“Uh, can I get dressed first?”

“Oh. Right.” I turned to face the wall, which made Molly giggle, as usual, while she donned jeans and a long-sleeved thermal shirt that read Spanky’s House of Pain. How may we hurt you? I chose not to comment.

I hadn’t talked to Jack since Thanksgiving, when we’d gone out to dinner at the Stinking Rose, a garlic-lovers’ restaurant on La Cienega. (No, it wasn’t a big anti-vampire statement or anything. I just really like garlic. And restaurants that are open on Thanksgiving.) Things were weird between us: Jack didn’t know that our parents had been murdered because of me. I always cringed with guilt when I saw him, which made him think he was doing something wrong, which usually just snowballed into awkwardness and stammering. But we’d managed to pull it together for one night, at least. We’d avoided talking about Thanksgivings past, sticking to his job, movies, and current events. For once, things between us were actually kind of okay.

And now I was about to ruin it.

Jack lived in the Valley, in one-half of a tiny duplex on the outskirts of Sherman Oaks. I knocked on his door at 5:00 p.m. on the dot, praying that he’d be home. There was a wreath hanging at eye level, and while I waited for him to answer I leaned forward to smell it. The fresh scent of pine needles hit my nose and traveled straight to wherever my memories are kept. He’d gotten a real wreath with a red velvet bow, just like our mother always had. If they didn’t wither away at the end of every winter, I could swear that this was the same one.

Get it together, Scarlett.

My brother is a few inches taller than I am—five eleven, with our father’s dark-red hair. Unlike our dad, though, Jack keeps it buzzed close to his head. He has my green eyes, a narrow build, and the snow-white complexion that comes from being inside all day. If he’s not working full-time for Dashiell’s hematology laboratory, he’s taking med school classes at night. When the door popped open with a weather-stripping hiss, he was wearing sweatpants, a Chicago Bears T-shirt (our dad had been a fan), and a dish towel over one shoulder. “Hey, Scarbo,” he said with some surprise. In the three months Jack had lived in LA, I had never initiated contact. “Um, who’s your pretty friend?”

“Jack, this is Molly. Molly, this is my big brother, Jack.”

He suddenly noticed the dish towel on his chest and snatched it down, blushing. After wiping his hands, he held one out to Molly. “You must be Scarlett’s roommate. She’s told me a lot about you.”

Molly shook, arching an eyebrow at me. “Really? Wish I could say the same.”

I ignored her. “Can we come in for a minute?”

“Of course.” He stepped back, ushering us into the dining room. He didn’t comment on Molly’s shirt. Good for him.

I took the seat nearest the window and pulled the shades down. Jack gave me a funny look but didn’t ask. “I was just finishing the dishes. I gotta be back on campus for study group at seven, so dinner was early tonight.”

“You look tired,” I said, seeing dark circles under his eyes.

“I was at the premed library all last night,” he explained. “Trying to finish up some stuff for the holidays.”

“About that, Jack,” I began. “I have this problem.”

“What can I do?” he said, instantly concerned. I almost rolled my eyes. Everywhere I went, I seemed to trip over protective men.

“Well, I’d actually love it if you took a little trip. To visit Mom’s cousin Rhys in Scotland. He’s lonely, and really wants to meet up with some family. For the holidays.”

“Mom didn’t have any cousins,” he said, looking confused. “Besides, I thought we were gonna get together for Christmas.”

“It might be second cousin, I’m not sure. But you can have Christmas with him,” I said, too brightly. Rhys is one of the other five nulls that I know about in the world. He lives in Scotland (there’s a theory that evolution has spread the nulls out deliberately to give us maximum effect, but that’s another story), and though we’d barely spoken in the past, when I called to explain that Jack was in danger he’d agreed to do this for me. I’d tried to talk him into taking Molly too, but he’d refused to host a vampire over the holidays. Which was kind of okay, since Jack’s last-minute international ticket cost almost every penny in my already pathetic savings account.

“Scarbo,” Jack said, glancing at Molly, who remained quiet. She was waiting for a cue from me. “I can’t just do that. I have study group, and work—”

“I already cleared it with Dashiell,” I said. That was technically a lie, but I was certain that once Dashiell woke for the night, he’d okay it. Mostly certain. Okay, I was just hoping. “He’s giving you all the time you need.”

“But what about you?” Jack protested. “You can’t be alone on Christmas!”

“I’ve been alone on Christmas before,” I reminded him gently. This was a cheap shot. The year after our parents died, Jack was still so grief stricken that he couldn’t stand to be around me. Of course, I was too guilt stricken to be around him, so it kind of worked out.

“Which is exactly why I shouldn’t leave,” he said promptly.

Backfire. “Look, he already sent you a ticket, for tonight,” I said, handing it over with a weak little flourish. “It’s nonrefundable. It would be awful if Rhys wasted all that money.”