My eyes fluttered open, though I wasn't quite able to focus them. After a while I was able to ascertain my surroundings. I lay on a soft surface and stared at a white vaulted ceiling. A very large chandelier - an exuberant explosion of shiny glass and chained gold - hung from the center beam. It had not been turned on, so it wasn't the source of the light in the room. I heard the crackling of fire and smelled cedar. It was weird, but I swear I could taste the soot.

It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. Every muscle ached. My skin felt like it had been peeled off and glued back on. Even moving my eyebrows caused pain. I tried to sit up, but the whole world spun. I settled for leaning on my elbows, which also freaking hurt.

I reclined on a fancy velvet couch, probably an antique. My coat, gloves, and shoes had been removed and my purse was nowhere in sight. The lushly decorated room favored creams and burgundies and dark woods, but the oversized stone fireplace was its jewel.

A fire burned brightly inside it. I watched the flames undulate. I wanted to be closer. No, not closer. Inside. Warmth and safety could be found in fire.

Wait a minute. What? Building a cozy spot inside a fire was bad . Still, the flames were mesmerizing. Their heat, their dancing, their song.

Sheesh. I must've really hit my head hard. I lay back down and closed my eyes again. I took deep breaths, trying to find a calm spot in my roiling thoughts.

"Is she awake yet?" asked an Irish-tinged voice.

My eyes flew open. I was startled to see two men with shoulder-length black hair, mercury gazes, and the same faces leaning over me. Their expressions of curiosity were the same, too. Strangest of all was the pulsing color around them. One was outlined in blue, and the other in purple.

"Uh . . . hello," I said. I stared at the pulsing color. I knew about auras, of course. But these were solid, unchanging. And they smelled sweetly fetid, like dying roses.

"You feelin' all right?" asked the one on the left.

Are you kidding? I attempted a smile. "My head feels like a wet sandbag."

Questions crowded my mind and at the forefront: Where were my parents?

Had we really stumbled upon a town full of paranormal beings? What had that dragon girl done to me?

And what the hell had happened to Ralph?

"My name is Patrick." He was the one on the left.

The guy on the right said, "I'm Lorcan."

"I'm Libby."

We all looked each other over for a few seconds. Then Lorcan grasped my hands and helped me to sit up.

Bad idea.

I swayed too far to the left. Patrick grabbed my shoulders and righted me. My stomach gurgled.

"I feel like I'm gonna yark."

Alarm flashed in his eyes. His gaze skidded to his brother, who had the same expression. I would've laughed except that I really did feel like vomiting. Yech.

I put my head between my knees and inhaled.

When my stomach settled, I slowly raised my head. Deep breaths, Libby. Really deep breaths. "How did I get here?"

"We found you at the cemetery," said Patrick. Or was it Lorcan? "Our doctor examined you, and said you had no major injuries and would be fine."

Then why didn't I feel fine? And what was with my sudden ability to see auras?

"What about Ralph?" I asked. "Is he okay? He sorta looked like he was on fire. But I was passing out at the time so I could be wrong."

"He's getting checked out now," said the man nearest me. "Was there anyone else?"

I hesitated. I didn't want to give away more information than necessary, especially to people who had yet to make clear their intentions. I decided not to mention my parents.

"There was a zombie. And an injured vampire." I made ping motions with my hands. "They were flattened by a couple of dueling dragons."

God, that sounded sooooo insane, but these two didn't blink.

"The woman who died," I continued. "She was a dragon."

"We didn't find a woman. Or a dragon," said the twin on the left. How had I already gotten them confused? An ache throbbed behind my eyes. At least my body no longer felt like someone was taking a cheese grater to it.

"Don't worry, Libby. We'll figure things out." The reassurance came from . . . Lorcan. Yeah. I was fairly sure the one sitting on the couch with me was Lorcan.

"Great. Then there's no reason for me to stick around. Nice to meet you and everything. If you'll just hand over my stuff, I'll be on my way."

"To where?" asked Patrick. He folded his arms across his broad chest and smiled in a not-very-reassuring way.

"Away from here," I said decisively. "Wherever here is."

"You're being evasive," he accused.

"So are you."

"In what way?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Do you feel well enough to go on a little walk?" asked Lorcan. I narrowed my eyes. "What kind of walk?"

He held up his hands in a surrender gesture. "Just upstairs."

"Why should I go up there?"

"Our queen has requested an audience," said Lorcan. His silver eyes flashed with amusement. "I think you'll find her quite refreshing."

"What exactly is she queen of?" I asked suspiciously.

"Depends on who you ask," answered Lorcan. "Suffice it to say, we consider her leadership valid."

Gee, that cleared everything up. "And what are you?"

Amusement flared again in his gaze; then those orbs went red and he showed me a big, fangy grin. Even though I had already met two bloodsuckers, my heart still skipped a fearful beat. "Sheesh. You could've just said you were a vampire."

"Where's the fun in that?" His tone held restrained laughter. Well. I'm glad one of us was having a good time at my expense.

"Are you mental?" I asked, annoyed.

His raven eyebrows winged upward.

Patrick chuckled. "I'll take her to Patsy. Go on back to the compound."

Lorcan nodded and got up from the couch. He winked at me, then - poof! He disappeared in a shower of gold sparkles. He was gone, and I wished I knew how he'd pulled that magic trick. Then I could go poof, too.

"You know," I said conversationally, "if I hadn't already met a zombie, vampires, monster wolves, and a dragon, that would've been really impressive."

Patrick grinned.

The staircase looked as though Scarlett O'Hara would sweep down it any moment and declare, "After all . . . tomorrow is another day." It was wide, made of dark, polished wood, and curved as it rose upward. It had approximately four million steps.

After we got to the second floor, we walked along the hallway, our footsteps quieted by a thick carpet that was a faded burgundy. The walls looked freshly painted, a rather nice rose color with a chair rail that matched the wood of the staircase.

The hallway seemed to go on forever, but we finally reached the end and stopped in front of double doors, which were slightly ajar.

Patrick held my arm in a loose grip. I had stumbled several times and he probably thought I was going to keel over. I had no illusions I could escape, mostly because I still felt weak and more than a little shaky. I was worried about my parents. And my thoughts kept straying to Ralph. Was he okay? Were these his friends? What had happened to us in the cemetery?

I wasn't sure I wanted to meet the queen of this crazy freaking town. Nerves plucked at my stomach. I wondered where the queen fell on the bad-ass scale: Was she Cinderella-stepmom scary or off-with-her-head Queen of Hearts terrifying?

I looked at Patrick. "Um . . . should I curtsy or something?"

He smirked. "Yes. And always address her as 'most royal grand potentate.'"

"Seriously?"

"You don't want to know what happened to the last person who messed up the formal address." He slashed a line across his throat.

Oh, shit.

"Zerina, you have to stop changing people's hair color." A woman's irritated voice filtered through the slight gap between the doors.

"I don't know what she's complaining about," answered a woman with a thick British accent. "Terran looks better with blue hair."

"Just stop doing it. Don't make me throw your skinny ass out the window."

Patrick knocked, then shoved open the doors. Shocked, I stood there like an idiot, gaping. He tugged on my arm and I followed him inside.

Three people stood in a large room obviously under construction. A single floor lamp offered me a limited view of the shadowy space. Tarps lay over furniture and scaffolding went to the vaulted ceiling. The sharp smell of fresh paint assailed me.

The woman in the middle was tall, blond, curvy, and gorgeous. She wore a dress that showed off the slight roundness of her pregnant belly. Next to her was a man built like a Greek god, his moon white hair pulled into a ponytail. They both had purple light emanating from them. I couldn't quite discern the scent; it was close to the spicy earth smell of sandalwood.

On the other side of the blonde was a petite woman, maybe in her twenties, with neon pink hair. She wore a black bustier, miniskirt, and thigh-high stockings. Her vinyl shoes were the same shocking pink as her hair. Whoa. Her eyes were pink, too. No surprise; her aura was sparkly pink and it smelled like cotton candy. She looked me over and found me boring.

Patrick, who wasn't exactly my friend to begin with, left me stumbling in his wake. He stopped short of the small gathering and jerked his head toward the blonde. Oh. The queen. I attempted to curtsy, but my legs buckled and I dropped to my knees. I wasn't sure where to put my gaze. Hadn't I read you weren't supposed to look royalty in the eyes?

"Greetings, most royal . . ." Crap. What came next? "Wait. I'll get it. Uh . . . your most royal grand poot-n-toot. I mean, impotent." I sucked in a breath. After all I'd survived since arriving in Broken Heart, I was gonna die at the hands of a queen who demanded verbal tribute. "Your most royal grand potato head."

Silence was thick. My heart pounded and my whole body felt clammy. I looked up and saw Patsy's mouth open. Cut off her head, she'd scream manically.

"Potentate!" I yelled. "Your most magnificent royal grand on high potentate!"

Everyone burst out laughing.

What the hell was going on?

"Get up, honey," said the queen. "Patrick, you are such an asshole. You scared the crap out of her."

I got up, feeling light-headed. Relief poured through me, but underneath squirmed embarrassment. I glared at an unrepentant Patrick.

The pink-haired woman grinned. "You looked like you pissed yourself."

I couldn't formulate a response to that comment.

"Don't worry," she went on. "I'm all for a little vengeance."

She flicked her fingers at Patrick's head. His beautiful, dark hair turned neon green.

"Zee!" yelled the blonde.

Zee laughed as she scurried out of the room.

I gaped at Patrick. "What - "

"She's a fairy."

"Oh." A fairy. Why the hell not? I sidled a look at Patrick's hair. He sighed. "What does it look like this time?"

"Um . . . like Las Vegas threw up."

The blonde laughed. She looked me over, her expression friendly and curious. The man also studied me, his eyes an odd golden color. His nostrils flared almost as if he were scenting me. He didn't look quite as friendly.

She held out her hand and I shook it.

"I'm Patsy. And this is my husband, Gabriel."

"Libby Monroe."

Her husband didn't offer his hand, which was fine with me. I had no plans to get chummy with anyone except Ralph. Wait. No. Not even Ralph. Lick-alicious or not, he was still a vampire - one who could shoot fire from his hands. I don't even know how that was possible. Vampires weren't really my specialty. I was more a Bigfoot, Swamp Thing, Moth Man kind of girl. Maybe I should've read Mom's books. God knows she'd published enough of them.

Patsy turned to Patrick. "I feel weird about taking over the mansion."

"This place is the largest in town . . . fit for a queen," said Patrick, smiling. "Living in the house on Sanderson Street is a better fit for us. The Wiccans cleansed the whole house - which Jessica is now redecorating."

Patsy's eyebrows rose. "Why don't we go sit down?"

"But I was already sitting down," I whined. I was so frazzled, damn it. I pointed at Patrick, like he was an errant older brother. "He made me come up here."

"You're a poot, Patrick." Patsy laughed. "Stan's bringing over Ralph. He checked out okay." She wagged her finger at Patrick. "Take the girl down the easy way. We'll meet you in the living room."

Gabriel whispered in her ear and she rolled her eyes.

"How many do we have?" she asked.

"Three downstairs," said Gabriel. His lips twitched as if he might smile.

"Why do we need three living rooms?" groused Patsy. "I swear to God, the whole town could live in this one house. Take her to the one y'all were in before, okay?"

Patrick wrapped his arms around my neck and brought me flush against him, which totally geeked me out. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you downstairs the easy way." He looked down at me. "Ready?"

"For wha - "