“Drive safe,” I chirp in response, and then I’m hurrying up the walk before she’s even pulled away from the curb. Halfway to the porch, however, I catch something with my foot and kick it almost onto the front steps. A rabbit, its fur so white it blended in seamlessly with the snow, rolls a few times before flopping loosely onto its back. It’s dead, and two deep, bloodless puncture wounds in its neck are all I need to know what killed it. There was a vampire in our front yard tonight.

I sprint the rest of the way to the door, and my heart doesn’t stop pounding for another ten minutes once I’m safely locked inside, a crucifix clutched in my white-knuckled fist. Vampires can’t enter a privately owned building without an invitation, so I should be safe … but I’m not taking any chances.

It isn’t until I’m brushing my teeth that the most disturbing fact of all hits me, and my throat goes dry: It’s below freezing outside—but the rabbit’s body was still limp. Whatever dropped it on our front walk must’ve just left before I stumbled over it … barely fifteen feet from the windows where I’d been sitting and doing my homework.

Chilled all the way to my bone marrow, I climb into bed, but it’s hours before my eyes finally slide shut.

2

“Auggie, you look like crap.” Adriana Verdugo has been my best friend since we were both in second grade, but not because I appreciate her honesty. It’s between classes at Fulton Heights High, and I have just finished almost certainly failing that algebra quiz.

“I didn’t sleep very well.” Even after I finally drifted off, all I dreamed about all night was death, one hideous demise after another. Firing squads, decapitation, hanging, burning … I would jerk awake just before the final moment, panting and sweating, my heart beating so hard it hurt. Each time, I’d stare at the window, convinced a bloodthirsty monster waited on the other side of the shade. “There was a vampire in our yard last night.”

Adriana shudders, leaning up against the locker next to me. “When will the city actually do something? It’s not like it would cost them much to just burn some of those empty buildings down, right?” Hands on her hips, she states, “I still think we should figure out who to pitch my holy water sprinkler system idea to, because it’s brilliant. There are already pipes running everywhere—all they have to do is put in some sprinkler heads and get a priest to mumble a prayer or two at the public works building—”

“The city is ten square miles! They can’t even afford to demolish some collapsing warehouses and you want them to put in, like, eighteen thousand sprinklers?”