There was an open toilet in the corner of the room and nothing else except a bolt in the wall. They took away my shoes and socks, and ran a chain through my handcuffs and locked it to the bolt. Then they threw a ratty blanket in the room.

The Vampire Council’s dungeon prison was like a luxury rumpus room by comparison. Well, the vampires I knew did everything with more panache, even imprisonment. In fact, when Ian had been under house arrest for cutting the vampire who slashed me, the Vampire Council let him stay in an elegant town house with an adoring housekeeper.

I sat on the dirty blanket and closed my eyes so I could think. Even if Ian was away when Wil was murdered, he could have ordered the murder. Did Wil’s murder have anything to do with the Poindexters’ deaths? No, except that danger followed the vampires, followed me.

I didn’t know if Ian had set me up, or if the Vampire Council had taken advantage of his absence to send me a message in the form of Wil’s corpse.

Ford’s phone call had summoned the people who now held me. Could these people have something to do with Ford’s father, who worked for a military contractor? Was this place his laboratory, and, if so, what the hell was he doing?

I sobbed for poor Wil and Ford, and even Cricket.

That’s when the music began blasting in my cell. It started with the Ramones. The three-chord, two-and-a-half-minute songs were the aural equivalent of haiku, expressing so much within strict conventions. The music was my companion and my solace: I wanted to be sedated, too, instead of being consumed by sorrow and guilt.

To keep from sliding into hopelessness, I did what I’d done as a child locked in my room: I occupied my time by composing a story in my head. The more I thought about the fauxoir, the more I realized how I could work everything around The Tempest, which had so many elements that paralleled Don Pedro’s crazy story: a deserted island, a mysterious sorcerer, and an imprisoned sprite.

It even had a smart, brave, affectionate girl who was sometimes too gullible. It had deception, magic, comic relief, romance, and a satisfying conclusion. I structured the entire fauxoir in my mind, first by chapters, then scenes, then dialogue.

My imaginary world became more real to me than my surroundings. I could close my eyes and see the island, the magical herbs, the azure ocean. I could smell the tropical breezes—salt water, humid forest, coconut, and frangipani.

The men would drag me out now and then. I used those opportunities to look for escape routes, but the halls were continuously guarded by armed men in black T-shirts and olive green cargo pants tucked into black boots. They never said anything beyond “Go” and “Shut up” to me.