But my words were answered only by the barking of a neighbor's dog.
I stared up at a single attic window. A tree starved of leaves leaned toward the manor house, one of its branches reaching out just below the window. The huge oak must have been centuries old—its trunk was as wide as a house, and its roots clutched the ground like a spider's legs. I was used to climbing, whether it was over the Mansion's wrought-iron gate or up apple trees in Becky's backyard. But scaling this tree seemed like ascending Mt. Everest in the dark. Clad in combat boots and a minidress, I stuck my heel onto the lowest branch and pulled myself up. I continued to climb at a steady rate, slowing down only to catch my breath or when I needed to feel above me for a limb hiding away from the moonlight. Weary but determined, I scooted along a heavy branch stretching underneath the attic window.
A dark curtain hid most of the room from view, but I managed to peek inside. I could make out an empty box and a wooden chair. Then, I saw the most amazing sight staring back at me— resting in the corner was the portrait Alexander had painted of me dressed for the Snow Ball. A pumpkin basket hung over one arm. A two-dimensional Raven grinned, flashing fake vampire teeth.
"Alexander!" I called. I tried to tap against the window, but my fingers were just out of reach.
"Alexander!" I called again.
I could hear the dog's bark getting louder.
"Alexander! Jameson!" I yelled with all my might.
Just then, the next-door neighbor opened his back door and stepped onto his deck. He was built like a professional wrestler.
"Hey! You kids back again?" he called over.
"What's going on, Hal?" a petite woman asked, following him out of the house.
"I told you, kids are playing in that house next door," he said to her. "I'm calling the police!" he yelled, and pulled out a cell phone from his back pocket.
I scurried down the tree, wanting to avoid being placed in a full nelson or, worse, handcuffs. Plus, I didn't want law enforcement to arrest Alexander and Jameson or force them to find another home—and this time it might be Romania.
When I reached the bottom branch, I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a rustling of the dark curtain in the attic window.
I quickly stepped back to get a better view.
But the curtain was still.
Suddenly, a chocolate-colored Doberman pinscher sprinted out of the neighbor's house, down the deck stairs, and scratched against the brown picket fence that ran parallel to the manor house.
Afraid the dog would wriggle his way through the skinny spaces between the boards and devour me like Kibbles 'n Bits, I took off around the other side of the manor and tore down the road to the bus stop.
I boarded the westbound number seven, taking a seat in the back behind a college-aged couple. I was excited to find that Alexander was indeed in Hipsterville. I imagined that he was painting portraits in a spooky cemetery. Searching a haunted mansion for furniture to decorate his attic room. Or maybe he was out for a night flight.
I was still confused why Alexander had come to Hipsterville. It was a small town with eerie abandoned manors, and with enough goths and artists to be hidden among. What else did it offer a lone vampire?
The couple seated in front of me began making out, oblivious to the other staring passengers.
I saw their reflections in the bus window. I wondered if they knew how lucky they were. Two humans who could share their nights and days together. Take pictures. Sit in the sun. Then I realized those were just small sacrifices I'd make to be with Alexander again.
The bus approached the Village Players Theater, and I disembarked with several other passengers. I walked alone down the alley toward the back entrance of the theater, conjuring excuses I could tell Aunt Libby and my parents so I could stake out the manor house for the next few nights until I made contact with Alexander. I saw a figure lurking behind the Dumpster.
"I hoped to find you here," a deep voice said, stepping out to block my way.
I froze. It was Jagger. I held my purse close; inside was my Mace and, possibly more important, my container of garlic.
"I have information that may be of interest to you."
"Information?" I asked skeptically.
"About Sterling," he said, with a knowing glance. "Isn't that who you are looking for?"
Shocked, I inched back. I knew where Alexander was staying, but I didn't know where he was. The promise of any new leads on Alexander's whereabouts made my heart pulse in overtime. Plus, my curiosity about Jagger's identity still lingered. I had to know how he knew Alexander.
"I can help you. I've known him for an eternity," he said with a grin.
I glanced back at the Village Players Theater. If I went back inside, I was guaranteed to have a safe night with real unreal vampires. Or I could just wait for Alexander outside the manor house—unless he and Jameson spotted me and left for another town. Then I was guaranteed to never see my Gothic Mate again.
"You better tell me everything you know," I said, clutching my purse to my side. "Otherwise—"
"You are free to go whenever you like," he reassured me.
I stood still as Jagger began walking down the alley. Curiosity eating away at me, I decided to catch up to him. I followed Jagger down the street and toward a back entrance to the Coffin Club.
He led me into the warehouse and down a darkened hallway to an empty freight elevator. The rickety door shrieked out in pain when he shut it. Instead of pushing the button for the Coffin Club, he pressed the "B" button.
The elevator slowly lowered to the basement, screeching as if it were a coffin descending into hell.
"I thought we were going to the Coffin Club."
The elevator stopped. Jagger opened the door and held it for me as I stepped into a corridor.
He followed behind me so closely I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. We walked down the narrow hallway, the walls adorned with graffiti and the cement floor cluttered with discarded chairs and boxes. The dance floor music pulsed above. When we reached what looked like a wide storage-room door, I could hear the elevator slowly grind its way back up to mortal level. Jagger lifted the metal-gray door above our heads to reveal a windowless apartment.
I stepped inside.
"Welcome to my dungeon," he said.
Dozens of medieval candelabras filled the spacious apartment.
And then I saw it. In the far corner lay an open coffin, adorned with gothic band stickers like a mortal teen's skateboard. Dirt encircled the coffin like a walled city.
My eyes grew wide. "So you are…," I began, but could barely speak.
"Oh, the coffin," he said. "Cool, huh? I got it at a vintage store."
"And the dirt?"
"Saw it in a vampire mag. Creepy, huh?"
I didn't know what to think. Even Alexander slept on a mattress.
"It's really comfortable. Want to give it a try?" he asked with sexy eyes.
"I'm not tired."