A few minutes later, the elevator doors slide open and we enter a grand foyer. This place makes the aboveground area look like a peasant's shack. There are multiple chandeliers hanging at different lengths from the cathedral ceilings, beautiful paintings adorning gold-colored walls, and cozy couches around great big fireplaces. It looks like the lobby of the most elegant hotel in the world.

"Wow, this is beautiful," I remark, forgetting they all hate me and I'm trying to keep a low profile. "Totally cool."

"Totally," mimics Susan. The other two stifle giggles.

A glare from Jareth convinces me to keep my mouth shut. Even though they're so asking for it, obviously.

Refusing to let them get me down, I walk over to one of the paintings to examine it closer. "Is this a da Vinci?" I ask in awe.

I took art history two semesters in a row (okay, I flunked the first time around) and I definitely see the likeness to his other works, but don't recognize the painting.

"Yes," says Elizabeth. "One of his later works."

"It looks . . . new," I say, puzzled. It's then that I notice the Virgin Mary is wearing legwarmers and Jesus Christ has a Cabbage Patch Kid tucked away in the manger. "Uh, really new."

"Yes. That one's from his nineteen-eighties period," Katie says.

I laugh. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"She's not joking," says Susan. "In fact, Leonardo painted some of his finest works between eighty-two and ninety-nine."

"Dude, I hate to break it to you, but the guy's been dead a thousand-" I stop. "Wait a second. Is he a . . . ?"

"Italian Renaissance Coven Number 109," Katie recites. "Of course now all his works are only found in private collections like this. We can't let mortals know he's still painting."

Wow. I can't believe Leonardo da Vinci is a vampire. I wonder how many other ancient celebrities are still kicking it underground these days.

"We vampires believe that the masters' works were far too important to simply bow to this mortal coil," Katie further explains. "So we turned most of them into vampires. Musicians like Mozart, painters like Michelangelo, writers like Dante. They still produce amazing art to this day. Though Mozart's been in a real tiff lately after someone leaked his new concerto over the Internet before its official release date. He's so against Internet piracy."

"Oh, and Michelangelo's completely given up the chiseling statues out of stone thing now that Pixar's got him on staff for their new David and Goliath flick," adds Susan. "Of course we all told him the censors wouldn't go for the no-fig-leaf look in a G- rated pic, but does he listen?"

"Oh, and Dante?" Elizabeth says. "He's given up Divine Comedy to work on the situational type. Though I'm not sure the Everybody Hates Satan pilot he's producing is going to get picked up by the network. It just seems a little bleak for a sitcom, what with all those tortured people in various circles of h.e.l.l and all." "Wow. Just. . . wow." I say. I heard rumors there were a lot of famous vamps walking the earth, but I had no idea they were so busy. And here I am all concerned about graduating high school. I wonder what I can accomplish with immortality.

Katie clears her throat. "So, if we're done with Art History 101, shall we retire to the library for drinks?" she asks. "After all, we have a lot of catching up to do."

"Sounds lovely," Jareth says. "Lead the way. Of course it's been ages since I've visited."

"Yes, dreadfully too long," coos Elizabeth, putting an arm around my boyfriend's shoulders. Susan flanks him on the other side, wrapping her arm around his waist. I grit my teeth and claw at my palms and remind myself this is only for one night.

If I can just put up with their antics now, Jareth will think I'm a wonderful, patient, open-minded person and he'll be glad that I'm his blood mate for all eternity. If I can survive the night.

Katie leads the way, down the foyer and through a set of double doors and into a cozy library. The place is floor-to-ceiling books, all hardbound and embossed with gold lettering. I'm dying to know what they're about, but it seems rude to just start pulling out volumes. Not to mention if there's some secret bookcase door that's hinged on the right book being pulled out (like always happens in old English movies) I don't want to accidentally trigger it. Tres embarra.s.sing.

We sit down on comfy leather couches and Katie rings a h.e.l.l. A moment later a servant-type appears. He's old, probably in his late sixties, with thinning white hair. He's dressed in a tuxedo and walks with a slight limp. Definitely not a vampire. Interesting that they have human servants here. Do they double as blood donors, I wonder?

"Charles, go into the cellar and get us a vintage O negative," requests Elizabeth.

"Ooh, good choice," chimes in Susan. "Get the one from Marie Antoinette. After all, this is a night of celebration to have our dear brother Jareth back from the United States."

The servant bows and exits the library.

"Uh, Marie Antoinette?" I question, a little nervously.

"We have some very expensive bloods in our possession," explains Katie. "Bottled and stored until we decide to indulge."

"You're serving us blood of Marie Antoinette? Like, the real person? The queen of France?" Wow, that's crazy.

"Would you rather we let you eat cake?" quips Susan.

I roll my eyes at her lame joke. "But I thought, like, she was executed during the French Revolution. Is she a vampire, too?"

"No. She's dead. Duh. You can't really go back from being beheaded. And besides, how would we have a bottle of her blood lying around if she were undead and well?"

I guess that's true. "So then how . . . ?"

"Vampires a.s.sisted with that rebellion," explains Susan. "Did you really think that the peasants could have toppled a monarchy with no a.s.sistance? Please. They were too busy picking lice off their unbathed bodies."

"Royal blood is always extra rich," adds Elizabeth. "Good diet and all. So when each monarch was beheaded, there was a vampire bottler on hand to collect the blood."

"Wow, that's, um, fascinating?" Actually I think it's really, really disgusting, but I'm still trying to cling to manners here.

Katie smiles smugly. "We here at the Blood Coven of Northern England have a pretty extensive blood cellar. We've got a couple of bottles of Henry the Eighth, Shakespeare. Even a half bottle of Jack the Ripper, if you're in the mood for something adventurous."

I'm pretty sure I'll never be that adventurous. I can't even stomach fresh blood, never mind the bottled bodily fluids of a serial killer from the nineteenth century. And I'm pretty sure I'm not up for any French queen blood tonight either. Hopefully they'll decide it's far too expensive to waste on a newbie Yank Goth vamp and I won't have to make a scene by turning it down.

"In any case," Jareth says. "Rayne and I are here on official business. We are looking for a Lycan community somewhere in this vicinity. They may have infected some of our local townspeople and we need to find out if there's an antidote for the disease."

"Try the town of Appleby," suggests Susan. "Last I heard there was a Lycan pack living there. Order of the Gray Wolf, I believe they're called."

"They live in towns?" I ask, surprised. I don't know why but I figured they all hung out in dark, dank caves or something.

You know, being werewolves and all. "Even though on full-moon nights they go all beastie and stuff?"

"The pack is not immortal like vampires, but as a whole they've existed for thousands of years," says Elizabeth. "They have learned the art of controlling their metamorphoses."

"Meta-?"

"Their change to wolf form. They don't rely on the pull of the moon. They can change at will and control their actions in their feral forms."

"Ah, handy. And much better for the other townspeople."

"Go to the Tavern of the Moon and inquire there. That's where the pack spends most of its time," says Susan. "Ask for a man named Lupine. He's the alpha wolf, leader of the pack. Tell him we sent you. He should be able to help."

"What I don't understand though is how your local townspeople came to be infected," says Katie. "I mean, Ly-cans are much like vampires. Very selective in adding members to the pack. They don't just take anyone. In fact, most people are only Lycans through birth. And even if they were turned for some reason, they would never, ever be sent off on their own- unprepared and untrained. It doesn't make any sense."

"I agree. Which is why we need to seek out this order and find out what happened," Jareth says. "Otherwise these lone wolves may have to be put to sleep." He turns to me. "Tomorrow we will head over to Appleby to see what we can learn from this Order of the Gray Wolf."

I nod. "Sounds like a plan."

The servant re-enters the library with what looks like a bottle of wine and five gla.s.ses. He sets the gla.s.ses down on a side table and uncorks the blood. He pours a small amount of the red liquid into each gla.s.s.

I swallow hard and my hands start shaking. I shove them under my thighs. The smell, even from where I am, is almost overwhelming. Rich, spicy, even better than the fresh blood I smelled on Cait. And I'm starving, too, having not drunk a synthetic in almost twenty-four hours. But if I don't drink now they're really going to think I'm a poseur.

What to do? What to do?

The girls all raise their gla.s.ses. "To Jareth," says Katie with a seductive smile. "And the hope that in the future his visits will be longer and more frequent."

They all drink. I stare down at my goblet.

Just take a sip, Rayne. It won't hurt you.

Ugh. I can't do it. I just can't bring myself to slurp up the blood of an eighteenth-century monarch. I swallow hard and make the decision to come clean. Who knows, maybe they'll miraculously understand and feel a sense of empathy for me and my blood phobia. Not likely, but I'm desperate for a drink.

"Uh, you guys don't have any, uh, synthetic around here, do you?"

"A what?" queries Elizabeth. "A synthetic?"

My face burns. "You know, like fake blood. It delivers the proper nutrients, but is made in a lab."

The three vampires look at me and then each other, bursting into laughter.

"Why on earth would you want that?"

"Especially when you've got one of the top bloods in the world sitting in front of you!"

I grit my teeth, my stomach churning with embarra.s.sment. I never should have said anything. Should have told them I wasn't hungry or something. Anything but admit I don't exactly drink real blood on a regular basis.

"I just do, okay?" I say.

But the girls aren't listening to me anymore. They've found another reason to put me down and they're relis.h.i.+ng it. First my clothes, then my American accent, now my aversion to blood. They're having a field day at my expense.

"A vampire who doesn't drink blood."

"Jareth, wherever did you pick up this girl? She's precious!"

"They're definitely sc.r.a.ping at the bottom of the barrel for new recruits these days!"

"And she's your blood mate, Jareth? Bad luck, luv. Bad luck indeed."

"What kind of vampire are you, anyway?" giggles Elizabeth. "A vegetarian? Do you suck tomatoes dry?"

I squeeze my hands into fists. Why do I have to take this abuse? So we're in their coven. Whatever. That doesn't mean I deserve this rude behavior. I've been nothing but polite to them since I walked in the place. I answered them respectfully, I put up with their abuse. I even kept my mouth shut when they openly poked fun at me.

But now I, Rayne McDonald, have had enough.

"What kind of vampire am I?" I ask, rising from my seat. I reach in my back pocket and rip out my stake. The one I carved last semester when training to be a slayer. It catches the candlelight and flashes a white glow, illuminating the suddenly freaked out, pale white faces of my new friends.

"I," I say, holding the stake out in front of me, leaping to battle stance, "am a vampire vampire slayer."

17

Well, that was a b.l.o.o.d.y genius move, that was," Jareth proclaims a few minutes later as we walk down the driveway, escorted by a big, burly, human guard. It's started to rain (d.a.m.n English weather!) and my hair is already plastered to my head.

"Sorry," I mutter. It's dark. I can't see where I'm going and I've just stepped into a puddle with my definitely not waterproof ballet flats. I'm not a happy camper. "But they were totally asking for it. I've never met such a catty group of women in all my life.

Sue me for losing my temper."

"Losing your temper is one thing. Brandis.h.i.+ng a wooden stake while standing in the center of one of the most prestigious vampire covens in the western hemisphere is quite another," Jareth says. "You're lucky I was able to talk them out of executing you on the spot. I can a.s.sure you, they've snuffed out vampires for far more minor indiscretions than yours." "Oh, whatever. It's not like I was going to stake them. I just wanted to scare them a bit. Make them see I wasn't some tool to be trifled with."

"Well, they certainly are not trifling with you now, are they? And I'd wager a thousand pounds they won't trifle with you ever again. A little advice, my dear: When you're planning on living for the rest of eternity, it's not such a great idea to alienate your fellow vamps your first year out."

I sigh. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. But you gotta admit, they were totally rude and nasty to me. And by the way, what's with you just standing by and letting them make fun of me, huh? Some blood mate you are."

Jareth sighs. "We weren't there on a social call, Rayne. We needed information from them. Being polite and excusing some bad behavior was the only way to go about getting it. You've got to toughen up. Get a thicker skin. You're far too sensitive."

I open my mouth to respond, but am interrupted by the security guard. We've reached the gate and he's requesting we step through. Leave the premises, don't come back, all that jazz. He presses a b.u.t.ton and the wrought-iron monstrosity creaks open.

We have no choice; we walk outside the perimeter. A moment later the gate clangs shut behind us.

I look around, squinting through the fog and rain. The dirt road leading up to the mansion stretches endlessly in each direction with no other houses in sight. We're in the middle of nowhere.

"Where do we go now?" I ask, my teeth chattering. I didn't dress for the cold, rainy weather, that's for sure. And all my baggage is still in chez vampire.

"I haven't the slightest idea." Jareth turns around, scanning the landscape. "I told the limo driver not to come back until to- morrow and we're miles from any sort of civilization."

"I can call a cab ..." I rummage into my coffin purse to pull out my cell phone. But as I flip it open, I suddenly remember we're in another country. And sad to say, Mom hadn't seen a reason to sign up her teenage daughter to an international calling plan. Go figure. "Or not." I sigh.

I'm beginning to realize that perhaps I was a bit hasty whipping out my stake in front of the English coven. After all, I'd rather be called every name in the book than spend a night out in the wilds of the northern English moors.

But as they say, hindsight is 20/20 and I'm SOL.

The rain starts coming down harder. Pelting me from all directions, the wind whipping through my hair and battering my face. I hug my arms against my chest in a desperate attempt to get warm, looking over at Jareth, praying he has a plan.

Without saying anything, Jareth starts walking down the dirt road, taking long strides, as if he's trying to get some distance between himself and me. Not that I blame him. I'd be mad at me, too. Still, we're stuck in this together and holding a grudge is not going to help matters. I scramble to keep up, all the while keeping my head down to avoid being blinded by the rain.

A few minutes later we come to a small, withered barn sitting a few yards back from the road. It's run-down and weather- beaten, but to me at this moment it looks like a five-star hotel. Jareth motions to me to follow him as he pushes open the door and heads inside.

I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the darkness as Jareth closes and bolts the barn door behind us. There're a few empty stalls, a loft filled with musty-smelling hay. Some unidentifiable farm instruments lined up against one wall. I hope there aren't any mice or rats that hang out here.

"Well, it's not the Ritz, but it's dry," Jareth says with a shrug. "Should tide us over 'til morning when the limo comes back to retrieve us."