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found her in the third bedroom, the one being decorated by Goth Girl. Whose real name was Vermillion, although come to think of it, I wasn’t sure that actually counted as a real name. I was pretty sure she hadn’t been born with it, and heaven knows where she’d left her last name.
    Jessica was sitting on the very edge of a black-and-red sofa shaped like an open coffin, and she and Vermillion were sipping tea out of black Wedgwood cups. At least I hoped it was tea. A black Wedgwood plate containing black cookies with red sprinkles on them sat on the coffee table, which had been formed by placing a thick rectangle of black glass on the wing tips of two black-painted faux stone gargoyles. Vermillion had added a few small touches to meet the requirement that the designers decorate their rooms for Christmas—but the sprigs of holly around the windows had been painted glossy black, to match the walls, and her Christmas wreath was made of thorns.
    Jessica and Vermillion weren’t actually having much of a conversation. Vermillion was staring over her teacup at Jessica, who was gazing around the room with a deep frown on her face, as if daring the various bats, spiders, and gargoyles to come alive and attack her.
    â€œThere you are,” I said. “Ready to continue the tour?”
    Jessica leaped up without a word, slammed her teacup down on the coffee table, and ran out of the room.
    I winced at the clink of delicate china on glass.
    â€œSorry,” I said to Vermillion. “She didn’t break anything, did she?”
    â€œNo.” Vermillion was holding the teacup close to her eyes to inspect it. “But I don’t think she likes my room much.”
    Obviously the proper response was to reassure her that Jessica was nuts and the room was beautiful, but I didn’t think I could sell that one. And I wasn’t sure if she’d be pleased with Michael’s comment that if he ever directed a production of Dracula at the college he’d ask her to design the set.
    â€œI think people are either going to love it or hate it,” I said finally. “I guess we know where Jessica stands.”
    Vermillion smiled slightly at that, so I guess it must have been the right thing to say. And come to think of it, maybe shocking non-Goths was partly what she was after. She was only in her twenties. Ten or fifteen years ago I’d done much the same thing. Not turning Goth, of course, but doing things just to shock my more conservative relatives and neighbors. Some of my choices in wardrobe and boyfriends still came back to haunt me when we pulled out the family photo albums at reunions, but at least one of my rebellious decisions had turned out pretty well if you asked me: the decision to apprentice myself to a blacksmith instead of going to grad school as expected.
    I went back into the hall and found Jessica gripping the railing that divided the upper hallway from Mother’s great room below.
    â€œHorrible,” she was muttering. “My—oh, my God. That room. That poor room. Look what she’s doing to it.”
    She was almost in tears.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at Mother’s room as if pretending to think Jessica was talking about that. Mother had gone in for a cozy, homey Victorian style, with overstuffed tufted red-velvet sofas and chairs, a lot of dark carved wood, and blue-and-white china. It wasn’t my taste, but it was handsome.
    â€œNot the living room,” she said. “That’s okay. Rather nice really. But the bedroom—Morticia or Elvira or whoever she is has painted the walls glossy black. It’s hideous.”
    â€œWe’ll be painting them a normal color when the show’s over,” I said. “Along with the blood-red walls in the master bedroom.”
    â€œIt was a perfectly nice, normal bedroom,” she said. “And now it’s like something out of a horror movie.”
    â€œNot my