Rachael pulled open her front door, Scrappy making a beeline for Graham’s pant leg as soon as the gap was big enough to squeeze through, and put on her most innocent smile, as if she hadn’t just spent every second she had available to her trying to make herself not only presentable but downright hot.

She knew her time had not been wasted by the way his expression shifted as he took her in. The friendly smile he had on his face when the door first opened altered to a look of confusion, like he thought he was at the wrong place, and then to awe before he actually made a little moan, sort of a dumbfounded bleat, and then he caught himself, cleared his throat and thrust the Starbucks cup in her direction. “Hi.”

Doing her best to hold back a grin at his reaction, Rachael took the cup. “Hi, thanks. And thank you for coming back over. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in as she took a sip of her drink. It wasn’t quite as hot as she would’ve liked, since he’d had to bring it from a few miles away, but it was still delicious. She took another sip and made her way to the sofa as Graham lowered himself into the chair he’d occupied earlier.

In her rush to get ready, Rachael hadn’t taken much time to consider what she was going to say to him. He was sitting with his knees apart, his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward expectantly with his hands clasped in front of him, so she had to think of something. How in the world could she possibly explain that she had actually invented Silverwood to someone who apparently accepted it as having always been part of his reality? One of them was going to end up sounding like a nut job, and since everyone else she’d spoken to in the last two days was ready to stick that label on her, she’d have to assume Graham would also give her the honor.

“This is really good.” She smiled at him, stalling, and then set her cup down on the floor by her boot, certain Scrappy wouldn’t leave her rubbing-on-Graham’s-leg duties and knock it over. “Listen, this morning, when you came over, I was really surprised to see you.”

“I could tell.” It wasn’t mean, more playful than anything, and once again Rachael was reminded of what an amazing man she had created. Perfect in every way, pretty much.

“Right. It’s just… I wasn’t sure that Silverwood was… real.” That much was true. She still wasn’t. Because it couldn’t be real.

Graham leaned back in his chair as if that’s all he needed to hear to understand where she’d been coming from. “That’s not surprising. It doesn’t seem like it should be. Very few people are even aware of the existence of vampires, so seeing evidence that a place like our school is real would be startling to anyone. I’m just… still confused how you knew about us. And how you knew who I was. I mean, you recognized me immediately.”

“Well, you’re pretty distinctive looking.” She didn’t mean to drop her eyes and look him over as she spoke, but it happened just the same. When her eyes met his again, he was either confused--or shocked at her audacity. “It’s your… eyes. Not many people have lavender eyes. Other than you. And Elizabeth Taylor, apparently,” she added, remembering what he’d said earlier.

Once again, that excuse seemed to work, and Rachael was beginning to wonder if she’d accidentally written him to be too gullible. “I see. With them.”

It took her a moment to realize he was joking, but when she did, Rachael burst out laughing, nearly knocking her drink over in the process. It wasn’t that the joke was so funny as much as it was unexpected, and he’d kept his face so serious. Of course he was funny--she’d made him, and she was funny as hell.

He was grinning at her as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Sorry--I needed a laugh.”

“Glad I could give that to you, then.” He seemed sincere. “How did you know who I was, though? That is, who told you, ‘There’s a guy named Graham Halloway from Silverwood Academy who has purple eyes?’”

Rachael cleared her throat. She hadn’t thought it that far through. She remembered him mentioning her paternal grandfather earlier, a man she hadn’t spoken to in over twenty years. When her dad walked out on her mom, Nancy Barnes had cut ties with his entire family. The last time Rachael could remember hearing from any of them was when her aunt had sent a birthday card the year sh'de turned sixteen. At least it had had a five dollar bill in it.

She couldn’t tell Graham all of that, though, and she had to say something. She vaguely remembered poking fun at her grandfather’s death earlier--blathering something about a water buffalo stampede. While she was sure that wasn’t true, she hadn’t been aware that he had even died, so she had no idea of the cause. “I saw… some papers. In a stack. From… Grandpa’s house.” He was looking at her with a question mark hanging over his head. Rachael pressed her hand to her forehead and looked at the floor. “I’m sorry… it’s hard for me to talk about.”

“Hey, I’m sorry.” Graham scooted forward in the chair again, like he wanted to comfort her, but he was too far away to reach her, so he stopped on the edge of the seat. “Wessley was a good man. He’ll be missed.”

Dabbing at her eyes as if there were actually tears there, Rachael nodded. “I didn’t get to see him as much as I would’ve liked to, but every memory is sacred.” She had about three of those, and while she hadn’t considered them to be sacred until that moment, they were at least pleasant. Wessley Barnes hadn’t been a bad guy--unlike his son Billy the Bastard Barnes, as her mother liked to call him.

“Do you need a tissue?” Graham asked.

“No, it’s okay.” Rachael shook her head slightly, trying to clear her fake tears from her eyes. She prayed Graham didn’t ask about her grandmother because she had no idea if Esther Barnes was even still alive. “Anyway, I didn’t know much, but I knew something. And then, when you arrived, I thought maybe my friend Ebony was playing a prank on me. I had mentioned to her that my grandfather was… writing a book.” She couldn’t say that she’d told anyone about Silverwood or else her grandpa would be posthumously in trouble. No one outside of Silverwood was allowed to speak about it to anyone. “And I told her that there was a character in it with lavender eyes named Graham. I thought maybe she was just messing with me. As she is apt to do.”

Again, he seemed to buy her story but he wrinkled his nose a bit. “That would be a really awful thing to do when you’re sick.”

“Sick?” Did he mean mentally ill? She’d felt that was the case for days.

“Yeah. I called your work this morning hoping I could schedule an appointment to meet with you, and I got your friend. She said you were out sick.”

“Right. Yes, I'm sure she did say that.” Rachael sucked in a deep breath. “It was really more of a… mental health day.”

“And you said you didn’t work there anymore earlier.” It was more of a question than a statement.

She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I was just messing with you. Trying to keep you on your toes. I still thought you were an actor then, remember?” He nodded, going along with her. “In fact, I think I even spouted off something about me writing a stupid book.” Cover. Your. Tracks. Rach.

Graham grinned. “Yes, you did. That was pretty funny. So was the water buffalo bit. You’re pretty fast on your feet.”

“Well, I do come from a long line of vampire hunters--apparently,” she retorted, making him chuckle. “Is that the case?”

He nodded. “Yes, you do. One of the longest.”

Rachael was surprised to hear that. She hadn’t invented a backstory for her new Rachael character yet, so she had no idea how she was going to fit into the actual academy itself. “So… what happens next?” she asked, clasping her hands together. “You going to teach me everything I need to know about killing the undead?”

Again, his eyebrows arched. “Well, usually I spend an hour or so trying to convince prospective students that vampires are real, that we can train a person to kill vampires effectively, that the benefits outweigh the risks, and that they should at least come and check the school out.”

Considering her entire world had been tipped on its ear recently, Rachael didn’t really have to think about her options. If she stayed here in this bizarro world, she’d have to go back to Merek and Merek--not an option. It wasn’t as if she could start re-writing her novel either, under the circumstances, not if everything she had written before was now true somehow.

There was no doubt in her mind what she needed to do. “When do we leave?”