LITMIR.BIZ

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just as I have the bright white triangle of his shirt front in my scope, something unbelievable happens: A bright bloom of cherry red appears exactly where I’ve been aiming.

      Except I haven’t pulled the trigger.

      And his kind doesn’t bleed.

      “What’s that, Sebastian?” Lila shimmies up to him to ask.

      “Dammit! Somebody”—and I see Sebastian raise his stunned cerulean gaze from the scarlet stain on his shirt to Lila’s face—“shot me.”

      It’s true. Someone has shot him.

      Only it wasn’t me.

      And that’s not all that doesn’t make sense. He’s bleeding.

      Except that’s not possible.

      Not knowing what else to do, I duck behind a nearby pillar, pressing the Vixen to my chest. I need to regroup, figure out my next move. Because none of this can really be happening. I couldn’t have been wrong about him. I did the research. It all makes sense … the fact that he’s here in Manhattan … the fact that he went after my best friend, of all people … Lila’s dazed expression … everything.

      Everything except what just happened.

      And I had just stood there, staring. I had had a perfect shot, and I’d blown it.

      Or had I? If he’s bleeding, then that must mean he’s human. Doesn’t it?

      Except if he’s human, and he’s just been shot in the chest, why is he still standing?

      Oh God.

      The worst of it is … he saw me. I’m almost sure I felt that reptilian gaze pass over me. What will he do now? Will he come after me? If he does, it’s all my own fault. Mom told me never to do this. She always said a hunter never goes out alone. Why didn’t I listen? What was I thinking?

      That’s the problem, of course. I hadn’t been thinking at all. I’d let my emotions get the better of me. I couldn’t let what happened to Mom happen to Lila.

      And now I’m going to pay for it.

      Just like Mom.

      Crouching in agony, I try not to imagine what Dad’s going to do when the New York City police ring our doorbell at four in the morning and ask him to come to the morgue to ID his only daughter’s body. My throat will be gouged open, and who knows what other atrocities will be done to my broken body. All because I didn’t stay home tonight to work on my paper for Mrs. Gregory’s fourth-period U.S. History class (topic: the temperance movement in antebellum Civil War America, two thousand words, double-spaced, due Monday), like I was supposed to.

      The music changes. I hear Lila squeal, “Where are you going?”

      Oh God. He’s coming.

      And he wants me to know that he’s coming. He’s playing with me now … just like his father played with Mom, before he … well, did what he did to her.

      Then I hear a strange sound—a sort of whoosh—followed by another “Dammit!”

       What is happening?

      “Sebastian.” Lila’s voice sounds bemused. “Someone is shooting ketchup at you!”

      What? Did she just say … ketchup?

      And then, as I carefully turn to try to get a look past the pillar to see what Lila is talking about, I see him.

      Not Sebastian. His shooter.

      And I can hardly believe my eyes.

      What’s he doing here?

       Adam

      IT’S ALL TED’S FAULT. He’s the one who said we should follow them on their date.

      I was like, “Why?”

      “‘Cause the dude’s trouble, man,” Ted said.

      Except there’s no way Ted could have known that. Drake had basically turned up from out of nowhere outside Lila’s Park Avenue apartment building just the night before. Ted had never even met him. How could he know anything about the guy? Anything at all?

      But when I mentioned this, Ted said, “Dude, have you looked at him?”

      I have to admit, the T Man has a point. I mean, the guy looks like he walked straight out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog or something. You can’t trust a guy who’s that, well, perfect.

      Still, I’m not down with following other guys around. It’s not cool. Even if, like Ted said, it was just to make sure Lila didn’t get into trouble. I know Lila is Ted’s lady—ex-lady now, thanks to Drake.

      And okay, she’s never been the shiniest fork in the drawer.

      But following her on this date with the dude she’s hooked up with? That just seemed like a bigger waste of time than—well, that two thousand-word, double-spaced essay I’ve got due in Mrs. Gregory’s U.S. History class on Monday.

      Then Ted had to go and suggest I bring the Beretta 9mm.

      The thing is, even though it’s just a water pistol, toy guns that look as real as that are illegal in Manhattan.

      So I haven’t really had an opportunity to use mine much. Which Ted knows.

      And is probably why he kept going on about how freaking hilarious it would be if we soaked the guy. Because he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist.

      The ketchup was my idea.

      And, yeah, it is pretty juvenile.

      But what the hell else am I going to do on a Friday night? It beats a U.S. History paper.

      Anyway, I told the T Man I guessed I’d be down with his plan. So long as I was the one who got to do the shooting. Which was fine with Ted.

      “I just gotta know, man,” he’d said, shaking his head.

      “Know what?”

      “What this Sebastian dude’s got,” he said, “that I don’t.”

      I could’ve told him, of course. I mean, it’s pretty obvious to anyone who freaking looks at Drake what he’s got that Ted doesn’t. Ted’s a decent-looking guy and all, but Abercrombie material he is not.

      Still, I didn’t say anything. Because the T Man was really hurtin’ over this one. And I could sort of understand why. Lila’s just one of those girls, you know? All big brown eyes and big, well, other parts, too.

      But I won’t go there on account of my sister, Veronica, who says I need to stop thinking of women as sex objects and start thinking of them as future partners in the inevitable struggle to survive in postapocalyptic America (which Veronica’s writing her senior thesis on because she feels the apocalypse is going to occur sometime in the next decade, due to the country’s current state of religious fanaticism and environmental recklessness, both of which were present at the fall of Rome and various other societies that no longer exist).

      So that’s how me and the T Man ended up at Swig—fortunately, Ted’s uncle Vinnie is their liquor distributor, which is how we got in, and without having to go through the metal detector like everybody else—shooting ketchup at Sebastian Drake with my Beretta 9mm water pistol. I know I was supposed to be home doing that paper for Mrs. Gregory, but a guy’s got to have some fun, right?

      And it was fun to see those red stains spurting all over the guy’s chest. The T Man was actually laughing for the first time since Lila sent him that text message during lunch, telling him that he was on his own for the prom, because she was going with Drake.

      Everything

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