Bad Blood (18 page)

“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 Sure enough, Stormy’s rainbow and unicorn wallpaper has been replaced by a black background with dripping red letters.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 mangylooking 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 bloodtype 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?