One rainy day, six teenagers (along with some recording equipment) were sent out into the wilds of the Pacific Northwest. Their mission: to combat the paranormal while still making a multi-million dollar grossing feature film. They have yet to return. . . .

Day Three 2:01 p.m.

The group split up to investigate more efficiently. Or at least that's what M said. Grant and Blair had wandered off into the woods surrounding the complex, while Elisa and Paul were conducting a floor by floor search of the resort. M and Raven were holed up in the library for research, which was really just an intricate paper trail. Raven was taking a short break from the eyestrain when M glanced at her solemnly from the computer terminal.

"Paul said I should advise you not to see Jean-Pierre tonight."

Raven's face first openly registered shock, followed by indignant fury. Her eyes narrowed and darkened to a near violet color. M was certain that if she could read auras, the younger woman's would have been a blinding torrent.

"Before you stalk out of here to go slit his throat, hear me out." M leaned forward in her chair, ready to leap should Raven erupt. "Grant was on filming and surveillance duty last night. Paul found him asleep over the console this morning with fang marks on his neck. The tapes had been erased."

"So our vampire struck and destroyed the evidence of his coming and going. It's logical, but it doesn't mean I need that two-bit canuck playing bodyguard. Elisa's the target, remember?" Raven returned to the microfilm machine with another reel and sat down.

"Just be careful."

"I always am."

3:25 p.m.

"We've been walking for hours; there's nothing here. My feet hurt and I'm tired."

Paul would have paid dearly for earplugs just so he wouldn't have to hear Elisa's grating whine for hours on end. They had searched all six floors of the building. All that remained was the cellar. So far, their efforts had been fruitless.

The elevator did not continue down to the basement, presumably to keep hotel guests out. They found a staircase leading down from the ground floor kitchen. A single bare bulb suspended from the sloped ceiling provided the only illumination for the narrow cement staircase. Paul also turned on his flashlight to brighten the pathway. There was another light switch at the bottom of the stairs, and he flipped it, bathing the room in a harsh yellow glow. The room was surprisingly clean, with shelves of supplies, a few wine racks, an enormous water heater, and the central heating and air conditioning unit.

"Well, there's nothing here, so let's go back." Elisa said it so quickly, it sounded like only one word, but her voice reverberated in the enclosed space.

Paul was about to agree when a thought struck him. He started pacing the room, examining the walls. He worked slowly, studying every crevice in the wood and concrete.

"What are you doing?" Elisa clung to his shirtsleeve.

"This cellar isn't as big as the other floors. There must be another room somewhere."

For once, Elisa said nothing; she just clung even tighter to Paul. If the girl got any more nervous, Paul was going to have ten small bruises on his arm.

"The adjoining room must be on the other side of this wall, below the ballroom on the main floor." He started running his hand down the gap in the concrete, searching for an opening. One of the overhead lightbulbs flickered and went out, causing Elisa to jump. She stumbled backwards into one of the wine racks, causing the bottles to rattle. She felt a rush of air and looked just in time to see part of the concrete wall swing outwards.

"Nice move, Elisa." Paul shined his flashlight into the dark room. This was obviously not part of the maids' domain. Cobwebs festooned the corners, and a liberal coating of dust adorned every object in the room. Only the glow of the flashlight penetrated the dark room. It was mostly empty, save for a bookshelf, two chests, one standard, the other quite large. The books on the shelf were all fairly old, leather-bound volumes, although they contained less dust than some parts of the room. Paul selected a random book and opened the cover, which creaked with age. He recognized the author's name, Alexandre Dumas. It was a copy of The Three Musketeers in the original French. There was no copyright date, probably because they didn't exist at the time of printing. Other titles ranged in languages from Latin and Greek, to the romance languages and even early modern English. Whoever was responsible for this little hole was well-read and quite the linguist.

The smaller chest was fairly clean and looked as if it had been used recently. Paul tried to open the lid, but it was locked and he didn't have the tools with him to force it. The last item of interest was the larger chest, which was over six feet long. When Paul got a good look at it, he realized it wasn't a chest at all. Elisa emitted a terrified shriek. The polished wood was actually a large casket. Apparently their vampire was very large, judging by his coffin size. Paul went closer and laid a hand on the hinged top.

"Don't!" Elisa whispered harshly. "What if it's in there."

"If it is, it's asleep. Probably won't wake for another hour at least. We stake it now and everybody's fine." He slowly lifted the lid and the flashlight gleamed off of the satin lining. When it was completely open, his shoulders slumped in disappointment.

"There's nothing in there." Elisa gripped Paul's arm again. "So where is it?"

He closed the coffin and started towards the main cellar. "He probably knows we're here and has another daytime hideout." He moved the wine rack again and the door moved silently back into place.

"He's still out there somewhere," Elisa whimpered.

6:49 p.m.

"I really think you shouldn't do this, Raven." The recipient of the supposedly sage advice looked ready to throw the book at him. Unfortunately, the book in question was a very heavy Gaelic text that weighed at least twenty pounds. "It's for your own good," Paul pleaded, backing away from the Fury.

Raven waved the book around wildly. "You chauvinistic, dim-witted, narrow-minded, pompous, arrogant, megalomaniacal . . ."

Grant looked about ready to go run for a dictionary.

" . . . boorish neanderthal. I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"Take it easy on the adjectives, eh. I'm only trying to--"

"Spoil my social life!" She whirled so fast that her hair spun out like a flowing cape as she took her leave. There were more important things than arguing with Paul--she had a date to keep with Jean-Pierre.

Sometime later, Raven made her way once again through the abandoned hallways. Her ankle-length gown shimmered midnight blue with every step, the Mandarin-style dress slit high enough to facilitate movement. The color of the dress matched her eyes perfectly. Heavy black hair brushed to a sheen hung absolutely straight down her back, swaying slightly as she walked. Her mother used to comment that she resembled Cherilyn Sarkisian, whoever that was.* Something about being tall and thin with long black hair. Raven shrugged at the memory.

She met Jean-Pierre downstairs in the ballroom (again). He looked absolutely gorgeous (again). Things started off pretty mundane as far as dates go (again). Notice a pattern?

Meanwhile, although Paul resented being called chauvinistic (along with everything else), he felt a need to observe the mysterious Jean-Pierre. Or at least, that's what he told himself--we all know he really wanted to spy on Raven. After last night, he didn't trust the security cameras, so he decided to do a little first-hand investigating. Peering through the keyhole seemed a tad obvious, not to mention that the keyhole was too small to see anything. There was no way to look in the window from outside without running a great risk of being seen. After nearly an hour of running around like an idiot trying to find a vantage point, Paul had a television-inspired revelation.

He found a ladder and a screwdriver and took them into the salon next to the ballroom. He climbed up to the ventilation duct just below the ceiling and unscrewed the screened panel covering it. Fortunately, the duct was large enough for him to uncomfortable crawl through without getting stuck. From inside he had a fairly good view of the ballroom, but Raven and Jean-Pierre were nowhere in sight. He scanned the room closely through the distorting thin mesh of the screen and noticed an alcove beyond his line of sight. Paul slithered through the dark passageway, hoping to find a better view.

When he found another vent looking into the room, he didn't like what he saw. In a dark corner of the room, Jean-Pierre and Raven sat on a pristine white couch, talking. Raven's long dress shimmered when she moved. She actually giggled (which seemed out of place with her tough-girl image) at something Jean-Pierre said, and Jean-Pierre took the opportunity to lean in and kiss her. Paul blanched in a mixture of disgust and embarrassment. He reminded himself that he was only spying in the interest of Raven's safety, although she'd kill him if she found out.

When the couple parted, Raven looked up into Jean-Pierre's eyes and suddenly her face became an expressionless mask. Paul immediately became alert and reached for his gun. Things were getting just a little too weird. Raven seemed completely unaware of anything, like she was asleep with her eyes still wide open. Jean-Pierre gently laid Raven back on the couch and brushed her jet-black hair away from her neck. He unbuttoned the high collar of her dress and leaned down towards her. . . .

*In case you really don't know *brandishing keyboard to bludgeon it in* Cherilyn Sarkisian is more commonly known as just Cher. As in Sonny and Cher. Really. click here to return to where you left off