"Shit. Shit. Shit."

I fling the covers off my bed. It's nine-forty five in the morning, which means I've overslept. My brother will be here in fifteen minutes, and something tells me he won't be cool if I'm late.

While grabbing my pink plastic shower caddy filled with makeup, Aussie shampoo, Noxzema cold cream, Sea Breeze toner and my toothbrush and toothpaste, I notice that Kerri's not in the room. Oh, right, it's Sunday, which means she's working a shift as a lab tech at the blood bank.

She works at odd hours, testing the blood for AIDS and other viruses. Since she's at the lab with only one or two other people, she's able to feed without anyone noticing. Apparently she ducks into a supply closet to drink while transporting the bags of blood from one room to another.

I'd hoped to talk to her about John last night, but she'd been fast asleep when I got back to the room. And then I'd crashed, exhausted from, well, everything.

My head is still jammed with thoughts while I yank my robe off a hanger and head to the shared bathrooms. Next year when I'm in medical school, I'll have a room to myself, with a bathroom. This sharing crap definitely sucks.

Fortunately, there's no one in any of the shower stalls, and I'm in and out in five minutes. Back in my room, I scrape back my hair into a wet ponytail, then peek outside. It looks cold, gray, and unforgiving. There's no way I should go out with wet hair, but the digital clock is ticking toward ten.

"Screw it," I mutter, twisting my damp hair into a bun and slipping on a black hat. It goes with the rest of my outfit: Docs, leggings, a miniskirt, a turtleneck, a sweater, and then finally, my wool coat. All black, of course.

I don't bother with makeup but do wind a scarlet-colored scarf around my neck before I stomp out of the room. I'm not a morning person, something Mom says I need to work on before medical school.

Ugh, I'd hoped to get up early so I could call Mom and ask her about John. Last night seems like a dream, from my frenzied, hot time with Matteo to the random appearance of my brother. I'm not great with change, which is why I've lived in the same dorm for four years. The events of the past twelve hours have left me feeling deeply unsettled, which is why my stomach feels like I'm digesting ground glass as I step into the lobby.

Which is empty.

I peek outside. Sure enough, it's freezing, one of those bright sunny days that draws the breath out of your lungs because it's so ice-cold. There's no one at the front of the building except that girl on the fifth floor who dresses in pajamas all the time. She's smoking a cigarette and nods at me.

"Hey, did you see a tall guy, brown hair?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I've smoked two cigarettes and haven't seen anyone."

"Thanks," I mumble, and head back in.

I make my way over to the front desk and spot a familiar face. It's Jasinda, a friendly sophomore who lives on three. She sets down her thick textbook and greets me with a kind smile, and I do the same.

"Has anyone come in asking for me? I'm supposed to meet someone."

"Oh, yes!" She shuffles some papers around. "I was called in at three in the morning because the overnight person was sick. So I'm doing a double. Around four a guy came in with a note for you. Here."

She hands me a torn slip of paper and I nearly gasp when I read the message, written in the most formal cursive I've ever read.

Brunch at my place? Come by when you can, I'll be inside all day. 31 Chestnut Street, Beacon Hill — Matteo

"Oh my God," I whisper. An electric current runs through me as I trace his words with my thumb.

"Girl, that man who left that note was fine. A little too pale for my taste, but damn. He took out this wild pen. Like a real fountain pen, and spent what seemed like two minutes writing that note."

My heartbeat thunders in my ears. I look up at Jasinda and stammer several ums and ahhs. "You saw him?"

She shoots me a salacious grin. "I sure did. He came in here with a gust of wind like something out of a movie. Kinda scared the crap out of me, but he was so polite and hot I couldn't help but ogle him a little. If that's your boyfriend, sorry about that."

"Eh. Not my boyfriend," I say slowly. It's too early for all this intrigue. "But no one else came in this morning for me?"

"Nope. It's been real slow. Everyone must've gotten good and drunk last night, because the entire dorm's been pretty quiet."

I mumble a thanks and sink into one of the chairs on the far side of the room. It's not like my brother to be late, but clearly John's changed since the last time I saw him. Also, Boston traffic is pretty hellish so he could've been held up if he's taking a cab.

I stare at Matteo's note, reading and re-reading every word.

Brunch seems so...adult. Old-fashioned, even. No one I know eats brunch; I just scarf down cereal at the cafeteria or if I'm feeling really ambitious, drag Kerri and trek across the city to the vintage South Street Diner, which is like something out of a 1950s movie. She drinks only coffee because she doesn't enjoy most food (she's really into sushi, go figure), but I love their Boston crème pancakes and their hash browns.

Ugh, that's exactly what I want right now. Diner food. My stomach rumbles, and I wish John would get here.

The moments tick past and I continue to analyze the note. If I didn't have plans with my brother, would I go to Matteo's house?

Come by when you can. I'll be inside all day.

Of course he will, because he's a vampire and it's glaringly sunny and bright out. I had been under the impression that vampires couldn't exist in the sun, but Kerri says it's just more uncomfortable, like a raging hangover, for most.

I stand up and begin to pace the obby.

"Girl, no man is worth waiting this long," Jasinda calls out.

I sigh and wander over to her desk. "It's my brother."

"Still. If he can't be on time, he's not worth yours."

The clock on the wall says ten-thirty. The memory of my brother's hard, angry face last night pops into my head. Then his parting words.

I want to talk to you about joining me when you graduate. I think my group could really use someone with your talents and mind.

My gaze goes again to the clock on the wall, then to the handwritten note I'm clutching. My fingers are so sweaty that it's made the ink on the paper bleed in one corner.

"Listen, I'm going around the block to the convenience store for some coffee. I'll be back in ten minutes. If my brother comes, his name is John. You want anything?" I need to work off some of this nervous energy and wake up with a vat of caffeine.

Jasinda shakes her head. "I'll make sure your brother stays put."

Outside, the cold slaps me in the face. I hurry to the store, and fill the biggest Styrofoam cup with black, nasty coffee, then dump a ton of sugar inside.

The whole excursion takes me about ten minutes, and I'm out of breath when I walk back into the dorm, hoping to see my brother waiting for me.

Jasinda shakes her head. "Haven't seen a soul."

I attempt to sip from my cup but the coffee's way too scalding for that.

"Well, if John shows up, tell him I went to brunch."

Jasinda grins. "Should I give him the address on that note? 31 Chestnut Street is an awful nice neighborhood."

I let out a nervous laugh. "Definitely not. Just tell him I'm sorry I missed him."

"You got it."

Feeling a little out of control, I head out and walk to Beacon Street so I can hail a cab. It doesn't take long, and I'm practically shaking as we hurtle down Storrow Drive. What in the hell am I doing? I don't even have a speck of makeup on and probably look like crap.

I tell the cabbie to let me out at Charles and Chestnut so I can walk a few blocks and gather my thoughts. My pace is slow as I make my way down the street lined with cherry trees and historic brick buildings.

Despite all of my layers of clothing, most of my body is chilly, except my hand, which is fused to my warm coffee cup. A lock of damp hair has escaped my hat, and it's now frozen and hard.

What am I going to say to Matteo? What will we walk about? Will we even talk? Does a vampire know how to make brunch? A thousand questions race through my mind as I approach the address.

And then, there it is, on my left. It's a stately brownstone, with black shutters, a black door, and stark white Grecian columns. It's a classic Greek revival home, probably built in the early 1800s (I know this since I took a local architectural history class as an elective two years ago).

Should I keep walking past? Turn around and go to the library? Catch another cab and eat breakfast alone at the diner?

My teeth begin to chatter, either from nerves or the cold. Probably nerves. No, I've come all this way, and Matteo is the one person who can give me what I want. Plus, I feel almost as if the house is pulling me toward it, a flame to my moth. The draw is too strong, and I make up my mind.

I take the eight steps to the door slowly, then am startled when I realize that this hasn't been split into condos; it's an entire house. There's only one buzzer on a brass-plated sign that reads "Damiano Barbieri."

Weird. I wonder who that is. A friend or a relative, I assume. I stab at the button, feeling woozy from the anticipation.

The door swings open. Matteo's standing there, all intense, piercing eyes. He's wearing a loose, white shirt with the top few buttons undone, and black leather pants. His black hair looks freshly washed, and slicked back.

"Hi, I got your note," I blurt. Brilliant opening.

He squints into the sun pouring onto his face, and moves back, opening the door wider. "Evangeline. You came. I'm so pleased. Please, come inside, it's far too cold out there, and I don't want you getting sick."

Against my better judgement, I step inside, into the darkness of the home.