Kerri and I take a few steps down the hall, and she pushes open the door to the stairs leading to the first floor.

As she's about to bound down, I speak up. "Uh, I'll go by myself. I'll meet you back in the room."

"Nope. I'm coming with you. This is a highly unusual situation." Her voice echoes in the old stairwell that smells like sneakers. The temperature in here is a good ten degrees cooler than it is in the main part of the building, and I wrap my arms around my midsection.

There's no use arguing with her, so I follow. Kerri has what my mother would call a "strong personality," and the times I've tried to talk her in—or out—of something, I've never been successful. And, she's correct. It is a highly unusual situation.

My mind spins as I wonder why Matteo would've returned. Did he leave something in his room? His watch, maybe? I scan my brain. I remember him taking it off, the way the moonlight glanced off his sharp cheekbone. But I don't recall him putting it back on.

That must be it. The watch. Then again, I was in a fog in those moments after Kerri walked in on us. It was as if he'd wiped my mind blank with his kisses.

Kerri yanks open the door to the lobby and holds it open for me. I try to project as much confidence as she possesses on a normal day, and strut through.

I round the corner, making eye contact with the desk person—it's not my friend Alex, it's someone new, since there's been a shift change—and glance around. There's no one in the lobby, at least not this part of it. Usually visitors linger by the desk in one of the two tired chairs that match the sofa in the lounge upstairs. The rest of the place is empty, the building's once-grand mosaic tile floor scuffed and faded.

"Hey, I'm Evangeline Ransom. My RA said someone was here for me." I pause, then add helpfully, "A guy."

The desk person, a girl younger than me who looks baby-faced and bored, puts down her Spin Magazine and nods. "Oh. Yeah, he's in the bathroom. Said he'd be right out."

I thank her and Kerri and I shuffle to the middle of the lounge.

My gaze meets Kerri's. For some reason, the idea of a powerful Italian vampire taking a leak in an ancient college dorm in Boston's Back Bay strikes me as funny. The downstairs bathrooms are notoriously filthy. Legendarily so, on weekends, due to all the partiers.

The side of my mouth quirks up.

"Even vampires need to piss," Kerri whispers, and I dissolve in a fit of giggles. Probably I'm exhausted, but the entire situation makes my body shake with laughter. I try to calm myself but Kerri crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue and that just makes me laugh harder.

I need to get ahold of myself. The last thing I want is Matteo walking out from the men's room, thinking Kerri and I are laughing at him. I wander off to stare at a bulletin board of announcements. It takes reading a flyer for a movie night five times to calm down. Do I want to see St. Elmo's Fire? Eh. Looks boring.

I hear a door swing open, and I want desperately to whirl around to greet Matteo. But that's probably the wrong thing to do, so I keep staring at the flyer.

Kerri clears her throat and I turn to glance at her. The expression on her face is no longer silly, it's incredulous.

"Wha—" I'm about to squawk out the word when my eyes are drawn like magnets to the third person in the room.

It's not Matteo, not even close.

It's my brother, John.

With a yelp, I leap across the room and wrap my arms around him. I haven't seen him in so long that it's almost like I want to make sure it's really him, and not a mirage.

"Oof." He laughs and hugs me back, just as hard.

"Where have you been? When did you get back? As usual, Mom and Dad didn't say anything. Did you see them? Or did you just fly in? How was Europe? I missed you, oh my God—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Evan. One question at a time."

I pull back to look at John. He's sturdier than when I last saw him, as if he's gone to the gym or eaten more. The last time I saw him—in that family photo taken at Disney, the one Matteo was staring at in my room—he was a skinny kid with peach fuzz on his jaw. Now he's broad-shouldered, with a sprinkling of dark golden stubble on his jaw. His hair's still the same, though, unruly and messy, giving him an I-don't-give-a-shit aura. Which always upset Mom.

His green eyes, which are the same color as mine, shift from me to Kerri. In a flash, I see his gaze harden, then relax. It's an imperceptible thing, and y muscles involuntarily tense.

"This is my roommate Kerri." I gesture to her. "Kerri, this is my brother John. You know, the one I'm always talking about, the one in the pictures."

Kerri nods and looks him up and down, probably sizing him up as a potential hookup. She's a bit predatory when it comes to men, and the idea that she'd do anything with my brother makes me feel uncomfortable. And a little grossed out, to be honest.

My friends in high school always told me that my older brother was hot. I never believed them. But it must be true, if the way Kerri's leering at him is any indication. Yikes.

"Hey." Her tone is practically a purr. I fight to not roll my eyes.

"Hey." My brother's voice is clipped, hard. He must be exhausted.

I take his arm. "Let's go up to our room. We've got wine, and Pop Tarts."

John reaches over and musses my hair, which is already pretty tangled after my romp with Matteo. "My palate has evolved from box wine and Pop-Tarts, Dimples."

I glower at him for using his childhood nickname.

"Dimples?" Kerri asks.

"Shut up," I reply.

"That's what I used to call her. Because, see?" He pretends to wrestle my face in his hands, poking his index finger into my cheek while Kerri snickers. "Under this scary goth façade is a perfect, angelic dimple."

"Whatever," I say crossly. "Let's go upstairs. It's cold in here. We also have a space heater."

"I'm hungry. I want a slice of pizza. I saw a place that looks like it's open all night in Kenmore square. C'mon."

"That place is so gross," I protest. "All of the slices are greasy."

He glances again at Kerri, who's literally licking her lips and staring in the direction of his crotch. John leans into me and says in a low voice, "But just the two of us, okay?"

Kerri, who has the sharpest hearing of anyone I know, sniffs in annoyance. She shrugs off her leather jacket. "Here. Wear this. It's freezing outside. I'm headed to bed, anyway. This night has been shit."

She hands me her jacket, and I slip it on, allowing her pungent perfume and clove smell to envelop me. "Thanks for this. We'll be back pretty soon."

"I trust your brother to keep you safe." She leans toward him, and I can't help but notice her taking a long, deep inhale in the direction of his neck. In addition to her amazing hearing, her sense of smell is like a bloodhound's. One of the many perks of being a vampire, I guess.

"Sure, sure," he says, stepping away from her as if she's got leprosy. Weird.

Kerri clomps away, disappearing behind the door to the stairwell. John looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "Ready?"

Even though it's almost two in the morning and cold as a witch's tit, we make our way outside.

"Seriously, John. It's been so long. Where have you been? I've been worried sick. Every time I ask Mom and Dad, they say they don't want to discuss it. Or you."

"Yeah, I've been pretty much disowned."

"I don't understand. I've never understood." John was four years older than me, so by the time I started college, he'd already graduated. After getting his diploma from Colby College in Maine not far from where we grew up, he took a year off to travel in Europe, and then enrolled in the London School of Economics. Frequent letters and infrequent, expensive long-distance calls had been our only connection for two years.

I'd planned on visiting John this semester, but the weird falling out with our parents had made me hesitate.

Now that he's here, guilt washes over me. Our parents are difficult even during the best of times. John's been on his own, in a foreign city. Why didn't I make more of an effort to call him? I could've used the money from my work study job in the college financial aid office to buy calling cards. Instead, I used my paycheck to buy new Betsey Johnson dresses at that store on Newbury Street.

I'm a terrible sister. But John also hadn't made much of an effort, and his last letter, which came only a few weeks ago, said that he'd found a group of friends in London. I'd worried a little less about him after that. "I'm sorry about Mom and Dad," I say softly.

"I'm not." John's voice is flat and loud. It echoes against the pillars of the highway underpass, the one I walked through earlier that evening with Matteo. I shiver, recalling those hours with him. What would John think of Matteo?

"What happened between you, anyway?"

"I'll tell you when we get inside, out of the cold." He's wearing jeans, black boots, and a black wool coat. Also a black knit cap. Somehow it makes him look quite English and proper. Even his speech has adopted a twinge of British formality, mixing with his Maine accent.

"Okay." We continue in the darkness, the temperature seemingly dropping with each step. "It is freezing out here. Jeez Louise."

"Stop it. You don't need to be nervous around me. I'm your brother."

"Well, of course I'm nervous. I haven't seen you for years, there's some big rift between you, Mom and Dad, and then you show up out of the blue, in March. Why aren't you in school? Surely you haven't graduated. What's going on? And you look different, too. I'm worried about you."

"You're the only one," he says softly. "You've always loved me more than anyone, Evan."

We're about to step from of the shadows of the underpass when I notice a man approaching us. It's one of the punk guys I've seen working at the record store in Kenmore Square. He's got jet-black, spiky hair and is dressed in head-to-toe leather. Handsome, but he's never given me the time of day. Nor Kerri. And god knows she's tried to catch his attention.

I don't think he's a student. He's always aloof, except when you ask him about the latest release from Bauhaus. Only then does he show any emotion.

John moves closer to me, a gesture I assume is one of chivalrous protection. He's always been old fashioned like that, and since he's not a goth or a punk, I figure he's unnerved by the guy coming toward us. I'm obviously not scared, because, well, who would be? He's a skinny, pale punk guy in possession of excellent hair gel and great taste in music.

A sneer forms on my brother's face. John's always been more of a preppy type, and I brace myself for a smarmy comment. I'm sure he also doesn't like my choice of clothing, either. Also this explains his disdain for Kerri.

The spiky hair guy glances our way when he's about two feet from us, and for a fraction of a second, his eyes flash red. A thrill flows through me. Is he a vampire? How did I not know this after all these instances of running into him at the record store? Interesting.

I'm about to nod hello when my brother shoves me aside. I almost fall into a muddy, brown snowbank.

"What are you doing?" I stammer. "J-John?"

"Not tonight, fangs," he yells at the guy.

John's arm is extended, and he's gripping a silver cross that glints in the wan streetlight. A murderous expression clouds his normally placid face. What's gotten into him?

I gasp my brother's name.

"Stay back, Evan. I won't let this blood sucking vermin touch you."

The spiky hair guy stops, sneers, then spits on the ground in between he and my brother. His eyes are fully red now, much like Matteo's were earlier in the evening. Fear showers through my body. Yes, I want to be a vampire.

But not this way. Not out here, and not now, and definitely not with my brother present. Will the spiky hair guy attack us? How can I diffuse this situation?

What a fucking crazy night this has been.

John takes a step toward the guy, saying something in Latin. It's like a bad movie, what he's doing.

I've had enough. "For God's sakes, put that away," I snap at John.

"Listen to her," the guy says in a thick Boston accent. "She's way smarter than you are, buddy. She knows the score."

The guy snorts dismissively and turns. John shoves the cross back into his pocket and I take his arm, dragging him toward the pizza place a few blocks away.

"What the fuck was that, John? Why are you accosting random people? Even if he was a vampire, he's harmless. I see him all the time at the recor—"

John stops and grabs my upper arms. "Do not ever defend a vampire again. Not to me. You need to promise to stay away from him."

"Why? Let me go. What has gotten into you?" Like me, John is a half-vampire, half-human. He'd never been interested in our heritage, not like I had. Or so I thought.

"And your roommate. I need to know everything about her." His voice is a demand.

"What about her?" Now I'm cross, wishing he'd never come. This isn't the John I knew, the goofy kid who slipped me Stephen King paperbacks when I was in middle school.

"You want to know why Mom and Dad disowned me?" He shakes me by the arms.

"Stop, you're hurting me! What does Mom and Dad have to do with why you're flashing a cross at random people on the street?" His fingers dig into my shoulders, sending flash points of pain into my brain. I struggle against his grip, and then still when he violently yanks me toward him.

"Because it's my life's goal to kill as many vampires as possible, and Mom and Dad don't think that's a viable career choice for their first born."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Eek! A new twist. What are your thoughts on John?

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