Late one afternoon, I was crossing through the hall when one of the front doors opened. Darius came in. If I’d been slightly more observant, I might have realized that the vampire was dragging a bit. His pace was slower than normal, he didn’t look up or greet me as he came in, the top button on his shirt was undone, and his tie was loosened by a standard-shattering half inch. But with me being me, the only thing I noticed was that he had a bunch of letters in his hand and two packages under his arm.

I lunged at him. “Are any of those for me?”

Count Vasil jumped back and dropped half the letters. For a hundredth of a second, I saw a flash of his fangs. Then he relaxed, one hand on his chest, his eyes closed, while I stared, wide-eyed and grinning.

“Did I startle you?” I asked, my voice high with disbelief.

Darius sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“How could I possibly startle you?” I insisted. “Shouldn’t you have heard me coming?”

“It’s been a long week, Emerra.”

We both squatted to pick up the scattered mail.

“Well,” I said, “welcome home. Do we get to keep you for a while?”

He shook his head. “I’m here to sleep for thirty-six hours, then I have to go back to work.”

Judging by the way he said that and how tired he looked, he probably meant that he’d be catching up on his sleep debt by napping for thirty-six hours straight.

My grin faded into a sympathetic smile. “Haven’t caught them yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Is it normal for the FBI to help catch a burglar?”

“I get called in whenever they suspect magic is being used.”

“Is magic being used?”

His eyes narrowed, and he pointed at me with the corner of an envelope. “I will let you know as soon as I do.”

We stood up. Darius started flipping through the envelopes. “Most of these are for Olivia.”

“What about the packages? I’m waiting for some workout clothes.”

When he looked up at me, the normally flat plane of his cheek was bent by the demure, closed-lip smile he used because it kept his fangs hidden. “Is Conrad still teaching you how to fight?”

“Ha! The only thing he’s taught me is that I couldn’t win a fight to save my life. Literally.”

“How inspiring.”

“It is. When it comes to training as a runner, my motivation is through the roof.”

The count’s subtle smile became a lot less subtle.

I couldn’t blame him. It was funny.

Even in a place as big as the Noctis mansion, staying inside for too long made me restless. The snow had started on the first of December, and by New Years, I was getting cagey. One bitterly cold January morning, when I couldn’t talk myself into post-holing it over the four new inches of snow in order to take my morning stroll, I decided to check out the gym that occupied half of our oversized garage.

Back in ye olden days, the garage had been built as a combination stable and carriage house for the mansion. It was supposed to be big. But we only had three cars, so there was plenty of room left over. Someone—probably Darius—had turned it into a gym. We had weights, machines, a small fighting ring, and a line of punching bags.

Conrad worked out there most mornings. The first time I went in, I told him that I was only there for the treadmill—and I was! But, I mean…punching bags! Who could resist the temptation to wallop one of those bad boys?

A few days later, when I arrived early enough I was sure I’d be alone, I picked out the biggest, heaviest looking punching bag in the whole line.

I nearly broke my wrist.

And, it turned out, I wasn’t alone. Conrad had snuck in just in time to see me embarrass myself and—according to him—our entire pack. That’s when he told me he was going to teach me how to fight.

A two-hundred-and-seventy-pound wolfman versus a ninety-eight-pound revived cancer victim. What could go wrong?

Darius glanced at the packages. “Both are for Iset, I’m afraid.”

I sighed.

The vampire eyed me. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to use your lack of workout clothes as an excuse to get out of your lessons.”

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“I did try. Conrad said that if I was ever in a real fight, I’d be in my jeans anyway.”

“He has a point, you know.”

“He also says that my only hope of winning is if I’m armed with a forty-five-caliber pistol.”

“Two points. If you ever want training—”

“No thanks!”

I didn’t mind guns in theory. What bothered me was how heavy they were, and the almighty loud BANG! …and, if I’m being honest, the idea that I would have the power to kill someone.

I shivered.

When I looked up, Darius was watching me. His eyes were knowing and sympathetic.

I gave his arm a shove. “Go on, you blood-sucker. Give Iset her packages. I’m sure she’d like to say hello.”

“Are you offering to take Olivia her letters?”

That hadn’t been my intention—Olivia and I were barely civil to each other—but if Darius had only a few minutes of consciousness left, I’d rather he spend that time in the library with Iset.

I had a soft spot for my favorite undead pair.

“Oh, fine,” I said. “Hand them over.”

He passed me the top three letters, then started digging through the rest.

“Why is she getting so much mail?” I asked.

“It’s cultural,” Darius said. “There are still some letters witches prefer to send through the mail. Birthday greetings are one of them.”

“It’s her birthday?”

“It will be soon.”

He handed me a heavy envelope of cream-colored parchment sealed with wax. The stamp in the wax looked like some kind of leafy branch.

“Fancy,” I observed.

Darius glanced at the letter in my hands. “Ah. Yes. Be careful with that one. It’s important.”

I flipped it over to look at the return address. The script was so ornate, I couldn’t read it. “Who’s it from?”

“Her coven.”

“What is it?”

“As it’s Olivia’s private mail, I’ll let you ask her that.” He passed me some more letters. “That’s all of them.”

I started toward the front stairs but turned back when Darius called my name.

“About that fancy letter,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“When Olivia tells you to throw it away, remember it can’t be recycled because of the wax.”

With that, he set off toward the library.

I went upstairs. Olivia wasn’t in her room, so I went over to Iset’s private study. In the nearly four months I’d lived at the Noctis mansion, the only person I’d ever seen using that room was Olivia. I suspected that the only reason it was called “Iset’s private study” was because, if you were on the second floor, you had to walk through Iset’s room to get to it.

I knocked on the study door. Barging in on that particular witch, mid-spell, could be bad for your health.

Olivia’s voice came from behind the door. “Yes?”

I peeked inside. When she saw it was me, she frowned slightly, like someone gazing at a smelly fish.

“Did you want something?” she asked.

It was a sign of how much our relationship had improved that she hadn’t said, “What do you want?”

Ever since I’d arrived at the mansion, fresh from my casket, Olivia seemed to have it out for me. She was varying levels of caustic to almost everyone, but I must have occupied a special, venom-filled space in her shriveled heart. Iset had said that she was jealous of my “talents”—meaning, my abilities as a seer (whatever those were worth)—but it was probable that Olivia also found my personality irritating.

I decided to make the best of it by enjoying her irritation.

I bounced into the room. “Mail time!”

She put down her pen and shut her notebook. “You don’t have to shout, Emerra. I’m right here.”

I held out everything but the big, heavy, mysterious, wax-sealed envelope. “I hear it’s your birthday soon.”

Olivia took the letters. “Yes.”

“You’re going to be seventeen?”

“That’s usually the number that follows sixteen.”

She pulled over a nearby trash can and started going through the letters. One glance at the return address was enough to consign most of them to the garbage, unopened. The indifference in how she tossed away all those hand-addressed envelopes bothered me. I wasn’t sure what emotion I was feeling—all I knew was that it felt like someone was rubbing fine-grit sandpaper over my soul.

“Aren’t those from your friends?” I asked.

“Not most of them.” She dropped another letter.

I dragged my eyes away from the garbage can. They were her letters, it was her business.

“When’s the big day?” I asked.

“If you’re trying to ask what day is my birthday, it’s tomorrow.”

A grin broke over my face. “You were born on Valentine’s Day?”

“And I’m sure you think that’s cute.”

“Wrong. I think it’s adorable.”

She scoffed. “Maybe if you like pink.”

Olivia did not like pink. Her entire wardrobe was black.

“All those candy hearts must be why you’re so sweet,” I said.

When she stopped to glare at me, she noticed the parchment envelope still in my hands. She nodded to it. “Is that from the coven?”

“What? This shabby thing?” I waved it around. “As a matter of fact, it is.”

She turned back to the desk with the only two letters that had survived the culling. “Throw it away.”

She reached for her silver dagger and slit open the first letter.

I gazed at the poor envelope still in my hands. It looked so neglected.

“Don’t you want to know what’s in it?” I asked.

The witch didn’t even stop reading to answer. “I already know what’s in it.”

“But it’s got a wax seal!”

“Yes. Self-important people often use those.”

The nerve of that girl! How many times in my life would I get a big, heavy letter, all fancied up with a wax seal like some fairy-tale invitation to a ball?

Zero. That’s how many.

“If Prince Charming gets away,” I said, “you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself.”

That made her look up. “What are you dribbling on about?”

“Look, can I open it?”

She rolled her eyes, passed me the dagger, and went back to reading her letter.

I felt a small thrill as I slit open the envelope. The letter inside was equally fancy and made out of the same heavy cream-colored paper. After setting my brain to decipher-cursive mode, I read over the first few lines.

“It is an invitation,” I said.

“Let me guess,” Olivia said, “I’m formally invited to present myself, with my master, before the mistress of the coven to demonstrate my progress in the arts.”

Dang. She’d almost gotten it word for word.

“Are you sure this isn’t important, Olivia?”

“It’s not required, so it’s not important.” She added with a faint sneer, “It’s nothing but a chance to show off.”

“How is it…not required?”

“Not required. If I don’t show up, they can’t kick me out of the coven. The only report I have to give is the one at the end of my apprenticeship. Then I’m done.”

I was looking right at her when she said that. Her face went stony at the word “done.”

I was still watching her when all the color drained from her cheeks. She pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. Her eyes were locked on the letter in her hand.

“Olivia?” I said.

She folded the paper and turned to the spiral staircase in the corner of the room. It led down to the library. “I have to make a call.”

She was halfway to the stairs by the time I said, “What do you want me to do with the invitation?”

“Throw it away!” she yelled without looking back.

I gave the invitation one last sad glance before letting it slide from my hand to join the other letters that Olivia had deemed “not important.”