by Mari Mancusi
“You know what, I guess I don’t. Have fun at your stupid tournament. Hope you win a bundle.” I click END on the phone and stuff it back in my purse, fury raging through me. I flag down a taxi and get inside, giving him the address. I have to offer him an extra twenty to leave the city limits, but he eventually agrees and we’re on our way. My phone vibrates, sister calling back, but I refuse to pick up.
I lean back in the seat, still seething. I should have known she wouldn’t come with me. Rayne never does anything that doesn’t directly benefit herself.
Whatever. I don’t need her. I can do this all on my own. Get to the trailer park, sneak in and gather evidence, and get back to the Mandalay Bay casino before midnight. No problem.
I’ll save the day and be the hero and for once it won’t be the slayer getting all the credit. In fact, once Magnus hears how selfish she’s been, he’ll probably put her on probation or something. Like vampire detention. That’d be perfect.
Oh Magnus, I sigh to myself as we drive away from the bright lights and into the barren desert. I hope you appreciate all I’m doing for you.
16
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” the cabdriver asks me skeptically as we turn onto a rocky dirt road in the middle of nowhere Nevada. I look down at the Google Maps directions I printed out. Yup, definitely the right place.
“I’m sure,” I reply. “Just turn left up here.”
The cabdriver mutters something under his breath, but does as he’s told, turning left into the Lake View Mountain trailer park. While some mobile home parks, like the old folks’ home where my grandma spends winters down in Florida, are really nice, with built-in swimming pools and shuffleboard courts, this one is decidedly dilapidated. The trailers are rusty, porches are sagging, and most of them could use at least three coats of new paint. Not to mention there is no “lake view” or “mountain” to speak of. Not surprising, since we’re out in the middle of the desert, I suppose, but definitely false advertising, if you ask me.
“Stop here,” I instruct, as the cab glides past Fifth Avenue (which looks nothing like its New York City counterpart, I probably don’t have to add). “I’m getting out.”
The wind picks up dust and debris and swirls it around the cab and a mangy-looking dog approaches the vehicle, baring its teeth. I look around for its owner, but there’s no one in sight. It’s as if the place is deserted. Abandoned. Hopefully this isn’t due to some hungry vampire passing through. I glance up at the already darkening sky. I’d so wanted to get an earlier head start.
“Are you sure you want to get out?” the cabdriver asks, looking more worried than annoyed now. His eyes dart from one smudged window to the other. “This place doesn’t exactly look very safe.”
He’s right, it doesn’t, and for the thousandth time I wish Rayne had come with me. Even if her slayer powers are all bulk as she claims (and I don’t believe that for one second), at least she’d be good moral support—being the type of girl who’s not afraid of anything. At the very least she’s had some combat training, if it were to come to that.
But she isn’t here and I need to accept that—suck it up and be brave for once in my life. I mean, God, it’s no wonder Magnus always treats me like a little kid—I’m practically afraid of my own shadow when it comes to situations like these. I need to prove him wrong—prove everyone wrong. Show them I’m capable, confident, and can single-handedly save the coven from an evil vampire. Maybe even save Magnus’s very life.
I am Sunny, hear me rawr.
“Just wait for me, okay?” I ask, pushing another twenty through the payment slot. The driver nods absently, still taking in the sketchy scene with worried eyes. I sigh and get out of the cab, closing the door behind me and heading down Fifth Avenue toward Sasha’s trailer. Here goes nothing.
The last remnants of the sun begin to gracefully slip past the horizon, not easing my mood as I walk down the dirt street. I can’t see anyone, but feel a thousand eyes watching me from behind closed curtains from the trailers I pass, making the hairs on my neck prickle. I squeeze my hands tight to stop them from trembling and try to tell myself there’s nothing to be nervous about. So these people are poor—that doesn’t make them dangerous. But there’s just something in the air that makes that reassurance very hard to believe.
A flock of vultures circles above me, only adding to my nervousness. I imagine them waiting for me to drop so they can swoop down and retrieve their dinner. Tearing at my skin, pecking out my eyes, until there’s nothing but dental records that could identify me, even if someone were to find me way out here in the middle of nowhere Nevada.
It occurs to me, suddenly, that I should have at least told Rayne exactly where I was going so she could call in the cavalry if, for some reason, I don’t return in a timely fashion. Not that she’d probably even notice, I suppose, until it’s too late. Too busy playing high-roller to be a good sister.
Suddenly I hear a screeching sound and whirl around, my heart in my throat. I’m just in time to see the cab racing out of the trailer park in a cloud of dust, fishtailing back onto the main road and taking off down the street as fast as its wheels can take it.
Damn it! I punch a nearby streetlamp in frustration, scraping my knuckles in the process. This is great. Just great. Now I’m going to have to figure out a way to convince some other cab to drive way out here to pick me up when I’m done. And I’m running out of twenties.
Forcing my mind back to my task, I locate trailer number 74342. I glance down at my printout. This is it. Sasha/Jane’s trailer. At least this particular home is freshly painted, unlike the others in the park. There are brightly colored geraniums growing in little flowerpots under the windowsills, too. (Though it appears they haven’t been watered for a few days.) I walk around the trailer, scoping it out. Peer in an open window. It’s dark inside. Nobody home. Which is not surprising, I suppose, considering at the moment Jane’s probably staying at the conference hotel.
Sucking in a nervous breath, reminding myself that this is all for the greater good, I push up the screen window and manage to pull myself up and inside. I land in a small bedroom, a full-size mattress covered by a faded flower quilt filling the majority of the room.
I’m in.
Okay. I scramble to my feet. Time to search for evidence of Jane’s true identity. But where to begin? I walk out into the small living room/kitchen area and scan it thoughtfully. My eyes fall upon a small file cabinet sitting next to a computer desk. Aha!
I start my search. At first I’m only finding folders with restaurant takeout menus and book club flyers and a few advertisements for collectibles from the Franklin Mint. Nothing damning, evidence-wise, though the Mint thing could imply questionable taste.
I’m about to give up and try somewhere else, when my fingers stumble across something with much more potential. A manila folder labeled JANE.
Hands trembling, I pull the folder from the drawer, inadvertently spilling its contents all over the floor in the process. I get down on my knees to look through it all, my heart sinking as I realize it’s exactly what I’ve been hoping not to find. Birth records, school report cards, fingernail analysis, even blood-type information, all made out to Jane. A diploma from Oxford rounds out the files, announcing her recent Master of Science degree.
I stare at the diploma, wanting to cry. I wanted proof, but I never expected to find the other kind. The kind that proves that I was wrong. That Jane is exactly who she says she is and I’ve just been a jealous girlfriend from the very start.
I stuff all the paperwork back in the folder and toss it on the desk, depressed beyond belief. I can’t believe I was wrong: all this investigating for nothing. Magnus was right to treat me like a child. I deserve nothing better. I mean, what did I think? That I, a high school kid, was smarter than a group of thousand-year-old vampires? That I could see something they overlooked? Please. I must be crazy.
Rayne is so going to have a field day when I tell her. A big “I told
you so” fest if she can drag herself away from the poker table to celebrate.
None of this makes any sense still. Why would Jane pretend to be someone like Sasha and star in a stupid off-Strip Vegas revue? How did she afford Oxford while living in a trailer? But, I suppose, these are just minor details at this point and don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. In the end, she’s exactly who she’s said she is and there’s no practical reason on Earth she should not become my boyfriend’s blood mate.
I realize that dusk is fading into night and I still need to call a cab to get the hell out of here. Feeling dejected, I reach in my bag for my cell, but when I pull it out I realize I have no bars. No coverage way out here in the middle of the desert. Not good. Anxiously I scan the trailer, looking for a landline phone and find one of those old-fashioned rotary dial types sitting on a side table in the living room. Relieved, I pick up the receiver.
No dial tone.
I sink down to the sofa, anxiety now warring with my hopeless depression. I’m way too far away to get back to Vegas on foot even if I could navigate my way in the pitch dark. Damn that cabdriver for taking my money and abandoning me like that. What am I supposed to do?
I suck in a breath and force myself to remain calm. Panicking is not going to help the situation at all. Maybe one of the neighbors has a phone that works. After all, the whole park wouldn’t have ducked out on their monthly phone bills, right? Or maybe one of them would even take pity on me and drive to the nearest gas station where I could find a pay phone.
Hi, I just broke into your neighbor’s trailer to prove she’s not an evil demon bent on destroying a coven of vampires. Can I use your phone?
Seeing no other choice, I rise from my seat and wrap my hand around the front door handle. But noises make me pause before turning the knob. I peek out the window, trying to discern what’s going on.
My eyes widen as I realize the once deserted town is now teeming with people of all shapes and sizes. Some wandering around, seemingly aimlessly, others hanging out on rocking chairs on their porches. Still others . . .
. . . are catching and gnawing on live, squirming rats.
Realization strikes me like a bad bolt of lightning.
Oh God, this is a vampire trailer park.
My heart slams against my chest in a staccato beat as my mind whirls with panic, wondering what I should do. I mean, most vampires I know are completely civilized and would have no problem letting a human girl use their phone. But then again, not all vamps are members of the consortium or live by the Slayer Inc. creed. Magnus warned me that some still hark to the old ways, forgoing twenty-first century traditions like blood donors and instead living barbarically, sucking the blood out of rats. And humans, if they can get ahold of any. Humans like me.
I let go of the door handle and slowly back away, realizing my position is more precarious than I could have ever believed. And here I was worried about the police and a little breaking-and-entering on my record. Not being trapped in a town full of probably cannibalistic vampires.
Part of me tries to remind myself that I’m safe; no one knows I’m here and I can stay quiet until morning and then leave once they’re back inside sleeping the day away. But then again, what if someone comes back? Jane? A roommate?
I try the phone again. I try my cell. Nothing. No bars. I’m stuck.
I sink down to the faded couch, my stomach churning. What had I been thinking, coming out here by myself? Not even telling anyone where I was? How could I let some random cabdriver serve as my only protector? No wonder Rayne is the vampire slayer and I’m just the dumb twin. She would have never gotten herself into this mess to begin with.
The last wails of a dying rat assault my ears, followed by a horrible crunching sound. I pull my legs up onto the couch, hugging them with my arms, concentrating on not making a sound. Please don’t let anyone figure out I’m here. Thank goodness I didn’t turn on any lights to alert them to my presence. At the same time, sitting in the darkness isn’t all that comforting either. The only light comes from a streetlamp outside that shines in through the living room window above the couch, illuminating the wall across from me.
My eyes come to rest on a framed photo, affixed to this lit-up wall. A photo I hadn’t noticed during my initial search of the trailer.
Oh. My. God.
I slowly climb off the couch and walk toward the picture, my breath permanently lodged in my throat as it comes into closer focus as I near it.
Two girls, smiling into the camera.
Two identical girls to be precise.
Jane . . . and . . . Sasha.
Twins.
Suddenly all the puzzle pieces click into place. I dive for the file folder again, paging through documents under the dim light from the streetlamp outside. It was all so obvious—why didn’t I think of this before? After all, I’m a twin myself—my sister and I have had a billion cases of mistaken identity between us. I find a second folder, this one labeled SASHA, and dig through, finding rehab records, pay stubs from strip clubs, the works.
Why would an ex-druggie stripper living in a trailer park pose as a Rhodes scholar from Oxford? Because she was playing the part of her twin sister, who actually did go to Oxford. And all the Blood Coven’s DNA testing wouldn’t have exposed her lie because identical twins have identical DNA, as Rayne and I know from our own past case of mistaken identity.
But where is the real Jane? The one who did go to Oxford? The one who actually would make a good blood mate for my boyfriend?
A paper falls from one of the files and I grab it off the floor. My eyes widen as I realize what it is. A Massachusetts death certificate. For one Jane Star, who died from unknown causes just a week ago.
Oh my God. Did they kill her? Kill her and replace her with her twin?
Suddenly the trailer park front door creaks open and I realize my problems are about to get much, much worse.
17
My eyes dart around the trailer, looking for some place—any place to hide. But there’s nothing—not even a closet. And the man is already inside.
Except that he’s not a man. He’s a vampire. And not just any vampire. Cornelius.
His eyes fall upon me and he smiles a sick, twisted smile. He knows I’m caught. A deer in headlights. He shakes his head slowly.
“My dear Sunshine,” he says in his Southwestern drawl. “Fancy finding you here.”
“Um, hey, um, Cornelius,” I say, stumbling over my own tongue. I don’t know why I’m even trying. There’s no excuse on Earth I can come up with that will make my presence seem coincidental. “My, um, well, the vampires are looking for Jane for tonight’s ceremony. You haven’t, um, heard from or seen her, have you?”
Yeah, nice try, Sun.
Cornelius laughs heartily, still blocking the only exit, I might add. Though it’s not like I’m going to go running outside with all the hungry rat-eating vampires on the prowl.
“Why yes, I have seen her,” he says, his velvety voice almost a purr. “She’s with her future blood mate, Magnus, getting ready for tonight’s ceremony. Don’t you worry my little one,” he says, chucking me under the chin. “Everything is right on schedule.”
“Um, great?” I say, taking a step back. His breath is utterly foul. “So maybe I should get over there then. Magnus is . . . expecting me.”
“I’m so sorry,” Cornelius replies, his tone full of pseudo-sympathy, “but I can’t let you do that. You see, I know you’ve figured out our little ploy—our little twin switcheroo, you might call it. And I’m afraid if I let you go, you’d just go run and tell your little boyfriend the truth and ruin everything I’ve worked so hard preparing.” He shakes his head, as if weary of the world. “I knew I should have killed you the second I smelled your tainted blood and saw your scar. I can’t believe you thought you’d get to me by posing as an actor. And then that computer trick—you think I would just download some executable file without investigating its origins? Please. I let you in. I watched as y
ou took her address. And then I simply waited until dark to follow you here.”
My heart sinks as I realize I haven’t been half as clever as I thought I’d been. And now I’m trapped. Screwed. About to become a vampire snack. Unless . . .
“So what are you going to do?” I demand, mustering as much false bravado as I can. Channeling my inner Rayne. “Suck me dry? I think you’re forgetting about my tainted blood. Yeah, a little Holy Grail goes a long way. A small taste of me will be like gargling holy water. I can just walk out of here and never look back.”
I storm past him, starting for the door. He places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. “You might be able to get past me,” he says, his voice way too self-satisfied for my comfort. “However, the vampires outside don’t have quite the same refined tastes as I do. They’re also very, very hungry. So I’m guessing they’d bite first and ask questions later, if you know what I mean.”
I look out the window just in time to see a zombielike vampire chomp greedily on a grime-covered bone. If they’re willing to eat something like that, Cornelius may be right about their lack of refined palette.
“Besides,” Cornelius adds, another smirk on his face. “You’d be leaving something—or should I say someone—very valuable to you behind.”
Oh God, what now? I turn to him. “What do you mean?” I demand.
“One moment. I left him in the car.” He steps out of the trailer. The zombie vampires look up hungrily, then seem to realize it’s one of their own kind and go back to their meals. Cornelius walks over to his Cadillac SUV, looking very out of place in the midst of the carnage, and opens up the back hatch. He grabs what appears to be a body bag and lugs it back into the trailer. The door slams shut behind him and he tosses the bag on the couch.
“Ow!” cries the bag—or more accurately the person in the bag. I cover my gaping mouth with my hand, realizing I know that voice very well.
