“Stay here,” he barked, running back out, shouting orders into a walkie-talkie. The gardens were quiet; even the birds were cheerfully oblivious. My heart was thumping wildly, making me feel dizzy. That arrow had been really close, too close. And only one organization used wooden arrows of that style.

Helios-Ra.

I wondered if it had been Kieran, skulking in the shadows, waiting for me to turn my back. The sun glittered on the gravel drive, the black iron fence. No vampire ancient enough to withstand this kind of a summer day would be able to sneak onto the property. Someone would have scented his pheromones.

Bruno came back, eyeing me grimly. “The tunnels for you from now on, lassie.”

“Did you get him?”

“Not even a damned footprint.” He rubbed his head. “Get away from the window, Solange. It’s not safe.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” I muttered.

“Agreed,” he replied.

“I’m going to the loft,” I told him peevishly.

“Use the tunnel,” he repeated.

I went down into the basement and used the short passageway that linked the house to the garage. The second floor had been converted into training space complete with floor mats, punching bags, a weight machine, and two treadmills. The back wall was covered with fencing gear and swords. I didn’t bother with the uniform or the mask since I was practicing on my own. I just needed the distraction. If pottery wasn’t enough to really calm me down, lunging and stabbing an imaginary foe would have to do. I took up my favorite sword, or foil as it was called in fencing.

Out of habit I saluted my pretend opponent and bowed. Then I cross- stepped back and forward a few times to warm up. I lunged, I stabbed, I parried and circular parried and disarmed. I lunged again and again until my thigh muscles ached and sweat spiked my hair. I ducked right, I parried low, I jabbed high. Retreat, riposte, retreat, riposte.

I felt better until I happened to glance out the window and saw Bruno going back into the house, dragging a huge bag full of packages and flowers. I tossed my foil aside and sprinted down the steps, through the tunnel and up to the front hall. I scowled at the open bag, panting and scowling.

“What the hell is that?”

“More gifts, lass,” Bruno said. “We’re finding them all along the property line.” For some reason, all those presents were really pissing me off. I jabbed my hand inside and pulled out postcards, a clump of daisies, something that looked like a Ziploc bag full of blood.

“That’s disgusting.” I dropped it immediately. The light glinted off something silver and I pulled it out gingerly. It was an apple, perfectly crafted out of silver, with a leaf dangling from the stem. The delicate leaf was engraved with a name: Montmartre.

I put the apple aside so I could wipe my hands completely clean of Montmartre cooties, and it teetered on the edge of the table. It hit the floor, and the top opened on tiny hinges I hadn’t seen. Blood poured out of the opening, thick and red. The coppery smell made me gag but I didn’t have time to otherwise react. I was too busy staring out the front window.

“Where’s Lucy’s car?”

CHAPTER 8

Lucy

“You asshole!”

I didn’t think, just reacted with all the anger and guilt and worry I’d been carry ing around all day. I punched him right in the nose. He reared back, grabbing his face.

“Shit, shit!”

“That’s right, you sneaky bastard.” I leaped to my feet, panting. “Use me against my best friend, will you?”

He reached into his pocket. I got to mine first, took out the pair of nose plugs I’d stashed there, just in case, and I shoved them in.

“Oh, no you don’t,” I snapped, smug as a cat with a mouthful of canary feathers. I was going to redeem myself, if I had to punch him ten more times to do it. My knuckles felt bruised, sore. Vindicated.

There was the teeniest, tiniest possibility my mom was right about my temper.

Kieran just blinked at me, bewildered. “Who taught you to punch like that?” I smiled grimly. “The Drakes.” He shifted, as if he was going to get up. “Uh-uh.

You stay right there or I’ll scream so loud half the town will come running. You might be part of some secret club, but I can still get you arrested for being a creepy stalker.” I noticed the way he was trying to look at the back of my neck, and my wrists. “And what the hell are you doing now?”

“You don’t have any scars.”

“What?”

He pushed himself up so he wasn’t sprawled in the dirt. His nose looked sore but I hadn’t actually broken it. “Bloodslaves have scars, from the feedings.”

“Don’t use that word, it’s insulting. And it makes me want to kick you. Hard.” He held up his hands, palms out, as he stood up fully. I took a step back, raised a fist. I could see the hilt of a knife in the top of his boot.

“You have to know that vampires murder people.” I could tell he was thinking about his father. Sometimes it was a real pain that my own father had encouraged such a strong sense of empathy in me. He couldn’t have taught me math?

“Kieran, humans murder all the time. And the Drakes aren’t killers. They’re not Hel-Blar, they know how to control themselves.”

“They’re all the same.”

“Don’t make me punch you again. My hand already hurts.” He nearly smiled. “You might be as scary as Helena Drake, one day.”