Caitlín was waiting in the hallway outside the apartment. A mixture of feelings washed over me: love, relief, anger . . . I couldn’t put my finger on any one of them, simply noticing the confused tangle of emotions and trying to focus on the most important fact: Caitlín was OK. She was here. My younger sister was sitting like a tired sentinel on the worn carpet opposite the apartment door. Her head rested on her knees, long red hair a flame flowing down her legs. I often wondered why it was that both Sinéad and Caitlín had inherited Dad’s coloring, while I was the only one who had followed our mother. We all had the O’Neal pale skin but mine had always been more smooth and creamy, lacking the freckles that plagued my sisters every summer. Sometimes it struck me that I’d never seen a vampire with freckles, but I suppose that made sense – especially the older and more sun-sensitive they got. Caitlín raised her head. ‘Sis!’ I pushed aside all thoughts of Theo and dead kids; even the possibility of my own death if my Maker didn’t succeed in his task.
