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rope for a refined vampire who
escorts a young, giggling pirate girl up with him.
    “Angel,” I say, watching the girl’s
bright aura dance against the nothingness coming from the man’s trim body.
    “Vampire?” Tarren asks.
    I nod.
    “That wasn’t Cartwright,” Gabe
says.
    The three of us ponder.
    Tarren’s expression is hard. “Too
many unknowns. Too many risks.”
    Classic Tarren move – when the
situation changes, pull out and re-assess.
    But Gabe doesn’t play by those
rules, not when innocent lives are on the line. On cue, he shakes his head.  “No
time. Angel-vamp is going to suck that girl dry if we don’t stop him. Who knows
how many other wings we’ve got up there? They could all be using this party as
their own personal buffet.”
    The decision was made the moment an
innocent life was at stake. If Tarren was at this party alone, I have no doubt
he’s already be leaping over the velvet rope, storming the stairs with guns
blazing. But he’s got us to think about, and Tarren will always hesitate,
always tarry to keep us safe. We are his Achilles heel, which is why I have to
convince my brother what he already knows.
    “We’ve got to go now, Tarren,” I
say, “or those lives are on us.”
    Our eyes meet. He’s too good at
controlling his aura, keeping it tight around his tall frame without any
flickers of emotion. “We need to be careful,” is all he says to betray his
unease.
    “Step one, distract the guards,” Gabe
says. “I can tell them a fight’s breaking out on the dance floor.”
    “They’ll call it in,” Tarren
responds. He nods to the center room where other goons lurk in the crowd. “Four
roaming security personnel.”
    “Okay, got another plan,” Gabe
responds.
    “I’ve got a better one,” I tell
him.
    Gabe scoffs. “My plans are the
best. Four out of five crime fighters prefer Gabe’s plans over the leading
competition.”
    “You,” I stare at him, “bring the jeep
up. We’ll probably need a quick exit.” I look at Tarren. “You come with me. Act
drunk.”
    Gabe gives me a sour face. “Batman
doesn’t drive the getaway car.”
    I ignore him and pull my top lower
as I stumble out from behind the pillar and let out a high, squealing laugh.
Tarren walks beside me and tries to smile. “Let me do all the talking,” I
murmur, because, let’s be honest, a piece of plywood could give Tarren a run
for his money when it comes to acting. My brothers were homeschooled by our mother,
Diana, between her angel-killing missions, but if they’d gone to real school, I
have no doubt that sulky, miniature Tarren would have been assigned “tree,”
“bush,” or “guy on bus reading paper,” in every school play.
    “Hey there, hellloooo!” I call to
the goons and hiccup. “Are you guys, dressed like…like…CIA agents, or something?
Cause it looks really good. Really good!”
    Troll Number One’s mouth twitches
in a smile he quickly squelches.
    “Sorry Miss, you’re not allowed up
here.”
    “No, no, no.” I lean in close to
Troll Number One as if whispering a secret. “Some vampire guy, he told us to go
upstairs. That ah, Tucker, Tucker Cartwright, he like...wants to see me and
him.” I jerk my head toward Tarren. “We’re a, uh…brother and sister act, if you
know what I mean…at least we are for Tucker Cartwright.” I laugh again.
    Troll Number Two brings his phone
up.
    “Noooooooo.” I place my hand on his
arm. “It’s a surprise for Tucker. We’re a present. Right?” I hiccup and look at
Tarren.
    “Yes, a surprise,” Tarren says
softly.
    “And what about him?” Troll Number
One points a beefy finger behind us. I don’t even have to turn around. The feel
of Gabe’s aura is as distinct as every other part of him. “Mr. Cartwright has a
type.”
    “That vampire dude paid me $500. Said
Mr. Cartwright likes it when people watch and he has a…” Gabe lowers his voice
and tilts between us, “…a certain childhood Batman fetish. It’s $500,