Midnight at the Vampire Inn

Chapter One

It’s strange to wake up in a place you love, then get on a plane and end up somewhere else entirely just a few hours later. I look out the car’s rain-­streaked window, frowning at the blur of mountains rushing past. This morning, I was at my home, looking out my window at my bustling Chicago street. The same street I’ve seen nearly every day of my life.

Now I’m looking at long stretches of nothing but trees. And mountains . . . so many mountains. My stomach churns as our car goes down another steep incline. Clearly, Colorado is not a good place to be if you get motion sick.

Our driver exits the highway and weaves his way through a small downtown area. It looks just like I remember it—­shops and restaurants tucked inside of squat brick buildings. A small-­town square with an ancient-­looking fountain in the center, dry except for a puddle of dirty rainwater in the bottom. I imagine trying to paint the scene. It wouldn’t be easy, mostly because I only paint things that make me happy, but also because it’s so different from downtown Chicago. There, everything is bright, lit from the inside and sparkling with life. Here, between the gray sky and the boring brown buildings, it’s just so . . . blah.

“Are you excited to see Grandma?” Dad asks.

I nod but stay quiet.

His expression softens. “I know this is hard, kiddo. But your grandparents need us. The bed-and-­breakfast is too much for them to handle if they’re not both healthy. Hopefully this is only for a couple months while Grandma gets back on her feet.”

A couple months? I grit my teeth so hard it hurts. Dad thinks what he’s saying will make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It’s September fifth and all my friends back home are at school starting seventh grade. They’ll be playing pranks on each other, racing through the halls between classes while teachers yell after them to slow down, and crowding into movie theaters on the weekends with bags of junk food hidden in their pockets.

Meanwhile, I’ll be here. Alone. The thought makes my heart clench painfully.

“And you’re going to love Alice,” Dad continues. “She’s apparently the best tutor in the area! Mom had to jump through hoops to hire her.”

“Yeah. She sounds great.” My parents thought homeschooling me with a tutor would be less of a hassle than enrolling me in a whole new school since we’re only here for a while. I don’t know what to think about it yet.

He smiles and gives my shoulder a squeeze before pulling away. “You always did want to sleep in more. Since you won’t begin working with her for a week yet, maybe we could arrange for you to start your studies at nine while you’re here rather than eight like back home.”

Like an extra hour of sleep is going to make up for all this, I think. I don’t say it, though. As annoyed as I am, this isn’t Dad’s fault. It isn’t anyone’s. Grandma is getting older, and when someone her age falls down the stairs, it’s bad news. Mom says she’s lucky she only broke a leg. I say breaking three bones isn’t lucky no matter how old you are.

“Do you think there’s a chance we could be back home in time for my art class?” I ask.

Mom twists around in the front passenger seat to look at me. “That’s less than a month away, Andie. I seriously doubt it.”

“But Grandpa is in good shape, right? What if we get the inn cleaned up and Grandma is doing better? Could he take over?” I wait a moment, then add: “Vivian DeMolto only does one of these a year. I have to be there.”

Holding my breath, I watch her expression.

Mom sighs. “Getting your grandmother stabilized and taking care of the cleanup and guests is our first priority. It’s too much work for one person, especially an older person like Grandpa. Plus, that class isn’t short, Andie. If it were just a weekend, maybe one of us could fly you back for it. But two weeks is a long time. We’re going to get home as soon as we can, though. I promise.”

Before we came here, I kept pushing because that really isn’t an answer. I know better right now, though. Mom is too stressed. Too worried. And I don’t want her to think I don’t care about Grandma, because I do. Still, it hurts that they don’t seem to care about this, about something so important to me.

Our car slows down, and the driver cranes his neck to look at the address above the front door, then at Mom. “This it, ma’am?”

Mom purses her lips as she stares at the building looming in front of us. Then, finally: “Yes. Thank you.”

The rain lashes my window harder, but it isn’t enough to keep me from getting a good, clear view of Dead and Breakfast, Grandma and Grandpa’s vampire-­themed bed-­and-­breakfast. The windows set into the gray siding are dark except for a single flickering candle in each one. They look like eyes. Creepy, glowing eyes watching me . . . waiting for me to come in.

A rush of goose bumps parades up and down my arms. No one really knows how or why Grandma got so obsessed with bloodsucking monsters, but she did, and apparently, she convinced Grandpa to go all out with that theme when they renovated the inn back when I was a baby. I don’t hate it; it’s just not my jam. A lot of people love it, though, because the inn is booked pretty much year-­round.

“Let’s try to move fast, guys. Our luggage is going to get soaked if we don’t.” Dad climbs out of the car and holds an arm over his face to shield himself from the rain.

Taking a steadying breath, I open my door and climb out. Dad already has most of our luggage out of the trunk and on the sidewalk. I grab my dripping wet suitcase and sling my backpack over my shoulder, then jog through the sheets of rain to the front porch.

My eyes glide up the face of the Victorian building, then pause on one of the upstairs windows. It’s dim, but I can make out a shadow moving just beyond the glass. A chilly, rain-­soaked wind whips through the ivy that stretches from the door to the top of the building. The shadow abruptly vanishes.

While Mom fumbles with the coded lock on the door, I tell myself I’ll help take care of Grandma. I’ll clean the B&B. I’ll study with the tutor. I’ll smile and be nice to the guests. I’ll do whatever I need to do so we can go back home before that class starts. I can do this.

Right?

As if answering, the candle in the nearest window goes out, leaving a deep, inky darkness in its place.