. “Really?” She sounds like she’s hedging, but only out of guilt, not out of actually wanting to help me, which just makes me angrier.

“You know what, I guess I don’t. Have fun at your stupid tournament. Hope you win a bundle.” I click END on the phone and stuff it back in my purse, fury raging through me. I flag down a taxi and get inside, giving him the address. I have to offer him an extra twenty to leave the city limits, but he eventually agrees and we’re on our way. My phone vibrates, sister calling back, but I refuse to pick up.

I lean back in the seat, still seething. I should have known she wouldn’t come with me. Rayne never does anything that doesn’t directly benefit herself.

Whatever. I don’t need her. I can do this all on my own. Get to the trailer park, sneak in and gather evidence, and get back to the Mandalay Bay casino before midnight. No problem.

I’ll save the day and be the hero and for once it won’t be the slayer getting all the credit. In fact, once Magnus hears how selfish she’s been, he’ll probably put her on probation or something. Like vampire detention. That’d be perfect.

Oh Magnus, I sigh to myself as we drive away from the bright lights and into the barren desert. I hope you appreciate all I’m doing for you.

16

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” the cabdriver asks me skeptically as we turn onto a rocky dirt road in the middle of nowhere Nevada. I look down at the Google Maps directions I printed out. Yup, definitely the right place.

“I’m sure,” I reply. “Just turn left up here.”

The cabdriver mutters something under his breath, but does as he’s told, turning left into the Lake View Mountain trailer park. While some mobile home parks, like the old folks’ home where my grandma spends winters down in Florida, are really nice, with built-in swimming pools and shuffleboard courts, this one is decidedly dilapidated. The trailers are rusty, porches are sagging, and most of them could use at least three coats of new paint. Not to mention there is no “lake view” or “mountain” to speak of. Not surprising, since we’re out in the middle of the desert, I suppose, but definitely false advertising, if you ask me.

“Stop here,” I instruct, as the cab glides past Fifth Avenue (which looks nothing like its New York City counterpart, I probably don’t have to add). “I’m getting out.”

The wind picks up dust and debris and swirls it around the cab and a mangy-looking dog approaches the vehicle, baring its teeth. I look around for its owner, but there’s no one in sight. It’s as if the place is deserted. Abandoned. Hopefully this isn’t due to some hungry vampire passing through. I glance up at the already darkening sky. I’d so wanted to get an earlier head start.

“Are you sure you want to get out?” the cabdriver asks, looking more worried than annoyed now. His eyes dart from one smudged window to the other. “This place doesn’t exactly look very safe.”

He’s right, it doesn’t, and for the thousandth time I wish Rayne had come with me. Even if her slayer powers are all bulk as she claims (and I don’t believe that for one second), at least she’d be good moral support—being the type of girl who’s not afraid of anything. At the very least she’s had some combat training, if it were to come to that.

But she isn’t here and I need to accept that—suck it up and be brave for once in my life. I mean, God, it’s no wonder Magnus always treats me like a little kid—I’m practically afraid of my own shadow when it comes to situations like these. I need to prove him wrong—prove everyone wrong. Show them I’m capable, confident, and can single-handedly save the coven from an evil vampire. Maybe even save Magnus’s very life.

I am Sunny, hear me rawr.

“Just wait for me, okay?” I ask, pushing another twenty through the payment slot. The driver nods absently, still taking in the sketchy scene with worried eyes. I sigh and get out of the cab, closing the door behind me and heading down Fifth Avenue toward Sasha’s trailer. Here goes nothing.

The last remnants of the sun begin to gracefully slip past the horizon, not easing my mood as I walk down the dirt street. I can’t see anyone, but feel a thousand eyes watching me from behind closed curtains from the trailers I pass, making the hairs on my neck prickle. I squeeze my hands tight to stop them from trembling and try to tell myself there’s nothing to be nervous about. So these people are poor—that doesn’t make them dangerous. But there’s just something in the air that makes that reassurance very hard to believe.

A flock of vultures circles above me, only adding to my nervousness. I imagine them waiting for me to drop so they can swoop down and retrieve their dinner. Tearing at my skin, pecking out my eyes, until there’s nothing but dental records that could identify me, even if someone were to find me way out here in the middle of nowhere Nevada.

It occurs to me, suddenly, that I should have at least told Rayne exactly where I was going so she could call in the cavalry if, for some reason, I don’t return in a timely fashion. Not that she’d probably even notice, I suppose, until it’s too late. Too busy playing high-roller to be a good sister.

Suddenly I hear a screeching sound and whirl around, my heart in my throat. I’m just in time to see the cab racing out of the trailer park in a cloud of dust, fishtailing back onto the main road and taking off down the street as fast as its wheels can take it.

Damn it! I punch a nearby streetlamp in frustration, scraping my knuckles in the process. This is great. Just great. Now I’m going to have to figure out a way to convince some other cab to drive way out here to pick me up when I’m done. And I’m running out of twenties.

Forcing my mind back to my task, I locate trailer number 74342. I glance down at my printout. This is it. Sasha/Jane’s trailer. At least this particular home is freshly painted, unlike the others in the park. There are brightly colored geraniums growing in little flowerpots under the windowsills, too. (Though it appears they haven’t been watered for a few days.) I walk around the trailer, scoping it out. Peer in an open window. It’s dark inside. Nobody home. Which is not surprising, I suppose, considering at the moment Jane’s probably staying at the conference hotel.

Sucking in a nervous breath, reminding myself that this is all for the greater good, I push up the screen window and manage to pull myself up and inside. I land in a small bedroom, a full-size mattress covered by a faded flower quilt filling the majority of the room.

I’m in.

Okay. I scramble to my feet. Time to search for evidence of Jane’s true identity. But where to begin? I walk out into the small living room/kitchen area and scan it thoughtfully. My eyes fall upon a small file cabinet sitting next to a computer desk. Aha!

I start my search. At first I’m only finding folders with restaurant takeout menus and book club flyers and a few advertisements for collectibles from the Franklin Mint. Nothing damning, evidence-wise, though the Mint thing could imply questionable taste.

I’m about to give up and try somewhere else, when my fingers stumble across something with much more potential. A manila folder labeled JANE.

Hands trembling, I pull the folder from the drawer, inadvertently spilling its contents all over the floor in the process. I get down on my knees to look through it all, my heart sinking as I realize it’s exactly what I’ve been hoping not to find. Birth records, school report cards, fingernail analysis, even blood-type information, all made out to Jane. A diploma from Oxford rounds out the files, announcing her recent Master of Science degree.

I stare at the diploma, wanting to cry. I wanted proof, but I never expected to find the other kind. The kind that proves that I was wrong. That Jane is exactly who she says she is and I’ve just been a jealous girlfriend from the very start.

I stuff all the paperwork back in the folder and toss it on the desk, depressed beyond belief. I can’t believe I was wrong: all this investigating for nothing. Magnus was right to treat me like a child. I deserve nothing better. I mean, what did I think? That I, a high school kid, was smarter than a group of thousand-year-old vampires? That I could see something they overlooked? Please. I must be crazy.

Rayne is so going to have a field day when I tell her. A big “I told you so” fest if she can drag herself away from the poker table to celebrate.

None of this makes any sense still. Why would Jane pretend to be someone like Sasha and star in a stupid off-Strip Vegas revue? How did she afford Oxford while living in a trailer? But, I suppose, these are just minor details at this point and don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. In the end, she’s exactly who she’s said she is and there’s no practical reason on Earth she should not become my boyfriend’s blood mate.

I realize that dusk is fading into night and I still need to call a cab to get the hell out of here. Feeling dejected, I reach in my bag for my cell, but when I pull it out I realize I have no bars. No coverage way out here in the middle of the desert. Not good. Anxiously I scan the trailer, looking for a landline phone and find one of those old-fashioned rotary dial types sitting on a side table in the living room. Relieved, I pick up the receiver.

No dial tone.

I sink down to the sofa, anxiety now warring with my hopeless depression. I’m way too far away to get back to Vegas on foot even if I could navigate my way in the pitch dark. Damn that cabdriver for taking my money and abandoning me like that. What am I supposed to do?

I suck in a breath and force myself to remain calm. Panicking is not going to help the situation at all. Maybe one of the neighbors has a phone that works. After all, the whole park wouldn’t have ducked out on their monthly phone bills, right? Or maybe one of them would even take pity on me and drive to the nearest gas station where I could find a pay phone.

Hi, I just broke into your neighbor’s trailer to prove she’s not an evil demon bent on destroying a coven of vampires. Can I use your phone?

Seeing no other choice, I rise from my seat and wrap my hand around the front door handle. But noises make me pause before turning the knob. I peek out the window, trying to discern what’s going on.

My eyes widen as I realize the once deserted town is now teeming with people of all shapes and sizes. Some wandering around, seemingly aimlessly, others hanging out on rocking chairs on their porches. Still others . . .

. . . are catching and gnawing on live, squirming rats.

Realization strikes me like a bad bolt of lightning.

Oh God, this is a vampire trailer park.

My heart slams against my chest in a staccato beat as my mind whirls with panic, wondering what I should do. I mean, most vampires I know are completely civilized and would have no problem letting a human girl use their phone. But then again, not all vamps are members of the consortium or live by the Slayer Inc. creed. Magnus warned me that some still hark to the old ways, forgoing twenty-first century traditions like blood donors and instead living barbarically, sucking the blood out of rats. And humans, if they can get ahold of any. Humans like me.

I let go of the door handle and slowly back away, realizing my position is more precarious than I could have ever believed. And here I was worried about the police and a little breaking-and-entering on my record. Not being trapped in a town full of probably cannibalistic vampires.

Part of me tries to remind myself that I’m safe; no one knows I’m here and I can stay quiet until morning and then leave once they’re back inside sleeping the day away. But then again, what if someone comes back? Jane? A roommate?

I try the phone again. I try my cell. Nothing. No bars. I’m stuck.

I sink down to the faded couch, my stomach churning. What had I been thinking, coming out here by myself? Not even telling anyone where I was? How could I let some random cabdriver serve as my only protector? No wonder Rayne is the vampire slayer and I’m just the dumb twin. She would have never gotten herself into this mess to begin with.

The last wails of a dying rat assault my ears, followed by a horrible crunching sound. I pull my legs up onto the couch, hugging them with my arms, concentrating on not making a sound. Please don’t let anyone figure out I’m here. Thank goodness I didn’t turn on any lights to alert them to my presence. At the same time, sitting in the darkness isn’t all that comforting either. The only light comes from a streetlamp outside that shines in through the living room window above the couch, illuminating the wall across from me.

My eyes come to rest on a framed photo, affixed to this lit-up wall. A photo I hadn’t noticed during my initial search of the trailer.

Oh. My. God.

I slowly climb off the couch and walk toward the picture, my breath permanently lodged in my throat as it comes into closer focus as I near it.

Two girls, smiling into the camera.

Two identical girls to be precise.

Jane . . . and . . . Sasha.

Twins.

Suddenly all the puzzle pieces click into place. I dive for the file folder again, paging through documents under the dim light from the streetlamp outside. It was all so obvious—why didn’t I think of this before? After all, I’m a twin myself—my sister and I have had a billion cases of mistaken identity between us. I find a second folder, this one labeled SASHA, and dig through, finding rehab records, pay stubs from strip clubs, the works.

Why would an ex-druggie stripper living in a trailer park pose as a Rhodes scholar from Oxford? Because she was playing the part of her twin sister, who actually did go to Oxford. And all the Blood Coven’s DNA testing wouldn’t have exposed her lie because identical twins have identical DNA, as Rayne and I know from our own past case of mistaken identity.

But where is the real Jane? The one who did go to Oxford? The one who actually would make a good blood mate for my boyfriend?

A paper falls from one of the files and I grab it off the floor. My eyes widen as I realize what it is. A Massachusetts death certificate. For one Jane Star, who died from unknown causes just a week ago.

Oh my God. Did they kill her? Kill her and replace her with her twin?

Suddenly the trailer park front door creaks open and I realize my problems are about to get much, much worse.

17

My eyes dart around the trailer, looking for some place—any place to hide. But there’s nothing—not even a closet. And the man is already inside.

Except that he’s not a man. He’s a vampire. And not just any vampire. Cornelius.

His eyes fall upon me and he smiles a sick, twisted smile. He knows I’m caught. A deer in headlights. He shakes his head slowly.

“My dear Sunshine,” he says in his Southwestern drawl. “Fancy finding you here.”

“Um, hey, um, Cornelius,” I say, stumbling over my own tongue. I don’t know why I’m even trying. There’s no excuse on Earth I can come up with that will make my presence seem coincidental. “My, um, well, the vampires are looking for Jane for tonight’s ceremony. You haven’t, um, heard from or seen her, have you?”

Yeah, nice try, Sun.

Cornelius laughs heartily, still blocking the only exit, I might add. Though it’s not like I’m going to go running outside with all the hungry rat-eating vampires on the prowl.

“Why yes, I have seen her,” he says, his velvety voice almost a purr. “She’s with her future blood mate, Magnus, getting ready for tonight’s ceremony. Don’t you worry my little one,” he says, chucking me under the chin. “Everything is right on schedule.”

“Um, great?” I say, taking a step back. His breath is utterly foul. “So maybe I should get over there then. Magnus is . . . expecting me.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cornelius replies, his tone full of pseudo-sympathy, “but I can’t let you do that. You see, I know you’ve figured out our little ploy—our little twin switcheroo, you might call it. And I’m afraid if I let you go, you’d just go run and tell your little boyfriend the truth and ruin everything I’ve worked so hard preparing.” He shakes his head, as if weary of the world. “I knew I should have killed you the second I smelled your tainted blood and saw your scar. I can’t believe you thought you’d get to me by posing as an actor. And then that computer trick—you think I would just download some executable file without investigating its origins? Please. I let you in. I watched as you took her address. And then I simply waited until dark to follow you here.”

My heart sinks as I realize I haven’t been half as clever as I thought I’d been. And now I’m trapped. Screwed. About to become a vampire snack. Unless . . .

“So what are you going to do?” I demand, mustering as much false bravado as I can. Channeling my inner Rayne. “Suck me dry? I think you’re forgetting about my tainted blood. Yeah, a little Holy Grail goes a long way. A small taste of me will be like gargling holy water. I can just walk out of here and never look back.”

I storm past him, starting for the door. He places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. “You might be able to get past me,” he says, his voice way too self-satisfied for my comfort. “However, the vampires outside don’t have quite the same refined tastes as I do. They’re also very, very hungry. So I’m guessing they’d bite first and ask questions later, if you know what I mean.”

I look out the window just in time to see a zombielike vampire chomp greedily on a grime-covered bone. If they’re willing to eat something like that, Cornelius may be right about their lack of refined palette.

“Besides,” Cornelius adds, another smirk on his face. “You’d be leaving something—or should I say someone—very valuable to you behind.”

Oh God, what now? I turn to him. “What do you mean?” I demand.

“One moment. I left him in the car.” He steps out of the trailer. The zombie vampires look up hungrily, then seem to realize it’s one of their own kind and go back to their meals. Cornelius walks over to his Cadillac SUV, looking very out of place in the midst of the carnage, and opens up the back hatch. He grabs what appears to be a body bag and lugs it back into the trailer. The door slams shut behind him and he tosses the bag on the couch.

“Ow!” cries the bag—or more accurately the person in the bag. I cover my gaping mouth with my hand, realizing I know that voice very well.

“Jayden!” I cry, diving for my friend. I unzip the body bag and help him out. He’s hogtied and gagged. I struggle to release him while Cornelius just watches with laughing eyes. Oh God, I can’t believe he got Jayden. This makes things much more complicated.

I yank the gag out of his mouth and he erupts into a choking cough. Helplessly, I pat him on the back while glaring up at Cornelius. Bastard. How dare he take poor innocent Jayden who has nothing to do with any of this world? He could have lived his whole life blissfully ignorant of all of this dark otherworld around him. Gotten married, had children, been happy. Now, for the rest of his life, he’ll be scarred. If he has a “rest of his life,” that is. At the moment, the Magic Eight Ball would say that the outlook is not so good.

“Sunny!” Jayden’s eyes widen as they focus on me for the first time. “Oh God, he got you, too?”

I nod, not having the heart to tell him I walked into the trap myself, no “getting me” necessary. “Are you okay?” I ask him. “He didn’t . . . bite you . . . did he?” After all, a vampire bite is bad enough; imagine adding hemophilia to the mix.

Jayden shakes his head. He looks over at Cornelius, who currently appears to be fixing himself some sort of bloody beverage over in the kitchen area. Jayden’s normally beautiful eyes darken with fear. “Crazy psychopath,” he whispers under his breath. “He really thinks he’s a vampire. Like, for real.”

I swallow hard. “Jayden, he is a vampire.”

“What?” He shoots me a look. “But there’s no such—”

“You have to trust me,” I hiss back. “I’ll explain later. Just know that we’re in serious danger and it’s best to just sit here and don’t move. I’ll think of something.”

“What, are you like Buffy or something? A vampire slayer?”

I wish. “No, but my sister is. And my boyfriend’s a vampire so I know a lot about their kind.”

Jayden shrinks back from me, wide-eyed.

“No, no. He’s one of the good ones. Not all vampires are evil,” I assure him.

“So . . . you’re dating . . . Edward Cullen.”

“Sure, if you have to relate it all to a Stephanie Meyer book,” I grudgingly agree. “But don’t say that to Magnus’s face. He’s a card-carrying member of Team Jacob. Even has the T-shirt.”

“Oh God,” Jayden moans, leaning back on the couch. “I can’t believe this is all real. I mean, vampires! Real vampires? And I’ve been employed by one all this time and didn’t even know it? No wonder we’ve gone through so many Minas. He’s probably eaten each and every one of them.”

I glance over at Cornelius who’s now cutting up a stalk of celery to stick in his probably literal “Bloody Mary” cocktail. “Well, sucked them dry, at the very least,” I reply wryly. “Except for Sasha, that is. The two of them are involved in some kind of huge plot to infiltrate and take over my boyfriend’s coven. That’s why I tried out for the play. I wanted to go undercover and figure out what was going on.”

Jayden nods thoughtfully. “That’s why you needed Sasha’s address,” he realizes. “Which, I assume, is where we are right now?”

“Yup. And I have all the proof I need. Problem is, I need to get to the Mandalay Bay Hotel by midnight to have any of it do any good.” I glance at my watch. “In an hour it’ll be too late to stop them.”

Cornelius picks that moment to sink down into the worn armchair across from us, glass of blood in hand. He’s so tall it’s as if he’s sitting in a chair meant for a child. There’s no way Jayden and I could possibly overpower him physically. Especially with Jayden’s blood condition. One scratch and he’d be a goner.

I watch as Cornelius takes a sip from his drink, the blood staining his lips. Then he makes a face. “Goddamn desert rat,” he mutters. “What I wouldn’t give for a little human martini infusion.” He looks hungrily at Jayden, who shrinks back in his seat, eyes wide.

“So,” I interrupt quickly, hoping to change the subject. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill Jane and put Sasha in her place? What’s the goal here?” I force my voice to sound casual and unafraid.

A sly grin spreads across Cornelius’s face. He glances at his watch. “I guess I can tell you,” he says, “since there’s no way you’ll be able to warn your little boyfriend. In less than an hour the biting ceremony will be over. Magnus will have transformed Sasha into his vampire blood mate. And then the High Stakes Coven can have our revenge on the Blood Coven.”

Okay, hang on a second. “Revenge? Why on Earth do you want revenge against the Blood Coven?” I demand. “They’re like the most peaceful, all-inclusive coven in the entire consortium.”

For the first time Cornelius loses his cool. He glares at me, eyes shooting daggers. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, mortal,” he snarls. “They killed her. Burned her to death without remorse. To this day her screams still haunt my dreams.”

I’m taken aback by his fury. “Whose screams?” I ask, warily.

“Tabitha’s! My baby sister,” he cries. He shakes his head, a distraught look on his face. “All the poor, poor girl wanted was to become a vampire like me. I told her not to—that she didn’t want this kind of life. But she didn’t listen. Went and sold herself to that abomination—that child vampire freak—who did nothing but lock her away from the world, abusing her, crushing her spirit, and then finally burning her to death in her own bedroom to stop her from speaking up about his cruel ways.”

My mind suddenly flashes back to the story Magnus told me back at Club Fang earlier in the week. About Lucifent, the previous Blood Coven Master, whose blood mate died in a fire that may or may not have been sparked by his own hand.

Oh God, and now her brother wanted revenge. And he was willing to take it out on Magnus, the new coven leader.

“But Cornelius,” I argue, pushing down my rising panic. “That was Lucifent’s doing, not Magnus’s. And he’s dead. Slayer Inc. killed him—probably to avenge Tabitha’s death, now that I think about it.” That part had never made sense to me before. “In any case, there’s no reason to punish the rest of the Blood Coven for a dead vampire’s crimes. And certainly no reason to punish Magnus.”

But Cornelius is not so easily dissuaded. “No reason?” he roars. “They turned their backs on his crimes. Ignored her screams and went on with their nights as she died in the most painful way possible. And then, when it was over, did they condemn the man who killed one of their own? No. They covered up the evidence and kept that mutant child vampire on as their leader. A murderer as their Master.” He scowls, his handsome face looking suddenly old.

“Fine. So now you’ll have your revenge. Get back at the Blood Coven. Then what? What are you going to do next?”

“I guess you’ll see,” Cornelius smiles. “If you live through the night, that is.”

Beside me, Jayden whimpers. I reach over and place a hand over his. This is scary enough for me; I can’t imagine how frightened a normal human would be in this situation. One that, before now, had no idea vampires even existed.

A sudden crashing noise outside makes us all pause. Cornelius is on his feet. There’s some kind of fight going on outside between the zombie vampires. He groans. “It’s so tough to be Master,” he mutters to himself, then turns back to us. “I will return in a moment,” he says. “I suggest you don’t go anywhere. Unless you like the idea of vampires gnawing on your bones.”

And with that, he pushes the screen door outward and steps outside. I can hear him yelling at his vampires, insisting there are enough vulture corpses to go around. I shudder.

Realizing we have to do something, I rise to my feet, grabbing Jayden’s hand and pulling him up with me. “We have to get out of here,” I say. “I can’t let Cornelius destroy the Blood Coven.” I look out one window then another. There are vampire zombies everywhere and I doubt we’d be able to make a run for it. Crap. What would Rayne do in a situation like this? “What to do?” I mutter, half to myself.

“Well you’re the vampire expert,” Jayden reminds me. He’s trying to sound brave, but his shaky voice relays his fear. “What are their weaknesses? Like what’s in the movies? Is any of that true?”

“Some,” I say, running the possibilities over in my mind. “Crosses, garlic, holy water all hurt. But I don’t think we’ll find any of that stuff here. I don’t suppose you can start a fire with two sticks by any chance?”

Jayden shakes his head. “I dropped out of Boy Scouts,” he confesses. “Too much camping. Anything else?”

“Just blood. They go nuts with the smell of blood. Though not my blood, I guess. Evidently the whole Holy Grail thing made it poisonous to a vampire.”

Jayden shoots me a look. “The Holy Grail thing? I so need to hear that story when we get out of here.”

“If we get out of here. I mean, not to be a glass half-empty girl here, but even if we are able to defeat Cornelius somehow there’s still a whole trailer park filled with vampires to contend with. We can’t exactly take on the whole town.”

Jayden bites his lower lip worriedly. “And you’re sure your cell phone isn’t working.”

I nod grimly. “Neither is the home phone. But even if they did, who would we call? A cab?”

“I’d probably call nine-one-one in this case,” Jayden says. “This is an emergency, right? Though it’d be a little hard to explain to the operator just what kind.”

Suddenly it dawns on me. Or hits me over the head, more like a lightning bolt. “Oh my God, Jayden!” I exclaim, a plan forming in my mind.

He looks at me anxiously. “What? Do you have an idea?” “Your . . . alert thing. You know, if you get cut. Doesn’t it automatically call nine-one-one no matter where you are?”

His jaw drops open. “Oh my God, of course!” he cries. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. It’s all satellite-based so we’ll get reception, even out here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the device. It blinks back at him, a precious green light, promising freedom. “I suppose this qualifies as an emergency,” he says, ready to press the button.

But suddenly the trailer door bursts open, slamming into Jayden and knocking the device out of his hand. It rolls under the couch. Before we can dive after it, Cornelius is looming in front of us again.

“What are you two doing?” he asks suspiciously. “Not trying to escape, are you? I told you, it won’t do you any good. Silly little humans.” He sits down on the couch, blocking any chance of us leaning down and grabbing the device. Crap. I glance at my watch. Forty-five minutes and counting. If only we could distract him some way. Get him to get off the couch long enough for me to reach under and grab the device . . .

“Hey, Dracula! Over here!”

I whirl around, my mouth opening in shock as I see that Jayden has climbed onto the rickety kitchen table. He’s found a knife in the drawer and is waving it wildly. At first I think he’s going to try to stab Cornelius, which won’t do any good. A knife wound does nothing to a vampire. But then, a moment later, I see he has something much, much more dangerous in mind.

“Jayden, no!” I cry as he proceeds to drag the knife along his chest. A crimson stain of blood suddenly spreads over his white shirt.

“Come and get it, bad boy!” he snarls at Cornelius.

The vampire is on him before I realize he’s moved, his mouth on Jayden’s chest, greedily licking up the blood. It’s flowing like crazy and I know it’s not going to stop.

“Get the device!” Jayden cries, his eyes wild and his face white. “Save yourself! Save the Blood Coven!”

I glance over at the couch, then back at him, my mind whirling in confusion. I can’t just let him do this—sacrifice himself to save me. I need to do something.

I need a stake. But even if I had one, could I really manage to push it through his heart? I’m no slayer and I don’t think it’s really as easy as my sister would have me believe. Otherwise, why would there be official slayers to begin with, born and destined and all that? They could just get any random guy off the street and hand him a stake.

If only I had stayed a vampire. I could kill him and save Jayden’s life. But no, I’m just a mortal girl. No superpowers. No super-strength. No way to save my friend . . .

Jayden’s cries are softer now, weaker, as he tries to fight off the vampire with ever-draining blood. I glance desperately around the room, for something—anything!—that could possibly damage an immortal vampire.

Then I see the stove. And I remember Cornelius’s story about Tabitha, Jayden and me discussing fire only moments earlier, and Rayne’s snarky comment about the blowtorch.

I dive for the appliance, my hands closing around the burner knobs, twisting them to high heat. Soon the stovetop is dancing with flickering flames. Here we go. I may not have superpowers, but I can definitely kill a vampire.

“Jayden!” I cry, backing out of the way. “Push him off you! Now!”

For a moment I think it’s too late. That Jayden’s too far gone to hear me. But then I see his hands make contact with Cornelius’s chest—shoving him forward with all his might, adrenaline compensating for actual strength. Caught off guard, the vampire loses his balance and teeters backward, stumbling right into the stovetop inferno. If you’ve never seen a vampire burn, let me tell you, it’s like they’re made of pure kerosene. Not a minute after contact, he’s running through the trailer, thoroughly engulfed. Screaming bloody murder. He doesn’t make it far, before collapsing and writhing out his last breaths.

We did it. We killed him.

Jayden, now entirely out of strength, collapses, crashing onto the floor in a dead faint, blood literally gushing from his gaping wound. Oh God, Cornelius must have ripped open his chest with his teeth. I feel like I’m going to throw up or pass out, but force myself to focus and dig under the couch to find the device we need. A moment later I’m pressing the precious button and a beeping informs me that help is on its way. Thank God.

But we’re not out of danger just yet; the trailer’s become an inferno at this point—Cornelius, having managed to set the whole place ablaze from his thrashing around. (Did no one teach him as a child to stop, drop, and roll?) Choking on the thick black smoke, I duck down and crawl over to Jayden, who’s now out cold. I grab the folder with my proof and then grab onto Jayden by his shoulders and drag him out of the burning trailer, praying the other vampires will leave us alone until help arrives.

Luckily, the vampire zombies all seem to have a healthy respect for fire and what it can do to them. They run around, howling and screaming, but don’t approach. I pull Jayden a safe distance from the smoke and rip my shirt to use as a makeshift bandage, trying to put pressure on the wound as best I can. But it’s not a perfect solution when the patient’s blood won’t give him a break.

“Please be okay,” I beg, tears streaming down my cheek. “Please hold on a little longer.”

I think I see his eyes flutter for a second, but it could be my imagination. Leaning down, I kiss his forehead softly. Even lying so close to the fire, his skin is ice cold. Not a good sign.

A moment later, the cavalry arrives. An ambulance, fire truck, and two police cars pull into the trailer park, with bright flashing lights and piercing sirens that force the zombie vampires to retreat into their trailers to live another day. Safe and sound, at least until I report them to Slayer Inc.

But I’ve got more important things to think of now. Five minutes later we’re racing down the desert road, on our way to the hospital. I’m in the back of the ambulance with Jayden, holding his hand as paramedics work on his cut. They’ve given him some kind of medication to stop the bleeding, but he’s already lost a ton of blood and their white, focused faces don’t give me any clue as to how this will end for him.

“Jayden, hang in there,” I whisper to him, squeezing his hand. The paramedic waves me off so he can better do his job. I reluctantly sit back down in my seat.

I glance at my watch. Twenty minutes to go. What should I do? I don’t want to leave Jayden’s side. But I can’t very well let Sasha destroy the Blood Coven either.

Suddenly Jayden opens his eyes. His beautiful green eyes, now framed by purple bruising. “Sunny,” he gurgles, his voice sounding almost as if he’s underwater, probably from all the drugs they’ve pumped into him. “What are you still doing here? You need to get to the hotel and stop the ceremony.”

“But I don’t want to leave you!” I cry, my heart breaking. So typically Jayden. Thinking of me and everyone else before himself. “You’re hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” he insists, brave ’til the last. “And even if I’m not, you need to see this through. You can’t let Cornelius win after all you’ve done.”

“After all you’ve done,” I correct. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

His mouth quirks into his crooked smile. “How about after all we’ve done, then?” he modifies. “In any case, Sun, you can’t let the bad guy win. You need to go stop the ceremony.” Reaching out, he grabs my hand, gripping it in his own much weaker one. He looks so pale, so helpless, yet so determined. My heart just about falls out of my chest and I have to swallow down the tears. Please let him be all right, I pray to any higher power that might be listening. He doesn’t deserve to die for this.

But, I realize, if he does have to die, at least he should go knowing his sacrifice made a difference. I turn to the EMTs. “Stop this van,” I tell them. “I’m getting out.”

18

Of course they don’t stop the van for me. Ambulances don’t tend to stop mid-route when taking a critically injured patient to the hospital. But luckily it turns out the ER is right around the corner. Five minutes later I’m in a cab, instructing the driver to get to the Mandalay as quickly as humanly possible.

Thankfully, my driver knows some back roads and seems up to my challenge, peeling out of the hospital at record speed. He probably thinks I’m trying to get to the church on time; to stop a wedding—to speak now or forever hold my peace kind of thing. Which, I guess, in a way, is true. I glance at my watch. Eleven-forty-six. Fourteen minutes left.

Twelve minutes later the cab pulls up to the curb of the convention center. Grateful, I throw a handful of money at the driver and leap out of the car. Racing into the building, I play Dodge the Tourists, taking the escalator stairs two at a time, pushing past whoever’s in my way and ignoring their angry glares.

At the top of the stairs, I take off down the hallway, as fast as my legs will carry me, praying over and over and over in my head that it’s not too late. I glance at my watch—eleven fifty-nine. Oh please don’t let the powers-that-be have watches that run fast.

Finally, after what seems a marathon distance, but is probably only about twenty yards, I arrive at the ballroom where the ceremony is taking place. I ignore the ticket takers’ protests (I mean, tickets? To a biting?) and barge through the double doors, careening into the room and tripping over an electrical cable that must have been part of the lighting setup. I go flying forward down the aisle, slamming into the rug, my palms skidding in a way that’s sure to leave the most horrific rug burns. But I can’t even feel them now as I scramble to my feet.

The whole room is completely silent and every vampire’s eyes are on me. Way to make an entrance, Sun. I can hear their thoughts, as clearly as if they were thinking them out loud. Human. Outsider. Interloper. But like it or not, they need me more now than they could ever know.

At the front of the room, Magnus stands on the stage, dressed in a fitted Armani tuxedo. He looks so handsome, I find I can barely breathe. (Though this could partially be due to the fact I just got the wind knocked out of me from my fall.) Beside him stands Jane—or should I say Sasha—glaring at me with a look that could definitely kill. Between them is a small pedestal, with a golden box sitting atop it. I know what’s in there. Two vials of Magnus’s blood. Enough to turn Sasha into a vampire forever.

“Sunny?” Magnus cries, an unbelieving look on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“Magnus, don’t bite her!” I cry, barely able to form the words, I’m so out of breath. “She’s not Jane. She’s an imposter!”

The crowd erupts in murmurs as everyone tries to figure out what the heck is going on. Jane turns back to Magnus, panicked, but determined. “She’s just jealous,” she hisses at him. “She’s a child; she doesn’t understand. Let’s get on with this.”

Magnus looks at her, then back at me, then out into the audience—a confused, torn expression on his face. I hold my breath, praying with all my might that he’ll hear me out. The clock on the wall ticks off the seconds, one by one by one. Time moving slowly, painfully. Please, Magnus. Believe me, I beg him silently. Your girlfriend. The one who loves you. After all I’ve been through—my investigation, Jayden’s sacrifice—I can’t lose now. I just can’t!

All vampire eyes are on Magnus, waiting for his decision. You could hear a pin drop in the room it’s so silent. Half of me wants to shout everything out from where I’m standing—to tell the whole auditorium who Sasha really is and what she and Cornelius have been up to. But I don’t. I need Magnus’s decision first. He needs to listen to me. To trust me. To take that first step off the stage and walk toward me, choosing me as the woman he loves and believes in. Without that, I could have all the proof in the world and it won’t make any difference.

And for a terrifying moment I fear that he’s not going to do it. That he’s going to dismiss me as he’s done so many times in the last week and tell the powers-that-be to continue with the ceremony anyway. Ignore the dumb human girl he used to toy with—she doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But then, to my overwhelming relief, he slowly and deliberately turns away from Jane, steps off the stage, and starts down the aisle toward me. My heart skips a beat as he approaches and suddenly I’m nervous about what I’m going to say.

“Sunny, tell me what’s going on,” he says, stepping up to me and peering at me with concerned eyes. Eyes I’ve lost myself in so many times in the past, but now seem to belong to a stranger. “What have you found out about Jane?”

I look over at the imposter onstage, who’s scowling at me, probably wondering what I know and whether or not I can prove it. “Jane’s dead,” I say flatly. “The girl on the stage, the one you’re planning to make your blood mate—her name is Sasha. She’s Jane’s identical twin.”

The audience gasps, looking from me to Sasha and back again.

“That’s why she was able to fool the researchers with the DNA test,” I continue, forcing my voice to stay cool, calm, and collected. “After Jane took all the initial tests and got her certification, the High Stakes Coven had her killed and put Sasha in as a replacement, knowing only the DNA test was left. After all, twins have the same DNA.”

Magnus looks baffled. “But why?”

“Look,” I say. “I admit, the real Jane was all you said she was and more. Smart, talented, accomplished. But she refused to be controlled and manipulated by the High Stakes Coven to act out their revenge.” I look over at Sasha. “Her sister, on the other hand, would pretty much do anything for the cash.”

I shove my folder of proof into Magnus’s hands as I explain about Tabitha’s brother wanting to avenge his sister’s murder. Getting back at the Blood Coven for the wrongs he believed Lucifent committed on his family.

“Sasha’s just a puppet for Cornelius. He hoped to rot your coven from the inside, just as Tabitha did while she was Lucifent’s mate,” I explain. “If you turn her, she’ll usurp your power, turn your people against you, all the while looking for chances to kill you in your sleep.”

“She’s lying!” Sasha cries from the stage, now looking more scared than angry. “How can you morons believe some human? It’s all one big lie.”

“I don’t think so,” Magnus says, looking down at the paperwork I’ve brought him. “In fact, I think she has some pretty solid evidence to back up her claim.” He thumbs through the documents, then turns back to Sasha. “I don’t think we’ll be needing your services after all, Ms. Star,” he says. “If you would be so kind as to step off the stage?”

Sasha glares at him and the rest of the vampires, not moving an inch. Doesn’t she realize she’s lost? Then, slowly and deliberately, she takes the golden box off its pedestal and waves it in the air. “You’re too late,” she snarls at my boyfriend. “I’m going to be a vampire and there’s nothing any of you can do about it.” She yanks open the box and pulls out the vials.

“Noooo!” I cry, realizing what’s going on. One sip and she’ll be a protected member of the Blood Coven forever—Magnus’s blood mate for eternity—and no one in the consortium will be able to do anything about it.

I dive for the stage, but I’m way too far away. She downs the vials like shots of tequila, then licks her blood-stained lips and cackles as she turns to the audience, an evil smile on her face. Everyone’s eyes are on her, wide and shell-shocked at what just happened.

“Now I’m one of you,” she informs them haughtily. “Co-master of the Blood Coven and of equal rank as your leader Magnus.”

The room erupts in chaos; no one seems quite sure what to do. They can’t kill her now; she’s protected. But they can’t very well let her walk away either. A roomful of deadly vampires and every last one of them is entirely helpless, hands completely tied behind their backs, due to complicated consortium rules and regulations. I can’t believe it. Where are the renegade vampire zombies when you need them?

Sasha seems to be enjoying the madness. “So,” she says. “My first order of business as Blood Coven Master is to—”

Suddenly, she cuts off, a look of horror flashing on her face. I follow her gaze, wondering what could scare her so much. Vampire zombies, hopefully? Perhaps ones bent on her destruction? But no, my eyes fall on something—someone—even better.

Rayne, the vampire slayer, flips across the stage in a series of roundoff, back handsprings I didn’t know she could do: a bolt of lightning, brandishing a pretty nasty-looking stake.

“Sorry to crash the party,” she quips. “But I heard there was a vampire in need of slaying.”

“Get her, Rayne!” I cry, hope surging through my heart. “Stake the bitch!”

If this were a Buffy episode, Sasha might have some kind of catty comeback, but I’ve found in real life vampires aren’t usually all that quick-witted. In any case, it only takes a second for Rayne to make her move, thrusting the stake into the new vampire’s heart and reducing her to a pile of stage dust.

The crowd goes wild, as you can imagine. I let out a sigh of relief. It’s over. It’s really over this time. Sasha’s gone. For good.

My sister hops off the stage and dances over to me. I notice more than a few vampires dodging to get out of her path. I don’t blame them. She’s scary when she’s all slayer chick.

“Sunny!” she cries, throwing her arms around me in a hug. “Thank God I came in time.”

I squeeze her tight. “No kidding,” I say. “I thought we were in real trouble there.”

“Meh,” she says, pulling away from the hug and giving me a cocky grin. “Never underestimate the power of a slayer.”

“Right. Except when said Slayer is previously occupied at the World Series of Poker.”

“Well, you know, didn’t want to have to waste a good portion of my winnings on your funeral.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatevs.” Then I get serious. “Thanks, girl. I owe you one, big-time.”

“No.” Rayne shakes her head. “I owe you one. Or like, ten thousand, if we’re really keeping score. I mean, let’s be honest here—I haven’t exactly been the best sister since we got to Vegas. I abandoned you for those stupid casinos—and when you really needed me, too.” She grimaces. “Damn, Sunny, you could have died!” she cries.

“But I didn’t,” I tell her, quickly relating the short version of my awesome vampire slay. “Maybe I’m tougher than I sometimes give myself credit for. After all, I did single-handedly take down a big, bad vampire.”

“And I’m so sorry I missed that,” Rayne says with a grin. “You managed to save the day without any slayer powers whatsoever. You’re, like, a vampire hero. How many mortals can say that?”

I can feel myself blushing. “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“I would,” Magnus says, walking back over to us. He’d left to examine Sasha’s remains and console the other consortium members, who were totally freaking out from all the violence. Wimpy, soft vampires. “You’re my hero, at the very least.”

He grabs me and pulls me to him, hugging me fiercely. I hug him back, but find I can’t relax in his embrace as I usually can. I guess I’m still angry about all that’s happened. About the way this all went down. I mean, sure, everything turned out okay in the end, but this would have been a lot simpler if he’d just listened to me from the start.

I pull away from the hug. Magnus looks at me, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Just because everything turned out okay doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

He looks completely baffled. God, men—even vampire men—can be stupid sometimes. “What did I do?” he asks, his expression worried and anguished.

Where to even begin? “You didn’t listen to me. You accused me of being jealous. You completely dismissed everything I said, treating me as if I were just some stupid kid. You never considered the fact that I might be right for even one second.”

His face falls. At least he doesn’t try to deny it. He knows he’s messed up. “Sunny . . .” he tries. “I don’t know what to say . . . I’m sorry.”

We stare at each other, silently, lost in whirling emotions. Half of me wants to forgive him. To let it all go and allow myself to be pulled into his strong, safe arms once again. It’d be easier, I suppose, at least temporarily. But somehow I don’t think it’d work in the long haul. I can push the resentment down, but I can’t make it entirely go away.

I need time. I need space. I need . . .

“I’m sorry, we’ll have to talk later,” I manage to choke out. “Right now, I need to get to the hospital.”

His eyes widen with worry. “Hospital? Are you hurt?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But someone I know is. And I need to make sure he’s all right.”

“I’ll drive you,” Magnus says automatically. He knows something’s wrong and he’s desperate to make good. “Let me pull the car around.”

“Master, we need you here,” interrupts a tall, suited vampire with dark sunglasses covering his eyes. Looks like one of the Men in Black. “There’s a dead vampire, slain by one of your coven members. Who’s also a slayer, I might add. Do you know how much paperwork this kind of thing entails?”

“Hey, make sure you clarify that it’s an ‘evil’ dead vampire in your report,” Rayne butts in. “’Cause, I’m so not going down for an unauthorized slay. It was totally legit and necessary. Slayer Inc. will have my back.”

The vampire rolls his eyes at her, then turns back to Magnus. “Master?”

Magnus sighs deeply. “Okay,” he says, letting out a long breath. He turns to me. “Sunny, have Rayne take you to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

My heart sinks. Here we go again. See, this is why I can’t just push this under the rug. ’Cause it’s not going to change. Time and time again, no matter what, Magnus is going to choose the Blood Coven over me. I’ll never be his priority. I’ll never be his number one.

And I don’t know if I can live my life as second best anymore. Not now that I know what it feels like to have someone make me a priority, to go as far as risking death for me.

I need to get to the hospital. Pronto.

19

Rayne and I call a cab to take us back to the hospital and rush into the ER, asking for Jayden. It takes a while for the admissions nurse to find him—especially since I don’t know his last name. But finally she locates him in a room on the third floor and says if we hurry we can make visiting hours.

We race upstairs and I burst into his room. He’s lying on a hospital bed, tubes up his nose and an IV in his arm. He’s pale and his eyes are bruised, but he’s alive. Blessedly alive. And awake, too; his eyes light up when they find me at the door.

“Sunny!” he cries, his voice so happy it breaks my heart. “Did you make it?” he asks. “Did you get there in time?” Typical Jayden. Asking about others when he’s the one lying in the hospital bed.

I nod silently, my words caught in my throat. I have so much to say to him, I don’t know where to start. “Thanks to you,” I finally manage to blurt out. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it if it wasn’t for you.”

He smiles his sweet, crooked smile and beckons me over. I approach, sitting down on the side of his bed. My sister quietly leaves the room, closing the door behind her, giving us space. I tried to fill her in on the way here, but probably didn’t do a very good job. After all, even I don’t fully understand the connection between Jayden and me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, glancing at the heart monitor.

He shrugs, then winces in pain at the movement. “I think so,” he replies. “Cornelius helped himself to quite a large amount of my blood, but they gave me a transfusion. So as long as my body doesn’t fight off the new stuff then I should be okay. I might even be able to get out of here by tomorrow morning.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I scold. “Cutting yourself like you did. That was really stupid, you know?”

He reaches up and touches my cheek with light, feathery fingers, causing chills to run up and down my spine. “Maybe,” he says, with a shy smile. “But it was worth it, all the same.”

“Worth risking your life to save a vampire you’ve never met?”

“Worth risking my life to save you.”

My heart skips a beat at his words. “Oh, Jayden.” I sigh. “I don’t know what I’d have done if something had happened to you.”

He meets my eyes with his beautiful green ones, his expression solemn. “You’d be okay. You have your boyfriend.”

“Yeah.” I stare down at the floor. “I guess I do.” My boyfriend who’s more concerned with his job than he is about me. I mean, would Magnus have risked his life to save mine? Or would he have been too worried about leaving the coven without a leader? I’m not sure I’d ever want to bet my life on his loyalty to me. And that, I realize, is a huge problem.

“You okay?” Jayden asks. “Is something wrong?”

“No . . . yes . . . I don’t know.” I smile sheepishly. “It’s just . . . well, sometimes you go through life just accepting things as they are—even if they make you secretly unhappy. Then something—someone—comes along and shows you how things could be. If only you knew how to let go of the situation that you find yourself trapped in.”

“Have you been unhappy, Sun?”

I think about it for a moment. “Yes,” I say finally. “I have been. Though I haven’t wanted to admit it. I’ve been unhappy with things for a long time.” I bite at my lower lip as I remember the last few months. How lonely I’ve been, ditching my friends, waiting around for Magnus instead of living my life. One week in Vegas and I’ve had more fun than in the last three months back home—even if I did almost get murdered by a bloodthirsty vampire bent on revenge. What does that say about me and the way I’m living my life? And, more important, what should I do about it now that I’ve realized how I really feel?

“Sunny, you need to talk with your boyfriend,” Jayden says suddenly. “Let him know how you feel. Give him a chance to make things right before you make any rash decisions.”

I look at him, a knife twisting in my gut. “Why would you say that? I mean, don’t you . . .” I trail off, embarrassed. Here I am, ready to throw my long-term relationship away in order to be with Jayden and he’s telling me I should work things out with Magnus. Is he just being nice and unselfish, like always? Or doesn’t he want me as much as I want him? “Won’t you miss me?” I finally blurt out, unable to stop myself. “I mean, I know you and I haven’t known each other long, but I’ve felt this . . .”

“Connection?” he finishes. I nod miserably. “I’ve felt it, too, of course,” he assures me, squeezing my hand in his, comforting me. “Usually I’m a loner. More comfortable with animals than humans. But there’s something about you. Something special. I can’t deny it, even though God knows I’ve tried.”

My heart swells at his words and I squeeze his hand back, so tightly he winces. I loosen my grip a little. “Then why . . .” I begin. “Why . . . would you tell me to work it out with Magnus? I mean, don’t you want me?” There, I said it. It’s out there. Naked. Vulnerable. Me.

“Oh, Sunny!” Jayden cries, as if shocked by my question. “Are you kidding me? Of course I want you. In fact, I want you more than anything in the whole world. You’re beautiful and special and smart and talented and in another world, another life, you and I are soul mates—I’m sure of it!” His eyes shine with unshed tears. “But right here, right now, things are complicated for us. You live two thousand miles away. You have a boyfriend. I’d never try to selfishly steal you away from your life and friends and family. I mean, what kind of person would that make me?”

“What if I want to be stolen?” I pout.

He grins at that, then grows serious again. “Look,” he continues. “Everything’s really intense now. You’re fighting with your boyfriend, we’ve just had a near-death experience—you don’t want to be making major life-changing decisions right now. Go talk to Magnus, tell him what you’re feeling—give him one last chance to make things right between you. And if you’re still not happy after that, well, you know how to reach me.” He grabs my arm, his expression serious. “But give him a real chance, okay? Try to remember what made you fall for him in the first place.”

“Oh, Jayden!” I cry. “I’m going to miss you so much. I—”

He waves me off. “Don’t say anything else,” he says, his voice cracking on the “else.” “It’s better if you don’t. Just promise me that you’ll always be my friend, Sunshine McDonald. That you’ll never forget me.”

My heart breaks at his words. Unable to resist a moment longer, I throw my arms around him and squeeze him tight. Well, as tight as I can without crushing his chest wound. He hugs me back, running light fingers up and down my back, electricity crackling from his touch. God, how am I going to leave this guy?

As our hug extends, my mouth seems to develop a mind of its own. I kiss his throat greedily, then move up to his cheek. Just one kiss on his soft cheek and . . . Oh God—I’m kissing him on the lips and I can’t seem to stop. He kisses me back, our mouths moving against each other, wild sensations coursing through my entire body, an endorphin rush of epic proportions. And neither of us seems capable of stopping it.

“Oh, Jayden . . .” I moan against his mouth. “I—”

“Hey, Sunny, I was able to get out early and—”

Jayden and I break apart and I bolt upright at the sound of Magnus’s voice. I whirl around and see he’s at the door. His face reddens as it must dawn on him what he’s walked in on.

“Oh dear,” he says, clearing his throat. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t know that you were . . . excuse me, I did not mean to interrupt.” He backs out quickly, shutting the door behind him.

I stare at the door. “Oh God,” I murmur, my heart leaping in my throat. This was not good. Not good at all.

“Boyfriend?” Jayden guesses correctly. I nod.

“I should . . . I mean . . .”

“Go,” Jayden instructs. “Talk to him. Give him a chance to make good.”

I throw him a grateful look—he really is the most understanding guy on the planet—and dash out the door and down the hall. “Magnus!” I cry at his retreating figure.

He turns slowly, shoulders slumped, looking, suddenly, all of his thousand years. “And to think,” he says slowly, as I rush to approach, “you were worried about me replacing you.”

My heart pangs in anguish at the hurt look on his face. I remember all the pain I felt from seeing him just talk to Jane. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling now—having walked in on his girlfriend making out with another guy. A million excuses whirl through my mind, but I know in my heart he deserves better than that. At the very least, he deserves the truth. Not to mention an apology.

“I’m sorry,” I say weakly, not knowing quite where to begin. It’s only been a few days since I last saw him, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

“I know,” he replies, his voice sad. He reaches out to me with both hands and no reservations, pulling me into a forgiving embrace I’m not sure I deserve. I collapse into him, grateful beyond belief at his understanding, while feeling unworthy of receiving it. He strokes my hair with long fingers, soothing me as sobs rack my body and tears burst violently from my eyes.

“Oh God.” I sob, my mouth against his shoulder. “I never meant to . . . I mean, I was actually saying goodbye and . . .”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his cool breath brushing my earlobes. I’d forgotten how nice it was to be held securely in his strong, vampire arms. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I think I understand exactly what’s going on here.”

I pull away from the hug so I can look at him. My vision’s still blurry from all the tears. “You do?” I ask.

He nods, a regretful look on his face. “Let’s face it; I haven’t taken very good care of you these past few months. I’ve been so preoccupied—so busy guarding the affairs of my coven—that I’ve ended up neglecting you and your needs. And then . . . then I took off to Vegas with another woman . . .” He hangs his head in shame. “Just like your father did so many years ago. Leaving you feeling abandoned and alone, I’m sure.”

Part of me wants to deny it. To tell him it’s not a big deal at all. But what good, at this point, could my being self-protective really do? It’d only succeed in pushing the problems we’re facing back under the rug—not exactly a great long-term solution. We both know we need to deal with these issues head on, if there’s any way to save this relationship.

“I’m not trying to be selfish,” I begin. “I mean, I know running the coven is important and I love the work that you do. I’m willing to deal with a workaholic even.” I give him a half-smile, then grow serious again. “But when you didn’t believe me about Jane—when you dismissed my fears and suspicions without even a moment of consideration that I might be right . . .” My voice breaks. “You shut me out. Called me jealous and childish. That really hurt.”

“I can imagine,” Magnus says, his face full of anguish. “If I were you, I’d probably have let Sasha do her thing . . . leaving me to flounder in my own stupidity. But instead, you kept going. Refusing to give up helping me, even though I demanded you stop.”

“What else was I going to do?” I ask. “Sit around and watch you die?”

He hangs his head. “Half of me thinks I would have deserved it.”

“Look, I know you’re older than me,” I continue. “And I know you have more experiences to fall back on than I do. But if this is going to work, we have to be equal partners. I’m not a child to be seen and not heard. And if you think of me that way, then it’s not going to work.”

“Sunny, sweetheart,” Magnus says, “I was a fool to think that. Blinded by my own stupid arrogance—and look—my pigheadedness nearly cost me my very life.” He shakes his head sorrowfully. “I promise you, I swear to you, I’ll never treat you less than an equal ever again, for the rest of my life.”

“That’s all I’ve wanted,” I reply, my voice choking with emotion. “I know I can’t be your blood mate, but I just want to be your partner. Someone you trust and want to share your life with.”

“About the blood mate thing . . .”

I suck in a breath. “Yes?”

“I don’t want one,” he declares. “Not now—and not ever. And I’m going to go to the council as soon as they convene and inform them of that so we’re not put in this situation again. After all, I am Master. I do get to make the rules, right?” He smiles lovingly at me. “And you’re the only one, my dear, who I want to be bonded with for eternity.”

My heart wrenches at his words. “But . . .” I say, not wanting to be selfish. “If you need help running the coven . . .”

“Then I’ll hire an employee,” he finishes. “We vampires have become so set in our ways—so stubborn about following tradition that we don’t often think outside the box. But really, why does my co-ruler have to be bonded to me by blood? There are those in my coven that I would trust with my life—bond or no. Like Jareth, for example,” he says. “I’m thinking of promoting him to second in command. He’d make a great co-ruler, I think, don’t you?”

I nod wordlessly, feeling overwhelmed with all that’s happening. It’s as if someone opened my secret wish book and made every last one of them come true.

“Sunny, I’m so sorry I put you through all of this. And I plan to spend the rest of my life making this up to you.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with cool fingers. “And vampires,” he adds, “live a very long time.”

I smile ruefully. “Let’s not even get into that whole thing. I mean, in a few years when I’m old and gray, people are going to think you’re hooking up with your grandmother.”

He chuckles, his fingers trailing to my hair, threading through the strands. “And they’ll still be jealous that I have you and they don’t,” he says.

“Mmm-hmm. Sure they will.”

We look at each other for a moment, neither saying anything. Magnus is the first to speak.

“That guy in the hospital bed,” he starts, his voice hesitant.

“Jayden.” The name is suddenly painful to speak.

“Do you . . . have feelings for him?”

I consider lying, but realize it won’t do any good. I nod slowly. “I kind of do. Not the same as I feel for you . . . but he’s . . . I don’t know . . . special, I guess. And he almost died trying to save me.”

“Right. He protected you while I was busy playing big, bad vampire leader.” Magnus sighs deeply. “I suppose I owe him my eternal gratitude. As long as he doesn’t start kissing you again.”

“I think we’re done kissing,” I say, feeling my face heat with embarrassment. “But I do want to be his friend, if that’s okay.”

“Sunny, I trust you with my very life. I would never forbid you from being with the people you love,” Magnus replies. “But I plan to keep you very, very busy, from now on,” he adds, a teasing look in his eyes. “Worshipping you, waiting on you hand and foot, doing whatever it takes to make you smile. So there might not be much time left for such . . . friends.”

“That’s fine by me,” I say, grinning from ear to ear. “I look forward to you being my vampire love slave.”

20

It’s five minutes ’til curtain and I’m backstage at the Hotel Sun theater, shaking like a leaf. This is no high school play—this is a real Vegas revue. People have paid actual money to see my performance onstage. Okay, I don’t have the hugest role in the world—I don’t even have to speak—but still!

“You ready?” Jayden asks, coming up behind me, a big fanged smile on his face. For tonight only, he’s playing Cornelius’s part of Dracula, until they can recast the part. At least now we know no one in the audience will be bitten for real.

I went back to his hospital room after talking to Magnus the night before—to apologize for the kiss and let him know that Magnus and I were going to try to make things work between us. He looked a little sad, but said he was happy for me, and wished me luck, once again making me promise we’d always stay friends. An easy request to agree to.

His only other stipulation? That I play Mina against his Dracula one time.

How could I refuse?

“My costume’s a bit skimpy,” I say, pulling out my wedgie for the thousandth time. “But I think I’ll live.”

Jayden laughs. “I think you look hot,” he tells me, making me blush furiously. “You know, in a friend way,” he adds, a teasing sparkle in his green eyes.

“Of course!” I agree. “Well, you look pretty good . . . in a friend way . . . yourself.”

He grins. “Okay, I’m going to tell the lighting director we’re ready to start. Break a leg!”

“You, too! But not, you know, like literally. You’ve done enough damage to yourself this weekend.” The doctors hadn’t wanted to release Jayden this morning, saying he was still weak from his transfusion. But the guy insisted, saying the show must go on.

And so it does. The dancing girls whirl and twirl as Jayden takes center stage, singing about his long-lost love. I watch, impressed, as he embraces his new role. He’s so talented—he really should move to Hollywood and try to start an acting career. Or maybe Broadway, he’s such a good singer and dancer. Of course, then he’d miss his animals—the dogs and cats who need him. Maybe he’s exactly where he should be, after all.

Lost in thought, I barely notice that act one has ended and act two has begun. The stage manager pokes me, telling me to get into position. Forcing myself to concentrate, I slip out onstage, heading toward Jayden. The audience roars its approval and for a second, I’m confused at all the attention. Then I look out and realize the whole place is packed with vampires from the consortium, come to cheer on my performance. (Let’s not forget, I’m their new hero!) Magnus waves to me from the front row and I smile back at him. So far he’s lived up to his promise of being hopelessly devoted and I’m enjoying every minute of it, even if I have decided to put the whole sex thing on hold—at least for the time being. Once we work on our issues, and are able to completely trust each other again, then, and only then, will we be ready to take our relationship to that next level. Right now, it’s just something to look forward to. Like a thousand other things we’ll be able to share in the future. Neither of us are going anywhere, after all. And, as Magnus pointed out, vampires live a very long time.

As I walk forward, I scan the rest of the auditorium. Next to Magnus sits Rayne, followed by Heather, Stormy, and . . . Oh my God . . . is that Mom and Dad? I almost trip over my platform shoes. What are they doing here? And sitting next to one another, nonetheless?

“Psst, Sunny, come over here so I can bite you,” Jayden hisses. Oh yeah. In my shock at seeing my parents I almost forgot what I was supposed to be doing. I glide over to “Dracula,” raising my hands over my face in mock panic. “Please don’t hurt me,” I adlib, deciding suddenly that Mina should speak. After all, a girl needs to stand up for herself, even to a vampire.

“I would never hurt you, Mina,” Jayden says huskily, in a grand English accent. Then he swoops down and takes me in his arms, pretending to bite me on the neck. His lips burn my skin and he presses his mouth down on me and I can’t help a little shiver.

Boys that bite, it’s all so much déjà vu.

Epilogue

After the play is over, I change quickly and head to the theater lobby, dying to know what’s going on with my family. They’re all there, waiting to greet me with open arms.

“You were awesome!” Rayne cries. “Totally awesome.”

“Amazing,” Mom agrees, kissing my cheeks. “I’m so impressed.”

“As am I,” Dad adds. He pulls me into a big bear hug—the type he always used to give us when we were kids. It feels good and I feel all my anger toward him slip away. “I’m so glad we didn’t miss it.”

“So you’re back?” I ask, after he releases me from the hug. “Your business trip is over?” I turn to Mom. “And what are you doing here?”

She blushes. “It’s a long story,” she says. “But let’s go somewhere quiet to talk.”

“Why don’t we head back to our place?” Heather suggests. “Then Stormy here can go to bed.”

“Mo-om!” she protests. “I’m so not tired!”

But her mother insists and so we pile into a couple of taxis and head back to the Strip and over to the apartment. Once inside, Heather puts Stormy into bed while Mom brews a pot of green tea and we all settle down in the living room. Well, maybe settle down isn’t the right term. Rayne and I are positively antsy, wondering what this could be. Why on Earth would Mom come to Vegas? Why would she be making tea in the other woman’s house? And why doesn’t Heather seem the least bit upset about it all?

Mom and Heather bring over mugs of steaming tea and hand them to each of us. The tea warms my insides but isn’t able to quite stop the trembling. Despite her cheery attitude, something is definitely wrong and I can’t relax until I know what it is.

“So, guys,” Mom says, settling down in a small, white leather chair. With her long skirts and multicolor scarves she looks completely out of place in this modern décor. “You’re probably surprised to see me in Vegas.”

“Um, yeah,” Rayne says, before I can find my questions. “Just a little bit. What’s going on? Did you miss us too much? ’Cause we’ve really only been gone a couple days. But I know how you can be about your daughters. Unlike some relatives, I know,” she adds, glancing over at Dad, who at least has the decency to look embarrassed at her jab.

Mom shakes her head, looking drained and tired all of a sudden. “I wish that were it, Rayne. But this is actually a lot more serious than me just being an overprotective mother.”

It is? My pulse kicks up a notch as I worriedly wait for what she has to say. I remember what Rayne told me just before we left. About Slayer Inc. getting information on a new threat sweeping into town—one that might be after our mother, for some odd reason.

There’s more to your mom than you know, David had told Rayne.

“Mom, what are you trying to say?” I ask, finding my voice at last. “What’s going on here? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

She glances over at Dad. He gives her an encouraging look. Then she turns back to us. “Look, let’s just say things aren’t exactly . . . safe . . . for us in Massachusetts anymore,” she says slowly, choosing her words with care. “That’s why I was so willing to have you two come out here this week. I figured it’d keep you out of harm’s way, until I figured out our best move.”

“Mom, you’re scaring us,” I say, my whole body trembling. “What’s going on?”

Mom swallows hard. “You have to believe, I never wanted to involve you two in this. In fact, that’s why your dad and I left the commune and moved to Massachusetts when I became pregnant with you. I didn’t want you to grow up in the world we did. I wanted us to be a happy, normal, everyday family. And they left us alone for so long, I’d really begun to think that we’d actually escaped them for good.” She sighs deeply. “But now they’ve returned. Civil war has broken out between two families and they’re demanding I return home to aid them in their fight. And if I don’t, they have promised to make things very difficult for us all.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, trying desperately to make sense of it all. I’ve never seen Mom look so scared. “Some family feud? Why do they need you for that?”

“Dear, you’re speaking to them in riddles,” Dad chides our mother gently. “It’s best if you just tell them the whole story, no matter how hard it will be to believe at first.” He turns to us. “Look, guys, we’ve always told you that you come from Irish and Scottish ancestors, right? Well, there’s a little more to it than that. Our families—and Heather’s, too—actually descended from a people living on a small island off the coast of Ireland, known as Tír na nÓg.” He pauses, then adds, “Some know us as the Sidhe.”

“Sidhe?” I repeat, confused as all hell at this point. “What the hell is a Sidhe?” This conversation is getting weirder by the moment and I don’t like it. I mean, Sidhe? That’s not . . . I mean . . . No, it couldn’t be!

“The term you might be more familiar with,” Dad says gently, “is fairy.”

Or maybe it could.

Rayne and I stare at our father, then our mother, unbelieving our ears. I mean, fairies? Freaking fairies?

My sister finds her voice first. “So let me get this straight,” she says, sounding remarkably calm, given the situation. “You’re trying to tell us that we’re descended from fairies? Actual fairies?”

“We’re not just descended,” Mom clarifies. “We’re full-blooded fairies. And now the royal court is demanding we all return to fairyland immediately.”

“Or else,” Dad adds, “they have promised to kill us all.”