“Just one picture,” Honey pleaded. “With fangs, please?”

Trixie grinned, but fingered the plastic teeth in the pocket of her robe. Cape? Something billowy, at least, with a hood. And, because Honey was the best seamstress ever, pockets.

“We’re going to be late,” she warned.

“We have plenty of time,” Di said mildly, smoothing her hair before flipping up her hood. “Besides, we need to get pictures before we go, because there’s a good chance Mart will have food all over his costume by the time we get back.”

“Hey!” Mart protested, brushing his hood back from his eyes. “I resent the implication that I’m incapable of—”

“Mart!” Di giggled. “You have ketchup on your face already!”

“It’s not ketchup,” he protested. “It’s blood.” When Honey wrinkled her nose, he amended his statement. “No, I mean, it is ketchup. But it’s supposed to be blood. Because we’re vampires.”

“Dude,” Dan said, slipping his artificial elongated teeth into place, “a real vampire doesn’t advertise.”

Mart glared at his best friend but accepted the tissue Honey offered him. “It’s probably for the best,” he agreed reluctantly as he wiped the bright red condiment from his face. With a sheepish grin he admitted, “It was making me hungry.”

“Can you believe we came home from college for this?” Jim asked Brian, nudging the dark-haired vampire beside him.

Brian grinned, posing with his arm around Honey. “Yes,” he said cheerfully, giving Honey a gentle squeeze. Honey blushed even though she and Brian had been dating for several months.

“You guys spend more weekends in Sleepyside than you do in dorm,” Di reminded Jim. “Something tells me you don’t need much of an excuse to make the trip.”

It was Trixie’s turn to flush. She and Jim weren’t dating, not exactly. Well, they were, but... She jumped when Dan, standing directly behind her, placed his chin on her shoulder.

“No need to worry,” he teased. “I’ll only take a little blood.” His artificial tooth grazed her collarbone, and she shivered at the tickling sensation.

“That’s perfect!” Honey exclaimed. “Quick! Someone get a picture!”

The rest of the Bob-Whites crowded in, forming a cluster of black-robed, fangy vampires. Trixie fumbled for the cell phone in her pocket, but Dan’s hands on her hips and the bodies crowded around her made it impossible. She gave up, knowing that her short arms probably couldn’t get the right distance for a group selfie anyway. Mart constantly teased her about giving her a selfie stick for her birthday, but she almost wished that he would. As if by magic, Ms. Trask swept into the room, a vintage Hasselblad hanging from a strap around her neck. She snapped photos of the group in various poses, and then steered them toward the door.

“Now remember,” she cautioned. “It’s Halloween, and—”

“And we’ll keep a sharp eye out for any lingering trick-or-treaters,” Brian promised soberly. “They should all be home by now, but there might be a few stragglers.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Ms. Trask said, eyes twinkling. “What I was going to say is that it’s Halloween. And what better time for a monster to come out than when it can blend in with all the monster costumes?” With a wink, she closed the door behind them, leaving them in the dark October night.

Trixie shivered as the wind rustled the bare branches of the trees and hurried to the BWG station wagon with her friends. She fully supported Tad Webster’s idea for the Hawks to hold a Halloween fundraiser geared at teenagers too old for trick-or-treating, but she was starting to regret the costume component of the party. The Bob-Whites had elected to reprise the costumes they’d worn at Di’s ill-fated Halloween party, but with a twist. Instead of identical BWG jackets and masks, all seven of the Bob-Whites had donned capes and fangs. With their hoods up, Trixie had just as much trouble telling her friends apart as when they’d hoped to confuse Di’s fake Uncle Monty with matching masks. The overall effect was disconcerting, and Trixie laughed nervously as someone jostled her when they reached the station wagon. After the mad scramble for seats, Trixie found herself in the back row, sandwiched between two other vampires. With Brian and Jim away at college in New York, she’d forgotten how crowded the station wagon could feel when all the Bob-Whites were home. It also felt strange to have someone other than Dan or Mart at the wheel. Not that she could tell whether it was Jim or Brian who was driving. She frowned as she studied the back of the raised hood of the driver. Before she could figure it out, they turned onto Tad’s street.

“Gosh,” she said when they came to a stop in front of a well-tended house. “It’s not much bigger than Crabapple Farm. Where are they going to fit everyone?”

Jim’s muffled voice floated to the back of the station wagon. “This is nothing. You should see the fraternity parties at...” His voice trailed off sheepishly. “Well.”

Before Trixie could process the idea that Jim Frayne, the Jim Frayne that was so honourable that he refused to ask her to commit to an exclusive relationship while he was away at school, was familiar with frat parties, the other Bob-Whites had spilled out of the station wagon. Trixie giggled, wild college parties forgotten, as Mart tripped over his own robe. As the middle passenger in the middle row, he’d chosen the wrong side to exit and had to scramble when somebody—Di, maybe?—let the door swing shut behind her.

“Thanks,” Trixie said, smiling at the vampire who held the door and offered his arm so that she wouldn’t suffer Mart’s fate. All the male Bob-Whites were gentlemen, though her brothers usually saved the door opening for girls other than their sister. Dan, the most likely candidate to be the vampire helping her pick her way up the dark driveway, waited gallantly while she still managed to lose her footing on the crumbling stones of the path leading to the house.

“Hurry up!” Honey urged, taking her other arm and propelling her toward the door. “If we’re not careful we’ll miss the costume judging!”

Trixie snorted, but allowed her best friend to tug her along. “You know Jane Morgan is going to win with her...” she paused, searching for the right word. “Witch costume?” she finally guessed. Jane had been dropping hints about her costume all week on social media. The strategic photos indicated that the costume, whatever it was supposed to be, was more likely to have been assembled at Victoria’s Secret than the costume department at Crimper’s.

Honey’s lips twitched. “If Tad was judging the costumes, you’d be right,” she admitted. “But don’t you remember? The Sleepyside Sun is sending a reporter to take pictures and Principal Stratton is helping with the judging.”

“Then the only thing Jane will be winning is possible detention,” Trixie surmised, her enthusiasm restored. “I forgot about the Sun,” she admitted. “It feels kind of funny to be at a fundraiser that we didn’t organize.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Honey gushed, tugging open the screen door. The heavy wood interior door was propped open despite the cool night to dispel the heat of the crowded home. “I think it’s simply lovely that the Hawks and the Spare Hands have taken a real interest in raising money for charity.”

It was wonderful, Trixie knew. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t feel a little strange, too.

“Oh, look at the daffodils!” Honey gushed. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Trixie followed Honey’s gaze to a group of three girls dressed in costumes that varied only by colour. “No,” she breathed, and tugged Honey’s arm to lead her away.

“What?” Honey questioned, looking back over her shoulder.

“Those are the same as the costumes from,” her voice dropped and she shivered involuntarily, “my third-grade play.”

Honey stared at her blankly.

“The one where I—” She waved her hands dramatically.

“Oh! The one where you—” Honey mimicked Trixie’s gesture. “Fell off the stage?” She whispered.

“Those girls were the daffodils who didn’t fall,” Trixie said, scowling.

Honey tucked her arm through Trixie’s. “You’re being silly,” she scolded. “You’re more scared of the daffodils than you are of,” she looked around the room and pointed to a lone figure, “the werewolf!”

Trixie’s eyes widened. “Of course I am! The werewolf didn’t point and laugh when I fell off the stage!”

“Hey! You made it!” Tad Webster, the werewolf in question, slung an arm around each of the girls.

“Of course we did!” Honey said, twisting both to see him and to slide out from under his arm. Trixie smothered a smile at the smooth manoeuvre, impressed with her friend’s ability to deal politely with Sleepyside Junior Senior High School’s most relentless flirt.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” he told them, dodging as a skeleton and a black cat tried to squeeze around them. “And the costume judging is starting right away. And right after that is the movie.” His voice lowered. “You ladies can feel free to save me a seat.”

“Sure, we will,” Trixie agreed, beaming. “Right between Mart and Dan.”

Tad clutched his heart. “You wound me!”

“Definitely beside Mart,” Trixie informed him, laughing as he staged even more theatrical despair.

“You must have really sold a lot of tickets,” Honey said admiringly, looking around the crowded house.

Tad smiled proudly. “Enough to fund the purchase of a PlayStation for the children’s ward at the Sleepyside Hospital.”

“Really?” Trixie looked over the crowd again and realized that between ticket sales and the 50/50 draw, it was entirely possible. “That’s awesome!”

“It looks like the photographer is setting up,” Tad said, looking over Trixie’s shoulder. “Don’t forget to enter the costume contest. I bet you win for most people in the group costume category!” he called over his shoulder as he headed toward the Sun’s photographer.

“What we lack in creativity, we make up for in quantity,” Mart intoned, appearing as if by magic. He had a drink in one hand, and a plate piled high with sweet treats in the other.

“Don’t be ridic,” Trixie scolded, sneaking a bat-shaped sugar cookie from his plate. “Vampires never go out of style!”

“Mart,” Honey giggled, pointing to a spot on his robe, “didn’t you tell Di you wouldn’t get food on your costume?”

Mart flushed guiltily and dusted his robe. “What Di doesn’t know won’t—”

“Say, isn’t that Di?” Trixie asked, narrowing her eyes as she tried to identify the vampire in the living room. “Talking to—” Her eyes widened. “Uh oh! I think Di might have gotten her vampires confused.”

Mart, Honey, and Trixie watched in frozen silence as Di pressed close to a vampire and reached up to kiss his cheek.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mart muttered, and thrust his plate at Honey before shoving his way through the crowd.

Trixie and Honey burst into laughter at the expression on Di’s face as Mart reached them. “I didn’t know vampires could blush,” Honey said, wiping her eyes.

“Brian is full of surprises,” Trixie snickered.

“That was Brian?” Honey squeaked. “I thought it was Jim!”

“Definitely Brian,” Trixie confirmed. “Look at how irritated Mart is. If it were Jim or Dan he’d have just laughed it off.”

Sure enough, Mart had his hands on his hips and was staring down his older brother. “Oh, good grief,” Honey sighed, and handed Mart’s plate to Trixie before she left to join them. “This is ridiculous!”

Snickering, Trixie helped herself to a piece of pumpkin-flavoured fudge from Mart’s plate and looked around for the remaining Bob-Whites. This was the stuff memories were made of, after all, and it would be a shame if any of them missed it. She spotted a tall vampire heading her way, a small patch of visible hair identifying him as Jim.

“So, Di confused Mart and Brian? I thought it would be Honey,” Jim speculated, handing Trixie a glass of orange punch and gallantly taking Mart’s plate from her.

“I’m changing my mind on these costumes,” Trixie decided. “Best idea ever!”

“Should we go referee?” Jim wondered, but she shook her head.

“Mart’s just giving them a hard time. I give him another thirty seconds before he’s laughing about it. And Honey doesn’t have a jealous bone in her body. Di will be embarrassed for a while, but since Mart will be the most attentive boyfriend ever for the rest of the night, she’ll get over it.”

“And Brian?” Jim inquired, amused by Trixie’s analysis of the situation.

Trixie studied the situation. Honey was firmly tucked under Brian’s arm and Mart’s ire was already visibly abating. Di was still flustered, but her embarrassment was turning to amusement. “Brian’s already deciding how he’s going to tell the story at Mart and Di’s wedding reception. This material is golden!”

Jim snorted. “Isn’t that the truth!”

“Well, we did end up with a pretty good story the last time we all dressed up the same for Halloween,” Trixie reminded him. “It only makes sense that the same would happen this time, right?”

Groaning, Jim shook his head. “As long as we don’t have to solve the mystery of an imposter.”

“I think we’re safe,” she said, and hoped that he couldn’t hear the disappointment in her voice. From the sideways glance he shot her, she was fairly certain that wasn’t the case. “Hey, did Tad tell you what movie they’re showing later? It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“It’s supposed to be scary, I think,” Jim said, scanning the rest of the party.

Trixie frowned at his absent tone. He’d seemed eager to come back to Sleepyside for the Halloween fundraiser, but she had to wonder if the high school crowd now made him uncomfortable. When she followed his line of sight, though, she joined him in a slack-jawed stare.

“Wow,” she finally said, mesmerized. “Jane Morgan knows how to push the boundaries, doesn’t she?”

“I can’t tell what she’s supposed to be.” Jim cocked his head to the side. “But I’m pretty sure the tassels are unnecessary.”

Trixie burst into laughter as Tad Webster bolted across the room, crashing into several costumed guests before he reached Jane’s side. She hoped the slathering drool on his face pooling at the corner of his mouth was part of his werewolf costume, but she wasn’t holding her breath. “Geez,” Trixie said. “Honey was right. It’s a good thing Tad isn’t judging the costume competition!”

“Speaking of which... I think they’re getting started,” Jim said, pointing to crowd forming in the living room.

“Perfect!” Trixie waved at Honey, motioning for the other four Bob-Whites to join them. “Now we just need to find—” She caught a flutter of a black robe and reached out to snag the vampire’s arm. “This way,” she called, tugging both vampires with her. “The costume judging is starting!”

She tried to propel them to a good vantage point but making her way through the crowd felt like swimming through molasses. And if she didn’t know better, she’d think that at least one of the two vampires she was towing wasn’t even trying!

“Did you see all the categories?” Dan asked, squeezing between her and Jim as a headless horseman, complete with pumpkin head, hurried past them. “I bet almost everyone here wins a prize.”

“Except the daffodils,” Di teased as she, Honey, Brian, and Mart joined them. “I’m sure they won’t win a thing,” she assured Trixie.

“Maybe most traumatizing costume,” Trixie allowed, shivering.

“Right. That award certainly shouldn’t go to the clown with the artificial tears,” Honey agreed solemnly.

“Where?” Mart demanded. “Where’s the clown?” He stumbled backward, treading on Trixie’s foot.

“Watch it, you big oaf,” she muttered, hopping on one foot while she rubbed the other. Listing dangerously, she latched on to the arm of another vampire and glared at her brother.

“Oh, look at the couple dressed as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!” Di exclaimed, ducking around Brian to get a better look. “Isn’t that sweet?”

They watched as individuals, couples, and small groups took turns being photographed, marvelling at the creativity of the costumes.

“The group dressed as the solar system is really neat,” Dan said.

“Yes,” Mart agreed, “but how did they decide how many people to have in the group? One day Pluto is a planet, the next it isn’t...”

Di shrugged. “Does it matter? Their costumes look great!”

“And the more the merrier, right?” Honey linked arms with the vampires on either side of her, only to be jostled apart as a Frankenstein monster broke their ranks.

“Last call for costume competition entries!” Tad announced, shouting to be heard over the din of the crowd. “And don’t forget to look in the paper to see the names and pictures of the winners!”

“We better take our turn,” Trixie said, and motioned for her friends to follow her. “And quit staring at the girl in the white bunny costume!” she scolded, grabbing Mart’s arm and tugging him along with her.

“Hey!” Mart protested from a few feet away, pointing to his chest. “I’m over here!”

“Whoops!” she apologized sheepishly. “I thought I had everyone figured out.”

“Over here,” the photographer directed, motioning for the Bob-Whites to take centre stage. “You might be the largest group yet. Let’s put the taller ones in the back.”

“That puts you in the front, Trixie,” Mart teased. He gave his sister a small push, placing her at the front and centre of the group.

“Trixie?” The photographer frowned, and then narrowed his eyes. “Trixie Belden?” He shook his head. “I ought to have known not to take a high school assignment,” he muttered. “And I could swear there are more of you than ever. Everywhere I look I’m seeing vampires tonight!”

Taken aback, Trixie stared at the photographer. She was used to irritating people, but usually she at least had an inkling of what she’d done to cause it. “Paul?” she questioned, finally putting two and two together. “Paul Trent? I didn’t realize you were still with the Sun.”

He pressed his lips together. “Let’s get this finished. Everybody ready?”

“Hey! Wait!” Trixie protested. “Jim isn’t even in the picture!” Reaching out, she grabbed the hooded arm of the vampire on the fringe of the group.

“I’m right here!” Jim protested, but the Bob-Whites had already formed a tight group for the photo, and Trixie couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from.

“Fangs out, everyone!” Di called.

With wide-mouthed smiles to expose the fangs, the BWGs chorused “Happy Halloween!” and listened to the click of the camera shutter.

“Did you get all of us?” Trixie demanded, hoping that he would take another picture or two, just to make sure. “You didn’t cut off anyone’s head, did you?”

She hadn’t known it was possible for someone to ignore her loudly, but Paul Trent certainly managed it. He snapped the lens cap on the camera and stomped away, not looking at any of them.

“Geez, I hope we really were the last group,” Trixie muttered.

“Don’t worry about him,” Honey soothed. “He’s just sore because you still sniff out better stories than he does.”

“And you come from a high school with a winning football team,” Dan reminded her.

“That’s true,” Trixie said, brightening as she remembered the previous week’s game. Brian and Jim hadn’t been home, and Honey had stayed home to do homework, but she’d enjoyed watching the game with Mart and Di and Dan. Especially Dan. She flushed, remembering how he’d loaned her his leather jacket when the temperatures had dipped and she’d started shivering. And even though she’d been plenty warm with the jacket she hadn’t protested when he’d put his arm around her. His aftershave had smelled awfully good, after all.

“I think the movie’s starting,” Brian warned, watching as people started making their way downstairs.

“Gleeps! We’d better hurry,” Trixie said, and joined the crowd. The crowd bottle-necked at the stairs and separated the group, but she pressed on, hoping to find spots for all of them. The basement, however, was just as crowded. Tad had cleared out all the furniture except for the television, but there was still barely enough room to accommodate all the guests.

“Over here!” she called, finding some open space against a wall. She waved her friends over, but Tad dimmed the lights until they were no more than an eerie glow and started the movie. The crowd cheered, and Trixie lost sight of her friends.

“There you are!” Trixie exclaimed when a vampire grasped her elbow. “Where are the others?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she sat down, tugging him with her. “Who am I kidding? This is a madhouse!” A boy in a Pillsbury Doughboy costume plopped down next to her, forcing them to scoot closer together, and she gave up trying to find the rest of the Bob-Whites.

“Ooh!” she whispered, leaning close to him and tucking her legs to the side. “I love this movie! It’s a classic.” She settled back against the wall, squirming as the unforgiving surface dug into her shoulder blades. “And don’t even start with the ‘I vant to suck your blood’ nonsense—everyone thinks it’s from this movie but it totally isn’t.”

Satisfied, Trixie squirmed into a more comfortable position, making a token effort not to kick the Doughboy. She wasn’t sure she succeeded, but his costume was mostly fluff, so she figured she hadn’t hurt him too badly. The Bob-Whites had teased her over the years for her enjoyment of old movies. How ironic was it they that were all finally watching one together? Well, sort of together. If by together she meant that she was with only one of the Bob-Whites, and that she wasn’t even completely sure which one it was.

And asking felt like admitting defeat.

It wasn’t either of the girls, Trixie knew. This vampire was taller and sturdier than either Di or Honey. Also not Mart, as he’d yet to speak. Mart was the one Bob-White she could count on to talk through a movie. Continuously. Not even always about the movie. Not Brian, either, she decided. There was something about the way the vampire held himself that told suggested he was definitely not a blood relative. Brian wouldn’t allow anyone besides Honey into his personal space, especially not his sister. And from the amount of talking she’d been doing, she had to assume that her own identity was obvious.

It had to be either Jim or Dan.

Neither of whom would mind her invading their personal space.

She stilled, suddenly aware of how closely they were pressed together. Beside her, the vampire froze, too, as if waiting to see what she would do.

It was either Jim or Dan, she reminded herself. And she had no problem with either of them invading her personal space.

It was just that they were in public, and both of them were here. Somewhere. That had been the deal. Both Jim and Dan had wanted to date her, and she had feelings for both of them. In a decision that she suspected would one day backfire spectacularly, the three of them had agreed that Jim and Dan would both date Trixie, and that neither couple would ever flaunt their affection in front of the other.

Was it flaunting if the room was so dark that she could barely see the people around her?

A witch tried to walk past them, stumbling when her high heels punctured a hole in the Pillsbury Doughboy costume of the person beside Trixie. In slow motion, the witch flailed her arms, trying to keep her balance. She took another faltering step and the Pillsbury Doughboy yelped, the witch’s heels evidently puncturing more than just costume. He tried to scramble out of the way, but there wasn’t anywhere to go. His outward flung arm clipped the witch’s leg, and she tumbled to land on top of him. Trixie braced herself, expecting at least one flailing limb to make contact with her. Instead, she found herself facing away from the commotion, her back pressed to Dan’s (or was it Jim’s?) chest, his body between her and the scuffle ensuing between the two people trying to right themselves.

Eyes wide, she twisted her head, both to check on the carnage of the colliding guests and to see her rescuer’s face.

“How did you move us so quickly?” she whispered. She’d barely even felt the movement.

He shrugged, settling himself against the wall with her back still firmly tucked against his chest. She ought to move, she knew. This was definitely starting to fall under the “flaunting” category. But his chest was a lot more comfortable to lean against than the wall was. And if he didn’t mind... She was the impulsive one, after all. It was Jim and Dan who kept the three of them on the straight and narrow, navigating their unorthodox relationships. If he was okay with it, she wouldn’t worry about it.

Settling into a comfortable position, she allowed her head to tip back and rest on his collar bone. Jim had what she liked to call the perfect spot. There was an area on his chest, right by his shoulder, that seemed to draw her like a magnet. She shifted, trying to find the spot, but the way they were crowded together made it difficult to manoeuvre. Or maybe it wasn’t Jim at all, and there was no spot to find. She twisted to see his face, but his hood obscured almost everything except his nose. Chagrined, Trixie was forced to admit that she wasn’t a good enough detective to tell the difference between Jim and Dan with only a nose to go by.

Eyes, she told herself, and had to resist the urge to smack her head. Why would she look at his nose when she could easily identify him by the colour of his eyes? Sometimes she honestly wondered how she’d solved as many mysteries as she had. But when her eyes met his, she realized that the poor lighting made it impossible to determine the difference between green and brown eyes. Her gaze lingered as she searched for anything that would identify him, but she came up empty.

Giving up, she turned back to the movie. As soon as the lights came on she’d determine the vampire’s identity, she promised herself. On screen, Bela Lugosi stalked his beautiful blonde victim. Trixie waited with bated breath as he exposed the unblemished skin of her neck. Behind her, the Dan/Jim vampire brushed the hood of her cape aside and trailed a finger past her ear, down her throat. She started to roll her eyes at the way he was taking advantage of the situation by mimicking the movie, but then he held her firmly in place by grasping each of her shoulders, and blew a tiny puff of air on her neck.

She hadn’t known her skin was that sensitive. Or that his insistent grip on her shoulders would give her a thrill of anticipation. The puff of air was followed by a press of lips, and her eyes fluttered closed. Flustered by the strength of her reaction, she squirmed, only to freeze when the gentle press of lips was replaced by a scrape of teeth. The momentary sting disappeared as his lips closed over the scratch, applying insistent pressure. He was going to leave her with a love bite, she thought faintly, but it was hard to care when what he was doing felt so good. She sighed, relaxing into his arms and giving him full access to her neck. This, she thought, giving herself over to the heady pleasure, might turn out to be the best Halloween ever.

“Trixie!”

She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bright lights in the basement. On the television the movie credits rolled, and Trixie realized she’d missed the end of the show.

“There you are! Gleeps, what did you do? Fall asleep on the Doughboy?” Mart shook his head, as if disappointed in her. “The poor guy is trapped!”

Trixie’s face flamed as she realized she had, indeed, fallen asleep on the cushiony costume of the Pillsbury Doughboy. She scrambled to her feet, her head swimming at the sudden motion. “Sorry,” she said, but the boy in the white fluffy costume waved her apology away.

“This costume is all air,” he confided. “I couldn’t even feel you.” He struggled to his feet awkwardly, and waddled away, trying not to bump into anyone.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” Trixie marvelled. “And why did—” She turned to confront the Jim/Dan vampire, but the spot on the wall he’d occupied was empty. “That’s odd. Where did he go?”

“Where did who go? Here’s Brian and Honey coming toward us, and Di is upstairs using the restroom. We never did find Dan or Jim, though I heard Jane Morgan—”

“You heard she cornered me and you didn’t come rescue me?” Dan approached them from across the room. “Some friend you are! I think her costume might have had suction cups.” He shuddered. “Sorry, Trix. I tried to find you, but by the time I escaped it was too dark.”

“No problem,” Trixie managed, digesting the information. It must have been Jim with her, then. But where was he?

“I would much rather have watched the movie with you,” he promised, delivering a sly wink that made Trixie reconsider. Was he pulling some sort of ruse? Had it really been him, and he’d only left at the very end of the movie?

The group drifted toward the staircase, Trixie trailing behind. She surreptitiously scanned the basement, feeling as if the vampire she’d spent the movie with must still be there, but her group contained the only people in black robes. How had he disappeared so quickly? She grasped the railing when she wobbled on the second step of the staircase, surprised at how light-headed she still felt. With each step she took, more little black dots swam in front of her eyes. By the time she made it to the top of the stairs, she had to grip the railing with a painfully tight grasp while the room swam in and out of focus.

“Whoa!” From behind, Dan supported her back, making sure she didn’t tumble backward down the stairs. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Trixie protested, out of breath, but Dan kept his arm around her shoulder and moved to her side as soon as they reached the top. He frowned, taking in her pale face.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Before she could protest being fussed over, he steered her toward the door. Leaning in so close that his lips tickled her ear, he whispered, “I could always carry you,” and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Trixie laughed nervously, her neck tingling from his breath. Her balance returned as they walked, and by the time they reached the front door all she felt was fatigue. Which was odd considering she’d slept through part of the movie...

“I see Jim and Diana at the car,” Honey called. “Yoohoo!” She waved, catching their attention.

Trixie blinked, the two robed figures at the car blurring and melting into three, and then back to two. She’d solve the identity of her vampire another day, she decided as Jim opened the car door for her, his normally handsome features obscured by his hood and almost indiscernible in the moonlight. A day when no one was wearing a costume!

“Trixie! Trixie!!” Bobby Belden wailed, breaking the stillness of the early morning.

Trixie muffled a groan into her pillow.

“Hush, Bobby,” she heard her mother scold. “You know Trixie is still sleeping.”

Even half asleep, Trixie could hear the worry in her mother’s tone. Reluctantly she sat up, her limbs heavy and aching.

“But she’s always sleeping. And she promised!” Bobby protested, his voice rising with outrage.

“Promised what, sweetheart?”

But Bobby wasn’t interested in being calmed. “She promised!” he repeated, his tone equal parts anger and pout.

Giving up the idea of getting any more sleep, Trixie threw off her patchwork quilt and shrugged into the fluffy robe her mother had thoughtfully left at the foot of her bed. She’d been so cold lately...

“Trixie!” Bobby complained when she entered the kitchen and sank into her spot at the kitchen table.

“Yes?” she asked, staring blankly at the plate of waffles her mother pushed in front of her. She liked waffles. Why didn’t she want to eat them?

“Trixie, you promised.”

She poured syrup on the waffles and watched as it filled the square depressions and spilled over the edges onto the plate.

Bobby scraped his chair closer to hers. “You promised that if you were ever going to have an eighth Bob-White, it would be me.”

Trixie tilted her head to the side, still tracking the path of the syrup. “I did,” she agreed.

“Then what’s this?” Bobby shoved the morning edition of the Sleepyside Sun at her, nearly spilling his glass of orange juice.

“Oh!” she said, mildly interested in the full colour photo spread. “The results of the costume competition!” She scanned the pictures, looking to see if the Bob-Whites had been included. It wasn’t likely, not with Paul Trent covering the event, but maybe...

“There!” Bobby pointed to a picture that did, indeed, feature the Bob-Whites.

“Look!” Trixie exclaimed, feeling a spark of interest for the first time in the past few days. “We won for most people in identical costumes!”

“See?” Bobby pouted. “Most people!”

She stared at him blankly.

“Most people!” he repeated. “All eight of you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bobby,” Trixie chided. “You know there are only seven Bob-Whites.”

“I can count,” her told her indignantly. “Can you?”

Trying to hide the roll of her eyes, Trixie dutifully studied the picture. “One, two, three, four,” she pointed as she counted, slowing. “Five, six, seven... eight?” She frowned. “That’s not right.”

“I know!” Bobby wailed. “I’m supposed to be the eighth Bob-White!”

“No, I mean there are only seven of us.” She counted again, this time trying to identify each vampire.

“That one’s Mart,” her mother said, pointing. “He has a cookie in his hand. And I think that’s Brian beside him. Or is it Jim?” She paused. “Let’s not tell Brian I couldn’t place him.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s Brian on the end,” Trixie offered. “Beside Honey.”

“Then which one is Dan?”

Trixie rubbed her eyes. “I can’t tell who’s who,” she admitted, and took a sip of orange juice. She grimaced at the flavour—everything tasted funny lately.

“The costumes do make it hard to tell you apart,” Mrs. Belden said, wiping a spill by Bobby’s plate.

“It’s the hoods,” Trixie decided. “They cover too much of our faces.” But they’d been in such a hurry taking pictures, surely at least one of their hoods was slightly askew, showing a bit of hair. She took a closer look at the picture, this time searching only for facial features instead of considering the height of the vampires.

“I’m pretty sure this is Di,” she said, pointing to a vampire with a lock of long dark hair peeking out from under her hood. “And that’s Honey’s smile. I’m in the front, and...” She squinted. “That’s Jim’s chin,” she decided, tapping the photograph. “And, gosh, I’d know Dan’s eyebrows anywhere. But this one...” She tilted her head, hoping a different angle would shed light on his identity. The longer she stared at the picture, however, the more she realized that were no defining characteristics to study. In fact, she couldn’t even make out a face. It was as if the cape and hood covered an invisible man.

Or a man who couldn’t be seen in a photograph...

Her neck throbbed and she scratched absently at the sore that had kept her awake half the night, every night.

“Hey!” Bobby yelled. “You’re getting ketchup everywhere. Why do you have ketchup? Is it to put on your waffles? I want ketchup on my waffles!”

Trixie pulled her hand away from her neck to find it sticky with blood. She paled at the sight, her heart thumping uncomfortably fast. She could feel a thin trail of blood trickling down her neck, and her vision swam.

“Go lie down, dear,” Mrs. Belden instructed, her forehead creased in concern. “You look feverish. Maybe you’ll feel better after a rest.”

But Trixie knew that she wouldn’t feel better after a rest. Because a rest wouldn’t change the fact that when Bobby had mentioned blood, she hadn’t been horrified.

She’d been hungry.