Bad Blood (7 page)

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 minimall, 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.