Penny kicked him in the side.

  Baz’s voice had got softer and mushier over the last hour, harder to hear over the music that was always playing in the background. He was on at least his third drink. (Baz never drinks with me. He says it’s boring.)

  “They all smell so delicious,” he said. “Fermented. Like warm bread.” I was pretty sure he was talking about Normals.

  Lamb laughed. Closer than ever. “Come on, Prince Charles, you need a drink.”

  Penelope sat up.

  Shepard bit his lip.

  We heard people laughing, doors opening, music shifting from doo-wop to twang—then, suddenly, nothing at all.

  “What’s that?” I looked at Penny’s phone. “What happened?”

  “He hung up,” she said.

  “Or his phone died,” Shepard said.

  I stood in front of Penelope. “Spell my wings off,” I commanded.

  She looked in my eyes, and I could see her deciding not to argue with me. “Every time a bell rings, an angel…”

  * * *

  It isn’t hard to find the ice-cream parlor—Lamb practically drew us a map—but he and Baz aren’t here anymore. And I can’t find them outside. They could be in any of these buildings, they could be in a car—I need Penelope and her “Lost and found” magic.

  Then I see them: Lamb is pale, smaller than Baz, and nearly as vampire-handsome. (Nearly nearly.) He’s got one of those Downton Abbey faces. Like he’s just home from the Western Front.

  Baz is holding on to his arm—clinging, really—and Lamb is leaning into him as if they’re going to kiss.

  Oh …

  Right …

  Well …

  I clench my jaw and my fists. I guess this is what happens on first dates.

  But then—Lamb seems to change his mind. He walks away.

  Baz looks gutted.

  I reckon I should walk away, too.…

  Though maybe it will be easier in the end if Baz knows I’m here, that I saw them. Then he won’t have to tell me.

  46

  SIMON

  Baz sees me and immediately turns away.

  He tries to walk past me, as if we’re strangers. “Go back,” he says under his breath. “You aren’t safe here—you’re surrounded by vampires.”

  I catch his arm. “So are you.”

  He still won’t look at me. “Go back. I’ll meet you later. I have to hunt.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “For Crowley’s sake, Snow.”

  I squeeze his arm. I must look just as desperate as he did, when he was hanging on to that vampire. “You’re drunk, Baz.”

  He shakes me off. “I’m just thirsty.”

  That’s when I notice them—a man and a woman, both pale as paper, leaning against a black limousine, watching us. “We’re being watched,” I say. “Vampires.”

  He rubs his forehead. “Of course we are.” Then he wraps his arm around my waist, and presses his head into my neck. “Act like I’ve just picked you up. Act like you’re enchanted by me. Literally.” (Ha—act. Someday I’ll laugh about this. Someday maybe I’ll laugh about my whole awful life.) He pulls away, taking me by the hand and leading me forward.

  “Our hotel is the other way,” I say.

  He swings around and pulls me in the right direction. He’s eyeing me like I’m his fifth drink. (He’s pretending.) I’m looking like I’d follow him anywhere. (I’m not.)

  * * *

  Penny lets us into the hotel room. “Thank Morgana!”

  “We’ve got a problem,” I say.

  Baz is holding his nose in his fist. “Not a problem, I just won’t breathe.”

  “He’s drunk and thirsty.”

  Shepard backs away from us. “I didn’t think vampires could get drunk.”

  “Who died and made you queen of the vampires?” Baz honks, still holding his nose.

  Penny has her tongue in her cheek, like she’s plotting. “That’s not a problem.” She turns to the door—it’s closed—and holds out her hand. The purple gem is in her palm. “Come home to roost!”

  After a moment, she opens the door. There’s a cacophony in the hallway, flapping and squawking. Dozens of black birds fly into our room.

  When the last one has trailed in, Penny steps into the doorway and casts one of her favourite spells—“There’s nothing to see here!”—out into the hall. She closes the door and locks it.

  The birds have settled on the bed. And the lamp. And the headboard. Baz plucks a parrot from the chandelier and twists its neck like it’s a bottle of lager. He starts drinking it then and there.

  “For snake’s sake, Basil.” Penny’s swatting birds off the bed. “Do it over the bath.”

  Baz stumbles drunkenly into the bathroom. I’ve never seen him feed so messily. (I’ve rarely seen him feed at all, and never up close.) He leans over the bath, and I try to help him out of his fancy jacket. I know he won’t want it ruined. “Here,” I say, twisting him a bit. “You’re getting blood on it.” Once I have the jacket off, I start on his pink shirt.

  Baz takes a long pull on the bird, then drops it in the bath, letting me unbutton him. “Go away,” he says. “I don’t want you to see.”

  “Too late for that, mate.”

  He has blood smeared on his bottom lip. There’s another bird flapping around the bathroom (which was already a mirrored black nightmare, before the blood and the birds). Baz grabs it out of the air, and thwacks it against the sink. “Stop,” he says. “Stop watching.”

  “Fine,” I say, turning. “I’ll round up the rest.”

  Shepard and I catch them—mostly in pillowcases and towels—while Penny hides under the duvet. (I might genuinely laugh about that part later.)

  Baz drains every bird. The bath is a mass grave.

  I stand in the doorway when he’s done. He’s facing the carnage, leaning against a wall, his bare back swelling with each breath.

  “Better?” I ask.

  “Better,” he says. “Sorry.”

  “I can help you clean up—”

  “No. I’ll spell them. Thank you. Just … give me a moment?”

  I do as he asks, closing the door.

  “Clean up these feathers,” Penny says. “I’m ordering room service.”

  47

  BAZ

  This …

  Is a new low.

  I spell the birds away. Then the blood. And draw myself a bath.

  I reheat the water twice just to avoid facing anyone. They’ve all seen me now. Even the Normal. Sucking down tropical birds. More like a mongoose than a man. At least real vampires look cool when they feed on people.

  I know that now. I watched Lamb. (Is that his real name?) I watched him, and I didn’t interfere. (My mother had that view once; she set herself on fire to stop it.)

  I watched him drink from a man’s neck, and I did nothing. Is that man a vampire now? What have I become?

  Lamb talked to me about vampires for hours tonight, and I lapped up every word. To be honest—part of me wishes he were here right now, still talking.

  I mean, I wouldn’t want him here right now. Not in my current, undressed situation. Not that Lamb seems interested in me in that way—and not that I’m interested in him! I’m not attracted to vampires. Crowley.

  I hold my breath and let my head sink beneath the bathwater.

  There’s a no-nonsense rap on the door. Bunce. “Come on out, Baz. The food’s here.”

  * * *

  I didn’t bring fresh clothes into the bathroom, so I put my suit back on. (The shirt was ruined. I burned it.)

  Bunce is sitting on one end of the bed with half a dozen covered dishes laid out in front of her. The Normal is sitting at the other end. Snow has pulled two leather chairs over. I take the empty one, and he hands me a small, open bottle of Coke.

  Penelope starts uncovering the dishes: tiny cheeseburgers, fried chicken strips, mashed potatoes and gravy. I reach for a plate with steak and chips. My fangs are already dropping. (Because the humiliation never ends.)

  Bunce hands me some cutlery wrapped in a cloth napkin and gives me a stern look. “Just eat, Baz. It’s been a long day in a series of long days, and we’ve all already seen it all.”

  I sigh and fish my dead mobile out of my pocket. “How much did you hear?”

  Bunce takes the phone and plugs it into a charger. “Enough to write a book called Vampires of the West.”

  “The last thing we heard was you ordering a strawberry milkshake,” Shepard offers. “Then you cut out.”

  “We did not hear you ask about the Next Blood.…” Simon says, studying his miniature cheeseburger. He opens his mouth and shoves it in whole.

  “I kept waiting for an opening,” I say. My extra teeth make me sound like a 12-year-old with braces. I set the steak plate back down on the bed. “I wanted him to trust me.”

  “Did he?” Bunce asks.

  I feel like a fool. “No. He kept trying to get me to drink … someone. They treat this street like a twenty-four-hour buffet. And I kept saying, ‘No, no, thank you’—well, you heard me. It felt exceedingly rude to say no to the blood and the alcohol. Everything started to get blurry. When we left the ice-cream shop, he grabbed a Normal and pulled us both into a shadow, demanding that I drink with him—it was a test, I think.”

  Snow swallows fiercely. “He killed someone? Right in front of you?”

  I meet his eyes. “No. He drank. And then he let the man go.”

  “He Turned someone right in front of you?”

  “I—” I look down at my lap.

  “Oh, I doubt he Turned him,” Shepard says, smothering his chips in ketchup. “Vampires hate to Turn people. They either take a sip and let you go—or drain you dry and leave you dead.”

  When Shepard looks up, we’re all staring at him. You could hear a gnome whisper.

  “Which you already knew…” he says to me, “because you are a vampire.…”

  Simon and Penelope turn back to me, speechless.

  This is too much to digest. (This specific thing. Plus everything else. Plus two dozen tropical birds.) I shake my head. I shake it again. “I wouldn’t drink,” I say, picking up the thread. “I told him that I couldn’t. In public. But he didn’t believe me. He pinned me to the wall and demanded to know who I really was—what I wanted.”

  “What did you say?” Bunce asks.

  “I told him the truth.”

  “Oh no,” she says—while Shephard is saying, “Good plan, always for the best.”

  I rub my eyes. “I told him my first name, my real first name. And that I was looking for the Next Blood because they have my friend.”

  “Not slick,” Bunce groans. “Not slick at all.”

  “So, what’d he say?” Simon asks.

  “He told me to meet him at the Lotus of Siam. Tomorrow at two o’clock.”

  SIMON

  He’s sitting there on a black leather armchair. He’s sitting there in blue silk with red roses, shotgun scars shining on his pale chest. His hair is wet. His teeth are sharp. His feet are bare.

  He used to be mine.

  Maybe he still is. A little bit. Enough that I’m allowed to look at him.

  But he’s less mine than he was three hours ago, that’s for bloody sure. He’s less mine every minute we spend in this town.

  “Lotus of Siam,” Shepard says. “It sounds like a temple.”

  “It might be code,” Baz says.

  Penny’s on her phone. “It’s a Thai restaurant … in a strip mall.”

  “But not on the Strip?” Baz asks.

  “No,” she says. “A few miles away. We’ll have to drive.”

  “Well, he did say that vampires usually stick to the Strip.…” Baz leans back in the chair. “Maybe he wants privacy.”

  I reach for another cheeseburger and the plate of mash. “We’ll all go.”

  Baz shakes his head. “No. Then he really won’t trust me. He can’t know I’m a magician.”

  “He won’t know you’re a magician,” Shepard says. “He’ll just know you have friends.”

  Baz looks up at the ceiling, not having it. “Absolutely not.”

  “We’ll go and sit at a different table,” I say. “Just in case.”

  “You won’t be able to hear anything! You’re better off waiting outside and listening on the phone again.”

  “I want to go in,” Penelope says, still looking at her mobile. “This says they have the best Thai food in North America.”

  Shepard is slapping the bottom of a miniature bottle of ketchup, even though his chips are already swimming it. “What are you going to ask Mr. Lamb when you get him alone?”

  “About the Next Blood,” Baz says. “We’re starting at zero. So any information he shares is good information.”

  “Why would he tell you anything?” I ask.

  “Well,” Penny says, “the man does love to talk about vampires.…”

  “We’ll wait outside,” I say, “and watch the door. But you can’t leave with him this time.” I want to add, “And you can’t flirt.”

  Baz looks at me and nods. He looks sorry. “I won’t.”

  Then he stands up and takes his steak over to the sofa by the window.

  48

  PENELOPE

  As much as I don’t like hiding in a hotel room from a city full of vampires, I very much do like room service. My mother never lets us order it on holiday. Too expensive. But I figure we’re in for a penny, in for a pound, re magickal credit-card fraud; I spend a king’s ransom on breakfast. “Just leave it by the door,” I shout when it arrives.

  “You have to sign for it, Mrs. Pitch!”

  I make a disgusted face, but the hotel employee can’t see me.

  “I’ll get it,” Shepard says. “You do the thing.”

  I stand back, with my amethyst clenched in my fist and a spell on my lips.

  Shepard opens the door, and a man pushes a cart inside. He’s wearing a black apron over a black suit and his skin is chalky grey. “You have to sign for it,” he says flatly.

  “I’ve got it,” Shepard says, reaching for the folder.

  I hold my stance until the grey man is gone and the door is closed. “Why would a vampire work as a bellboy?” I whisper, tucking my gem back into my bra. (I’m dead afraid of losing it. Magickal heirlooms are scarce enough in my family. My parents had to buy my sister’s wand from a shop—it’s so new, it squeaks—and my brother got stuck with a monocle.)

  Shepard bolts the door. “Maybe he’s new here.”

  I shudder at the implications.

  We lay the food out on the bed. “Were you planning on feeding an army?” Shepard asks.

  “I was planning on feeding Simon.”

  But Simon took off into Vampire-opolis this morning as soon as he woke up and realized that Baz was already gone. I tried to stop him from leaving. I stood in the doorway and forbade it.

  “I’ll be fine, Penelope. Move.”

  “The vampire risk is untenable, Simon.”

  “How is that different from the rest of my life?”

  “You know damned well.”

  “I need some fresh air.”

  “You won’t find it in the casino downstairs.”

  “Then I’ll find it somewhere else. Move.”

  “Simon, I’m begging you, as the person who will cry the most at your funeral, please don’t.”

  “Penny, if I don’t get out of this room, I’m going to go off.”

  I should have said, “You can’t go off, Simon. You don’t have anything left that goes. And I don’t really care if you feel crazy—because crazy isn’t dead.”

  Instead I spelled his wings away and stood aside.

  I’m still worried about him. And Baz. And Agatha. I start to cry. I can’t help it.

  Shepard is sitting at the other end of the bed. “What do you think?” His voice is gentle. “Denver omelette? Eggs Benedict? Corned beef hash?”

  I point at the plate of eggs Benedict, and he hands it to me.

  “I can leave,” he says. “If you’d like to have some space to yourself.”

  “I am not letting anyone else walk out into that bloodbath!”

  “Penelope. I didn’t know you cared.”

  I roll my eyes, trying to keep myself from crying. “How does this place even exist? Where are the mages? If my mother were here, she’d burn this entire city down.”

  “Maybe we should call her,” Shepard says.

  “Ha!” I poke my fork into my poached egg and watch the yolk spill out. “She’d murder me first, then destroy Las Vegas.”

  “Nah, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

  “You’ve never met her. She’s a force to be reckoned with, she’s a—what do you call them—tornado.”

  Shepard laughs. He’s eating the corned beef hash I ordered for Simon. “Then I’d love her,” he says. “I used to be a storm chaser, you know.”

  “What’s that, someone who chases older women?”

  “No, someone who chases storms. Tornadoes, specifically.”

  “How do you chase a tornado?” My mouth is full, but I don’t care. I have no one to impress here. I’m still going to try to erase Shepard’s memory when all this is over. “Do you use magic?”

  “You use meteorology. And your own senses. When a storm rolls in, you get into a car with your friends and you see if you can find it.”

  “To what end?”

  “Because it’s cool! To be close to all that power, to see the storm in action. The air changes. The hair on your arms stands up. It’s like nothing else.”

  “It sounds like something else.…” I’m remembering Simon. I shake it off. “It sounds dangerous.”

  “Incredibly dangerous,” Shepard grins.

  “You said you used to be a storm chaser. Did it get too risky?”

  “Nah, I just got more excited about chasing magic. It’s a bigger rush.”

  Ah. Of course. I make a hmmph sound in my nose, and it comes out just as judgmental as I intended.

  “What was that?” Shepard asks.

  “Nothing,” I say.