Chapter One

I enter the house on cat's feet. No, scratch that. Rewind. Cats don't have feet, do they? Paws, right? So I enter the house on cat's paws. No, that's not right either, because I'm kind of just on my toes, not my whole feet, and who walks on their toes? Okay, I enter the house on ballerina's feet (there, that's better!) and quietly shut the door.

The home is silent and dim, but I don't reach for the lights. I don't have to. My vampire vision illuminates the scene in that old familiar yellow glow, as if candles flicker all around. They don't.

I take my time in the foyer getting my bearings, though I've been here literally hundreds of times before. Still, every time is different. The Academy makes sure of that.

The foyer is easy to inspect. It's about the size of a closet, no windows, just the front door and a neat little end table featuring a potted plant and glazed ceramic bowl with a house key inside.

I check it off mentally and move forward, creeping into the living room on my ballerina toes.

But show me the ballerina who skulks around in thick-soled black sneakers with matching socks, yoga pants, and hoodie, and I'll show you a dancer starring in a really, really off-Broadway Black Belt Swan.

The living room is straight out of the seventies with ugly boxy leather sofas the color of week-old peas and an orange recliner featuring a mushroom throw pillow that's seen better days. The detail is pretty amazing, down to the cheesy cork coasters and outdated, dusty LIFE magazines on the kidney-shaped coffee table.

But I'm not here for the nickel tour.

I'm here to do one thing a

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