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in a Fleetwood Mac CD and carried my sketchbook over to the bed. I inherited my dad’s CD collection after he died along with his love for seventies rock. It was one of the few things Nate and I had in common – our taste in music – and he even borrowed it on occasion. I shook off my regret as I flipped open the sketchbook to a clean page. If it wasn’t for this whole secret life thing I had going on, my uncle and I might have been a lot closer than we were.
    I thought about the boggies, summoning an image of the tiny boggie infant I’d held in my arms. My pencil flew over the paper as I tried to capture his likeness. I drew him in my hands because that was my clearest picture of him, the moment he opened his mouth and bawled for the first time. When I was finished, I smiled at the drawing of the little creature, his squashed face scrunched up unhappily and his tiny mouth open in a silent cry. I was no da Vinci but my sketches weren’t half bad. It wasn’t like I shared them with anyone anyway.
    A tapping at one of the windows drew my attention away from my sketch and I ran over to open the window to admit a large black crow. He cawed and flapped around the room a few times before landing on my outstretched hand.
    “Harper, it’s about time you came home,” I scolded him, stroking the soft feathers at the back of his neck. He’d been gone for two days and I was worried he’d gotten into trouble. Technically, he didn’t live with us but he liked to hang out here, especially on the roof. He had kind of adopted me after I saved him from Scott but he still liked to go off and do his own thing.
    “If you’re hungry, there’s food in your dish,” I told him when he shifted restlessly, a cue that he wanted a treat. I wasn’t surprised when he left my hand and flew out the window headed for the roof. More than once I’d suspected he understood me when I talked to him. I read that crows very intelligent and Harper had gotten a good dose of my power when I’d healed him. Who knew what other affects it had on animals?
    I left the window open for him and sat down at my laptop to check out the online activity. Today was the second time I’d used troll bile to purchase medicine for Remy and I was paranoid as hell that someone would trace it back to me and especially to Remy. It was the main reason I dealt only with Malloy. For all his crafty ways, Malloy was very discreet about his business. In his line of work he had to be if he didn’t want to end up gutted in an alley.
    The message boards were busy. There was no mention of troll bile but another thread caught my eye – one about vampire activity in Portland. Vampires were the most common topic discussed on the boards and there were always tons of posts about vampire sightings though it was pretty easy to distinguish the real deal from the hype. I’d never seen a vampire but I knew plenty about them, mostly learned from Remy, and my education had taught me that Hollywood and fiction writers have absolutely no clue.
    Vampires usually keep to large cities where their hunting can be camouflaged by the higher crime rate. They live in covens and like to hunt in small packs and, while they are mostly active at night, mature vamps can handle exposure to daylight as long as it is not direct sunlight and not for long periods. Younger vamps, those less than a hundred years old, not strong enough to withstand even a minute of daylight. Most vamps, young and old, wouldn’t risk the chance of meeting the sun so they stay hidden during the day.
    And there are no solitary vamps wandering the earth with tortured souls waiting to be saved by true love. Vampires are pure evil and their only redeeming quality is that they can be killed with the right weapons. Unfortunately, if a human gets close enough to see a vampire in the flesh, chances are they will not survive to talk about it.
    The posting about Portland caught my attention because Portland was a little over an hour from New