“Huh,” I said, heaving up the carpet. “Don’t remember hearing that.”

“Well, you must not have been around. The point is that I have always given you credit for common sense. And now, here you are, searching for a secret room…”

The floor under the carpet was a checkerboard of wood panels, each roughly three feet square. The gap between most of the panels was less than a quarter inch, but one groove looked a shade wider. I ran my fingers along it.

Cassandra continued. “If Edward and Natasha were into alchemy, which I doubt, they would have rented storage space in the city for their experiments. They would not be digging secret rooms under a run-down cabin in—”

My fingertips struck a catch, and the door sprang open.

I peered into the darkness below. “Strange place for a root cellar, don’t you think?”

I cast a light spell, then tossed the ball into the hole. Along one side was a ladder. As I shifted to step onto the first rung, Cassandra grasped my shoulder.

“You’re not invulnerable, Paige. I am. It might be trapped. I’ll go first.”

I suspected this offer had more to do with curiosity than concern, but I stepped back and let her go through.

Appetite for Art

AS I STEPPED ONTO THE LADDER, MY VISION CLOUDED FOR a second, like a mental stutter.

“Someone’s coming,” I whispered into the hole. “My perimeter spell just went off. I cast one across the front of the property.”

Cassandra blinked, as if shocked by this show of foresight. She motioned for me to come down and hide there, but I shook my head, hurried to the door, cracked it open and peeked out. A young man headed toward the cabin. He struggled to carry an armload of supplies, and could barely see where he was going, let alone see me. When Cassandra peered over my shoulder, I pointed out a path along the left side of the cabin, behind the overgrown bushes.

Cassandra took the lead, as usual. This time, though, it made sense. A vampire’s stealth is partly preternatural and partly hunting experience. By following in her footsteps I could move almost as quietly as she could.

Behind the cabin, the land was a patchwork of forest and meadow. The forest alternated between stands of evergreens and deciduous trees. Even the meadow itself seemed uncertain what form it should take, with patches of long grass interspersed with brush and brambles.

“Should we wait it out or come back later?” I whispered when we’d walked far enough.

“Wait it out.”

“I’ll phone Lucas, then. He’s probably wondering where we are.”

It turned out that Lucas and Aaron didn’t need our help. The house had required little more than a quick sweep, and revealed nothing. With the news of our find, Lucas promised to hurry over and help us.

As I hung up, Cassandra glided out from a stand of trees. Ihadn’t noticed she’d left.

“This isn’t going to work,” she said. “He’ll be there for a while. He’s an artist.”

“Artist?”

“He’s set up in front of the cabin with a half-finished painting of it, although why on earth anyone would want a picture of that in their living room is quite beyond me.”

“Wonderful. Well, since it doesn’t look as if he’ll leave on his own, we’ll have to give him a supernatural push. Think a hailstorm would persuade him to call it a day?”

“I’ll handle this. Wait here.”

Cassandra slipped away without waiting for an answer, which was a good thing because I had no intention of staying behind. As good as Cassandra was, everyone can use backup. So I waited until she was out of sight, then looped around the cabin the other way.

The obvious plan of action was to charm him. Like most vampire powers, charming is a functional skill, another adaptation that makes them expert hunters. At its most basic, charming is extreme charisma. It allows a vamp to walk up to the most street-savvy girl in a bar and, within minutes, have her saying, “Hmm, yes, I think I would like to follow you into that dark alley.”

By the time I got close enough to see around the cabin, Cassandra would probably be nearly done “persuading” the artist to leave. If anything went wrong, though, I’d be close enough to help out. When I reached the front corner of the cabin, I readied a cover spell, which would keep me hidden so long as I stayed motionless. When the spell was half cast, I leaned out and finished the incantation at the same time, so I could watch without being seen.

Cassandra wasn’t there. I could see the artist, a balding man in his late twenties, sitting on a folding camp stool, his attention riveted to the canvas on his portable easel. A bush a few yards behind the man shimmered, as if ruffled by a sudden breeze. Cassandra? Why was she over there? Oh, probably approaching from the road so he wouldn’t wonder where she’d come from.

Cassandra’s green shirt flashed between two bushes, now less than a yard behind the artist. Okay, stop playing and come out before you give the poor guy a heart attack.

As if hearing me, Cassandra eased into the open. She stood between the bush and the artist, her narrowed eyes gleaming. She tilted her head, gaze fixed on the back of his head. Then she smiled. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue slid over her teeth.

Oh, shit.

I jerked back behind the cabin just as she pounced. There was an intake of breath, half sigh, half gasp. Then silence. I wrapped my arms around my chest and tried very hard not to think about what was happening just a scant ten feet away, which, of course, made me think about it all the more. She wouldn’t kill him. I knew that. She was just…feeding.