by Mari Mancusi
I’m about to start the bonus round when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in!” I call, hoping it’s my half sister, Stormy. She’s the only one who can come even close to beating me at the game and I’d love another chance to kick her ten-year-old video game–addicted butt.
Sure enough, the door opens and Stormy pokes a blond head into my room. “Hey, Rayne,” she says. “There’s some girl here to see you.”
“A girl?” My mind races for possibilities but comes up blank. I’ve never really been good with making girlfriends in general, and I’m almost positive I haven’t given my home address to any mortal ones here in Vegas. (Unlike my much more social twin, Sunny, who made like ten friends in two days just by breathing the air at Las Vegas High School.) And, of course, no self-respecting vampire would be swinging by for a chat on a Saturday afternoon while the sun is still high in the sky. “Who?”
Stormy shrugs. “I’ve never seen her before,” she confesses. “Though she looks a lot like the girl from Resident Evil.”
“Video game or movie?”
“The movie. Definitely the movie.”
Hmm. I’m pretty sure I’d remember making friends and influencing people who looked like Milla Jovovich….
“Well, send her in, I guess,” I tell my sister. What the heck, right?
Stormy nods and disappears. While I’m waiting I go and save my game. It’s a little embarrassing to see the game clock pop up and realize how many hours I’ve been sitting in front of a television set. But it’s for a good cause, I remind myself. After all, if Pyrus received reports of me hitting the slot machines or dancing up a storm in downtown Vegas he might decide I’m not taking my whole mission to bring down my sister and her boyfriend as seriously as he’d like. Out of sight, out of mind, that’s what I say. As far as he knows, I’m scouring the world, one step away from my bounty.
I hear the door creak open and turn around to greet my strange visitor. Stormy isn’t wrong—the girl does bear a remarkable resemblance to the famed zombie-slaughtering film star. Not only does she kind of look like her, but she dresses like her, too. I mean, it’s not every day you see someone sporting a tight white tank top under a green army vest, tucked into little black shorts with garters that cling to ripped thigh-high stockings—even in Vegas. (Unless, of course, Taylor Momsen’s in town…) The girl tops off the outfit with an amazing pair of knee-high, stack-heeled, black leather boots and two matching black leather holsters strapped to her perfectly toned and tanned thighs.
But unlike the zombie killer of the 3-D silver screen, these holsters aren’t slotted with guns. They contain stakes.
A vampire slayer. I let out a low whistle, wondering where on Earth she scored an outfit like that. Is there some kind of secret online Slayer Inc. uniform shop that no one told me about? I mean, I’m not all about the army vest. But those boots, man! I’d pretty much sell my soul to slip my feet into those beauties—if I hadn’t already given it away when I first became a vampire.
Of course, I’m not entirely sure my current not-so-tanned, not-so-perfectly sculptured thighs could carry the rest of the outfit as well she does. After all, I’m still recovering from all those high-calorie blood milkshakes they force-feed you at the vampire rehab I was made to attend after having an eensy-weensy little blood-drinking issue….
“Rayne?” the girl asks, looking down at me and removing her mirrored aviator shades. She wears a slightly disdainful look on her otherwise flawless face and I suddenly get a weird feeling I’ve seen her somewhere before, though for the life of me, I can’t figure out where that could possibly be. “Rayne McDonald?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” I reply automatically, feeling a little defensive. After all, she showed up at my house out of nowhere, giving me dirty looks like that. Even if she is the hottest thing known to slayerkind and I’m three days overdue for a shower and wearing vampire bunny slippers instead of kick-ass boots.
She purses her obviously collagen-injected, over-glossed lips, looking at me with clear disapproval in her purple contact–covered eyes.
“Um, did you want something?” I ask, suddenly eager to get rid of her and go back to my game. After all, those brain-hungry zombies won’t explode themselves, you know.
She sighs loudly, as if she’s carrying the weight of the world on her perfectly sculpted shoulders. “My name is Bertha,” she says at last.
“Bertha?!” I burst out laughing. I’m sorry—I can’t help it! This über hottie’s name is Bertha? For realz? I had always assumed there was some kind of law against hot chicks being named Bertha. A name like Bertha should be reserved for girls who look like that crazy ex-vampire slayer from back home who—
Oh crap. So that’s why she looks familiar….
“Bertha?” I cry, scrambling to my feet, trying to hide my shock. “Bertha the Vampire Slayer? Bertha the Vampire Slayer from Oakridge High School?”
Bertha had been the number one slayer in my neck of the woods, back in the day. She had some pretty major kills to her name, too. She’d even bagged Lucifent, the former leader of the Blood Coven. Unfortunately, her career had stalled out due to her inability to ever meet a drive-thru she didn’t want to go through twice. Those pesky blood pressure issues can really put a damper on one’s vampire slayer career.
But um, wow. I guess she kicked that problem.
“I probably look a little different then when you saw me last,” she says, preening a little. I catch her glancing at her own reflection in the bedroom mirror.
I nod. I mean, holy understatement of the century, Batman! This chick did not merely get her stomach stapled. She’d had a complete Heidi Montag makeover. Her once-pockmarked face is now porcelain-doll smooth. Her old stringy hair now flows down her back in silky waves. Her nose is at least three inches shorter and her breasts would make even Katy Perry cry.
“Wow, Bertha,” I say. “You look great. Really great.” And I mean it, too. Not that I’m into girls or anything. But if I was, she’d totally be first on my list.
She sniffs and I realize she’s moved away from the mirror and is now giving me a critical once-over. It’s then that I remember I’m currently dressed in Nightmare Before Christmas flannel pajamas, wearing no makeup, and haven’t brushed my hair since Tuesday. At this point, I’d be dead last on pretty much anyone’s list—male or female.
But still, there’s no need for the judgment here. I mean, it’s not like she gave me any heads-up of her impending arrival so I could apply some mascara.
“So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” I ask curiously. “I’m sure you didn’t fly more than halfway across the country to show off your extreme total makeover.” Though, to be honest, if I looked like her, I’d pretty much make that my full-time job from here on out. Tracking down all those boys who once rejected me, showing off my curves…
“I’m your new partner.”
… finding even hotter boys and stealing them away from their cheerleader girlfriends, only to dump them after—
Wait, what?
I stare at her. “My partner?” I repeat. If my heart was still beating, it’d be slamming against my chest right about now. What the hell is she talking about?
She nods. “The powers that be felt you might need some… motivation… in tracking down your sister. So they flew me out here to assist you.”
“Motivation?” I cry indignantly. “They think I have a motivation problem?” I give a loud, barking laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. A laugh that cuts short as I realize she’s staring smugly at the video game behind me. Particularly the game clock that’s still flashing on the screen.
“Oh, that!” I wave my hand dismissively. “That’s just practice. After all, you never know when you might meet up with a zombie while out on a Slayer Inc. mission. But don’t worry, Berth, my girl. Can I call you Berth? I am unsurpassed at perfect head shots. Seriously, brains start splattering all over the place at the mere the sight of my mighty BOOMstick
.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That’s very… reassuring.”
I grab the remote and quickly shut off the TV. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you! What have you been up to? Are you enjoying Vegas so far? Done any gambling? You have so got to try the Krave Lounge on Fridays. Amazing Goth scene. They’ve got the hottest—”
“Rayne!” Bertha interrupts. “We don’t have time for clubbing,” she says, spitting out the word as if it were poison. “We’re on assignment to track down your sister and Magnus. Or perhaps you forgot?” she adds, giving the television set another look of condemnation.
I frown. Am I missing something? After all, Teifert made my mission perfectly clear. As in, this is all basically a cover-up to buy them time. So why would they assign me back-up? Back-up who, I might add, seems awfully eager to get the job done… Could Jareth have been right? Could Slayer Inc.’s mission not be as heroic as I argued it to be?
No. I’d trust Teifert with my life. There’s got to be something else going on here.
“Who put you on this so-called assignment?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Not Slayer Inc. They would have told me.”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Bertha sneers. Evidently she can play third grader as well as me. She plops down onto my bed. “Now, let’s talk strategy. Do you have any leads? Any idea where your sister and her boyfriend might have gone?”
I shake my head. Luckily, I can give her an honest answer on that one. Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s my policy. “Sorry, she hasn’t updated her Foursquare lately. In fact, I think she even lost her mayorship at the local Olive Garden.”
Bertha rolls her eyes. “Trust me, I already checked her Facebook. Even her MySpace. But you’re her twin. Can’t you… sense… where she is or something?”
“Please. The only thing I can sense is a super-annoying presence currently residing in my bedroom,” I retort, irritated at the whole “Twenty Questions” routine. Who is she working for? Someone else at Slayer Inc.? Pyrus himself? Does Teifert know any of this is going on?
She frowns. “Go ahead, be a bitch. You’re not going to scare me away.” She shakes her head. “This is the new and improved Bertha. And she doesn’t take crap from anyone.” She rises to her feet, staring directly into the mirror. “I’m back. I’m hot as hell, and I’m not going to take it anymore!”
She raises a fist in triumph then looks at me expectantly. As if she’s hoping I’ll cheer on her newfound sense of self-esteem.
“Um, yay?” I try. “Go on with your bad self, you hot mama you?”
She glares at me. “Laugh all you want,” she growls. “But you won’t be laughing once I have your sister and her stupid boyfriend in handcuffs.”
That’s it! I leap from my bed, grabbing her by her vest. “We’ll see about that!”
She smirks and I realize I’ve walked right into her trap. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says with wide innocent eyes. “For some reason I thought you were supposed to be on my team. You know, the team that hired you for the job? The one that has the ability to wipe you off the face of the earth by activating the nano virus inside of you if you don’t obey their rules?”
Argh. It takes everything I have inside to let her go. But of course she’s right. I can’t let on that I’m more interested in protecting my sister than doing my Slayer Inc. duty—at least until I figure out who she’s really working for. After all, if I’m killed then who will protect Sunny?
Better to bide my time. Pretend to play by her rules for now. And figure out a way to beat Bertha at her own game.
“Of course,” I say brightly, gritting my teeth and wishing I could bite through that juicy little neck of hers and suck her dry. “I just meant, as a superior slayer, I’m sure to get there first.”
Her lips curl into a nasty grin. “Oh right,” she says. “Of course you did.” She chuckles. “But, you see, that’s not going to happen either. I’ve been given a second chance. And I’m going to use that chance to prove I’m the best slayer on Earth—no matter what I have to do.” She smiles triumphantly. “Even if that means going above and beyond—and staking your sweet little sister through the heart.”
5
“The Master asked that he not be disturb—”
“Suck it,” I interrupt, pushing past Marcia as I head toward Jareth’s office. Thanks to Bertha, I no longer have time to play her little reindeer games. I walk through the door and turn, shoving her backward so I can close it behind me.
Jareth rises from his seat, taking in my face with a look of alarm. “What’s wrong?” he demands, coming around from his desk. He gives me a quick hug, then ushers me over to his black leather office couch, sitting down beside me, holding my cold hands in his own. He searches my face anxiously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“You’re not half wrong,” I mutter, going through the highlights of Bertha’s recent visit. (Or should I say lowlights?) “You should have heard her,” I finish with a moan. “She’s like, on this crazy vendetta to bring my sister and Magnus down. All to prove she’s worthy of returning to Slayer Inc.’s good graces. She obviously has no idea of Slayer Inc.’s real mission to stall Pryus until they can make their case against him.”
Jareth gives me a sharp look. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
I shake my head. “No, of course not. I didn’t know if I could trust her with the truth. Not after seeing that cruel look in her eyes.”
“Right.” Jareth lets go of my hands and starts shuffling through the magazines on his coffee table. “Well, that’s something at least.” He grabs an issue of Afterlife and Style—the one with Race Jameson and his band on the cover—and starts flipping through.
“Am I boring you or something?” I demand. “I mean, hello, we’ve got a crazy slayer on the loose. Doesn’t seem to be the appropriate time for Vamps: Just Like Us?”
Jareth doesn’t respond at first. Instead he drops the opened magazine into my lap. “Is that her?” he asks.
I squint at the photo. “Um, no that’s the girl from 1,600 and Pregnant—that new reality show that follows vampire moms and—”
“Not her,” he corrects. “Her.” He points to the photo on the adjoining page.
“Oh my God!” I cry, staring down in disbelief. Sure, it’s a fuzzy photo—your typical night-shift vamperazzi, but the image is unmistakable. Bertha, getting out of a limo…
… with none other than Pryus himself, holding her hand.
“What the hell?” I look up at Jareth. He shrugs.
“If you believe the tabloids, the two of them have been hooking up for the last month or so,” he informs me grimly.
“Well, that explains it,” I realize. “When I called Teifert to find out what the hell was going on, he told me he knew nothing about her being on the case.”
Jareth frowns. “That means Pyrus must already be suspicious of your true intentions, meaning you could be in danger.”
I glare at Bertha’s photo. “Well, Slayer Inc. isn’t even close to being ready to make a charge against Pyrus. I mean, they’re working on it, but they’re going to need more time.” I look up at Jareth worriedly. “What if Bertha is able to track them down beforehand? What if she really goes and slays my sister?”
Jareth shakes his head. “I don’t know, Rayne. I just don’t know.” He pulls me into a hug but I find I can’t relax in his arms this time. I try to close my eyes, but all I can see are visions of Sunny’s pale, frightened face. Of Bertha, chasing her with a stake.
The door bursts open and we reluctantly break apart. I turn around to see Marcia standing smugly in the doorway.
“So sorry to interrupt,” she says in a voice that tells me she’s totally not. “I just wanted to deliver the dry cleaning.”
I sink back down onto the couch as Jareth takes the bags from her and starts hanging them in his closet. She looks at me, a patronizing smile on her face. “Oh, Raynie,” she coos. “Trouble in slayerland?”
I halfheartedl
y flick her off, but my mind stays on Sunny. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t gotten involved with vampires last spring, none of this would be happening. We’d be living normal, everyday lives. Sunny could be starring in the latest school play, my friend Spider and I could have reached level eighty on World of Warcraft. The whole point of our parents running away from Fairyland long ago was to give us a chance to live safe, carefree, mortal lives.
But what do I do instead? Oh well, I choose to seek out the most dangerous creatures around and actually sign up to become one of then, putting not only my own life—but also my innocent sister’s at risk. Let’s face it—from that very first night at Club Fang, my decision to become a vampire nearly cost Sunny her mortality. Not exactly the stuff Sister of the Year trophies are made of.
And that was only the beginning. Time after time in the last year, the vampire world has placed her in danger. In Vegas, in England, in Japan. Hell, the only reason Sunny went against the Consortium’s orders to begin with was to save me from the Alphas. If I hadn’t put her in that position—by stupidly getting myself kidnapped—she’d be here with me now. And her biggest fear would be Mom finding out about the C she scored on her math test.
Instead, she’s out there, somewhere, unprotected and vulnerable, with a crazy, deadly vampire slayer with something to prove determined to hunt her down. Ready to actually kill her—if she gets half the chance.
I cannot let that happen.
“We have to warn her,” I say as Jareth escorts Marcia out and closes the door behind her. “Her and Magnus. We have to let them know there’s a vengeful slayer on the loose.”
Jareth turns back to me, biting at his lower lip, looking worried. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he says at last.
