by Mari Mancusi
Stormy looks up for the first time since entering the room. “Really?” she asks, her big brown eyes shining. “I want a PS3 so bad. But Mom . . .” She shoots her mother the kind of disdainful look only daughters can master. “ . . . .won’t get me one.”
“Because you already have an X-Box, a Wii, and a PlayStation 2,” Heather reminds her.
“Don’t worry,” Rayne says. “My mom doesn’t like me playing video games either. But eventually you’ll grow up and be able to buy your own console and she won’t be able to stop you.”
Stormy giggles. “Yeah,” she cries, smiling up at Rayne. “That’ll be awesome.” She sets down the DS on one of the nesting tables and holds out her hand. She’s got chipped black fingernail polish on her nails. “I’m Stormy,” she says. “You must be my sister. Are you Rayne or Sunshine?”
“I’m Rayne and she’s Sunny,” my sister replies, pointing up at me. “Nice to meet you, stepsister Stormy.”
“Half-sister,” Stormy corrects. Rayne freezes, mid-handshake.
“What?”
I look over at our stepmom. She shrugs. “Actually Stormy is correct,” she says. “You guys have the same father. Uh, didn’t you know that?”
Oh my God. I look at Rayne in shock, calculations whirring through my head. Stormy looks about eleven years old. Dad and Mom only got divorced a little more than four years ago . . .
You don’t need to be a genius to do the math on that one.
Suddenly I feel sick to my stomach. No wonder Dad’s always been evasive about his family out here. Does Mom even know about Stormy? And . . . that name! Sunshine, Rayne, and Stormy. He even named her like one of us. Has he no shame at all?
Rayne drops Stormy’s hand like a hot potato and rises to her feet, her already pale face now white as a ghost. Stormy looks up at her, an unmistakable hurt look on her face at the obvious dis. Then she grabs her DS and runs down the hall. A moment later a door slams.
The room is silent. Heather stands there, biting her lower lip. Rayne’s looking one step below enraged serial killer. And I . . . well, I’m just wondering if I should go run after Stormy. After all, our parents’ sins are certainly not her fault. She didn’t ask to be born into this mess.
“So, um, are you guys hungry?” Heather asks, hopefully. “I’m not much of a cook, but there’s a great Chinese place just around the corner that delivers. Anyone for some dim sum?”
“I’m not hungry,” Rayne replies through clenched teeth. Of course as a vampire she’s never hungry—at least for human food. But I have a feeling something besides the undeadness is ruining her appetite at the moment. “Can I just go to my room?”
“Of course, dear,” Heather replies, looking more than a little nervous. “You two will be sharing a room with Crystal. It’ll be like a great big girlie sleepover!”
Crystal smiles smugly at Rayne’s look of horror and I have a feeling the experience will be less of a sleepover and more of a visit to one of the lower circles of Dante’s hell if she has anything to do with it. And, seeing as it’s her room, I figure she kind of does.
Rayne looks like she’s about to explode at this point so I decide to interject. Play the peacemaker twin. “Great,” I say, forcing a cheery voice. Believe me, I’m just as upset as Rayne is at the news, but what good does it do to flip out? We’re here in Vegas, more than two thousand miles from home, and we’re stuck here for the time being. Nothing to do but make the best of a bad situation, right? “We really appreciate your hospitality. I think actually we want to go check out the Strip before it gets too late. We’ll be back in a couple hours.”
Heather looks relieved and I suddenly realize it must be as hard for her to have us here as it is to be here ourselves. Living reminders of her husband’s past life, invading her home space, without even the husband in question to smooth out the transition. I feel kind of bad for her, actually. Once again, Dad’s irresponsibility ruins the day.
“Okay,” she says. “Have fun. And be careful.” She reaches over and gives me another hug. “I’m really glad you guys are here!”
If only we could say the same.
8
Rayne storms out of the elevator ahead of me, steam practically coming out of her ears as she pushes through the double glass doors of the apartment’s entrance, leaving behind the cool, over-air-conditioned tropical lobby in exchange for the hot, arid desert air. I try to catch up to her and finally am forced to literally grab on to her shoulder to slow her down.
She turns around, her hands squeezed into white fists, her face stormy with rage. “I can’t believe this!” she cries. “He lied to us. All these years. He cheated on Mom and had a kid with that bimbo up there and didn’t even have the guts to tell us about it. After all these years! I mean, we’ve had a baby sister now for eleven years. A baby sister and we didn’t even know about it. What a bastard! An absolute bastard.”
“He probably was afraid you’d react just like you are now,” I venture, not sure why I’m even defending the guy. In truth, I’m pretty pissed myself. But that doesn’t mean we should take it out on the sweet little girl upstairs. Who is, it seems, our own flesh and blood. As I think back on her now, I realize the resemblance is unmistakable. Same blond hair, same big brown eyes. Our very own Mini-Me.
“Sunny, don’t you see? He doesn’t care how I react, he only cares about himself. I mean, he’s not even here. We come more than two thousand miles to visit him and he can’t even be bothered to stay home to greet us.” She shakes her head and I can see she’s trying desperately not to cry. Rayne likes to make like she’s the tough one. Never letting anything bother her. But inside she’s actually the greater marshmallow of the two of us, if you want to know the truth.
“Rayne, we only gave him, like, a day’s notice,” I remind her. “Maybe he really did have a last-minute business trip. And besides, we didn’t really come here to bond with him. That was just the excuse we used to get Mom to say yes, remember? We came to investigate Jane and to make sure she isn’t an evil imposter who plans to kill Magnus and tear apart the Blood Coven.” No matter what’s up with the home life sitch, I’ve got to stay focused on my main objective here. Suss out Evil Jane and bring her down.
Rayne rolls her eyes. “That’s why you came,” she corrects. “I was just humoring you for a chance to drink some booze and play some slots.” She pauses, then adds, “Which I’m thinking of going to do. Right now.”
Oh man. I hate when she gets like this. All self-protective Rayne. She can do more damage to herself in times like this than anyone she’s trying to protect herself from could ever hope to do. I remember a few weeks back she even crashed her own car because she was so angry at David moving in with Mom. Like, yeah, that’ll show them!
If only Jareth were here. He’s the only one ever able to stand up to her when she gets like this. Knock her down a few pegs, talk some sense into her. The guy has the patience of a saint to deal with my crazy sister on a daily basis, let me tell you. Maybe because, as a vampire, he has all the time in the world.
I glance at my watch. Speaking of time, it’s nearly dark and I need to get over to the convention center at the Mandalay Bay Hotel, where the consortium is being held. Time to start spying on Jane.
Of course, now I need to sweet-talk my angry, sullen sister into coming with me.
“Come on, Rayne,” I plead, placing a hand on her arm. “Can’t gambling wait an hour or two? I need you to help me with Jane recon over at the convention center.”
Rayne frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t see why you need me. I mean, isn’t spying easier when you’re solo anyway?”
“Not when it’s a bunch of vampires,” I remind her. “If they catch me without a slayer at my side, I’d be in serious trouble. Do you want me to become someone’s snack?”
She rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Sun, I’m sure you’d be fine. After all, you don’t have to be a slayer to slay a vampire. Just make yourself a stake out of a nearby hunk of wood and st
art stabbing.”
“Oh yeah, ’cause it’s so easy to drive one of those into a vampire’s heart without slayer skills. Are we forgetting about rib cage of steel here?” I remind her.
She considers this. “Well, you could always take to carrying around a blowtorch. They certainly burn easily enough . . .”
I give her a look. She grins, letting me know she’s teasing. “Okay, fine,” she says. “I’ll come with you. But once we see the coast is clear and you’re in no mortal danger, I’m so hitting the tables. We are in Vegas, after all! Gotta win my millions.”
I nod, knowing this is as good as I’m going to get. “Agreed. Let’s grab a cab and head to the Mandalay.”
The hotel is huge, as is, I guess, par for the course here in Las Vegas. Best known for its gigantic water park out back—including an actual wave pool and meandering lazy river—it’s the last resort on the strip and has its own attached convention center. I have the cab drop me off out front, then wander through the smoky, crowded casino on the main floor, the cha-ching of slot machines sound-tracking my journey. Buxom waitresses in low-cut leotards (what, no bunny ears?) walk by me with trays filled with colorful cocktails and every now and then I hear a clanging bell, followed by the ecstatic cheer of a slot machine winner.
We exit into a hallway, connecting the club and convention center. It’s a mini-mall, flanked with restaurants and clubs, including one called Rumjungle with an actual in-club waterfall cascading down from the ceiling. I have to admit, the whole setup is pretty sweet and if I wasn’t on such a life-and-death mission, I’d definitely enjoy checking the place out more thoroughly.
On the convention side of things, it’s decidedly quieter, with only a few businessmen, dressed in suits, dashing past me in a desperate attempt to get to their dinner meetings on time. We ride the escalators to the second floor where we come across a sign: COVEN CONSORTIUM. We’ve arrived.
Unlike most of the other conventions held here, the Coven Consortium has only rented out their meeting rooms for evening sessions, seeing as the majority of their members are fast asleep in their hotel rooms for most of the day. Which actually, now that I think of it, isn’t that different than your average Vegas attendee. Except for the fact the consortium members are actually sleeping in red velvet-lined coffins they’d had Fed Exed over the night before.
“Okay, I think we should get into costume,” I tell my sister. After all, we don’t want someone to recognize us and tell Magnus we’re here.
“Don’t you think that’s a little overkill?” Rayne asks, giving me a skeptical look.
“No. I don’t. And I’d appreciate it if you take this seriously,” I tell her. “These are vampires, you know. And some of them very well might be evil.”
Rayne looks unconvinced, so I add, “I brought you the purple wig . . .”
She grins. It’s her favorite, I know. “Well, in that case, let’s go Cosplay.”
We head into the bathroom and I rummage through my bag, pulling out our wigs. They’re not the most subtle choices, of course, hers being the aforementioned purple and mine a fluorescent pink. But it’s Vegas, right? Anything goes.
I hand Rayne her wig and shove mine on my head. Then I add a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses I found on David’s nightstand. Perfect. I glance in the mirror. Now we’re completely disguised and will be able to spy to our hearts’ content without anyone even having a chance of recognizing us.
“Sunny, Rayne?”
Huh? We whirl around, realizing too late that Magnus’s blond, bitchy secretary (who’s a ringer for Marcia Brady) has entered the bathroom and is currently giving us a snotty once-over. Hmm. Guess our disguises aren’t as foolproof as I’d hoped they’d be . . .
“What are you guys doing here? And with those crazy wigs!” She shakes her head. “Is that what passes for fashion in the mortal world these days? God, I’m glad I’m a vampire.”
Lovely. There have to be at least three hundred vampires at this consortium and we have to run into the one I like least of all first thing. The one who, I might add, would happily cut in line to be the first to sell me out to her boss. If I don’t do something quick, Magnus is going to know I’m in Vegas in three seconds flat.
Think, Sunny! My mind races desperately, trying to come up with a plan. Something—anything to distract her from telling on me. But I’m completely coming up blank. I glance over at my sister, praying for Rayne’s intervention.
“Oh, Marcia, I’m so glad we’ve found you!” Rayne suddenly cries, throwing her arms around Marcia and pulling her into a huge hug. She’s stiff as a board and when my sister pulls away she’s wearing a very annoyed and confused expression on her face.
“You were looking for me?” she repeats skeptically.
“Why yes,” Rayne says, nodding her head so vigorously she has to straighten her wig afterward. “Well, technically Magnus is. Evidently he left some really important papers back in his hotel room. Stuff he desperately needs for his next meeting.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widen with concern. I smile smugly, liking my sister’s plan already. If I know one thing about Marcia it’s that she’s obsessed with Magnus and would do anything to help him. Then she narrows her eyes suspiciously. “So why doesn’t he just go get them?” she asks. “After all, they’re just an elevator ride away.”
Good point. Damn. But Rayne wasn’t giving up. “Oh please,” she says, shooting her a disdainful look. “Do you have any idea how crazed Lord Magnus is tonight? His schedule is jam-packed. He doesn’t have time to run errands. That’s why he has a secretary to begin with.”
“Executive assistant,” she corrects. As if there’s a difference. And what’s Rayne’s plan here, anyway?
“Will you go get his papers, Marcia?” Rayne asks, eyes wide and pleading. “I mean, I’d have Sunny go, but she’d just mess everything up—being a dumb, silly human and all.”
I bristle a little at that last statement, but remind myself it’s for a good cause.
“Of course,” Marcia says, straightening her shoulders with pride. “The last thing Lord Magnus needs is for you two clowns to be rummaging around his things. I’ll go and deliver his papers to him. You can go back to playing slots or whatever it is you’re wasting time doing here.”
“Do you know the room number?” Rayne asks sweetly.
She gives me a smug look. “Room twenty-one-forty-three, of course,” she sniffs. “Lord Magnus tells me everything.”
“Of course he does,” Rayne agrees, smiling patronizingly. “And he’s given you a key to get in?”
She rolls her eyes. “Please. I’m a vampire. I don’t need a key to break these pathetic mortal locks.”
“Perfect.” Rayne beams at her. “Well, you’d better get going then.”
“Indeed.” And with that, she turns and sprints down the hallway, all vamp on a mission.
Rayne turns to me with a grin on her face. “There. She won’t be troubling us for a while.”
“But she’s just running up to get some paperwork,” I remind her. “Then she’ll be back downstairs to let Magnus know we’re in town.” I didn’t want to criticize Rayne’s plan, but it did seem a bit short-sighted to tell the truth.
“Quiet, oh sister of little faith.” Rayne pulls her cell phone from her purse and dials a number. “Yes, this is Room twenty-one-forty-two,” she says into the phone. “I believe someone’s breaking in to the room next door. You might want to call the cops or something.”
I stare at her as she hangs up. She grins at me, a smug look on her face and pulls a wallet out of her pocket. Marcia’s wallet. She must have stolen it out of her bag during that big, friendly hug.
“Breaking-and-entering with no ID to speak of . . . that ought to send her to a Vegas jail for a few hours at the very least. Sure, she might try to call Magnus to bail her out, but he’ll be in meetings all night. With his cell turned off.” She nods at me, triumphant. “Am I good or what?”
I hesitate. “Good in the short term,�
�� I say carefully. “But she’s eventually going to get out. And then she’s going to tell Magnus what we did. And we’ll be in more trouble then than we’d be if she just told him she happened to see us.”
“Well, you’ll just have to work a little quicker then,” Rayne says with a scowl, evidently displeased that I’m not gushing over her oh-so-clever act.
“I know but . . .” I try to rationalize without making her angry. “I was sort of hoping to have at least until Friday. That’s when the biting ceremony is.”
“I see. Well, I’m so sorry I screwed up your perfect investigation schedule,” Rayne retorts. Oh great, now she’s going into defensive mode again.
“Rayne, come on. You know I appreciate what you’re doing. It’s just—”
“Whatev,” she says, taking off her wig and handing it back to me. “If you have a better plan, I suggest you start implementing it. I, on the other hand, am heading down to the slots.”
A half hour and a quick costume change later, I’m once again wandering through the Mandalay Bay convention center, this time alone. At least now I’m positive no secretaries or anyone else related to the Blood Coven will recognize me. Mainly because I swung by the Hustler store and found a Vegas showgirl costume, complete with feathered hairpiece. I look absolutely ridiculous, I’m sure. But, hey, when in Vegas do what the . . . Vegans? Vegasites? Vegasers? do, right?
I find the check-in booth for the consortium and casually grab a schedule off the table. Looks like there are several different sessions going on now. A panel discussing whether or not blood donors should be allowed to form unions. A team-building workshop where participants are asked to walk over a bed of hot crosses. A demo from VampCovenz.com showcasing their latest high-tech coffin security system dubbed “Who Let the Bats Out?” And a Coven Masters round table on what to do about the growing issue of unlicensed, unaffiliated covens popping up around the world. Covens that do not, the brochure explains, follow the consortium charter (which usually means their vamps are all munching on the necks of random peeps, rather than consenting blood donors).
