"It's a cat," I said. "I didn't have any choice. It's just until I find a home for it."

Jesse eyed Spike dubiously. "Are you sure it's a cat? It doesn't look like any cat I've ever seen. It looks more like . . . what do they call them? Those small horses. Oh yes, a pony."

"I'm sure it's a cat," I said. "Listen, Jesse, I'm kind of in a jam here."

He nodded at Spike. "I can see that."

"Not about the cat," I said, quickly. "It's about Tad."

Jesse's expression, which had been a fairly pleasant, teasing one, suddenly darkened. If I hadn't been sure he didn't give a hang about me aside from as a friend, I'd have sworn he was jealous.

"He's downstairs," I said quickly, before Jesse could start yelling at me again for being too easy on a first date. "With his father. They want me to come over for dinner. And I'm not going to be able to get out of it."

Jesse muttered some stuff in Spanish. Judging from the look on his face, whatever he said hadn't exactly been an expression of regret that he, too, had not been invited.

"The thing is," I went on, "I've found out some things about Mr. Beaumont, things that kind of make me . . . well, nervous. So could you, um, do me a favor?"

Jesse straightened. He seemed pretty surprised. I don't really ask him to do me favors all that often.

"Of course, querida," he said, and my heart gave a little flip-flop inside my chest at the caressing tone he always gave that word. I didn't even know what it meant.

Why am I so pathetic?

"Look," I said, my voice squeakier than ever, unfortunately, "if I'm not back by midnight, can you just let Father Dominic know that he should probably call the police?"

As I'd been speaking, I'd taken out a new bag, a Kate Spade knock-off, and I was slipping the stuff I normally use for ghost-busting into it. You know, my flashlight, pliers, gloves, the roll of dimes I keep in my fist ever since my mom found and confiscated my brass knuckles, pepper spray, bowie knife, and, oh, yeah, a pencil. It was the best I could come up with in lieu of a wooden stake. I don't believe in vampires, but I do believe in being prepared.

"You want me to speak to the priest?"

Jesse sounded shocked. I guess I couldn't blame him. While I'd never exactly forbidden him from

speaking to Father Dom, I'd never actually encouraged him, either. I certainly hadn't told him why I was so reluctant for the two of them to meet – Father D was sure to have an embolism over the living

arrangements – but I hadn't exactly given him the all clear to go strolling into Father Dominic's office.

"Yes," I said. "I do."

Jesse looked confused. "But Susannah," he said. "If he's this dangerous, this man, why are you – "

Someone tapped on my bedroom door. "Suzie?" my mom called. "You decent?"

I grabbed my bag. "Yeah, Mom," I said. I threw Jesse one last, pleading look, and then I hurried from the room, careful not to let out Spike, who'd finished his meal and was doing some pretty serious nosing around for more food.

In the hallway, my mother looked at me curiously. "Is everything all right, Suzie?" she asked me. "You were up here for so long...."

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Listen, Mom – "

"Suzie, I didn't know things were so serious with this boy." My mom took my arm and started steering me back down the stairs. "He's so handsome! And so sweet! It's just so adorable, his wanting you to have dinner with him and his father."

I wondered how sweet she'd have thought it if she'd known about Mrs. Fiske. My mom had been a television news journalist for over twenty years. She'd won a couple of national awards for some of her investigations, and when she'd first started looking for a job on the West Coast, she'd pretty much had her pick of news stations.

And a sixteen-year-old albino with a laptop and a modem knew a heck of a lot more about Red

Beaumont than she did.

It just goes to show that people only know what they want to.

"Yeah," I said. "About Mr. Beaumont, Mom. I don't think I really – "

"And what's all this about you writing a story for the school paper? Suze, I didn't know you were

interested in journalism."

My mom looked almost as happy as she had the day she and Andy had finally tied the knot. And

considering that that was about as happy as I'd ever seen her – since my dad had died anyway – that was pretty happy.

"Suzie, I'm just so proud of you," she gushed. "You really are finding yourself out here. You know how I used to worry, back in New York. You always seemed to be getting into trouble. But it looks as if things are really turning around … for the both of us."

This was when I should have said, "Listen, Mom. About Red Beaumont? Okay, definitely up to no good, possibly a vampire. Enough said. Now could you tell him I've got a migraine and that I can't go to dinner?"

But I didn't. I couldn't. I just kept remembering that look Mr. Beaumont had given me. He was going to tell my mother. He was going to tell my mother the truth. About how I'd busted into his place under false pretenses, about that dream I'd said I'd had.

About how I can talk to the dead.

No. No, that was not going to happen. I had finally gotten to a point in my life where my mom was beginning to be proud of me, to trust me, even. It was kind of like New York had been this really bad nightmare from which she and I had finally woken up. Here in California I was popular. I was normal. I was cool. I was the kind of daughter my mom had always wanted instead of the social reject who'd constantly been dragged home by the police for trespassing and creating a public nuisance. I was no longer forced to lie to a therapist twice a week. I wasn't serving permanent detention. I didn't have to listen to my mother cry into her pillow at night, or notice her surreptitiously starring a Valium regimen whenever parent-teacher conferences rolled around.

Hey, with the exception of the poison oak, even my skin had cleared up. I was a completely different kid.

I took a deep breath.

"Sure, Mom," I said. "Sure, things are really turning around for us."

CHAPTER

13

He didn't eat.