"I took the liberty of reviewing your records this morning, and I noticed that you've elected to go half days and take work-study credit."

Uh-huh.

"Given your need to recover and this morning's unfortunate incident, I thought you might prefer to complete your requirements for graduation via a homeschool arrangement."

What? I blinked. Half days were one thing, but this would mean good-bye to school as of immediately.

"Your uncle . . . I thought the two of you might be able to work out an acceptable academic regimen. Took the liberty of calling him just before you arrived, and he seemed open to my suggestion."

Really? I thought, baffled. "I can handle cla.s.ses," I said. "I'm a good student." Not top-ten like Kieren, but honor roll.

"Think it over," Harding replied, glancing at his ax. "Talk to your uncle. Let me know when you change your mind."

It should've felt like work, not a date. I blamed the atmosphere, the fang shui. Brad had gone so far as to dim the overheads and turn on both the tiny candle-style lamp on my table as well as the wall sconce above the booth. He'd also activated the sound system, playing instrumental jazz. He'd even opened a bottle of Cabernet.

"How was your morning?" Brad asked, ladling minestrone into my bowl. "Pencils, books, dirty looks?"

"Typical first day song and dance." After school, I used to taste-test for Vaggio and clue him in on my latest news. But I didn't know Brad well enough to confide.

"And do you have a sweetheart there? A puppy love?"

Suddenly, I lost my appet.i.te.

"You don't like it?" Gesturing to the soup, Brad slid into the black leather bench opposite mine. "How can you not like it? You haven't even tasted it yet."

I slipped the crimson napkin to my overalls lap, grateful to be focusing on food rather than my personal life. "It's minestrone."

Brad met my eyes, raised a questioning brow. He'd put in the red contacts, as promised. They looked good with the fangs, which he'd persisted in wearing. He'd also traded in his 'kicker apparel for a solid royal blue oxford and khakis. Brown leather belt, brown leather shoes, brown leather watchbands. The kind of vampire a nice girl could bring home to her parents, if she had parents.

Mama and Daddy had been Kieren's G.o.dparents, I recalled. They adored him. Daddy used to tease that we'd get married one day.

Focus, I thought. I thought. Food. Food. As Vaggio had often pointed out, many a dive did booming business because the food was to die for. Sanguini's could settle for no less. As Vaggio had often pointed out, many a dive did booming business because the food was to die for. Sanguini's could settle for no less.

I dipped my spoon into the bowl, opened my mouth, and . . . good. The minestrone? Scrumptious, savory heaven. Hot enough to scintillate without scorching, taut onions, sinful bacon bits, chopped celery, fresh spaghetti, plump red beans, a touch of kale . . .

"Well done," I said. "Or not well done. But . . . Well. Done. And, bonus, Italian." I tried another spoonful. Blessed Mother of Minestrone. Blessed Mother of Minestrone. I took the moment to stir. "But Pasta Perfecto serves minestrone. So does The Olive Garden. The people at Campbell's sell it in a can." I took the moment to stir. "But Pasta Perfecto serves minestrone. So does The Olive Garden. The people at Campbell's sell it in a can."

"But my minestrone is better -"

"So was Vaggio's," I replied, swallowing hard, "and we still lost out to the compet.i.tion." I flipped to a blank page in Frank, which lay open on the table, and picked up my pen. "What else are you thinking for the menu?"

One of Brad's loafers nudged my right foot, and I moved it back. "We need a soup, I think. I also make a good chowder, by the way. Or there's a stew, a mushroom stew I could try for an entree." Brad reached for the wine bottle and filled my gla.s.s.

"I'll just have water," I said.

"The guests will be having the dishes with wine," he countered.

That made sense, I guessed, trying it. This gla.s.s tasted better than the one I'd had the other day. I supposed I preferred the Cab to the Zin. It also somehow made a terrible day seem instantly not so bad.

"Despite the bones," Brad went on, "Texas quail could be interesting. For now, I've got a corn conchiglie salad and tiramisu, which you'll have to excuse me to -"

"Hang on. Vampires, remember?" Either Brad didn't get the concept of crawly creepies or he was suffering from a mental block. I gave the room another perusal. It could've been any high-end restaurant dining area. It was the suggestion of the vampire that heightened its intrigue. "I'm not complaining about the quality of your cooking, but atmosphere alone isn't going to cut it. We need to submerge people, even with the menu, like -"

"A scary movie?"

I dabbed my lips with my napkin, tried the wine again. "More expensive. And interactive, like -"

"A ritzy tourist trap?"

"Ritzy role-playing game," I replied. "Sanguini's is providing the menu and venue, but the guests will be partic.i.p.ants, not pa.s.sive audience members." I shifted in the booth, and my foot grazed his ankle that time. Accidentally. "You need to create some sense of drama, I guess. Take it up a notch or three."

"I did do some research for this job," Brad countered, "and your idea of vampires seems pretty stereotypical for -"

"It's what the guests will expect," I replied.

Something banged in the kitchen, and I flinched.

"Easy," Brad soothed. "That's your uncle and Ruby." He lowered his voice. "Davidson seems swell, but what you said the other day about her -"

The stainless kitchen door swung open, and, as if on cue, Ruby sashayed across the midnight blue carpet. Today's ensemble was a shiny black leather bodysuit with spaghetti straps over a long-sleeve, black lace shirt, with ankle-high shoes, lace-up, and a black velvet ribbon fastened at the collarbone. Her trademark scent preceded her, a cinnamon musk. "h.e.l.lo, kids," she began, clapping once like a less-than-thrilled theater fan. "My, isn't this cozy. Quincie, Quincie, Quincie, I thought you already had a boyfriend."

"We're working," I put in. "Working on the menu."

I didn't get what they saw in each other, my uncle and Ruby. Flower Child meets Child of the Night and all that. Their twisted world of black daisies, b.l.o.o.d.y peace signs, and fang-dipped smiley faces. Not something to dwell on, but the s.e.x must've been spectacular.

"Hate to say so," Ruby replied, hovering over the booth, outlined lips at full pout, "but Sanguini's 'vampire chef' could double as a JCPenney model." She made a show of considering. "The clothes, anyway."

The average blind man saw more beauty in a day than Ruby did in a lifetime. Maybe that was my uncle's attraction to her. The yin-yang. Her darkness, his light.

"Go away," I said, giving up on politeness.

"I'm just saying," Ruby went on, "he could be the death of this operation."

She was rooting for Brad's makeover to bomb, I realized. Uncle D must've talked to her about playing master vampire, and - big surprise - she'd loved the idea.

Too bad. Brad had already agreed to go shopping with me the next day.

"Ruby," Uncle Davidson called, sticking his head in the room, "let's let these two get to know each other." It was like he was the set-up guy, hustling her away from our blind date. And there was that word again. "Date."

Ruby licked her lips as though she could read my mind, and before I knew it, bent to kiss me, kiss me me on the lips. Warm, wet, smiling. Pulling back, her upturned green eyes peered into mine. on the lips. Warm, wet, smiling. Pulling back, her upturned green eyes peered into mine.

It was possible, I thought, that in time I might grow to hate her.

Good kisser, though.

"You should learn to listen," Ruby suggested, sashaying away. "Ta."

Uncle Davidson called "See ya," apparently without having noticed my drinking, and for a while, Brad and I let the jazz take over the room. I finished my soup. He poured himself a gla.s.s of wine. The quiet was clunky.

"Thing about Ruby," I said, "she seems to think being cryptic is some kind of subst.i.tute for having a decent personality."

"The living vampirism," he began, "how -"

"Don't let her get to you," I said. "Sanguini's is liable to get a lot worse waltzing through the front door." Better the front door than the back, I thought, wondering if this time Uncle D had remembered to lock behind them.

"I'm not worried," Brad a.s.sured me.

But I was. It had been only ten days since Vaggio's murder. No arrests.

I took a deep, cleansing breath, finished my gla.s.s.

"However," Brad went on, "I've had a pair of brothers, both hard-boiled sorts, working on my house - refinishing the floors, replacing broken windows, and so forth. They mentioned needing extra cash. Do you think I'd be overstepping bounds if I suggested them to your uncle for the bouncer jobs?"

"No!" I took a breath. "I mean, no, I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

"Done. I should get to the kitchen to finish your conchiglie salad," Brad added, rising from the booth, taking my bowl with him. "That is if you're still hungry?"

I paused, realizing he'd caught me licking my soupspoon.

"More giggle water?" he asked, lifting the bottle of wine.

The following morning I knocked on Uncle D's bedroom door until he got up.

"I'll just have coffee," he said, yawning in cutoff sweatpants and a sleeveless T.

While he fetched himself a cup, I heated a breakfast taco in the microwave, poured myself a gla.s.s of orange juice, and then joined Uncle D at the table. "Why did you tell the vice princ.i.p.al I would do homeschool?"

I hadn't wanted to bring it up at the restaurant with Ruby and Brad around, but it had freaked me out that he'd agree to such a thing without our even talking about it first.

"Good morning to you, too," he replied, adding sugar to his "World's Greatest Uncle" mug. "Honey, you know how much I need you at work, and it's not like you have a lot of friends at school, compared to at the restaurant. Oh, speaking of which, Sergio's coming back, did I tell you? He was thrilled to quit that job at -"

"I have Kieren," I said, taking a bite of my taco.

Looking unimpressed, Uncle D shifted gears on me. "What do you think of our chef? Not bad, eh? And he can cook, too."

Before he could stray further off base, I said, "No homeschool, okay? I'm happy with going mornings, and anyway, Brad told me he hadn't gotten to work before noon or so these past couple of days." I couldn't imagine Uncle D cared that much, but if need be, I was willing to take a stand. I wanted to help out at Sanguini's, and I would, but l.u.s.ting after Kieren in English cla.s.s was the highlight of my day.

"Excuse me for being considerate." Uncle D lifted his coffee to sip, set it down quickly, and smacked his lips. "Hot, hot, hot. But as I was saying, about 'Brad,' as you two have decided to call him . . . I like that, by the way. What do you think?"

"He's got potential," I said. "By the time I'm done with him -"

"Good," Uncle D informed me. "When I interviewed him, I told him how special you were, how much Sanguini's is in your blood. I don't know if he totally believed me then, but now -"

The phone rang, and I jumped for it.

Kieren opened with, "Why didn't you call me back last night?"

"You called?" I'd been stressed, thinking he hadn't. We usually talked a few times a day, but he was so moody lately.

"I left a message with your uncle."

Huh. "Sorry, I didn't get it."

"You could've called when you got home," Kieren said. "Or e-mailed." He'd had his cell permanently confiscated months ago when his mama caught us talking after midnight. Harsh, but it hadn't been the first time - that had been during the first week of finals, and he'd been warned more than once.

I took a breath. "It was late and I was tired and -"

"I was worried. I stayed up all night wondering -"

"I'm sorry, but I was working and -"

"With the new chef?" he wanted to know.

I wasn't loving Kieren's tone of voice. "I don't think you understand how important it is that -"

"Fine."

"Fine," I replied.

We hung up, and I sat down at the table with my uncle, who was staring at his coffee like it held the secrets to the universe. "I'm sorry that I forgot to tell you the boy called. I thought I wrote it down somewhere. I don't know where my brain is."

I did. Between raising me, managing the restaurant relaunch, losing Vaggio, falling in l.u.s.t with Ruby . . . I sipped my juice. "Kieren's just a little edgy these days."

"Do you think that's something I should mention to the police?"

The question caught me by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"The detective said to call back if anything seemed unusual."

Even though he hadn't been at the scene, Uncle D was questioned the day after the murder. I thought about it. Had Daddy ever confided to Uncle D about Kieren's Wolf heritage? That possibility, coupled with the circ.u.mstances of Vaggio's murder, made me wonder. What might Uncle D have told the police?

After school, I was back on the job. Dragged Brad out of the Sanguini's kitchen and down the sidewalk to All the World's a Stage. The clerk helped us pull various male vampire costumes, and we sorted through them to find the most promising.

"I've already got the eyes and fangs," Brad said. "Do I need a whole outfit?"

I held up a full-length blue suede western jacket, shook my head, and hung it on a spare rack. "People are going to be coming in from all over h.e.l.l and half of Texas," I said. "We need to give them a show."

Brad held a silky white shirt up to himself. "White washes me out, I think."

I smirked. "Go look at it in a mirror."