![]() ![]() ![]() “Sunshine, remember? Makes vampires go poof?” Simon couldn’t believe his voice wasn’t shaking. “You going to let me out of here, or what?” she asked. Simon looked down to realize he had taken the dagger into his hand. Presumably you want to keep it that way.” “You want to be careful with that thing, Daylighter,” she said. It had never occurred to Simon that the vampire would be his age, or at least look it. “And then there were two,” the girl said, and smirked. She was, in other words, exactly Simon’s type-except for the fangs glinting in his flashlight beam and the inhuman speed with which she streaked across the room and kicked Jon Cartwright in the head. Her brown hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, her glasses were dark pink and horn-rimmed vintage, and her T-shirt featured a bloody, crimson-shirted Star Trek officer and read, LIVE FAST, DIE RED. The girl who melted out of the shadows looked to be about his age. And the picture was enough to make him want to bolt for the door, slip through it into the daylight, and keep running until he was back home, doors locked, safely under the bed, where he’d once hidden from imaginary monsters. Simon had seen enough horror movies to get the picture. ![]() His eyes were riveted on a spot just over Simon’s shoulder. His hand floundered at his belt, fingers stretching for the seraph blade but coming nowhere near it. Jon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper. ![]()
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