Aunt Rebecca was the only family they had on their mom’s side – their mom’s twin.
Thinking about her mom always made Ivy sad. She had been a non-vampire and their dad, with his Transylvanian vampire heritage, had risked everything to marry her. But she’d died during childbirth and Mr Vega had cut off all contact with the human side of the family, thinking it would be for the best. Ivy and Olivia had only recently found out about their aunt, but they’d already visited her several times. The outdoors didn’t even make Ivy want to break out in hives any more. Plus, the horses had stopped running away every time she was around. Ivy was actually starting to love the place.
Olivia fanned her toes. ‘I still don’t know why it was so important for me to stay over tonight. Do you think it was because of the dinner with Lillian?’
‘I don’t think so. Dad probably would have preferred us not to be around for that.’ Ivy pulled open the lid of her coffin and climbed inside. It was a top-of-the-line Interna 3 and she loved the feel of the soft red velvet beneath her toes. Olivia pulled back her pink comforter and climbed into bed. She rested her head on the pillows with the pink lace trim and reached to adjust the ribbon that was tied in a big bow on the headboard. Her bed couldn’t have been more different to Ivy’s coffin.
‘Then why tonight, of all nights?’
Ivy stretched her legs and snuggled into the cushioned velour. ‘Maybe we’ll find out in the morning.’ If I can sleep, Ivy added in her head. What on earth is my dad planning?
Olivia yawned. Her ponytail was lopped sideways on top of her head and the sheets were tangled in a heap at her feet. There had been a noise at the door. Had she heard a knock?
Knock, knock!
There it was again. She peeked over the edge of her bed. Ivy’s coffin was still sealed shut. Their bedroom door creaked open and Olivia heard the shuffle of feet as the edge of a brass tray came into view. A brass tray? The only serving options Olivia had seen at the Vegas’ house were those cushioned trays used for TV dinners. She quickly tried to flatten her hair into something presentable.
The figure of a hulking man dressed in a full morning suit appeared in the open doorway. It’s Horatio! Olivia thought, stunned. Horatio was her grandparents’ butler. The Lazars were Transylvanian nobility. But what was he doing in Franklin Grove?
Olivia blinked. There was only one explanation. She had to be dreaming. Olivia pulled the sheets up to her chin and burrowed back beneath the covers.
A hand tapped Olivia’s shoulder and her eyes snapped open. ‘Madam?’
‘Oh my goodness!’ she shrieked.
The bulky Horatio leaped back and two glasses tipped over, spilling orange juice and blood-orange juice all over his neatly pressed suit.
‘Oops.’ Olivia’s cheeks burned. ‘I didn’t mean to. I thought you were a dream.’ She was about to ask Horatio what he was doing there when Ivy’s coffin swung open, whacking poor Horatio so that he stumbled back into the wall behind him.
Ivy jolted out of her coffin like a vampire in a bad horror flick. ‘What’s going on?’ She spotted the butler. ‘What are you doing here?’ Ivy rubbed her eyes with her fists.
Cautiously, Horatio placed the brass platter on the edge of Olivia’s bed and handed Ivy a half-full glass of blood-orange juice and Olivia the remains of the regular orange juice.
‘Thanks.’ Olivia took a sip.
The butler rubbed the spot where he had been struck with Ivy’s hard coffin-lid. ‘Surprise!’ he managed to choke out, like he’d been saving it up for the right moment. Olivia got the feeling that his breakfast treat had not gone as planned.
‘Surprise!’ Two more voices echoed from the doorway. Olivia almost spilled the orange juice again. There at Ivy’s bedroom door were their grandparents, the Count and Countess Lazar.
‘Oh my darkness,’ exclaimed Ivy, clambering out of her coffin. ‘What are you doing here?’
It was as if Transylvania had been transplanted directly into the Vega household. Olivia beamed. The Count and Countess swept into the room, and immediately Olivia felt underdressed in her polka-dotted flannel pyjamas. Her grandmother was wearing a black fitted corset top and a long, full skirt that dusted the floor as she floated along, arm-in-arm with their grandfather. The Count wore a crimson velvet jacket with ruffled sleeves peeking out of the cuffs of his blazer.
‘We just flew in!’ The Countess pulled Olivia into a tight hug. Now Olivia knew why it had been so important to have a sleepover last night. My bio-dad is way too good at keeping secrets! Olivia’s heart swelled and she had the sudden desire to wrap her whole family into one, giant group hug.
‘Tell me,’ whispered the Count to Ivy. ‘What is the pizza situation like here?’
Ivy winked. ‘There’s always plenty in the freezer just waiting to be heated,’ she assured him. The Count liked to keep a stock of pizza handy.
Olivia noticed their dad, dressed in a quilted-satin dressing gown, looking on from behind his parents. ‘So this is why I just had to sleep over!’ she cried.
‘Well, I could hardly let you miss out on a wake up like this.’ He folded his arms, smiling.
Horatio, who had recovered his composure, stood stiffly off to the side. ‘I would like to cordially invite you to the dining room.’ He gestured for the family to follow and then led everyone in a line out of Ivy’s bedroom.
In the dining room, the mahogany table had been covered by a fine silk tablecloth. Olivia’s mouth watered at the yummy scents coming from a dozen platters. With a flourish, Horatio removed the sterling silver domes that covered the food.
‘Bon appétit!’ he said.
Olivia’s eyes widened. A breakfast feast was laid out for the family, complete with blood sausage for the vampires and veggie sausage for Olivia. There were scones and buttered rolls and a mountain of scrambled eggs. Horatio had only been in the house for five minutes. Had he brought the food all the way from Transylvania?
‘This looks deadly,’ said Ivy, spooning a sausage patty on to her plate.
Olivia felt like she was getting the royal treatment as Horatio draped a linen napkin over her lap. ‘What brings you to Franklin Grove?’ she asked her grandparents, stealing a scone for her plate.
‘You girls, of course.’ Grandma smacked her lips thoughtfully. ‘We want to spend some time with you, doing . . . well, whatever you normally do.’