“Poor girl’s confused.” Miranda laughed. “I’m joking,” she said when Della shot her the third-finger salute.

Della sighed and looked back at Kylie. “I like Jenny, too. She … she reminds me of you a little when you first came here.”

“I haven’t changed,” Kylie said.

Both Miranda and Della made faces at Kylie.

“You changed for the better,” Miranda said. “You’re … bolder.”

“Bold is good,” Della said, and they all went back to watching the feather. Finally, Kylie picked up the paper with the obituary. “You ready?”

Della and Miranda nodded.

Kylie started to read. “‘Feng Tsang was lost to us on December 23rd Feng, a dedicated young man, already had his life planned. He was to become a doctor and marry his childhood sweetheart, Jing Chen. Loyal to his family, he walked a path to make his family proud. Now his path leads him another way. Loved by so—’”

“Wait,” Della said. “What did that say? That last sentence.”

Kylie looked at the paper. “‘Now his path leads him another way.’”

Della shook her head. “Isn’t that strange for an obituary?”

“What?” Miranda asked.

“The whole ‘his path led him’ crap. They don’t say he’s dead. It’s as if whoever wrote the obituary knew he wasn’t dead.”

“Do they use the word ‘dead’ in obituaries?” Kylie asked. “It seems harsh.”

“Harsh?” Della shook her head. “They’re dead, why would that be harsh?”

“I think they might say something else, like passed, or gone to meet their maker.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t even use the word ‘passed.’” She sighed. “Just finish reading it.”

Kylie glanced back at the paper. “‘Loved by so many, his presence will be missed by all. Feng left behind his parents, Wei and Xui Tsang, his sisters Miao and Bao Yu Tsang…’”

“Wait,” Della said. “My father only has one sister.”

Kylie shrugged. “I’m just reading what it says.”

Della recalled the picture with four kids that she’d seen in the old photo album.

“Hey, if you think your uncle is a vampire, maybe your aunt is too,” Miranda said.

Was that possible? Della’s mind spun.

Kylie looked down again and started reading where she’d left off. “‘… and his twin brother, Chao Tsang, whose bond with his brother was inseparable.’” Kylie gazed up and frowned, as if knowing the words had been difficult to hear, and then she continued, “‘While gone to us, the person he was will remain in our hearts. A memorial will be held in his honor at Rosemount Funeral Home.’”

“There it is again,” Della said. “‘Gone to us.’ ‘Us’ as if he’s not really gone to everyone.”

Kylie shrugged. “I don’t know. It could just be obituary lingo or just a coincidence.”

Della recalled Burnett saying he didn’t believe in coincidences. Questions ran around her brain like scared mice. Was her uncle really dead? What happened to her dad’s other sister?

But damn! Did Della have another aunt who’d been turned as well? Kylie’s words floated through her head again. His twin brother, Chao Tsang, whose bond with his brother was inseparable.

Her throat tightened as she thought how it would be to lose her sister. Marla was a pain in the butt sometimes, but Della would do anything for her. She could only imagine how hard it had been on her father to lose his twin, especially as a teenager. And what happened to his other sister? The grief must have been immense. It didn’t even matter if that loss had just meant that her uncle, and possibly even her aunt, had been turned and faked their own deaths. The pain would have been the same.

Could the person who’d written the obituary have known that her uncle hadn’t really died? How could she find out who wrote it?

She took the paper from Kylie’s hands and reread it herself. Something else bothered her, too. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Emotion hitting all sides of her heart, she remembered considering faking her own death, and right then she knew she could never do it. It might hurt like hell letting them believe the worst of her, to feel as if she disappointed them at every turn, but Holiday was right. Death was final—be it a faked death or real. She’d take this pain to the one of knowing she’d never see them again.

Glancing down at the paper, she reread the words, waiting for that something that bothered her to become known.

Kylie took a sip of diet soda. “You need to ask Derek to see if he can find anything out on the aunt you didn’t know about.”

Della nodded and went back to reading. Her eyes landed on the name of the funeral home. Rosemount It listed a Houston address. She wasn’t positive, but she thought her dad had lived way over on the opposite side of the city. Why would her dad’s family choose a funeral home so far from where they lived?

Rosemount Funeral Home. Her gaze went back to the name and a lightbulb came on. “That’s it,” she said.

“What’s it?” Miranda asked.

“Rosemount Funeral Home was where my cousin Chan’s memorial service was held. His fake memorial service. That funeral home must work with the vampires who do this.” Della inhaled and something akin to excitement filled her chest. “My uncle is alive. He faked his own death just like Chan did.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Miranda said.

Della closed her eyes. As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t. She needed proof.

“Then who’s the ghost?” Kylie asked.

Della shrugged. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it’s not here for me, but for you. Or maybe it’s just a random dead person hanging out.”

Kylie lifted her left shoulder in a nonconvinced shrug. “I don’t think so.”

Miranda leaned an elbow on the table. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. If your cousin used the same funeral home as your uncle, how did he know about it? Did he just stumble across it? Do vampires set up their own services? You’d think the family would do it. But maybe vampires somehow have it set up.”

“I don’t know.” Della’s mind rushed to where she could go to get this info. She couldn’t ask Burnett or Holiday without them thinking she wanted to fake her own death. Or without them asking questions. And none of the vampires here had faked their own deaths. Only a few had been turned as a teen; most of them here had been born with the live virus—meaning both their parents were vampires at the time they were conceived.

Kylie sat staring at Miranda. “But that’s a good question.” Kylie pulled the paper over and studied it. “You know, if Chan somehow arranged it and had the memorial service set up, then maybe he knows your uncle? Hey, wait!” Kylie’s eyes lit up as if she’d just come to some conclusion. “If Chan was the one who caused you to be turned, then maybe your uncle is the one who turned Chan. That could be how he knew about the funeral home.”

“Chan didn’t mean to turn me,” Della said. “I had an open wound and—”

“I know,” Kylie said, “but maybe the same thing happened to Chan and your uncle.”

Everything Kylie and Miranda said stirred inside Della’s head, causing a whirlwind of thoughts that twisted into questions. And there was only one person who could answer them, if he’d take her darn call. She snagged her cell from her pocket and dialed Chan.

Chapter Twelve

Chan’s phone rang. And rang. Then it went to voicemail. “Call me, damn it!” Della muttered; then she set the phone down. Frustration building inside her, she picked up her soda can, drank the last sip, then crunched the thing in her hand and wadded it up into a small aluminum ball.

Was Chan mad because she hadn’t returned his call last week? No, he’d said it wasn’t important.

“Wow!” Miranda said, staring at Della’s new version of a stress ball. “That looks badass!”

Della didn’t care how it looked. “I want answers.”

“Then let’s get them,” Kylie said. “I’ve got an idea. My mom’s been begging me to bring you two home with me for a weekend. The funeral home is only about ten miles from my house. If we go there and see it’s run by supernaturals, then chances are you’re right. Plus, it’ll just be fun to have you guys hang out at my old house. Before my mom sells it.”

Hope started filling Della’s chest. “If they’re supernaturals, I’m having a little powwow with the owner.”

Kylie looked unsure. “Remember Holiday’s rule. No stupid risks.”

Della got an idea. “Let’s look it up online.” She stood and went to the computer desk on the other side of the kitchen. The funeral home came right up. There was even a “meet the owner” page. A photo of a Tomas Ayala, a Hispanic man who looked older than dirt, appeared.

“Okay, come take a peek at this guy.” Della looked back at her two friends still sitting at the table. “You gonna tell me he’s a risk? He’s an old geezer.”

“Okay,” Kylie said. “Now the question is, do you think your parents would let you come to my house?”

“Mine would,” Miranda answered.

Della squeezed the aluminum ball down to a smaller, tighter orb. “I don’t know if my mom will agree to it,” Della said. “Maybe if I beg.”

“You beg?” Miranda mouthed off. “I’d love to witness that.”

Della growled at the witch then glanced back at Kylie. “I’ll talk to my mom tomorrow.”

“Good,” Kylie said.

Good? Not really. Della hated the idea of begging. She hated the idea of waiting until the weekend to get answers, but she didn’t have a choice. At least she now had a plan.

Holiday showed up at the cabin around six that evening and brought Della a glass of blood and some chicken-and-stars soup. Tray in hand, the camp leader ushered her back to bed. Thank goodness, Della had cleaned up the pillow guts.

Della grumbled about the in-bed rule, but she really hadn’t meant to. The sound came from her stomach … her completely empty stomach. She hadn’t realized she’d been starving until she smelled the blood. Leaning against three pillows, she enjoyed every sip, but at one point had to push the thought of the murder scene from her mind.

Deep down she knew drinking blood didn’t make her evil; killing to get that blood made one immoral and wicked. Which she would never have to consider doing, thanks to the camp’s reserves of donor blood. As Kylie had once told her, people donate blood to help save lives, what’s the difference in donating blood to keep a vampire healthy?

Yup, leave it to Kylie’s words of wisdom, even months after she’d said them, to help Della through a rough patch.

With Holiday hovering over her, Della even ate the soup. It tasted like crap, but there was something nostalgic about watching the star-shaped pasta swim circles in the chicken broth. Her mom had always served her chicken-and-stars when she was sick.

But Della wasn’t sick. Or was she?

“I’m glad to see you eating,” Holiday said, and she paused as if she needed to say something. The fae had a gift of reading other’s emotions, but she couldn’t seem to hide her own worth a flip.

“What is it?” Della asked.

“I had to call your mom about your little accident.”

“Oh, frack! Why?”

“Because they are still your parents,” the camp leader said. “I didn’t tell her you were unconscious, I just said you’d fallen and bumped your head. I assured her you were okay.”

“And?” Della asked, worried her mom said she didn’t care. In spite of what Holiday said about her mom calling once a week, Della could still remember how quiet and how disappointed her mom had seemed to be with Della on the drive up here on Sunday.

“She’s worried. She asked for you to call her.”

Della exhaled. “I needed to talk to her anyway.”

“About what?”

“Kylie asked Miranda and me to go to her house this weekend.”

Holiday smiled. “That sounds like fun. But we’ll also have to clear it with Burnett.”

“Why?” Della asked.

“If he thinks the attack on you was personal, he might worry about you leaving.”

“Why would he worry about me? I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m with Kylie, the protector. What more do I need?”

Holiday shrugged. “I agree, but we’ll still have to check with Burnett. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him so scared as when he carried you out of the woods.”

Della rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. And I’ll be fine at Kylie’s.”

“I know you think you’re okay. But this morning you were unconscious. And the doctor called me a while ago wanting to confirm you are on your cycle. You apparently had a little raised temperature. You are on your period, aren’t you?”

“Geez, what’s with the entire camp wanting to know about my menstrual cycle? Can’t some things just be private?”

“This isn’t about invading your privacy, it’s about looking after your health.”

“Fine,” Della sighed. “Yes, I’m on my period—practically.”

“Practically?” Holiday questioned.

“It should be here anytime. Like clockwork. Aunt Flo never lets me down.” No way was Della going to tell Holiday about possibly having a flu. She’d never agree to let Della go to Kylie’s then.