“You know what they say,” Olivia said, bursting out laughing. “If you can’t join ’em...”
“Beat ’em!” Ivy grinned. She and Olivia bumped elbows.
“You twins are dangerous,” marveled Brendan.
“Olivia,” said Ivy, “I was just telling Bren about how the next phase of our plan is a go.”
“You mean Operation FANGED?” said Olivia. Her sister blinked cluelessly. “Friends Against Needlessly Going to Europe in December!” she clarified.
Ivy laughed.
“I actually think the acronym for what you just said is FANGTEID,” Brendan said skeptically, pronouncing it “fang-tide.” Olivia threw a napkin at his head, but he easily batted it away.
“So you asked if it was okay to have Alice over for dinner?” Olivia asked Ivy.
“Not exactly,” Ivy answered. She let her hair fall in front of her face, which Olivia knew meant she was trying to hide. “I told Dad that someone’s coming over as part of a final art project that you and I are working on.”
“What kind of art requires a waitress from the Meat & Greet?” asked Brendan dubiously.
“Performance art?” Ivy tried.
“The art of romance,” Olivia corrected, batting her eyelashes.
“Brendan,” said Ivy, pushing her hair out of her face, “do you want to be the waiter? You could wear the tux you wore to the All Hallows’ Ball. You looked drop-dead in it.”
Brendan frowned. “I can’t,” he said apologetically. “I promised Bethany I’d take her to see the HB.”
“What’s the HB?” asked Olivia.
Ivy glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one could overhear. “The Holiday Bat,” she whispered.
Olivia looked at her sister blankly.
“You know how human kids think Santa Claus magically comes down the chimney on Christmas Eve and leaves presents for them?” Ivy asked.
Olivia nodded.
“Well, we don’t have Santa. We have the HB.”
“One winter, a bat flew out of my parent’s chimney,” Olivia remembered. “My dad chased it out the door with a tennis racquet.”
“Hmm,” said Brendan, “I bet he got lousy Christmas presents that year.”
“Actually, I gave him a really nice tie,” Olivia protested.
“Does he ever wear it?” Brendan asked, raising his thick eyebrows meaningfully.
Come to think of it, thought Olivia, no, he doesn’t.
“Oh, stop it,” Ivy interrupted. “The HB is a myth.”
“Try telling Bethany that,” said Brendan. “She’s been begging me for weeks to take her to the mall so she can sit on the HB’s back and tell it what she wants for Christmas.”
“That is so cute!” cried Olivia. “I want to see the HB. It’ll be my first vampire Christmas.”
Ivy shushed her. “Can you lower your voice, or do you want us all to get staked?” she hissed. “And we’re not going to the HB,” she added. “We’re too old.”
Olivia started to protest, but Ivy said, “Olivia, we have much more important things to focus on right now. Like going to my house after school to prepare the romantic meal that’s going to save my life!”
“Don’t you worry about tonight,” Olivia said confidently. “Alice is so totally perfect. It’ll be love at first bite.”
Brendan chuckled, but Ivy still looked skeptical.
“I got the two of you together, didn’t I?” Olivia pointed out.
Brendan and Ivy looked at each other. “The bunny has a point,” he said.
Ivy stood at the kitchen counter, frantically flipping through her father’s Taste of the Night cookbook as Olivia peered over her shoulder. They had only a few hours before Alice arrived.
“How about ‘Tortellini with Red Sauce’?” Olivia suggested. “That sounds good.”
Ivy scanned the recipe and shook her head. “We don’t have goose blood.”
“Gross,” said Olivia under her breath.
Ivy spotted a recipe for rare beef lasagna and asked Olivia to look in the pantry for lasagna noodles.
“Ew!” Olivia cried after a moment. “There’s a box of powdered blood Jell-O in here!”
“That’s my dad’s favorite,” Ivy said. She spun around to look at her sister. “Do you think it’s fancy enough for dessert?”
“I know how to make a sweet cream topping from scratch,” Olivia offered. She came over and plopped a box of lasagna noodles on the counter.
“Perfect,” said Ivy. “Now all we need is an appetizer.”
“How about a soup?”
As Ivy flipped to the front of the cookbook, she remembered their conversation at the Meat & Greet the previous day. “Killer idea,” she said with a grin. “After all, we already have salt and pepper.”
An hour later, Ivy had just put the lasagna in the oven when she heard the front door open.
“Ivy,” her father called, “I’m home!”
“In the kitchen!” Ivy called back.
When he saw them, Mr. Vega dropped his briefcase with a thud. I can’t believe he’s still so shocked by the sight of Olivia, thought Ivy.
“What have you girls done to my kitchen?” he gasped.
“Hi, Mr. Vega,” Olivia said, awkwardly wiping her hands on her apron, leaving bright red stains.
Ivy surveyed the situation. The counter was covered in blood paste and flour, and there were dirty bowls and spoons and pans on every available surface. As if on cue, the pot of water on the stove boiled over with a hissing burst of steam.
Ivy gulped. “Olivia and I are working on our art project,” she said.
“This is your art project?” her dad demanded.
Ivy nodded. “We have to make something for someone else, so we’re making dinner.”
“Well, then, I’d better leave you two artists to your work,” he said tentatively, slowly turning on his heels to leave the kitchen.
Olivia cleared her throat. “Mr. Vega? It’s sort of supposed to be a special occasion, so you might want to dress up a little bit.”
“What kind of special—”
“See you in an hour!” Ivy interrupted, and before her dad could say anything else, she waved him out the door with the backs of her hands like she was shooing a bat.