Dead silence in a funeral home was only a good sign if it was coming from one of their downstairs guests.
“Larissa?” Ginny called, pushing open the door.
She stopped short as soon as her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
There was her stepmother, her prize-winning figure outlined beneath the sheets. One arm dangled off the bed, an empty bottle of Stolichniya within reaching distance. Ginny squinted into the darkness, trying to discern Larissa’s back moving up and down in a typical breathing pattern, but couldn’t tell for sure. Abandoning the hallway, she moved into the room slowly, her fingers laced together beneath her chin. “Larissa?”
“She’ll be fine.”
Ginny spun around with a bloodcurdling scream trapped in her throat. She’d never be able to say for sure why she didn’t release it, but suspected it had something to do with the smirking moon-haired young woman looking back at her. Quite possibly, she was too fascinated to scream. Who was this person and what was she doing in Coney Island, let alone Larissa’s room? In her leather pants, blood red boots and studded bustier, she appeared to have stepped out of a futuristic eighties movie. And she was holding the missing kitchen knife in her hand.
Am I still sleeping?
Perhaps Ginny was having one continuously long dream about vampires and…whatever this woman was. It had been an extremely bizarre twelve hours.
Maybe none of it was real.
Maybe the person who’d tried to kill her had partially succeeded and this was one big insane dream brought on by a terrible fever. She might be surrounded by nurses in the Intensive Care Unit right this very second.
“You are saying all of this out loud,” said the woman, her voice faintly accented with Russian. “I swear you are awake. But I could pinch you, if you’d like to confirm this?”
“No, thanks.” Oh God, was this the person who’d been causing her to look over her shoulder? Had this intruder killed Larissa first so there would be no witnesses? Was Ginny going to die without even finding out why someone wanted her six feet under in the first place? “Is my stepmother dead?”
Two bright blonde eyebrows pulled together. “Were you listening? I just said she would be fine.”
“Then…why are you holding a knife?”
“I’m sharpening it for you. Mine is made of the finest silver.” She lifted the knife, regarding the blade with disgust. “You think I could even break the skin with a blade this dull?” With that, Moonhair slipped another, larger knife from the small of her back and began striking and dragging the two blades together, setting off sparks in the dark room. “You’re welcome.”
Ginny gaped. “You’re making the knife sharper so my death will be swifter? And you want me to thank you for it?”
Moonhair didn’t bother looking up from her task. “I am not here to kill, even though it would much more interesting. Unfortunately, I am here to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?” Ginny twisted around briefly to find Larissa’s upper half now sagging off the bed. “What did you do to her?”
“A little conk.” She used the flat of the blade to tap herself in the middle of the forehead. “Right here. Lights out.”
The woman handed Ginny back her sharpened kitchen knife and she had no choice but to take it, bolstered by the fact that, if nothing else, she’d have an easier time chopping carrots now. “Does you being here have anything to do with Jonas?”
“Yes.” Moonhair leaned back against the wall, regarding Ginny with smug speculation. “So you are the one, hmm?”
“The one…?”
“The one making the prince tear out his perfect hair.”
“The prince?”
“I refer to Jonas, obviously.”
“Oh.” Ginny scoffed to hide her smile. “Was he…talking about me or something?”
Moonhair let out a throaty laugh. “It goes both ways, I see. This can only end in disaster.” She shrugged. “At least it will be entertaining.”
“Why did you call him a prince?”
“Among his kind, he is something of a…reluctant leader, one could say.” She studied the tip of her blade with a sniff. “He has morals and principles and things of that nature. I can’t stand him, really.”
This conversation was completely insane and Ginny had no choice but to keep having it. This woman knew Jonas. Having the barest connection to him, even in the form of this potentially murderous woman, replenished her lungs with oxygen. It meant he was real. “What’s your name?”
“Roksana.” She gave a sarcastic curtsey. “At your service.”
An abrupt snore from Larissa almost sent Ginny skyrocketing through the roof. Under Roksana’s sharp regard, she pressed a hand over her racing heart and waited for it to slow back down to a normal tempo. “Can we go somewhere else and talk?” She shifted on her feet. “I’m feeling a little guilty discussing anything other than my stepmother’s possible concussion when she’s right behind me.”