“Your aunt must love this.” Solange’s aunt Hyacinth still thought the only rightful queen was Queen Victoria, and she was in love with pomp and circumstance and a proper bustle. She’d also nearly been killed by rogue Helios-Ra agents, and the burns to her face hadn’t healed as well as they should have. At least, that’s what we assumed, since she still refused to lift her veils.

“She’s in England.”

“What? Since when?”

“She went on a pilgrimage to Uncle Edward’s monument and to Queen Victoria’s grave.”

“Oh.”

“She’ll be back for the Blood Moon.”

We watched two burly men muscle a huge clay amphora, like ones the ancient Romans used. I guessed it wasn’t full of red wine like our history teacher told us. Well, not undoctored red wine, anyway.

“Hey.” I frowned. “They’re human.”

Solange nodded. “Yeah.”

“How come they’re allowed and I’m not?”

“They belong to Bruno,” she said. Bruno was head of the Drake family security detail. He’d skulked around our house more than once as well.

“What about her?” I pointed to a woman with large hips and a larger smile. “She’s not a bodyguard.”

“She’s a … well, Kieran would call her a bloodslave.”

My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? He was right about that?” He’d once accused me of being a bloodslave and had looked for the telltale scars on my arms. I’d punched him in the nose, righteously indignant on behalf of my vampire family.

“She’s not ours,” Solange rushed to add. “She came with a European delegation. Apparently they think it’s cute that we drink from blood banks and animals. One of them actually called us colonial.” She didn’t sound thrilled about that. “Only humans who are under a pheromone trance can attend the festival, and they’re not allowed to speak.”

“Seriously? That’s medieval.” I frowned. “I can’t believe your dad would agree to that.”

“He thinks it’s too dangerous for humans to attend anyway. And you know what he says: one battle at a time.”

I grinned. “As opposed to your mother, who says all battles, all the time.”

“Exactly. Plus, it’s tradition. Humans don’t need to know how we govern ourselves.”

“On behalf of humans, hey.”

“You know what I mean.”

I did know what she meant, and it only made it worse.

“Who’s that?” I asked, mostly to distract myself. The girl looked in her early twenties and was wearing paint-splattered jean overalls. Her hair was a soft Afro decorated with a single pink flower.

“Sky,” Solange replied. “And that’s Sabrielle,” she added, when another girl walked by wearing a beautiful blue sari stiff with silver-thread embroidery and glass beads.

“I totally want that dress for prom,” I said.

“She serves with Constantine.” Solange’s voice changed.

I looked at her sharply. “Who’s he?”

“He’s a dignitary.”

He was something more than that, I could tell by her tone—both guarded and nearly reverent.

“And?”

“And what?”

“You can vamp out until the cows come home, Solange, but you can’t lie to me.”

“It’s noth—” She stopped and rose silently to her feet, pivoting to face behind us. Her knees bent slightly, and she had a long dagger in her hand. I didn’t even see her reach for it. I thought of disembodied Hel-Blar body parts dangling from the trees and reached for a stake. Gandhi leaped in front of me, growling. His butt knocked me over.

Quinn was suddenly standing in front of Solange. His long hair hung in his eyes. “Sol.”

Solange relaxed her stance. So did Gandhi. “Crap. You got me going.” She sheathed her dagger and then shook her hands, as if they were full of adrenaline.

“Sol, oh God,” he said. “They took Lucy. She’s gone.”

“I am?” I pushed out of the ferns, confused. “I’m right here.” Quinn gaped at me, then plucked me up in a fierce hug. “Vampire strength,” I squeaked.

He dropped me so fast I landed back on my butt in the mud. I shook my head. “What’s with you guys?”

“You’re okay!” he said, helping me up. He would have helped me brush the dirt off my backside but I slapped his hand away.

“What’s going on?” Solange asked.

“Connor intercepted a message,” he explained, “doing his computer voodoo. It said Lucy’s a hostage.”

I shivered, then scowled, hating the fear that scampered on insect feet over my spine. “Who sent it?”

“Saga.”

“Okay, but they clearly don’t have me. So what’s the deal?”

Quinn jerked a hand through his dark hair. “Your car’s dead on Cedar Road.”

“What?” I thought about Christabel, borrowing my crappy car to get home after detention. “Oh shit. Shit!” I felt sick. “It’s not me they have—it’s my cousin.”

Solange swore. “We have to get her out. Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”

“I sent texts, but they’re bloody well out of signal range, too. I have to tell Nicholas you’re okay,” Quinn said. “He didn’t look … right. I don’t know if Connor can control him.”