Mallory choked. I thumped her, ever so helpfully, on the back.

"I'm on day two," I told him, and pulled out another bit of fried wanton heaven. "So far, it's been uneventful."

Famous last words, those.

We'd been eating about ten minutes when we heard glass shatter in the front of the house. Our heads snapped up at the sound. We stood simultaneously, but I motioned Mark and Mallory back down. Mallory's eyes widened, and I guessed what she'd seen: My blood hummed with adrenaline, and I knew my eyes had gone silver.

"Stay here," I told them, and walked across the kitchen. I flipped off the overhead light and moved into the unlit hallway. There were no other sounds in the house, and I didn't hear anything outside - cars revving, people screaming, sirens flaring. Carefully hugging the walls, I crept into the living room. The living room window - a picture window made up of a single sheet of glass - had been shattered from the outside in. A brick lay on the floor, wrapped in white paper, a breeze fluttering one corner of it. First things first, I thought, ignoring the missile to pick my way across the glass to the front door and check the peephole. The yard was empty and quiet. It was dark out, so theoretically our attackers could have been hiding in the shrubbery, but I knew no one was there. I could kind of . . . tell. There were no sounds, no smells, no indications that anyone had been near the house beyond the light, acrid scent of car exhaust. They'd driven by, done the deed, and moved on.

I went back to the brick, reached down to pick it up, and pulled away the band of paper. In scraggly black script, it read:

Think UR 2 good 4 us, Cadogan bitch?

Next time U die.

The threat was clear enough, and I guessed that I now qualified as the "Cadogan bitch." But "too good for us" stumped me. It sounded like a choice - like I'd chosen Cadogan out of the catalog of vampire Houses. It was profoundly untrue, and a good clue - the vandal didn't know me, at least not well enough to understand how inaccurate the statement really was. How little choice I'd had.

Mark's voice rang out. "Merit?"

I looked up, found them huddled in the doorway, and felt my chest tighten protectively. It took me a moment - a surprising one - to realize that the tingle in my limbs wasn't fear, but adrenaline. I beckoned them forward with a folded hand. "It's okay. You can come in. Just watch the glass."

Mallory stepped carefully into the room, tiptoed through the fragments. "Jesus. The window - what happened?"

"Holy crap," Mark agreed, surveying the damage.

Mallory looked up at me, eyes bright with fear. "What happened?"

I handed her the note. She read it, then met my gaze. "You're the bitch?"

I shrugged. "I assume so, but I don't understand the threat."

Mark walked to the door, opened it slowly, and looked outside. "Nothing else out here," he called out, "just some glass." He drew back in, his gaze moving between us. "You've got some plywood or something I could hang over the window?"

I looked to Mallory, who shrugged. "There might be something in the garage."

He nodded. "I'll go check. I'll be right back."

When the front door shut behind him, Mallory looked down at the note in her hands. "Do you think we should call the cops?"

"No," I told her, remembering my father's admonition. But an idea dawned. I took the note back from her and stuffed it into my pocket. "I think we should go to the House."