“Very funny,” the man said without a hint of a smile.
Ivy sighed with exasperation. Then she reached up and gently took out one of her contact lenses to reveal her natural bright-violet eye color. “Okay?” she demanded.
The man nodded grudgingly and Ivy heard a buzz come from the door. She rushed to put her contact lens back in and open the door before he changed his mind.
Inside, Ivy was surprised to find a mediumsized room packed with every conceivable item a vampire baby could want. There were utterly cute tiny black coffins lined up against one wall and paper mobiles with bats and moons hanging from the ceiling. Ivy’s heart nearly melted when she saw a little black onesie that said GOT BLOOD? on it.
“Can I help you?” asked a voice behind her.
Ivy turned to see a friendly-looking woman whose pale face was punctuated by a shock of bright red lipstick. She was sitting at a desk with a sign that said GIFT REGISTRY and looking at Ivy expectantly.
Ivy walked over to her. “I’m looking for the adoption agency,” she said.
“With a shirt like that,” the woman replied, “I don’t think any vamp in their right mind’s gonna adopt you, honey!”
Ivy must have looked upset, because the woman added, “Oh, I was just teasing. You must be Ivy Vega!”
Ivy nodded gratefully. At least she wasn’t going to have to convince another person that she belonged here, in spite of her bunny outfit. “But isn’t this the gift registry?” she asked.
“Gift registry, adoption agency, it’s all the same computer system,” the woman told her, knocking proudly on the flickering computer screen beside her. “We just need clearance from the central office in Transylvania.” She handed over a clipboard. “Now you fill out these forms, Ivy Vega, and we’ll see if we can’t take care of you.”
Ivy took a seat on a huge black rocking chair in the corner and started filling out the forms. Name. Date of birth. Adoptive parent. Birth mother. Ivy stopped and looked up. “What if I don’t know the answer to something?” she asked.
“Just do the best you can, honey,” the woman said kindly.
A few minutes later, Ivy handed back the forms. The woman flipped through them quickly. “Let me guess. You’re looking for your mom and dad.”
Ivy nodded hopefully.
“All righty!” the woman said cheerfully, and Ivy had the un-Ivylike urge to hug her. It must be the sparkles, she thought. They’ve gone to my head!
The lady picked up the phone and held it between one shoulder and her cheek, while she typed on her keyboard. “Yessiree!” she chirped into the phone after a moment. “Oh, that’s good news, Vlad, good news!” She put her hand over the handset and told Ivy, “I’m twenty-sixth in line to talk to an adoption supervisor in Transylvania!”
An hour and a half later, Ivy was still waiting. She’d overheard the woman behind the desk get approvals from no fewer than six different people in Transylvania, including one who had told her how to make a perfect hemoglobin soufflé.
Vampire bureaucracy is the worst! Ivy thought, slumped in the enormous rocking chair.
“Thanks again, Raj!” the woman said cheerily into the phone and finally hung up. “Ivy Vega,” she said, “I’ve got the necessary password and your answer’s on its way!”
Ivy looked at her skeptically, but the woman said, “I’m serious, honey. I have that little download progress thingie on my screen right now!”
Ivy leaped up, her heart suddenly racing. This is it! she thought. I’m finally going to find out who they were! Questions filled her mind as she paced the room: Are they still alive? Did they love each other? Were they outcasts because of their love? Why did they give us up?
The computer beeped loudly, and Ivy hurried over. “What does it say?” she asked breathlessly.
The woman tapped a few keys, then some more, and then a strange look of confusion spread over her face. “You sure your name’s Ivy Vega?” she asked.
“Of course!” said Ivy.
“Well, honey, I’m sorry, but you’re not in the system,” the woman said apologetically.
“What?” Ivy exclaimed.
“It says right here: ‘No record of an Ivy Vega.’ ”
“That can’t be right,” Ivy said, shaking her head emphatically. “There must be some record of my dad adopting me. Did you look under Charles Vega?”
The woman typed in the name, and her computer beeped again. “No, honey, no available records of a Charles Vega adopting a baby in the last four hundred years.”
“No records or no available records?” Ivy demanded. The woman stared at her blankly, and Ivy threw her arms in the air. “I mean, vamps are so secretive, who knows what they’re hiding over there in Transylvania?”
The woman sighed. “I know this must be like waking up in the wrong box for you, honey,” she said, “but there’s nothing I can do.” She jotted something on a scrap of paper and handed it to Ivy. “Here’s the general e-mail for central inquiries. You’re welcome to contact them yourself, and I’m sure you’ll hear back within four to six months. But, trust me, honey,” the woman said with a shrug, “you’re just not in the system.”
Ivy was tempted to argue, but she knew it was useless. “Thanks,” she said quietly, taking the e-mail address and heading out the door. As she passed through the bunny baby store, she couldn’t help thinking her father was right after all. “Look to the future,” he always said, “not back to the past.”
Especially because when I do look back, she thought, trudging into the street, I can’t seem to see a thing!
Chapter 8
Having looked everywhere else for Brendan’s book, Olivia kicked aside a pile of black clothes and crouched down to peer under Ivy’s bed. Pulling up the black velvet bed skirt, it took her a moment to realize the only thing under there was her sister’s shiny coffin.
She bolted upright. “Of course it’s not under there,” she said, rolling her eyes like Ivy might. Brendan just looked at her, frowning. She couldn’t tell whether he was amused, suspicious, or worried that his girlfriend had completely lost her mind.
Olivia peered around Ivy’s room desperately. It was a complete mess—the floor was so littered with black shoes and clothes that she could barely see the carpet; the bed was a nest of bags, pillows, and cosmetics; and Ivy’s desk looked like it had been hit by an avalanche of paper and CDs. Olivia had been looking for Brendan’s book for twenty minutes already.