“You grew up here?” I asked as I got out. The two names on the mailbox gave me pause until I remembered vampires maintained their names after marriage to keep living bloodlines intact. Ivy was a Tamwood, her sister was a Randal.

Ivy slammed her door and dropped her keys into her black purse. “Yeah.” She looked to holiday lights making a tasteful, subdued display. It was getting dusky. The sun was only about an hour from setting, and I was hoping we would be gone before then. I didn’t particularly want to meet her mom.

“Come on in,” she said, her boots thumping on the brushed steps, and I followed her onto the covered porch. She opened the door, shouting, “Hi! I’m home!”

A smile curved over me as I hesitated just outside to stomp the snow off. I liked hearing her voice so relaxed. Coming inside, I shut the door and breathed deeply. Cloves and cinnamon—someone had been baking.

The large entryway was all varnished wood and subtle shades of cream and white. It was as stark and elegant as our living room was warm and casual. A runner of cedar bough made graceful loops up the railing of the nearby stairway. It was warm, and I unbuttoned my coat and stuffed my gloves in the pockets.

“That’s Erica’s car outside. She’s probably in the kitchen,” Ivy said, dropping her purse on the small table beside the door. It was polished so highly that it looked like black plastic.

Taking her coat off, she draped it over an arm and headed for a large archway to the left, coming to a halt at a thumping of feet on the steps. Ivy looked up, her placid face shifting. It took me a moment to realize she was happy. My gaze followed her to a young woman slumping downstairs.

She looked to be about seventeen, dressed in a skimpy goth short skirt to show her midriff, with black fingernails and lipstick. Silver chains and bangles swung everywhere as she hopped down the stairs, bringing that dog-eared page to mind. Her black hair was cut short and styled into wild spikes. Maturity hadn’t yet finished filling her out, but I could tell already that she was going to look exactly like her big sister apart from being six inches shorter: lean, sleek, predatory, and with just enough oriental cast to make her exotic. Nice to know it ran in the family. Of course, right now she looked like a teenage vamp out of control.

“Hi, Erica,” Ivy said, reversing her steps and waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.

“My God, Ivy,” Erica said, her high voice heavy on the valley girl accent. “You have to talk to Daddy. He’s being total Big Brother. Like, I don’t know the difference between good Brimstone and bad Brimstone? Listening to him, you’d think I was still two, crawling around in diapers trying to bite the dog. God! He was in the kitchen,” she continued, her mouth going as she eyed me up and down, “making Mom her organically grown, earth-friendly, politically correct stinking cup of tea, when I can’t go out one night with my friends. It’s so unfair! Are you staying? She’ll be up rattling the windows soon.”