Bad Blood

by Mari Mancusi

  “What is the role, anyway?” I ask curiously.

  “Oh, just this virgin girl who accidentally gets bitten by a vampire.”

  Yup. Got the resume for that one all right.

  9

  It’s harder to find a cab this far off the Strip, but eventually I get lucky and am able to hail one over. The driver looks a little suspicious until I tell him I’m headed down to the MGM Grand Hotel, which is, I guess, a nice sensible place for normal suburban teenagers to hang out at when in Vegas. (Unlike Hotel Sun, which seems to have a “degenerates only” door policy.)

  Tucking the Dracula show playbill securely under my arm, I settle in my seat and we begin the long drive back to civilization. At this rate I’m going to burn my entire savings account on taxis this trip. But this particular adventure uptown was worth it. I finally have solid evidence that there’s something very wrong about Jane.

  I text my sister to let her know I’m on my way. While I’ve been working my ass off to solve this mystery and save the Blood Coven, she’s evidently been hanging at the MGM, ripping it up at the blackjack tables. But maybe she’ll be more on board once she sees the playbill. Sees that I’m not just a crazy jealous girlfriend with paranoid delusions.

  The cab drops me off at the hotel, which appears to have stepped off the pages of the Wizard of Oz’s Emerald City. The whole place is striped with neon green. There’s a huge bronze lion—MGM studio’s symbol—guarding the place, which I think is kind of cool.

  Stepping into the casino, I find myself engulfed by a sea of light and sound. The place is packed with gamblers—the kind that seem like they can actually afford to lose a few bucks and still have enough money to go out on the town later, unlike the ones at Hotel Sun, who were maybe, possibly gambling away the last pennies of their welfare checks. Sexy cocktail waitresses weave around the tables, balancing trays piled high with cocktails, while meaty pit bosses dressed in tuxedos take in each tourist with watchful eyes.

  I scan the gigantic room, no clue where to even start looking for my sister. Guess I’d better start wandering. It takes me ages to even find the blackjack tables and even more time to locate her dyed black head of hair. She’s at a ten-dollar table, surrounded by a crowd of much older men, a huge stack of chips piled in front of her and a big smile on her face.

  “Twenty-one, bay-bee!” she cries, high-fiving the greasy-haired guy next to her. “Twenty-one! I’m on fire tonight.” She turns to the cocktail waitress who has approached the table. “Another vodka soda, please.”

  “Going well?” I ask, approaching the table once the waitress leaves to fill the orders.

  “Oh hells yeah,” she replies, tossing two chips onto the felt circle in front of her. The dealer gives her two cards in return—an eight and six. “I’ve won two hundred bucks tonight.” She takes a handful of chips and starts restacking them one by one.

  I look at her skeptically. “And how much did you have to spend to win that?”

  She stops stacking. “Um, I don’t remember exactly how much I took out of the ATM . . .”

  “Rayne!”

  “What?” she asks, defensiveness creeping into her voice. “I just didn’t count it, okay? All I know is I’m ahead. I’m winning, baby! I’m a winner!”

  The dealer deals her another king. “Bust,” he says, sweeping her cards and her chips away.

  “Winner with a capital W,” I observe.

  She scowls. “Dude, you’re totally bad luck,” she scolds me. “Go away. Shoo.”

  I stand my ground. “Not until you see what I’ve discovered about Jane.”

  “Oh fine.” Rolling her eyes, she turns to her seatmates. “I’m sitting this one out, boys,” she informs them. Oddly they don’t seem that broken up about this information. “Save my seat.” She hops off her stool and drags me a few feet away. “So what?” she asks. “What’s this big find you couldn’t wait to show me?”

  I ignore her impatient tone and take my time opening the playbill. Rayne raises an eyebrow as she scans the page. “Um, hate to break it to you, Sun, but these aren’t real vampires,” she says in a patronizing tone. “In fact, I believe they’re . . . actors.” She says “actors” as if she’s trying to explain the meaning of the universe to a dim-witted child and it’s all I can do not to smack her upside the head to get her to take me seriously for once.

  “Yeah, thanks. I know they’re actors,” I reply, feeling a bit grouchy. To think I’d been so excited to show her my discovery. “But take a look at this particular actor.” I point to Jane. “Does Sasha here look like anyone you might know?”

  She does a double take and I’m pleased to see I now have her full attention. “No way!” she cries, grabbing the playbill to get a closer look. She squints at it for a moment, then looks back up at me. “That’s definitely her. Where the hell did you even get this?”

  “The tiniest little theater in a sad, decrepit, off-Strip casino hotel,” I explain.

  “Sasha Star. Maybe it’s her actor name?”

  “Maybe. But why the heck is she in the play to begin with? She’s supposed to have been straight off the plane from England after receiving her master’s degree. Not to mention I’m guessing most Rhodes scholars don’t star in cheesy Vegas revues in their spare time.”

  “I would think not.” Rayne hands the playbill to me. “Have you shown this to Magnus yet?”

  I shake my head. “Not yet. I wanted to see what you thought first.”

  “Hmm.” Rayne considers this for a moment. “Well, maybe you should hang on a little longer,” she decides at last. “I mean, what if there’s a rational explanation?”

  “What could possibly be the rational explanation for something like this?”

  She looks impatient again. “I don’t know, Sunny,” she replies. “But do you really want to admit to your boyfriend that you followed him to Vegas to spy on him and only have some random playbill to prove you were justified in doing so? What if Jane claims this thing is just Photoshopped? That she’s being framed by some rival coven or long-lost enemy or . . . you . . . even? It’s not like it would be a stretch. I think to really make a case, you need to find out more information, before accusing Jane of anything.

  I hate to admit it, but she has a point. I need more than just some playbill that Jane can explain away. I need solid facts. Did she really work for this theater company? If so, why did she quit? Who is Cornelius and why did he come to meet her at the Mandalay Bay? And last, but definitely not least, why does she really want to become Magnus’s blood mate?

  I make a decision to continue my investigation. “Well, do you want to maybe come and—” I start to ask.

  “Excuse me, Shaniqua?” the dealer calls to Rayne, interrupting me with her fake ID name. “Are you back in? ’Cause if not, you’re going to need to take your chips and give up your seat.”

  I wait for Rayne to tell the dealer that it’s okay, she’s hanging with her sister now and she can come back and gamble anytime. But instead, she shoves the playbill at me and practically leaps back into her seat. “Oh, sorry. I’m back,” she chirps. “Hit me.”

  I glare at her back. Oh, I’d like to hit her all right. Just not with something as flimsy as a playing card. I mean, what? Was I supposed to be grateful for those five seconds of attention Her Majesty chose to bless me with just now? After all, if it weren’t for me, neither of us would even be here to begin with.

  “Aren’t you going to help me at all?” I ask, tapping her on the shoulder. “I mean, I could really use a little assistance in my investigation. And you’re the trained one in this kind of thing. You’re the slayer. I’m kind of helpless without you . . .”

  She waves me off, not even turning around. “I will, I will,” she says dismissively. “I just need to get a few games in. This is a hot table and I really need to break even before I leave.”

  “Um, I thought you said you were ahead. What about that two hundred dollars in winnings you mentioned?”

  “Oh right. Well, g
otta spend money to make money. You know how it is.”

  In truth, I have no idea “how it is” but decide I’m not going to get anywhere arguing about it. So I give up and walk away without bothering to say good-bye. I doubt she noticed anyway.

  I exit the casino with a heavy heart. This is so not how I imagined this trip to be. For some stupid reason, I thought my sister would actually give a damn and help me out. A twin effort like we’ve done in the past. But no. Rayne may be here in body, but she’s completely on another planet in mind and spirit. Looks like I’m on my own for the foreseeable future.

  I glance at my watch, realizing it’s late. Like nearly midnight. And unlike some people, I’m not a vampire who can just stay up all night. I decide to head back to the apartment and see about getting some sleep. My investigation can continue tomorrow. I still have two days left before the biting ceremony. And if I don’t sleep now I’ll be useless tomorrow.

  I decide to walk up the Strip and save the cab money this time around. The street’s brightly lit and packed with people, many of them extremely loud and intoxicated. Guess they aren’t kidding when they call this place Sin City. As I weave my way through the throng, I consider my next move. My best lead so far is that theater. Maybe I should go back there. Talk to Jayden some more. He was super nice; maybe he could give me some more information about Sasha/Jane.

  I arrive at the apartment and ride the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor and approach the apartment door with hesitation. Will everyone be asleep? I should have asked for a spare key. I ponder for a moment, then give a light knock. A moment later my stepmom comes to the door, fully made up and dressed in a hot pink Juicy Couture tracksuit. She smiles widely when she sees me and ushers me inside. An inside, I realize, that smells strongly of delicious Chinese food. My stomach growls in appreciation and I realize I haven’t eaten since the plane. (And let’s face it, the microscopic snack mix you get with two peanuts and a pretzel doesn’t exactly cut it.)

  “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back,” Heather says, leading me over to the dining room table. “But I thought you might be hungry.” She gestures to the table, piled high with containers of food. “Care for some vegetarian fried rice?”

  My mouth is watering so badly I’m worried I might be drooling. “Absolutely,” I cry, taking a seat at the table. Heather walks over to the kitchen area and pulls a plate down from the cabinet. She walks it over to me. “Veggie fried rice is my total favorite,” I tell her, pulling open the container and digging in.

  “I know,” she says, smiling down at me.

  I look up, mid-shovel, surprised. “How?”

  “She grilled Dad about it for, like, a thousand hours,” Stormy replies, coming out from the hallway, Nintendo DS in hand, as usual. Doesn’t anyone sleep in this house? “What you eat, what you wear, what you like to do. Not to mention she did, like, professional recon on your Facebook and MySpace pages, too.”

  “I did not!” Heather protests, her face turning a beet red.

  Stormy giggles. “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Okay, maybe I asked a few questions. And I might have done a quick Google search,” my stepmom admits, sliding into a seat across from me. “It’s just that I wanted to make sure you girls felt at home here during your stay.”

  “Thanks,” I say, remembering too late my mouthful of food.

  “That’s really nice of you.” And I mean it. She didn’t have to go through all that trouble for us. But I kind of like that she did. Not that I’d ever tell Rayne. She’d say I was being a total traitor to Mom. But honestly, Heather’s been pretty cool. Nothing like the homewrecking bitch we always imagined her to be.

  “Where’s your sister?” Heather asks.

  I swallow my food this time before answering. “Last I saw she was at the blackjack tables in the MGM Grand. I wouldn’t wait up.”

  “Gambling? She’s not eighteen, is she?”

  “Fake ID.”

  “Of course.” Heather chuckles. “Silly me. I must be getting old.”

  “Duh. You’re, like, ancient,” Stormy says, dipping her chicken in the red sweet-and-sour sauce.

  “Thanks, darling daughter of mine.”

  “Anytime, mother crone.” Stormy pops the chicken in her mouth with a pleased grin. I can’t help but giggle at their banter.

  “Now stop eating and go to bed,” Heather says, poking her playfully. “It’s way past your bedtime.”

  “M-om!”

  “Don’t Mom me,” Heather scolds. “Child social services would probably take you away if they knew I let you stay up so late to begin with.”

  “But don’t you want me to bond with my sister? That’s what you’ve been saying all week.”

  I look up, surprised.

  Heather sighs. “You’re really determined to embarrass me to death tonight, aren’t you?”

  Stormy grins. “Is it working?”

  “Absolutely. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting a pass to stay up. You can bond with Sunny all you want tomorrow, if she’s around.”

  She says this completely matter-of-factly, but her words still sting and I’m suddenly feeling super guilty for coming home so late. I mean, this isn’t a hotel—these people have opened up their lives to me without reservation. And it’s certainly not little Stormy’s fault that my dad’s a bastard who never lives up to his promises—heck, he might disappear on her on a regular basis, too, for all I know.

  “Don’t worry, Stormy,” I assure her. “We can hang out tomorrow. Maybe make some waffles in the morning?” I look questioningly to Heather. She nods, a relieved look on her face.

  “Of course. Stormy loves waffles, don’t you?” she says.

  Stormy gives a typical tween too-cool-for-school shrug, but I can tell she’s pleased. She slides down from the table and heads down the hall to her room, shouting good-nights as she goes.

  Heather turns back to me, shaking her head fondly. “Sorry about that,” she says. “The kid’s eleven, going on twenty-one.”

  I laugh appreciatively. “It’s cool. I mean, she’s cute. And I’ve always wanted a little sister I could teach stuff to.” Unlike the annoying know-it-all one I usually live with.

  “Yeah, good luck with Stormy.” Heather snorts. “She’s the one always teaching me stuff. The girl is a freaking whiz on the computer and has pretty much mastered every Trivial Pursuit game in existence. Definitely her father’s daughter, that’s for sure.”

  Ugh. Way to accidentally bring up the big elephant in the room. The air between us suddenly is thick with awkwardness. I stare down at my fried rice, no longer very hungry.

  “Um, about that . . .” Heather starts hesitantly. “I’m really sorry I blindsided you with that whole half-sister thing earlier. For some reason I just assumed that your mother would have told you. Or your dad even. I can’t believe he didn’t say anything, all these years.”

  “He and I don’t talk much,” I mumble, finding myself unable to look up and risk seeing the pity in her eyes. Her father’s daughter . Am I my father’s daughter? Am I like him at all? Or is he more like Rayne? I have no idea. He never stuck around long enough for us to find out.

  The warmth has gone out of the room and my hands feel cold as ice.

  Heather presses on. “I feel terrible. If I’d known I’d . . .”

  “You’d what?” I lash out, whipping my head up, suddenly furious at this homewrecker sitting at the table with me, pretending to be my friend. Pretending she didn’t do the unthinkable, back when I was around Stormy’s age. Stealing away the man who gave me life. Giving him a replacement daughter to make it easier for him to abandon his twins. Hell, I think half the time the guy forgets we even exist. “You’d have broken the news differently? Or maybe passed her off as a stepsister—no relation whatsoever? How would that be better? Nothing can change the fact that she exists in the first place. That my dad cheated on my mom and now there’s a living, breathing proof of his infidelity walking around this house.”

  Heath
er shakes her head slowly. “I know it seems bad,” she says. “But you have to trust me when I say you don’t know the whole story.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know the whole story,” I snarl back. “In fact, I don’t even know the first chapter. The freaking prologue even. My whole life no one’s ever bothered to tell me anything. Just that Dad’s gone and he’s probably not coming back.”

  “I know,” Heather says. “Believe me, over the years I’ve begged your father to sit you two down and tell you what really happened. To explain why he did what he did. But . . . he’s afraid, I guess.”

  “What could he possibly be afraid of?”

  She seems to think about this for a moment. “I guess that you won’t understand. And you’ll judge him for doing what he felt he had no choice but to do.”

  Okay, now I’m really confused. No choice? There’s always a choice. You either choose to leave—to abandon the family who needs you and never look back—or you choose to stay and be a father to the children you brought into the world. Pretty basic, actually.

  Heather’s silent for a moment, as if she’s struggling with something internally. Then she looks up, a sad expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Sun. This isn’t something I feel comfortable talking about. It’s not my place. Your father needs to be the one to tell you the story.”

  “Well, we both know that’s not going to happen,” I remind her, feeling the anger well up inside of me all over again. “I mean the guy didn’t even bother to stick around for five seconds after hearing that his two daughters were flying two thousand miles just to see him.”

  “He wanted to be here,” Heather insists, now looking extremely distraught. “Believe me, he really wanted to. But he had . . . important business he had to attend to. You have to trust me on this.”

  “Yeah. He always does.” I let out a frustrated breath and try to calm myself as much as I can. I want to lash out at her, make her feel as bad inside as I do. But at the same time I know I’m just misdirecting my anger. She’s not the one who abandoned me, after all. In fact, she’s been nothing but kind. Opening her house up to us without question. Taking care of everything we need without complaint. She doesn’t have to do that. We’re not her kids.