Mark paused and reached for Phoebe's hand, searching her face. "You okay, kitten?"

She gave his hand a squeeze. "Fine. Go. Peruse the fresh meat," she teased, making herself smile at him.

"Now that I can do. And take those things out of your mouth. They look strangely real and it's freaking me out." He blew her a kiss and skipped off behind Sam.

Phoebe plastered her body to the pantry door, praying it was enough to hold her up, and confronted Nina. "What. The. h.e.l.l. Was. That? One minute I was in Castle Dracula, the next I was here in my kitchen. I want explanations and I want them now. What did you do to me?"

Phoebe's ears noted the front door opening again and then Wanda was suddenly in her line of vision, blurry, but as elegant as ever. She clamped a hand on Nina's shoulder and gave her a yank backward. "This conversation will wait until you feed, and, yes, by feed I mean drink blood. You know, that beverage you so flippantly chose to ignore back at Nina's? It's your beverage of choice from now on, kiddo. And if you give me a hard time about it, I won't just make you feed, I'll pry your mouth open with my toes like the Jaws of Life and dump it down your throat. So no arguments, because Auntie Wanda's had it. One of you was enough. Two of you is like loony day camp. Now. Feed." She handed Phoebe a bag that looked like one of those sippy drinks she saw dangling from children's mouths at the park.

But it wasn't the orange sunburst party-in-a-cardboard-carton juice box she was used to seeing. It was blood. Blood. Just the scent of it drove her mad. There was a distinct moment when she literally tasted the coppery tang of it on her tongue-salivated at the very thought of it trickling down her throat.

And then she blanched. Blood. It was abhorrent and enticing rolled together in one sick, vile, disgustingly appealing package.

Then why, why, why did it sing to her a siren's song of bliss, which under normal circ.u.mstances, only a slice of New York blueberry cheesecake could evoke? She tried to gulp back the distaste the image of her favorite dessert wrought and found she wasn't capable. Of gulping.

OMG.

Nina's eyes flashed amus.e.m.e.nt from over Wanda's shoulder while she watched the play of emotions skitter across Phoebe's face. Almost as though she was waiting for the opportunity to call Phoebe a chicken.

Chicken this. She'd gone to college. n.o.body, not even to this day, did boilermakers like she did. She was legend at NYU.

Chugalug, baby.

Grabbing the packet from Wanda with trembling hands, Phoebe yanked the straw out, held it to her mouth, and squeezed every last drop from the tiny hole until she'd wrung it dry. Then she threw it on the floor like a discarded dirty wh.o.r.e, stomping her foot on it in territorial ownership.

A surge of power so revitalizing, so invigorating, slithered along her raw nerves, soothing them and leaving her blissfully sated.

And then everything was clear again. Nina's beautiful face came into focus, her lips in the form of a sneer sharp and crisp, her eyes so black they were like pieces of coal. Wanda, who brought to mind words like stately and collected, smiled her approval, each laugh line on either side of her mouth jumping out at Phoebe's now perfect vision. She rubbed Phoebe's arm. "Better, right?"

"Better," Phoebe mumbled with reluctance. Weirdly so, but definitely better.

Wanda's smile was warm and approving. She reminded Phoebe so much of her mother, not only in the way she nurtured you one moment and scolded you when necessary the next, but in the way she took such great care in her appearance. Her mother had always been meticulous about her appearance. She'd dressed like she was going out, even when she wasn't.

Phoebe remembered her words of advice well: "You just never know what might come up, Phoebes. So in order to be prepared, you should always look your best." What Phoebe later realized was her mother always wanted to be ready for her father Joe. He came into town more often than not without warning, and her mother prettied up on the off chance he'd call and take them out to the diner for dinner or ice cream.

Wanda took her by the hand and led her to a chair at the kitchen table. "And now we need to decide where to go from here, Phoebe. So please, sit and let's talk. We genuinely only want to help you. Despite Nina's brash behavior, the last thing we want to do is frighten you."

Stinging pierced Phoebe's eyes with the familiar onset of tears. Tears that refused to flow, for which she was grateful with Nina staring her down, just daring her to curl up into a little ball of snot-dripping, whining baby. "How did you find me?"

"I went through your purse like all good thugs do. You left it at my house when you tripped the light fantastic," Nina said, sarcasm in her every word as she hoisted herself up on Phoebe's small countertop and wiggled her fingers at Phoebe's silver cat, Optimus, who'd finally made an appearance. He hopped up into Nina's lap and began to twirl his traitorous tail around her stroking fingers with a humming purr.

"What is happening?" Phoebe implored, the quiver in her voice making her angry with herself for showing her fear, especially in front of her tougher-than-shoe-leather sister.

Wanda shook her head, rolling one of the fresh lemons Phoebe had put in a decorative bowl just this morning under her palm. "If what you mean by that is teleporting yourself, I don't know exactly, Phoebe. Nina can't teleport herself anywhere. Like we said, this is the list. She can fly. She can read minds. She's stronger than the NFL as a whole. She can be so much stubborn, difficult b.i.t.c.h you want to choke her, but she can't do what you did. Which means investigation is in order."

"And how do we go about investigating something like this?" Did you make an appointment with the Center for Paranormal Diseases? Was there a specialist in teleportation?

Wanda's glance at her was wary. "First and foremost, we keep a low profile, Phoebe. You'll soon find this isn't like the movies where ET gets to phone home and everyone skips a happy circle at discovering Close Encounters of the Third Kind. There is no definitive happy ending to this lifestyle. Just a happy medium where we make our way in the human world much the way we did before, but with a great deal of caution. No one takes our shapeshifting seriously because no one believes it really exists. That's why we can get away with OOPS. We get a lot of crank calls. More often than not, people think we're a cult who just calls themselves shapeshifters and live wannabe paranormal lives. No one really believes Nina has to drink blood in order to stay erect. If the population at large really knew the truth-if they saw-we'd be lab rats in no time flat. So living this way sometimes involves fibbing."

"No, Wanda. We don't fib, we tell bald-faced lies," Nina corrected with devilish glee while she cuddled Optimus. "You know, like you lie to that crazy b.i.t.c.h you and Marty both go to for a leg waxing every other flippin' day. Tell her what you told that poor, confused, non-English-speaking cosmetician, Wanda. You told her both you and Marty have some rare disease that accelerates the hair growth on your legs. You even told her you met in a clinical trial for a hair-removal hormone. You don't fib. You f.u.c.king lie. Big-big lies, baby. All day long. All day strong."

Wanda sucked in her cheeks, letting her chin drop to her chest. "Yes, Nina. Thank you. This lifestyle does mean you sometimes have to be creative. And you have to keep track of your creativity. There's also the bit about keeping your abilities to yourself. Which means we can't have you teleporting out in a crowd. And it also means we need to understand how you can control it and help you learn how to manage it."

"And we do that how?" Phoebe asked.

Wanda's lips thinned. "We find the source, aka the biter."

Phoebe looked out the small window of her fourth-floor apartment, wincing as the glare of traffic lights pa.s.sed by. "The source ..."

"Yes. The woman who we think is responsible for biting Sam is the source," Wanda said. "Whatever abilities she has she gave to Sam, and by proxy, now you have them, too."

Phoebe was astonished, and she didn't bother to hide it. "A woman bit Sam?"

"Yeah. The one-night stand woman."

"Nina! Hush," Wanda reprimanded. "That's no one's business but Sam's. Client profiles should be confidential, mouth."

Phoebe was taken aback. "So Sam's not a cross-dressing gay man?"

"I think the one-night stand with a woman implies he likes chicks, but he might wish he'd switched to the other team after this s.h.i.t. He was wearing the girlie c.r.a.p because he went to a Halloween party. That's where he was bitten," Nina informed her.

As thoughts started to formulate in her clearing brain, so did the questions. "So," Phoebe began, casting her gaze upon Nina, "you can't transport yourself, but you have other um, abilities? What does this mean? Why, if I'm a vampire just like you, do I have different abilities? Are there different breeds of you people running around?"

Nina stirred on the counter, shrugging her shoulders. "f.u.c.k if I know. I don't know a single vampire in our clan who can do what you did. Doesn't teleportation require you to use your noggin? What was going on in all that air between your ears when it happened?"

"I was thinking I wanted to get the h.e.l.l away from you and go home," Phoebe said from the side of her mouth.

Nina gripped the edge of the countertop with her fingers as a blatantly obvious call for patience. "So all you did was think about home and you ended up here?"

Phoebe nodded, pushing her mussed hair behind her ear. "I just thought the word home and boom."

Wanda shook her head in awe. "Amazing," she whispered, placing a hand over her mouth.

Phoebe fought the fear this added to her already precarious situation. The situation that had finally forced her hand in looking for Nina in the first place. "So what do I do, paranormal counselors? How can you possibly hope to help me, if you don't have someone who can show me how to use it? How to control it? What if I think up Bora Bora or some other crazy place I can't get back from?"

And what if she wished up the wrong destination at the wrong time and couldn't find her way back? She'd had an episode or two in the not too distant past where she'd ended up somewhere unfamiliar, frightened and alone. But now that she could possibly transport herself anywhere, who knew what could happen. She had to tell them the whole of the reason she'd sought Nina out.

But doing that meant she'd have to bear witness to eyes round with pity and sympathetic words. At this stage of the game, and with Nina so reluctant to acknowledge her familial tie to her, Phoebe couldn't bear it. More than likely, Nina would think it a ploy to worm her way into her life through sympathy anyway.

Nina scoffed, crossing her long legs at the ankles and giving Optimus a scratch under his chin. "I get the impression you don't think about much but clothes and s.h.i.t to decorate your face. So if we lose you, we'll get right on that shiz and send out the rescue dogs in the direction of a Macy's white sale-or maybe the mall."

Phoebe's eyebrow rose. "In that case, we should be glad it's not you who can teleport. I imagine picking through a Jersey dump to find your skinny b.u.t.t would prove unpleasant."

"Oh!" Wanda exclaimed on a laugh, clapping her hand against her thigh. "Touche. Now enough, girls. We have things to do. The first of which is getting a list of the names of people who attended that party Sam went to. Whoever it was that turned Sam must have this ability-and if we can find her, maybe we can get some answers."

"She dumped the dude at our door, Wanda. Do you really think she still has her engraved invitation from the ball in her pumpkin turned coach? You know, right next to her gla.s.s slippers and mouse driven coach? Jesus. Don't be a moron. This s.h.i.t ain't sittin' right with me at all. First of all, I don't think this was the accident Sam said it was. Or thinks he heard her say it was. And second, not even Darnell knows anyone who can do what Frou-Frou Barbie does." Nina held up her BlackBerry to show a text from someone named Darnell. A text Phoebe saw as clearly as she did the hand that clenched into that tight fist of stress in her lap.

Wanda patted Phoebe's arm, giving it a light squeeze. "First, we don't know how Sam got on our doorstep. We don't have any proof it was the woman from the party. Now, Phoebe, don't fret. We've dealt with the unknown before. Just recently, the unknown being a veterinarian turned cougar. We'll figure this out, Phoebe. Somehow. Until then, you need to stay close to us. So I hope you have a spare dark hovel for Nina to roost in."

"The. h.e.l.l. I'm staying here with Barbie and Skipper, Wanda. I can keep an eye on her from home."

Phoebe bristled, pulling her arm from Wanda's reach. "I don't need a babysitter. Especially not one who looks like she's fresh out of The Shining."

Nina narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Yet, she said nothing.

Wanda rose from her chair and stretched. "The h.e.l.l you won't, Nina. Phoebe and Sam both need twenty-four-seven at this point. That's what all our clients get from OOPS."

"But I didn't hire you," Phoebe stated, unsure if it was a good idea for she and Nina to be in such close quarters.

Wanda c.o.c.ked her head with a smile. "In order to hire us, you'd have to pay us. We're nonprofit. That aside, you claim to be Nina's sister. No way we let family go it alone. Especially when alone means having no idea where you'll scamper off to if we're not keeping a close eye on you. Add into the mix Sam and whether or not he can teleport, too, and we have one big paranormal launch pad just waiting to shoot off a s.p.a.ceship. So we stay. Adjust. Deal. Oh, and learn to love your Auntie Wanda." She winked on a giggle.

"We don't have any proof she's my sister, Wanda. So clam up," Nina growled.

A rustle of paper caught everyone's attention when Mark breezed in. He held up the DNA test Phoebe had paid a fortune for in front of Nina's face, giving it a sharp snap. "Au contraire, Crabby Patty. We do have proof Phoebe's Joe Blackman's daughter. So unless you're claiming Joe wasn't your father, guess what? Surprise! You have a sister. Though, I struggle to comprehend why she'd want anyone to know the worst thing since Manson was related to her. Either way, she doesn't just have a DNA test. She has pictures of her with her father and all sorts of things to give to you so you'd know she was telling the truth! So why don't you clam up? And while you're at it, lay off Phoebe or it'll be me and you and a vat of green Jell-O with boxing gloves. Phoebe's had a really rough time of it lately, and she's not wel-"

"Phoebe's fine!" Phoebe cried, rushing to Mark's side. She gave his arm a squeeze, prying the paper from his hands and folding it into the neat square she'd left it in on her dresser. "I'm fine, Mark. Swear it. Please. Go back into the living room. Finish accosting poor Sam with your charm," she teased, hoping to divert his attention away from Nina and back to the prime piece of hunk.

Mark rolled his eyes, planting a hand on his hip. "Please. Barked up that tree only to find out it was a st.u.r.dy oak, not the cherry blossom I'd hoped for. He's so straight he's like a flat iron. We had a total moment of man-candor. So forget it. Though, he's a sparkling conversationalist. Unlike the grunter over here." Mark shot a finger in Nina's direction and she promptly snapped her teeth at him. "Did you know he works for O-Tech? He's a scientist. With a job. I don't think I need to say any more. Now that he's up for grabs, I suggest you don't spend any time lollygagging in here with your evil twin and go get you some manly man."

Sam's head poked around the corner of the kitchen, dark, mussed, uncomfortably delicious. "You rang?" he said with a teasing grin. He'd pulled off his eyelashes and nails and washed his face free of his makeup.

And it would have taken Phoebe's breath away if not for the fact that her breathing was on the fritz.

Sam's face.

It was lean and sharply angled along his jaw where stubble darkened it. He had clear eyes the color of melting chocolate that zeroed in on hers with a twinkle. The lashes framing them were thick and dark, making Phoebe green with envy. His mouth was a sensuous line of delicious with a deep dimple in his chin directly beneath it.

And it caught her off guard. She'd been so convinced he was gay, she hadn't spent much time dwelling on how ruggedly handsome he truly was.

"So, are we good in here, ladies?" he inquired. "Because these heels are killing me. I don't know if I have it in me to break you two up in heels."

Nina hopped off the counter, tucking Optimus under her arm and flicking Mark in the shoulder before turning her back on him to face Sam. "Oh, we're golden, homeslice." She held two, undoubtedly sarcastic, thumbs up.

"Good to hear. So what's next?" he asked, bracing himself against the doorframe.

Mark c.o.c.ked his dark shortly cropped head in question and planted his hands on his hips. "Next? And for the record, what exactly is rock-hard man doing with you ladies? In fact, as I recall, pale-face said something about feeding, but I see no napkins and plates. Not that this surprises me. She is a heathen, but I don't think I have all the pieces of the puzzle here. Something's just not adding up." He crossed one arm over his chest, balancing his other elbow on top of it. From behind the fingers of his hand, he said, "So why are you all here so late, and why do you have a man dressed in drag with you?"

"I call we show Mark why we're here, Wanda." Nina slapped Mark on the back, making him jolt forward and cough.

Sam held up a hand to thwart Nina. He captured her in what would appear to anyone else to be a fond embrace. "I say we don't do anything rash, Nina."

Nina gazed up at him, her eyes peering out from her hoodie. "Are you telling me what to do, Gigantor?" She clucked her tongue, waiting.

Sam leaned down toward Nina, making Phoebe shiver as though she were the one he was so near. Even in his red dress, with his gel bra peeking over the top, since he'd gotten past the initial shock of this vampire thing, his presence had become commanding. "Never. I'm simply making a suggestion out of love and the idea that Mark probably likes the term sane when referencing his mental state."

Wanda pushed her way between the two, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. A hand Phoebe found herself wishing was hers. "He's Phoebe's roommate, Sam. Under normal circ.u.mstances, we have a pretty strict code about this kind of thing in that we hope people won't ask, and we won't have to tell. But there are several exceptions. Mark's going to have to be one of them. Of course, it's totally up to Phoebe's discretion."

Phoebe winced. She couldn't even get Mark to keep his eyes open during an episode of Fringe. How would he react to The Exorcist and grown-up Twilight all rolled into one? "Maybe we shouldn't. I ... He's ... Mark's ..."

Mark jammed his face in hers, rolling his head on his neck, clearly sensing her misgivings. "Mark's what, girlfriend? And what is Princess Di talking about? What do you hope people won't ask?" His voice began to rise, much like it had when they were kids and he thought she was keeping a secret from him. Mark loved a good secret. More than he loved What Not to Wear or even the Jonas Brothers.

"Mark," Phoebe croaked. "I need you to sit. On a chair. And listen to me. Like really listen without interruption." She planted a hand on his shoulder and walked him backward to the chair Wanda had abandoned. He plunked down with a confused look, his blue eyes concerned.

Taking his hand, she placed it over her heart. The plan being to show him her organs no longer worked.

But a loud crash against their apartment door prevented her from giving him an explanation. Dropping Mark's hand, she lunged for the door; her feet moved so quickly she stumbled to keep them under her.

She skidded for the door, peeking through the peephole to see nothing but the top of what appeared to be a woman's head, slumped against the wall. Flipping open the multiple locks Mark had insisted they have, she stepped back into Sam's hard chest when she made room to let the door swing wide.

A heavy thud followed the swish of the opening door and then Sam was kneeling at her feet, muttering under his breath. Words Phoebe clearly heard but didn't understand the relevance of.

Nina came up from the rear, stopping short behind Sam, who hovered over an unconscious woman's body. He rolled her over and hissed when her fangs were revealed.

Nina let her cheeks puff outward. "For the love of f.u.c.k-another one? Jesus Christ in Grand Central Station. How many of them are there? It's like raining G.o.dd.a.m.n vampires."

Phoebe's eyes were wide. Yeah. How many of them were there? Surely there were only so many sets of fangs loose in New York City?

"Vampires?" Mark squeaked, latching on to Wanda's arm.

But no one paid any attention to him for the commotion the woman had created.

Sam scooped her up and carried her to the couch, draping her on it with a gentleness Phoebe couldn't help but note. The Victorian-era dress she wore was filthy and shredded, covered in streaks of something greasy and black. The lacing on her bodice hung open in gaps, revealing the curve of her generous b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Her hair, the color of midnight, tangled and matted, splayed across the creamy beige of Phoebe's couch. Her face was so pale the blue tint of her veins was visible beneath her milky skin. Her cheekbones were gaunt and deeply sunken, making Phoebe wonder if she'd eaten in the last ten years or so. Her lips, ashen and dry, were cracked, and her fangs protruded from her lower lip, pinching the fullness of them.

Sam lifted her hand, concern on his handsome face. The mystery woman's exposed flesh was covered in some sort of angry red rash. "What the h.e.l.l?"

At the sound of Sam's voice, her eyes fluttered open. Gla.s.sy and so beautifully violet even Nina grunted her apparent appreciation. "You ..." she whispered hoa.r.s.e and gravelly.

Sam ran his large hand over her forehead with tender fingers. "How did you find me?"

Her eyes began drifting downward, but not before she whispered, "Smelled. I smelled ... had to find you before ..."

Nina knelt down by the side of the couch and stared at the strange woman for a long, painfully silent moment. Pressing the back of her hand against the woman's forehead, she shook her head. "f.u.c.k, she's on fire, and I can't get anything from inside her head. She just keeps repeating your name over and over in her mind. She knows your name! Who is she, Sammy?"

Sam paused, the lines of worry on his forehead creasing. "The woman I met at the party."

Wanda emitted a small gasp, pulling Mark closer to her protective embrace. Pale and somber, Mark trembled against Wanda. Phoebe might have laughed at the image the pair projected if not for the severity of their situation. Mark, at least a good seven inches taller than Wanda, plastered to her side like she was the raft of life. Wanda, st.u.r.dy as any oak, held Mark up.

Again, the woman's eyes fluttered open, riveting Phoebe's stunned gaze back on her. Her stare was a direct connection to Sam's. "Party. I'm sorry ... So sorry. Mistake. Accident ... swear ..."

Sam leaned in close to her, letting his ear rest in the vicinity of her mouth. She reached out to him, grabbing fistfuls of the front of his dress, her lips moving without any sound coming from them. The knuckles on her hand strained, pushing against her skin until Phoebe thought they'd burst from her flesh.

"Who are you?" Sam rasped, the muscles in his neck straining as the effort he made to keep from shaking the information out of her became clear. His free fist clenched into a tight ball. "Why did you do this to me?"

Her head began to thrash against the couch while she struggled against Sam, her face a wreath of pain, her violet eyes filled with some unseen fear. "I ... listen. Please. To me. Help. I want to ..." She moved her head back and forth, frowning as though she couldn't get the words right. "O-Tech ... Not long now ..." As suddenly as she'd begun to flay about, it was over, and she slipped back to wherever she kept retreating, slumping against the couch with a hard jolt.

Sam's hands cupped her face, brushing the hair from her eyes, he lifted her p.r.o.ne upper body. "Not long until what?" he asked, the urgent rise of his voice sending a tremor of more fear skittering up Phoebe's spine.