SATURDAY, 8:05 P.M.

THE CROWD WITHIN the theater was made up of individuals of all ages, in all types of casual or formal wear. Sarah saw more than a few double takes from other men and women as the vampires presented their tickets and were escorted to their seats, and she was acutely aware of the image she, Kristopher, Nikolas and Kendra made as they cut through the crowd.

Sarah had never lacked confidence. She knew she was attractive, in a trendy blond kind of way. But no fine clothes or fancy hairstyle would ever make her match Kendra, who radiated poise and power and beauty from her golden hair—truly gold, like beaten metal—styled in loose curls, to the tips of her five-hundred-dollar shoes, or Nikolas and Kristopher, identical seraphim who bore no resemblance whatsoever to the poor country farmhands Nikolas had recently described them as.

Sarah knew she looked good enough on Kristopher’s arm to merit envy. The four of them together, however, turned heads in awe. Kendra, Nikolas and Kristopher were obviously used to the attention, but to Sarah it was a new and somewhat unsettling response. She had spent most of her life blending in and knowing that too much attention would get her killed.

Of course, too much attention here that night might still be the end. Had the hunters figured out where they were? Nikolas hadn’t told Michael what they were seeing, but Sarah tried not to underestimate her once kin.

She ended up sitting with Kristopher on her left, Nikolas on her right and Kendra on the opposite side of Nikolas—too close for comfort, still, but at least Kendra didn’t lean over to whisper things conspiratorially in Sarah’s ear like she did to Nikolas. It was almost hard to remember, with the head of their line looking radiant and excited for the show, that she had given tacit approval of Sarah’s death if it did occur that night.

It was too surreal to contemplate, so Sarah tried not to. As they settled in, she wondered instead why box seats were considered good seats. Could anyone without a vampire’s vision tell what was happening onstage from so far away? She flipped through the glossy color booklet Kendra had handed her, looking doubtfully at the strange costumes while the rest of the audience trickled in.

She waited too long to ask where and when the story took place. The lights dropped, and the music began. At first it seemed uncomfortably loud and jumbled. She struggled to make out what people were saying as they sang over each other. She made out enough of the opening song—“No One Mourns the Wicked”—to wonder what kind of “theme” the show had that Kendra thought she should appreciate. After all, Kendra had given a group of hunters permission to kill her tonight. Was this supposed to be a warning?

As the show continued, she felt like she alternated between frowning and suppressing a chuckle—but come the finale of the first act, she found herself sitting forward in her seat.

If her heart still needed to beat, she knew it would have been pounding at that moment.

She felt hands on her back and realized that Kristopher and Nikolas had both reached out to her. When she leaned back, Kristopher took her hand, and Nikolas left a comforting hand on her shoulder. The touch grounded her and reminded her where she was. She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch the characters in front of her anymore, but she could not block out the music.

Friendship, sisterhood, rebellion, betrayal. Was there a lesson she was supposed to learn here, or was she just supposed to feel like she had been kicked in the gut?

The first act ended, and Sarah stood, pulling away from Nikolas and Kristopher. She didn’t even want to look at Kendra.

“I have to get out of here for a bit,” she announced.

“Do you want—”

“I need some space,” she said, interrupting Kristopher.

“If you don’t want to watch the second act, we can go somewhere else,” Nikolas said.

Sarah shook her head. “I want to watch the end. I just need to be alone for a minute.”

“Be careful,” Kristopher warned, and she nodded.

She needed to compose herself, away from the comforting and critical gaze of Kendra’s lineage. She hadn’t decided yet whether she liked the show. All she knew was that it was too much for her right then.

Before she could take herself away from the theater, seeking silence and solitude, she sensed a familiar aura. It was mostly hidden, but Sarah never could have missed it. She knew that power too well.

Adia was alone. She had found her way to an unused dressing room, doubtless using the combination of power and guile she was so good at to bypass security as easily as Sarah did by appearing in the room without walking through the halls at all. Adia had obviously been waiting for Sarah.

There were tears in Adia’s eyes, though she still had enough Vida control to keep them from spilling down her face. Seeing them, Sarah felt her own throat tighten. She didn’t know what Adia wanted or expected. All she knew was that seeing her sister made her heart simultaneously jump in elation and constrict with fear.

“Hey, Little Sis,” Adia said with a sad smile. “I was hoping you would come say hi.”

“Hi,” Sarah said, uncertain how to proceed from there.

“Michael called us,” Adia said. “I made sure I was the one in the theater, since I knew you wouldn’t be stupid enough to walk outside. I just …” She drew a deep, shaking breath, and then suddenly the words were pouring out. “I wanted to see you. Needed to see you. Things suck without you, Sarah. I’ve been stuck in the safe house with a freaking Marinitch telepath. I just found out Zachary has been letting vamps snack on him in his free time. Dominique’s practically disappeared. I don’t think she can stand to even look at the rest of us. I want it to be over. I can get the others on my side, and force Dominique to drop her call for the Rights. I just …”

Her voice trailed off. Sarah stared at her, watching Adia as if her own reflection had suddenly lost control and started to weep. And Zachary! He couldn’t possibly—but then again, that was what enough people had probably said about Sarah. She couldn’t possibly be involved with a vampire.

Sarah wasn’t sure which one of them made the first move, but suddenly they were both walking, and then Sarah found herself wrapped in the tightest hug her sister had given her since the day their father died. Moments of physical affection had become rarer and briefer since then, more perfunctory if they occurred at all.

This was the kind of hug she had given Sarah that day, to try to get her to stop railing and screaming and destroying everything at hand.

“I love you, Sarah,” Adia said. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Before Sarah could question why, Adia shifted just enough, and Sarah felt the knife. It slid into her back under her shoulder blade and between her ribs with the perfection only a professional hunter could achieve, not even nicking the bones to hamper its progress.

“I’m sorry,” Adia said one more time. “But I gave my word. And even if the rest of the world goes to hell, a Vida’s word to her kin needs to be …”

The words were choked off.

“Bye, Sarah.”