Ivy carefully started clicking on the letters: the upper left tip of the first V, then the bottom of the V, then the place where the upper right tip of the first V met the upper left of the second V. “What are you doing?” Olivia asked.
“You’ll see,” said Ivy. Her seventh click, on the upper right-hand corner of the third V, prompted her for a user name and password. After Ivy had typed them in, a question appeared on the screen: How do you like your coffee?
“Wow!” Olivia remarked, impressed by the site’s security. “They really know a lot about you.”
Ivy chuckled. “It’s a riddle,” she explained. “It’s different every time. Want to guess?”
Olivia read the question again. “With sweetener?” she tried.
“You are such a bunny,” Ivy teased. Then she typed in the letters B-L-A-C-K.
The screen flashed, and a search engine called Moonlight appeared on screen. Illuminate the darkness, it said underneath the entry box.
“Is there anything vampires don’t have their own secret version of ?” Olivia asked in amazement.
“A cruise liner,” Ivy replied as she typed in JEWELERS’ MARKS. “Vamps don’t really like water.”
There were 272,000 results, and the first one was the Web site for the Vampire Jewelers Association (VJA), which offered one of the most comprehensive registries of jewelers’ marks in the underworld. Ivy clicked on the link, and seconds later she and Olivia were scanning the marks of thousands of vampire jewelers. Some looked like cat’s whiskers, some like tiny coffins, lots incorporated a V in some way—but none looked like the symbol on their rings.
After the VJA site, they tried the listing on the Antique Jewelry Guild site. Eventually, there was only one page of symbols left to see. Ivy took a deep breath and clicked.
The page filled with marks.
Not one even vaguely resembles the insignia on our emeralds, Olivia thought disappointedly.
Ivy sighed. “If it’s not a jeweler’s mark, it could be anything.”
Determined to remain upbeat, Olivia suggested they try searching for something else. Ivy went back to the Moonlight page.
“Type in ‘human-vampire relationships,’ ” Olivia instructed, so Ivy did.
Results flooded the screen:
Crossbreed Born with Four Heads
Mixed Offspring Eats Self to Death
Monstrous Hybrid Stalks Sewers
Bat Baby Terrorizes Hospital! “W-what is all this?” Olivia stammered. “Tabloid headlines,” Ivy answered wearily. “Vamp rags are full of over-the-top stories about what happens when a human and a vamp try to have a baby.”
“They have bat babies?” Olivia said in disbelief.
“Of course not,” Ivy dismissed. “Here’s something that doesn’t sound insane,” she went on, running her cursor over a link near the bottom of the screen: “Genetic Barriers to Crossbreeding: A Scientific Study.” Ivy clicked and ended up on the Web site for something called the Vampiric Journal of Biomedical Sciences.
Olivia read the summary of the article aloud. “ ‘This V-Gen-sponsored study compares the genetic makeup of vampires and humans in order to objectively assess the possibility of successfully bearing healthy crossbreed offspring. Findings suggest that the significant differences between vampire and human DNA amount to an insurmountable obstacle of a magnitude similar to that found between canines and felines.’ ” Olivia looked at her sister. “Is it just me, or does this say that you and me are about as likely as puppies born to a cat and dog?”
Ivy sighed. “That’s what it says,” she agreed. “But we’re obviously not impossible,” she went on. “I mean, we exist and we’re sisters!” She scanned the screen and then gasped suddenly. “No way!”
“What?” Olivia asked.
“This article was written by Marc Daniels. That’s Brendan’s father’s name!”
“Are you sure?” Olivia asked, peering at the screen. She pointed to a line at the end of the research report. “Is Brendan’s dad head researcher of V-Gen?”
Ivy shrugged. She quickly went back to the main search page and typed in V-Gen. The top result said, V-GEN—a leading vampire pharmaceutical company based in Franklin Grove.
Olivia and Ivy both stared at the screen for a long moment, taking in the indisputable fact that Brendan’s father was the same Marc Daniels who had written the article.
“We have to talk to him,” Olivia said at last.
Ivy bit her lip. “Judging from his research, he’s not really on our side,” she said.
“Maybe we can change his mind,” Olivia proposed.
“Even if we could, Olivia,” responded Ivy, “I can’t talk to my boyfriend’s father about how babies are made.”
“Sure you can!” Olivia laughed. “He’ll understand. Come on, Ivy. We have to get answers! Ask Brendan tomorrow if he’ll introduce us to his dad. Please.”
“I am not going to bring this up at school,” Ivy declared decisively, and Olivia’s heart sank. Then Ivy added quietly, “I have a date with Brendan on Friday. I’ll ask him then.”
Olivia clapped her hands. “Talking to a vampire geneticist about how we’re twins is going to be way more interesting than cheek cells!”
At school on Thursday, the whole twin frenzy was even more intense than it had been the day before. After fourth period, Ivy saw a sixth-grader wearing a baby tee that said, I WANNA GOTH TWIN.
I’m a fad! Ivy thought, horrified. If she could have dug a hole, climbed into her coffin, and lowered herself into the ground, she would have. She felt so ill by the end of the day that she canceled after-school plans with Olivia—they had been going to make a list of questions for Mr. Daniels—and went straight home.