I broke one of the rules less than twenty-four hours liter. I blamed sleep deprivation. Despite my efforts over the last three days, Babyjon still had the whole "stay awake at nighttime" thing a little mixed up. (But then, so did I.)

Small wonder. The Ant, Satan rest her soul, had stuck him with night nannies all the time, and they had encouraged him to sleep so they could goof off.

I groped for the bedside phone, forgetting to check the caller ID. "Mmph. . . lo?"

"-can-hear-"

For a change, I actually identified the crack In voice. "Marc! Where the hell are you?"

"-can't-make-drop-"

"Are you hurt? Are you in trouble?"

"-trouble-fucked-death"

"Oh my God!" I screamed, instantly snapping all the way awake. I glanced at the bedside clock; four-thirty in the afternoon. In his port-a-crib, Babyjon snored away. "You are in trouble! Can you get to a computer? Can you send me an e-mail? Why aren't you answering my e-mails? Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you!" With a baby in tow, I neglected to add.

"-can't-worry-trouble-"

"Where are you?" I hollered.

"-dusk-dark-come-"

"I'll come, I'll come! Where are you?"

''-see-stars-''

"Marc?"

"-worried-"

"Marc?!" I was yelling into a dead line.

That was it. That was it. I threw back the covers of my lonely bed, trying not to realize that things were getting mighty fucking weird (and failing), and got dressed with amazing speed.

I plucked a sleepy, wet, yawning Babyjon from his lib, changed him with vampiric speed (he seemed surprised, yet amused), grabbed the diaper bag and some formula, and headed for the bedroom door to beat feet for Minneapolis General, Oncology Ward. I was breaking rule number two, and I didn't give a tin fuck. Not for the rules of ordinary man was I, the dreaded vampire queen. No indeed! I was-

My computer beeped. Rather, Sinclair's computer beeped (what did I need a computer in the bedroom for? We only had, like, nine offices). The thing hadn't made a peep in days, so for a long moment, all I did was stare. It beeped again, and I lunged for it, ignoring Babyjon's squawk, and saw the you've got mail icon pop up.

I clicked on it (Sinclair had set the thing up so I could use it whenever I wanted), hoping. He knew it was in our bedroom, he knew I'd hear the chime wherever I was in the house, ergo it had to be from-

My sister, Laura.

Grumbling under my breath, I read the e-mail.

Betsy,

I'm dreadfully sorry I was unable to attend the funeral of your father and my mother. I was, as you know, occupied with the arrangements for the wake and the burial, as well as helping your mother with the baby, but deeply regret my unavoidable absence. I do hope we can get together soon. Please call me if you need anything, or if you run into trouble. God bless, Your loving sister, Laura

"And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee." (Psalms 9:10)

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said aloud. "Verrrry helpful." But I was all talk. At least someone hadn't forgotten me, left the country, or disappeared. Or gotten cancer.

Or if you run into trouble? What did that mean? It was almost like she knew things were getting weirder by the second. Which of course she couldn't. We hadn't even spoken until the day before the funeral, and that was all Ant stuff, not Jessica and Marc and Sinclair and Antonia and Garrett stuff.

I shoved the thought out of my head. Of all the people I had to worry about, Laura was so not one of them. Even if she was, according to the Book of the Dead, fated to take over the world. She was a good kid (when she wasn't killing vampires pretty much effortlessly) with a steady head and a kind heart (when she wasn't killing serial killers), and she was the definitive good girl (even if she was the devil's own). So there. Dammit.

I said it out loud, just to cement the idea into my lead. "So there. Dammit!"

"Blurrgghh," Babyjon agreed, kicking his footie pajama feet into my hip bones. "Ready for a trip, baby brother?" "Yurrgghh!" "Right. Onward, and all of that."