Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four

â€Å"Poor Sheeb, still locked in half-human form,† Jezebel teased. â€Å"I remember how good everything smells all the time. Ugh. And the temperature! Do the humans have to freeze everything with their wretched air-conditioning?† Sheba's face was smooth now, controlled. â€Å"I get by. There's plenty of misery to go around.† â€Å"That's the spirit! Just another few centuries, and you'll be in the big-time with me.† Sheba allowed a smirk to curl her lips. â€Å"Or maybe not quite so long.† One black eyebrow arched high against Jezebel's white forehead, raising almost to an ebony horn. â€Å"Is that so? Got something particularly evil up your sleeve, little sister?† Sheba didn't answer, tensing again as Jezebel sent her own thoughts snaking invisibly through the crowd inside the ballroom. Sheba locked her jaw, ready to strike back if Jezebel tried to undo any of her schemes. But Jezebel just looked, touching nothing. â€Å"Hmm,† Jezebel hummed to herself. â€Å"Hmm.† Sheba's fists clenched hard as Jezebel's search touched Cooper Silverdale, but again, Jezebel merely observed. â€Å"Well, well,† the horned demoness murmured. â€Å"Wow. Sheeb, I've got to say it, I'm impressed. You got a gun in. And a motivated hand-full of alcohol to weaken his free will!† The older demoness smiled with something that looked strangely like sincerity. â€Å"This is really evil. I mean, sure, a middle demon working homicide or mayhem or maybe riots could set something like this up at a prom, but a human-form child on misery detail? What are you, two, three hundred?† â€Å"Just one-eighty-six at my last spawn day,† Sheba answered brusquely, still wary. Jezebel whistled a tongue of flame through her lips. â€Å"Very impressed. And I can see that you aren't neglecting your assignment, either. That's one miserable crowd in there.† Jezebel laughed. â€Å"You've ended nearly every promising relationship, broken a few dozen lifelong friendships, made new enemies†¦ three, four, five fights brewing,† Jezebel counted, her mind with the humans. â€Å"You've even got the DJ listening to you! Such attention to detail. Ha-ha! I can count on one hand the humans who aren't completely wretched.† Sheba smiled grimly. â€Å"I'll get to them.† â€Å"Ghastly, Sheeb. Seriously nasty. You do our name proud. If every prom had a demoness like you involved, we'd own this world.† â€Å"Aw, Jez, you're making me blush,† Sheba said with heavy sarcasm. Jezebel laughed. â€Å"Of course, you've got a little help.† Jezebel's thoughts twisted in a circle around Celeste, who had just twisted herself around a new boy. Jilted girls cried, while the boys Celeste carelessly tossed aside flexed their fists and glowered wrathfully at their competition; burning with lust, each was determined that Celeste was finishing the night with him. Celeste was doing half the work tonight. â€Å"I use the tools available to me,† Sheba said. â€Å"What an ironic name! What an evil mind! Is she fully human?† â€Å"I passed her in the hall, just to check,† Sheba admitted. â€Å"Pure, clean human scent. Revolting.† â€Å"Huh. I would have sworn she had some demon in her ancestry. Good find. But, Sheba, asking a date? Pretty amateur, involving yourself physically that way.† Sheba's chin jabbed upward defensively, but she did not answer. Jezebel was right; it was crude and time-consuming to use one's human form rather than one's demon mind. However, it was the results that counted. Sheba's timely interference had kept Logan from discovering his true love. â€Å"Well, it in no way diminishes your accomplishments here tonight.† Jezebel's tone was conciliatory. â€Å"You pull this one off, and they'll put you in the baby demons' textbooks.† â€Å"Thanks,† Sheba snapped. Did Jezebel really think she could flatter Sheba into letting her guard down? Jezebel smiled, and her mists curled up on the edges, mirroring the expression. â€Å"A tip, Sheba. Keep them confused in there. If you can get Cooper to pull the trigger, then you might make some of these wannabe gangsters think they're under fire.† Jezebel shook her head in wonder. â€Å"You've got so much potential mayhem here. Of course, they'll bring in a riot demon if it really gets hot†¦ but you'd still get some of the credit for stirring it up.† Sheba grimaced, and glimmers of red flashed at her ears. What was Jezebel doing? Where was the trick? Her mind ran over and over the humans she was assigned to torment, but she could find no trace of Jezebel's distinct brimstone flavor in the ballroom. There was nothing but the misery Sheba had caused herself, and the few little pockets of repellent happiness that Sheba would attend to shortly. â€Å"You're certainly helpful tonight,† Sheba said, being deliberately insulting. Jezebel sighed, and there was something about the way her mists rolled back in on themselves that made her look†¦ embarrassed. For the first time, Sheba felt a hint of doubt about her assumptions. But Jezebel's motives had to be malicious. That's the only kind of motives demons had. With a rueful expression on her face, Jezebel asked quietly, â€Å"Is it so impossible to believe that I might want you to get promoted?† â€Å"Yes.† Jezebel sighed again. And again, the way her mists writhed in chagrin made Sheba uncertain. â€Å"Why?† Sheba demanded. â€Å"What do you get out of this?† â€Å"I know it's all wrong-or rather right-for me to be giving you advice you can work with. Not very evil of me.† Sheba nodded cautiously. â€Å"It's in our nature to trip up everyone, demons, humans-even angels if we get the chance. We're evil. Naturally we're going to backstab, whether it hurts our side or not. We wouldn't be demons if we didn't let envy, greed, lust, and wrath rule us.† Jezebel chuckled. â€Å"I remember-how many years ago was it? – Lilith almost got you booted back a few grades, didn't she?† Red fire smoldered in Sheba's eyes at the memory. â€Å"Almost.† â€Å"You handled it better than most. You're one of the very worst working misery right now, you know.† Flattery again? Sheba stiffened. Jezebel twisted her mists up with a finger, and then circled that finger so that the mists drew a smoky orb against the night sky. â€Å"There's a bigger picture, though, Sheba. Demons like Lilith can't see past the evil at hand. But there's a whole world out there, full of humans making millions of decisions every minute of the day and night. We can only be there to sway a fraction of those decisions. And sometimes, well, from where I'm standing, it feels like the angels are getting ahead†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"But, Jezebel!† Sheba gasped, shock breaking through her suspicion. â€Å"We're winning. Just watch the news-it's obvious we're winning.† â€Å"I know, I know. But even with all the wars and destruction†¦ it's odd, Sheba. There's still an awful lot of happiness out there. For every mugging I turn into a homicide, across town some angel has a bystander jumping another mugger to save the day. Or convincing the mugger to give up his wicked ways! Ugh. We're losing ground.† â€Å"But the angels are weak, Jezebel. Everyone knows that. They're so full of love that they can't concentrate. Half the time the stupid birdbrains fall in love with a human and trade their wings for a human body. Though why even an idiot angel would want this!† Sheba scowled down the length of her human form. So limiting. â€Å"I've never really understood the point of having to wear these around for half a millennium. I guess it's probably just to torture us, isn't it? The dark lords must enjoy watching us squirm.† â€Å"It's more than that. It's to make you really hate them. The humans, I mean.† Sheba stared at her. â€Å"Why would I need a reason? Hate is what I do.† â€Å"It happens, you know,† Jezebel said slowly. â€Å"The angels aren't the only ones to give it all up. There are demons who've traded their horns for a human.† â€Å"No!† Sheba's eyes widened, then narrowed in disbelief. â€Å"You're exaggerating. Now and then a demon shacks up with a human, but it's just to torment them. Just a bit of malicious fun.† Jezebel winced, swishing her mists into figure eights, but she didn't argue back. That's what made Sheba realize she was serious. Sheba swallowed hard. â€Å"Wow.† She couldn't imagine that. Taking all this delicious evil and throwing it away. Giving up a hard-earned pair of horns-horns that Sheba would destroy anything to have right now-and getting stuck with a weak, fully mortal body in return. Sheba eyed Jezebel's glistening onyx horns and frowned. â€Å"I don't understand how anyone could do that.† â€Å"Remember what you said about the angels? Getting distracted by love?† Jezebel asked. â€Å"Well, hate can be a distraction, too. Look at Lilith and her spiteful good deeds. Maybe it starts out with sticking it to the lesser demons, but who knows where it will lead? Virtue corrupts.† â€Å"I can't believe a few tricks against another demon could make you as stupid as a birdbrain,† Sheba mumbled under her breath. â€Å"Sheba, don't underestimate the angels,† Jezebel chastised. â€Å"You don't mess with them-you hear? Even a strong middle demon like me knows better than to lock horns with the feather-backs. They steer clear of us, and we steer clear of them. Let the Demon Lords deal with the angels.† â€Å"I know that, Jezebel. I wasn't spawned this decade.† â€Å"Sorry. I'm being helpful again.† She shuddered. â€Å"I just get so frustrated sometimes! Goodness and light on every side!† Sheba shook her head. â€Å"I don't see that. Misery is everywhere.† â€Å"Happiness is, too, sis. It's all over the place,† Jezebel said sadly. It was silent for a long moment as Jezebel's words lingered in the air. The sticky breeze washed across Sheba's skin. Miami was no hell, but it was comfortable at least. â€Å"Not at my prom!† Sheba retorted with sudden fierceness. Jezebel smiled widely-her teeth were black as the night sky. â€Å"That's just it-that's why I'm being so un-damnedly helpful. Because we need demonesses like you out there. We need the worst we can get on the front lines. Let the Liliths of the underworld mess around with petty tricks. Get me the Shebas on my side. Get me a thousand Shebas. We'll win this fight once and for all.† Sheba considered that for a moment, weighing the fierce purpose in Jezebel's voice. â€Å"That's evil in such a strange way. It almost sounds like good.† â€Å"Twisted, I know.† They laughed together for the first time. â€Å"Well, get back in there and destroy that prom.† â€Å"I'm on it. Go to hell, Jezebel.† Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four Sibby Cumean started talking as soon as they got out of the airport. â€Å"How long have you been driving people around?† she asked Miranda. A year. â€Å"Did you grow up here?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Do you have any brothers?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Any sisters?† â€Å"N-no.† â€Å"Do you like driving?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"Do you have to wear that boring black suit?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"How old are you?† â€Å"Twenty.† â€Å"Um, not.† â€Å"Fine. Eighteen.† â€Å"Have you ever had sex?† Miranda cleared her throat. â€Å"I don't think that question is appropriate.† She heard herself sound like Dr. Trope, the assistant head of school, with the voice he used to tell her he wasn't listening to another excuse about why she was late getting back to campus, rules were made for a reason and that reason wasn't so she could flout them for her amusement; and speaking of late, did she plan at some point to decide what she was going to do next year or just irresponsibly forfeit her place at the several top-tier colleges she'd been accepted to, making the school look bad and herself look worse; and really he didn't know what had gotten into her recently, where was the Miranda Kiss who was going to be a doctor and save the world, who was a credit to the school and herself, rather than the one who was on her way to being expelled-is that what you really want, young lady? A voice she knew well since she seemed to have been hearing it at least once a week since early November. â€Å"You're a virgin,† Sibby announced, like she was confirming a sad fact she'd long suspected. â€Å"That's not-â€Å" â€Å"Do you at least have a boyfriend?† â€Å"Not at this-â€Å" â€Å"A girlfriend?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Do you have any friends? You're not really very good at conversation.† Miranda was beginning to understand why the girl's relatives hadn't come to the airport for her. â€Å"I have lots of friends.† â€Å"Sure. I believe you. What do you do for fun?† â€Å"Answer questions.† â€Å"Please never try to be funny again.† Sibby leaned forward. â€Å"Have you ever thought of wearing some black eyeliner? It would be an improvement.† B polite! â€Å"Thanks.† â€Å"Can you pull up?† â€Å"Um, we're at a stoplight.† â€Å"Just go forward a tiny-perfect.† Looking in the side mirror, Miranda saw that Sibby had rolled down her window and was leaning out, saying now to the guys in the jeep next to them, â€Å"Where are you boys going?† The guys answered, â€Å"A little moonlight surfing. Want to come, goddess?† â€Å"I'm not a goddess. Do you think I look like one?† â€Å"I can't tell. Maybe if you take off your shirt.† â€Å"Maybe if you give me a kiss.† Miranda hit the button to roll up the window. â€Å"What are you doing?† Sibby demanded. â€Å"You could have broken my hand.† â€Å"Put your seat belt on, please.† â€Å"Put your seat belt on, please,† Sibby mimicked, slumping back into the seat. â€Å"Oh my gods, I was just trying to be sociable.† â€Å"Until we get to your destination, no more socializing.† â€Å"Have you listened to yourself recently? You sound like you're eighty, not eighteen.† She scowled at Miranda in the mirror. â€Å"I thought you were a driver, not a jailer.† â€Å"It's my job to make sure you get where you're going in a safe and timely manner. That's printed on the card you'll find in your seat pocket, by the way.† â€Å"How is kissing some boys going to make me unsafe?† â€Å"A million different ways. What if they have an invisible mouth fungus? Or DeathLip.† â€Å"There's no such thing as DeathLip.† â€Å"Are you sure?† â€Å"You're just jealous because I know how to have fun and you don't. Virgin.† Miranda rolled her eyes but kept quiet, listening to cell phone conversations from the cars behind them, a woman telling someone that the gardener was on his way, a guy saying in a mystical voice, â€Å"I see a mysterious stranger coming for you, I can't quite tell if it's a man or a woman.† Another man talking to someone about how he wanted to take that bitch out of the will and it didn't matter if she was his mother's favorite dog- She was interrupted suddenly by Sibby shouting, â€Å"Inn-Out Burger! We have to stop.† B accommodating! Miranda agreed to let Sibby order her own at the drive-through, then regretted it when she heard the girl saying to the guy taking the order, â€Å"Do I get a discount if I let you kiss me?† â€Å"Okay, seriously, were you raised on Crazycake? Why do you want to kiss all these guys you don't even know?† Miranda asked. â€Å"There aren't that many boys where I come from. And what does knowing them have to do with it? Kissing is great. I kissed four boys on the airplane. I'm hoping to make it twenty-five before the end of the day.† She added the two working the drive-through lane when she got her burger. â€Å"Are all hamburgers that delicious?† she asked when they were on the road again. Miranda glanced at her in the rearview mirror. â€Å"You've never had a burger before? Where do you live?† â€Å"The mountains,† Sibby answered quickly, and Miranda picked up a slight rise in her heart rate, suggesting that she was lying and not used to it. Which seemed hugely unlikely-the not-used-to-it part-for someone who had a case of acute Boy Crazy like this girl. Her parents couldn't possibly let her run around- Oh So Very Much Not Your Problem, Miranda reminded herself. B discreet. Sibby tried to solicit kisses from four other guys as they drove. They were a mile from the drop-off point and Miranda was thinking that the ride could not be over soon enough when Sibby shrieked, â€Å"Oh my gods, a doughnut store! I've always wanted to try doughnuts, too. Can we stop? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?† They were already almost an hour late but Miranda couldn't deny anyone a doughnut. Even someone who said, â€Å"Oh my gods.† But pulling in, she saw a group of guys sitting at a table inside and decided that it would be dangerous to let Sibby near them if she wanted to get out of there in under forty minutes. â€Å"I'll go in and get them, you stay here.† Sibby had seen the guys, too. â€Å"No way, I'm coming in.† â€Å"Either your butt stays in the car, Kissing Bandit, or the doughnuts stay in the store.† â€Å"I don't think that's a nice way to talk to customers.† â€Å"Feel free to use my phone to file a complaint while I'm inside. Do we have a deal?† â€Å"Fine. But will you at least roll down the window?† Miranda hesitated. Sibby said, â€Å"Look, Grandma, I promise I'll keep my butt in the car, I just don't want to suffocate. Gods.† When Miranda came out, Sibby had wedged herself in the window with her body and legs outside the car and her rear hanging back into it, and was deeply involved in kissing a blond guy. â€Å"Excuse me,† Miranda said, tapping the guy on the shoulder. He turned around kind of hazy, looked her up and down. â€Å"Hello, dream girl. You want a kiss, too? I could do something really special with lips like yours. You wouldn't even have to pay me a dollar.† â€Å"Thanks, but no.† Looking at Sibby now. â€Å"I thought we'd agreed that-â€Å" † – my butt would stay in the car. Where, if you bothered to look, you would see it is.† Miranda turned away so Sibby wouldn't see her crack up. She handed Sibby the doughnuts and slid into the driver's seat. Once Sibby had wiggled back through the window, Miranda caught her eye in the rearview. â€Å"You were paying guys to kiss you?† â€Å"So what?† Sibby glared. â€Å"Not all of us can get kissed for free.† More glaring, then, â€Å"You barely have boobs. My boobs are bigger than yours. It makes no sense.† Sibby got quiet, not even eating her doughnut. From time to time she'd sigh dramatically. Miranda started feeling a little sorry. Maybe she had been acting like a grandma. She looked at How to Get-And Kiss-Your Guy on the seat next to her. Maybe you're jealous she's four years younger than you but has already kissed more guys in one day than you'll probably date in your whole life even if you get a boob job and live to be two trillion. Shut up, U-Suck channel. She should be nice, make conversation. â€Å"How many kisses is it total now?† Sibby kept her eyes on her lap. â€Å"Ten.† Looking up to add, â€Å"But I only paid six of them. And one of them I only gave a quarter.† â€Å"Nice work.† Miranda saw Sibby look up suspiciously, like she thought she was being made fun of, decide she wasn't, and start picking at her doughnut. After a while she said, â€Å"Can I ask you a question?† â€Å"You're asking permission now?† â€Å"For real, just please stop trying to be funny. It's painful.† â€Å"Thanks for the hot tip. Did you have a question or-â€Å" â€Å"Why didn't you want to kiss that boy back there? The one who wanted to kiss you?† â€Å"I guess he's not my type.† â€Å"What's your type?† Miranda thought of Deputy Reynolds-blue eyes and cleft jaw and shaggy blond hair, getting up every morning to go surfing. The kind of guy who always wore sunglasses or looked at you with his eyes half closed and was too cool for smiling. Then pictured Will with his dark, maple-syrup-color skin, short curly hair, huge boyish smile, and abs that rippled when he stood talking, shirtless, with the other players after lacrosse practice, body glimmering in the sun, his laugh ringing out and making her feel like she felt when she saw butter melting on perfectly cooked Belgian waffles. Not that she routinely jumped up onto the roof of the marine biology lab when no one was looking to watch this. (Weekly.) â€Å"I don't know, it's more a feeling than a type,† Miranda said finally. â€Å"How many boys have you kissed? A hundred?† â€Å"Uh, no.† â€Å"Two hundred?† Miranda felt herself blushing and hoped Sibby couldn't see. â€Å"Keep guessing.† They pulled up to the address she'd been given, an hour and fifteen minutes later than they should have, the first time she'd ever dropped a client off late. When Miranda opened the car door for her, Sibby asked, â€Å"Is kissing a boy who's your type really different than kissing just any boy?† â€Å"It's complicated.† Miranda was surprised at how relieved she was that she wouldn't have to go into it more, admit to this girl that, actually, she had no idea. The place looked more like a government safe house for witnesses than a home, she thought, walking Sibby to the door. It was like the dictionary definition of nondescript, sandwiched between a house with Snow White and the Seven Dwarves enacting the Nativity on the front lawn on one side, and one with a pink-and-orange swing set on the other. The only thing you noticed about this house was that there were thick curtains hanging in the front windows so you couldn't see in, and a six-foot-tall solid wood fence blocking off the backyard so you couldn't get in. The street was filled with noises-Miranda heard BBQs sizzling, conversations, someone watching Beauty and the Beast in Spanish-but this house was silent, as though it had been soundproofed. She registered a low humming coming from the side, like an air conditioner but not quite. Glancing up, she saw that none of the power lines connected to this house. None of the phone lines, either. A generator. Whoever lived here was living off the grid. All in all, the whole place was really cozy, if cozy meant creepy and cultish. And the woman who opened the front door? Exactly what you'd expect of someone creepy and cultish, Miranda thought. She had graying hair pulled back in a loose bun and was wearing a long skirt and kind of shapeless sweater. She could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty years old, it was impossible to tell because she was wearing a pair of huge bifocals with unflattering square frames that magnified her eyes and covered half her face. She looked completely harmless, like a schoolteacher who'd dedicated her life to caring for an aging relative and whose one indulgence was a secret crush on Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre. Or almost like that. Like that was the look she'd been going for. But there was something wrong, some tiny thing that did not quite match, one tiny detail that wasn't right. So. Not. Your. Business. Miranda said good-bye, took her $1.00 tip-â€Å"Because you were really quite late, dear†-and drove away. She was half a block away when she slammed on the brakes and sprinted back to the house. Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four Sibby Cumean started talking as soon as they got out of the airport. â€Å"How long have you been driving people around?† she asked Miranda. A year. â€Å"Did you grow up here?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Do you have any brothers?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Any sisters?† â€Å"N-no.† â€Å"Do you like driving?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"Do you have to wear that boring black suit?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"How old are you?† â€Å"Twenty.† â€Å"Um, not.† â€Å"Fine. Eighteen.† â€Å"Have you ever had sex?† Miranda cleared her throat. â€Å"I don't think that question is appropriate.† She heard herself sound like Dr. Trope, the assistant head of school, with the voice he used to tell her he wasn't listening to another excuse about why she was late getting back to campus, rules were made for a reason and that reason wasn't so she could flout them for her amusement; and speaking of late, did she plan at some point to decide what she was going to do next year or just irresponsibly forfeit her place at the several top-tier colleges she'd been accepted to, making the school look bad and herself look worse; and really he didn't know what had gotten into her recently, where was the Miranda Kiss who was going to be a doctor and save the world, who was a credit to the school and herself, rather than the one who was on her way to being expelled-is that what you really want, young lady? A voice she knew well since she seemed to have been hearing it at least once a week since early November. â€Å"You're a virgin,† Sibby announced, like she was confirming a sad fact she'd long suspected. â€Å"That's not-â€Å" â€Å"Do you at least have a boyfriend?† â€Å"Not at this-â€Å" â€Å"A girlfriend?† â€Å"No.† â€Å"Do you have any friends? You're not really very good at conversation.† Miranda was beginning to understand why the girl's relatives hadn't come to the airport for her. â€Å"I have lots of friends.† â€Å"Sure. I believe you. What do you do for fun?† â€Å"Answer questions.† â€Å"Please never try to be funny again.† Sibby leaned forward. â€Å"Have you ever thought of wearing some black eyeliner? It would be an improvement.† B polite! â€Å"Thanks.† â€Å"Can you pull up?† â€Å"Um, we're at a stoplight.† â€Å"Just go forward a tiny-perfect.† Looking in the side mirror, Miranda saw that Sibby had rolled down her window and was leaning out, saying now to the guys in the jeep next to them, â€Å"Where are you boys going?† The guys answered, â€Å"A little moonlight surfing. Want to come, goddess?† â€Å"I'm not a goddess. Do you think I look like one?† â€Å"I can't tell. Maybe if you take off your shirt.† â€Å"Maybe if you give me a kiss.† Miranda hit the button to roll up the window. â€Å"What are you doing?† Sibby demanded. â€Å"You could have broken my hand.† â€Å"Put your seat belt on, please.† â€Å"Put your seat belt on, please,† Sibby mimicked, slumping back into the seat. â€Å"Oh my gods, I was just trying to be sociable.† â€Å"Until we get to your destination, no more socializing.† â€Å"Have you listened to yourself recently? You sound like you're eighty, not eighteen.† She scowled at Miranda in the mirror. â€Å"I thought you were a driver, not a jailer.† â€Å"It's my job to make sure you get where you're going in a safe and timely manner. That's printed on the card you'll find in your seat pocket, by the way.† â€Å"How is kissing some boys going to make me unsafe?† â€Å"A million different ways. What if they have an invisible mouth fungus? Or DeathLip.† â€Å"There's no such thing as DeathLip.† â€Å"Are you sure?† â€Å"You're just jealous because I know how to have fun and you don't. Virgin.† Miranda rolled her eyes but kept quiet, listening to cell phone conversations from the cars behind them, a woman telling someone that the gardener was on his way, a guy saying in a mystical voice, â€Å"I see a mysterious stranger coming for you, I can't quite tell if it's a man or a woman.† Another man talking to someone about how he wanted to take that bitch out of the will and it didn't matter if she was his mother's favorite dog- She was interrupted suddenly by Sibby shouting, â€Å"Inn-Out Burger! We have to stop.† B accommodating! Miranda agreed to let Sibby order her own at the drive-through, then regretted it when she heard the girl saying to the guy taking the order, â€Å"Do I get a discount if I let you kiss me?† â€Å"Okay, seriously, were you raised on Crazycake? Why do you want to kiss all these guys you don't even know?† Miranda asked. â€Å"There aren't that many boys where I come from. And what does knowing them have to do with it? Kissing is great. I kissed four boys on the airplane. I'm hoping to make it twenty-five before the end of the day.† She added the two working the drive-through lane when she got her burger. â€Å"Are all hamburgers that delicious?† she asked when they were on the road again. Miranda glanced at her in the rearview mirror. â€Å"You've never had a burger before? Where do you live?† â€Å"The mountains,† Sibby answered quickly, and Miranda picked up a slight rise in her heart rate, suggesting that she was lying and not used to it. Which seemed hugely unlikely-the not-used-to-it part-for someone who had a case of acute Boy Crazy like this girl. Her parents couldn't possibly let her run around- Oh So Very Much Not Your Problem, Miranda reminded herself. B discreet. Sibby tried to solicit kisses from four other guys as they drove. They were a mile from the drop-off point and Miranda was thinking that the ride could not be over soon enough when Sibby shrieked, â€Å"Oh my gods, a doughnut store! I've always wanted to try doughnuts, too. Can we stop? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease?† They were already almost an hour late but Miranda couldn't deny anyone a doughnut. Even someone who said, â€Å"Oh my gods.† But pulling in, she saw a group of guys sitting at a table inside and decided that it would be dangerous to let Sibby near them if she wanted to get out of there in under forty minutes. â€Å"I'll go in and get them, you stay here.† Sibby had seen the guys, too. â€Å"No way, I'm coming in.† â€Å"Either your butt stays in the car, Kissing Bandit, or the doughnuts stay in the store.† â€Å"I don't think that's a nice way to talk to customers.† â€Å"Feel free to use my phone to file a complaint while I'm inside. Do we have a deal?† â€Å"Fine. But will you at least roll down the window?† Miranda hesitated. Sibby said, â€Å"Look, Grandma, I promise I'll keep my butt in the car, I just don't want to suffocate. Gods.† When Miranda came out, Sibby had wedged herself in the window with her body and legs outside the car and her rear hanging back into it, and was deeply involved in kissing a blond guy. â€Å"Excuse me,† Miranda said, tapping the guy on the shoulder. He turned around kind of hazy, looked her up and down. â€Å"Hello, dream girl. You want a kiss, too? I could do something really special with lips like yours. You wouldn't even have to pay me a dollar.† â€Å"Thanks, but no.† Looking at Sibby now. â€Å"I thought we'd agreed that-â€Å" † – my butt would stay in the car. Where, if you bothered to look, you would see it is.† Miranda turned away so Sibby wouldn't see her crack up. She handed Sibby the doughnuts and slid into the driver's seat. Once Sibby had wiggled back through the window, Miranda caught her eye in the rearview. â€Å"You were paying guys to kiss you?† â€Å"So what?† Sibby glared. â€Å"Not all of us can get kissed for free.† More glaring, then, â€Å"You barely have boobs. My boobs are bigger than yours. It makes no sense.† Sibby got quiet, not even eating her doughnut. From time to time she'd sigh dramatically. Miranda started feeling a little sorry. Maybe she had been acting like a grandma. She looked at How to Get-And Kiss-Your Guy on the seat next to her. Maybe you're jealous she's four years younger than you but has already kissed more guys in one day than you'll probably date in your whole life even if you get a boob job and live to be two trillion. Shut up, U-Suck channel. She should be nice, make conversation. â€Å"How many kisses is it total now?† Sibby kept her eyes on her lap. â€Å"Ten.† Looking up to add, â€Å"But I only paid six of them. And one of them I only gave a quarter.† â€Å"Nice work.† Miranda saw Sibby look up suspiciously, like she thought she was being made fun of, decide she wasn't, and start picking at her doughnut. After a while she said, â€Å"Can I ask you a question?† â€Å"You're asking permission now?† â€Å"For real, just please stop trying to be funny. It's painful.† â€Å"Thanks for the hot tip. Did you have a question or-â€Å" â€Å"Why didn't you want to kiss that boy back there? The one who wanted to kiss you?† â€Å"I guess he's not my type.† â€Å"What's your type?† Miranda thought of Deputy Reynolds-blue eyes and cleft jaw and shaggy blond hair, getting up every morning to go surfing. The kind of guy who always wore sunglasses or looked at you with his eyes half closed and was too cool for smiling. Then pictured Will with his dark, maple-syrup-color skin, short curly hair, huge boyish smile, and abs that rippled when he stood talking, shirtless, with the other players after lacrosse practice, body glimmering in the sun, his laugh ringing out and making her feel like she felt when she saw butter melting on perfectly cooked Belgian waffles. Not that she routinely jumped up onto the roof of the marine biology lab when no one was looking to watch this. (Weekly.) â€Å"I don't know, it's more a feeling than a type,† Miranda said finally. â€Å"How many boys have you kissed? A hundred?† â€Å"Uh, no.† â€Å"Two hundred?† Miranda felt herself blushing and hoped Sibby couldn't see. â€Å"Keep guessing.† They pulled up to the address she'd been given, an hour and fifteen minutes later than they should have, the first time she'd ever dropped a client off late. When Miranda opened the car door for her, Sibby asked, â€Å"Is kissing a boy who's your type really different than kissing just any boy?† â€Å"It's complicated.† Miranda was surprised at how relieved she was that she wouldn't have to go into it more, admit to this girl that, actually, she had no idea. The place looked more like a government safe house for witnesses than a home, she thought, walking Sibby to the door. It was like the dictionary definition of nondescript, sandwiched between a house with Snow White and the Seven Dwarves enacting the Nativity on the front lawn on one side, and one with a pink-and-orange swing set on the other. The only thing you noticed about this house was that there were thick curtains hanging in the front windows so you couldn't see in, and a six-foot-tall solid wood fence blocking off the backyard so you couldn't get in. The street was filled with noises-Miranda heard BBQs sizzling, conversations, someone watching Beauty and the Beast in Spanish-but this house was silent, as though it had been soundproofed. She registered a low humming coming from the side, like an air conditioner but not quite. Glancing up, she saw that none of the power lines connected to this house. None of the phone lines, either. A generator. Whoever lived here was living off the grid. All in all, the whole place was really cozy, if cozy meant creepy and cultish. And the woman who opened the front door? Exactly what you'd expect of someone creepy and cultish, Miranda thought. She had graying hair pulled back in a loose bun and was wearing a long skirt and kind of shapeless sweater. She could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty years old, it was impossible to tell because she was wearing a pair of huge bifocals with unflattering square frames that magnified her eyes and covered half her face. She looked completely harmless, like a schoolteacher who'd dedicated her life to caring for an aging relative and whose one indulgence was a secret crush on Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre. Or almost like that. Like that was the look she'd been going for. But there was something wrong, some tiny thing that did not quite match, one tiny detail that wasn't right. So. Not. Your. Business. Miranda said good-bye, took her $1.00 tip-â€Å"Because you were really quite late, dear†-and drove away. She was half a block away when she slammed on the brakes and sprinted back to the house. Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four I laughed. â€Å"But you girls go on, knock yourselves out,† he said. â€Å"I've actually got an errand to run.† â€Å"You're leaving?† Yun Sun said. â€Å"What about the pizza?† I said. He opened his wallet and laid a twenty-dollar bill on the coffee table. â€Å"It'll be here in thirty minutes. My treat.† Yun Sun shook her head. â€Å"And again I say: You're leaving?. You're not even staying to eat?† â€Å"There's something I need to do,† he said. My heart constricted. I ached to keep him here, even if just for a little longer. I darted back to the kitchen and pulled Madame Z's corsage-no, my corsage-out of my bag. â€Å"At least wait till I've made my wish,† I said. He looked amused. â€Å"Fine, wish away.† I hesitated. The den was warm and cozy, pizza was on the way, and I had the two greatest friends in the world. What else did I truly want? Duh, the grasping part of my brain told me. Prom, of course. I wanted Will to ask me to prom. Maybe it was selfish to have so much and still want more, but I pushed that line of reasoning away. Because look at him, I thought. Those kind brown eyes, that lopsided smile. Those ridiculously angelic curls. The entire sweetness and goodness that was Will. He hummed the Jeopardy! theme song. I raised the corsage. â€Å"I wish for the boy I love to ask me to prom,† I said. â€Å"And there you have it, folks!† Will cried. He was far too euphoric. â€Å"And what boy wouldn't want to take her to prom, our fabulous Frankie? Now we'll just have to wait and see, won't we, whether her wish will come-â€Å" Yun Sun cut him off. â€Å"Frankie? Are you okay?† â€Å"It moved,† I said, cringing away from the corsage, which I'd flung to the floor. My skin was clammy. â€Å"I swear to God, it moved when I made the wish. And that smell! Do you smell it?† â€Å"Noooo,† she said. â€Å"What smell?† â€Å"You smell it, Will. Don't you?† He grinned, still on whatever high he'd been on since†¦ well, since Madame Z warned him away from heights. A clap of thunder rumbled, and he shoved my shoulder. â€Å"Next you're going to blame the storm on the evil wish fairies, aren't you?† he said. â€Å"Or, no! You're going to go to bed tonight, and tomorrow you'll tell us you found a hunched and skulking creature on your comforter, smiling a twisted smile!† â€Å"Like rotting flowers,† I said. â€Å"You honestly don't smell it? You're not playing with me?† Will dug his keys out of his pocket. â€Å"See you on the flip side, homies. And, Frankie?† â€Å"What?† Another boom of thunder shook the house. â€Å"Don't give up hope,† he said. â€Å"Good things come to those who wait.† I watched through the window as he dashed to his truck. The rain was coming down in sheets. Then I turned to Yun Sun, a balloony feeling pushing everything else away. â€Å"Did you hear what he said?† I grabbed her hands. â€Å"Oh my God, do you think it means what I think it means?† â€Å"What else could it mean?† Yun Sun said. â€Å"He's going to ask you to prom! He's just†¦ I don't know. Trying to make a big production out of it!† â€Å"What do you think he's going to do?† â€Å"No idea. Hire a skywriter? Send a singing telegram?† I squealed. She squealed. We jumped about in a frenzy. â€Å"Got to hand it to you, the wish thing was brilliant,† she said. She flicked her finger to indicate giving Will the push he needed. â€Å"And the rotting flowers? Verrrry dramatic.† â€Å"I honestly did smell it, though,† I said. â€Å"Ha-ha.† â€Å"I did.† She looked at me and shook her head, amused. Then she looked at me again. â€Å"Well, it must have been your imagination,† she said. â€Å"I guess,† I said. I picked the corsage up off the floor, holding it gingerly between my thumb and forefinger. I took it to the bookshelf and dropped it behind a row of books, glad to have it out of sight. The next morning I trotted downstairs, hoping foolishly to find†¦ I don't know. Hundreds of M spelling out my name? Pink hearts sketched in silly string on the windows? Instead, I found a dead bird. Its tiny body lay on the welcome mat, as if it had flown into the door during the storm and bashed its brains in. I scooped it up with a paper towel and tried not to feel its soft weight as I delivered it to the outside trash bin. â€Å"I'm sorry, little bird, so pretty and sweet,† I said. â€Å"Fly to heaven.† I dropped in the corpse, and the lid slammed shut with a bang. I returned inside to the sound of the ringing phone. Probably Yun Sun, wanting an update. She'd left with Jeremy at eleven last night, after making me swear to tell her the minute Will made his bold move. â€Å"Hey, sweetie,† I said, after glancing at the caller ID and seeing that, yep, I was right. â€Å"No news yet-sorry.† â€Å"Frankie†¦Ã¢â‚¬  Yun Sun said. â€Å"I've been thinking about Madame Z, though. Her whole don't-mess-with-fate mumbo jumbo.† â€Å"Frankie-â€Å" â€Å"Because how could Will asking me to prom lead to anything bad?† I walked to the freezer and grabbed a box of frozen waffles. â€Å"Spit's going to fly from his mouth and land on me? He'll bring me flowers, and a bee'll zip out and sting me?† â€Å"Frankie, stop. Didn't you watch the morning news?† â€Å"On a Saturday? I don't think so.† Yun Sun made a gulping sound. â€Å"Yun Sun, are you crying?† â€Å"Last night†¦ Will climbed the watertower,† she said. â€Å"What?!† The watertower was easily three hundred feet tall, with a sign at the bottom prohibiting anyone from ascending. Will always talked about climbing to the top, but he was such a rule-follower that he never had. â€Å"And the railing must have been wet†¦ or maybe it was lightning, they don't yet know†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"Yun Sun. What happened?† â€Å"He was spray painting something on the tower, the stupid idiot, and-â€Å" â€Å"Spray painting? Will?† â€Å"Frankie, will you shut up? He fell! He fell off the watertower!† I gripped the phone. â€Å"Jesus. Is he okay?† Yun Sun was unable to talk for sobbing. Which I understood, sure. Will was her friend, too. But I needed her to pull it together. â€Å"Is he in the hospital? Can I go visit him? Yun Sun!† There was wailing, and then a shuffling sound. Mrs. Yomiko took over. Prom Nights from Hell Chapter Four â€Å"You don't understand.† Lila tosses back her long blond hair. â€Å"He's not a tick, Mary. Sebastian loves me too much to bite me. But I know I can change his mind. Because he wants to be with me forever, as much as I want to be with him forever. I know it. And after tomorrow night, we will be together forever.† â€Å"What's tomorrow night?† Adam wants to know. â€Å"The prom,† I say woodenly. â€Å"Right,† Lila prattles on. â€Å"Sebastian's taking me. And though he doesn't know it yet, he's going to give in to me there. Just one bite and I'll have eternal life. Come on, you guys, how cool is that? Wouldn't you want to live forever? I mean, if you could?† â€Å"Not that way,† I say. Something inside of me aches. Aches for Lila, and aches for all the girls who've gone before her. And will come after her, too, if I don't do something about it. â€Å"He's meeting you at the dance?† I force myself to ask her. It's hard to speak, because all I want to do is cry. â€Å"Right,† Lila says. Her face still has the same vacant expression she wore inside the club, as well as earlier today in the lunchroom. â€Å"He'll never be able to resist me-not in my new Roberto Cavalli gown, with my neck all exposed beneath the silver light of the full moon†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"I think I'm going to throw up,† Ted volunteers. â€Å"No, you're not,† I say. â€Å"You're going to take Lila home. Here.† I reach into my satchel and pull out a crucifix and two containers of holy water, then hand them to him. â€Å"If Drake shows up-although I don't think he will-throw these at him. Then get yourself home, after you've dropped off Lila.† Ted looks down at what I've shoved into his hands. â€Å"Wait. That's it?† he wants to know. â€Å"We're just going to let him kill her?† â€Å"Not kill,† Lila corrects him cheerfully. â€Å"Turn me. Into one of his kind.† â€Å"We aren't going to do anything,† I say. â€Å"You guys are going to go home and leave this to me. I've got it under control. Just make sure Lila gets back safely. She should be all right until the dance. Evil spirits cannot enter an inhabited house unless invited!† I narrow my eyes at Lila. â€Å"You didn't invite him inside, did you?† â€Å"Whatever,† Lila says, tossing her head. â€Å"Like my dad wouldn't go too ballistic if he found a guy in my room.† â€Å"See? Go home. You, too,† I add, to Adam. Ted takes Lila by the arm and begins to lead her away. But Adam, to my surprise, stays where he is, his hands buried deep in his pockets. â€Å"Um,† I say to him. â€Å"Is there something I can do for you?† â€Å"Yes,† Adam says calmly. â€Å"You can start at the beginning. I want to know everything. Because if what you're telling me is true, if it weren't for me, you'd be a speck on the wall in the club back there. So start talking.† Adam If you had told me just an hour or two ago that I'd be ending my evening with a trip to Mary-from-U.S.-History-class's penthouse apartment over in the East Seventies†¦ well, I'd have told you that you were high. But that's exactly where I find myself, following Mary past her sleepy doorman (who doesn't raise so much as an eyebrow at her crossbow), and then up the elevator to her place, which is decorated in mid-nineteenth-century Victorian chic-at least as near as I can judge, considering all the furniture looks like it came out of one of those boring miniseries my mom likes to watch on PBS, featuring girls named Violet or Hortense or whatever. There are books everywhere-and not Dan Brown paperbacks, either, but big, heavy books, with titles like Demonology in Seventh-century Greece and A Guide to Necromancy. I look around, but I don't see a plasma screen or an LCD. Not even a regular TV. â€Å"Are your parents professors or something?† I ask Mary as she throws down the crossbow and heads to the kitchen, where she pulls open the fridge and reaches for two Cokes, one of which she hands to me. â€Å"Something like that,† Mary says. This is what she's been like the whole way to her place: not exactly brimming with the explanations. Not that it matters, though, since I already told her I'm not leaving until I get the whole story. The thing is, I really don't know what to think about all this so far. On the one hand, I'm relieved Drake isn't who I thought he was-Mary's ex-boyfriend. On the other hand†¦ a vampire?. â€Å"Come on,† Mary says, and I follow her because†¦ well, what else am I supposed to do? I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't believe in vampires. I think Lila's just gotten herself involved with one of those freaky goth dudes I saw on Law & Order that one time. Although Mary's question-â€Å"Then how do you explain his disappearance from the dance floor into thin air like that?† – bugs me. How did the guy do that? Then again, there are tons of questions like that one that I don't have the answers for. Like this new one that occurred to me: How can I get Mary to look at me the way Lila looked at that guy, Drake? Life is full of mysteries, as my dad likes to say, many of which are also wrapped up in enigmas. Mary leads me down a dark hallway toward a partly open door, from which light spills. She taps on the door, then says, â€Å"Dad? Can we come in?† A gruff voice says, â€Å"By all means.† And I follow Mary into the strangest room I've ever seen. At least in a penthouse apartment on the Upper East Side. It's a laboratory. There are test tubes and beakers and vials everywhere. Standing in front of some of them is a tall, white-haired-professor type in a bathrobe, messing around with a concoction in a clear container that's bright green and vigorously generating large amounts of smoke. The old dude looks up from this and smiles as Mary comes into the room, his green-eyed gaze-a lot like Mary's-darting toward me curiously. â€Å"Well, hello,† the guy says. â€Å"I see you've brought a friend home. I'm so glad. I've been thinking lately that you spend far too much time alone, young lady.† â€Å"Dad, this is Adam,† Mary says casually. â€Å"He sits behind me in U.S. History. We're going to my room to do homework.† â€Å"How nice,† Mary's father says. It doesn't seem to occur to him that the last thing a guy my age is likely to be doing in a girl's bedroom at two in the morning is homework. â€Å"Don't study too hard, now, children.† â€Å"We won't,† Mary says. â€Å"Come on, Adam.† â€Å"Good night, sir,† I say to Mary's dad, who beams at me before turning back to his smoking beaker. â€Å"Okay,† I say to Mary as she leads me down the hall once more, this time to her room†¦ which is surprisingly utilitarian for a girl's bedroom, containing only a large bed, a dresser, and a desk. Unlike in Veronica's room, everything is put away, except for a laptop and an MP3 player. I take a quick look at Mary's play list when she's busy rifling around in the closet for something. Mostly rock, some R&B, and a little rap. No emo, though. Thank God. â€Å"What's going on? What's your dad doing with all that stuff?† â€Å"Looking for a cure,† Mary says from the closet, her voice muffled. I've moved across the ornate Persian carpet toward her bed. There's a framed photo on her nightstand. It's of a pretty woman, squinting into the sunlight and smiling. Mary's mother. I don't know how I know it. I just do. â€Å"A cure for what?† I ask, picking up the photo for a closer look. Yep, there they are. Mary's lips. Which, I haven't been able to stop noticing, are kind of curled up at the ends. Even when she's mad. â€Å"Vampirism,† Mary says. She emerges from the closet holding a long red dress. It's wrapped in clear plastic from the dry cleaner's. â€Å"Uh,† I say, â€Å"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Mary. But there's no such thing as vampires. Or vampirism. Or whatever it is.† â€Å"Oh yeah?† The ends of Mary's mouth are curled up even more than usual. â€Å"Vampires were just made up by that guy.† She's laughing at me. I don't mind, though, because it's Mary. It's better than her ignoring me, which is what she's done for most of the time I've known her. â€Å"That guy who wrote Dracula. Right?† â€Å"Bram Stoker did not make up vampires,† Mary says, the smile vanishing. â€Å"He didn't even make up Dracula. Who's an actual historical figure, by the way.† â€Å"Yeah, but a dude who drinks blood and can turn into a bat? Come on.† â€Å"Vampires exist, Adam,† Mary says quietly. I like how she says my name. I like it so much that I don't even notice at first that she's staring at the photo I'm holding. â€Å"And so do their victims.† I follow the direction of her gaze. And nearly drop the photo. â€Å"Mary,† I say. Because it's all I can think of to say. â€Å"Your†¦ your mom? Is she†¦ did she†¦Ã¢â‚¬  â€Å"She's still alive,† Mary says, turning to throw the red dress, in its slippery clear plastic bag, onto the bed. â€Å"If you can call it living,† she adds, almost to herself. â€Å"Mary†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I say in a different tone of voice. I can't believe it. And yet I do. There's something in her face that makes it clear she's not lying. Also something that makes me long to wrap her in my arms. Which Veronica would say is sexist. But there you go. I let go of the lip I've started chewing. â€Å"Is that why your dad-â€Å" â€Å"He wasn't always like that,† she says, not looking at me. â€Å"He used to be different, when Mom was here. He†¦ he thinks he can find a chemical cure for it.† She sinks onto the bed beside the dress. â€Å"He doesn't want to believe that there's only one way to get her back. And that's killing the vampire who made her into one.† â€Å"Drake,† I say, sinking down onto the bed beside her. It all makes sense now. I guess. â€Å"No,† Mary says with a quick shake of her head. â€Å"His father. Who happened to stick with the original family name of Dracula. His son just thinks Drake sounds a little less pretentious and more modern.† â€Å"So†¦ why were you trying to kill Dracula's kid, if his dad is the one who†¦Ã¢â‚¬  I can't even bring myself to say it. Fortunately, I don't have to. Mary's shoulders are hunched. â€Å"If killing his only kid doesn't get Dracula to come out of hiding so I can kill him, too, I don't know what will.† â€Å"Won't that be, uh†¦ kind of dangerous?† I ask. I can't believe I'm sitting here talking about this. But I can't believe I'm in Mary-from-U.S.-History's bedroom, either. â€Å"I mean, isn't Dracula, like, the head of the whole operation?† â€Å"Yes,† Mary says, looking down at the photo I've laid between us. â€Å"And when he's gone, Mom will finally be free.† And Mary's dad won't have to worry about finding a cure for vampirism anymore, I think, but don't say out loud. â€Å"Why didn't Drake just, uh, turn Lila tonight?† I ask. Because this has been bothering me. Among other things. â€Å"I mean, back at the club?† â€Å"Because he likes to play with his food,† Mary says emotionlessly. â€Å"Just like his dad.†