“BRANDON,” I CRIED, LEAPING AWAY from Christopher as if his embrace had scorched me.

 

Don’t ask me what instinct made me do this. But something told me being seen in the arms of another man would not sit well with Nikki’s ex.

 

I needn’t have worried, however. Brandon was wasted. He stood, wavering a little, in the doorway, squinting into my darkened room as if he couldn’t see very well. I was more glad than ever that Christopher and I hadn’t turned on the lights.

 

“Uh,” Brandon said, “Nikki? Yeah, you better come.”

 

“Why?” I asked, adjusting my halter top where I thought it might have slipped a little for reasons best left unmentioned.

 

“Some girl said to get you.” Brandon was squinting at Christopher now, trying to see if he recognized him in the halflight from the window. Since Christopher had never graced the pages of TMZ.com, Brandon surely couldn’t place him. “Some girl named Frida? She’s sick or something.”

 

I was out of the room like a shot.

 

“Where?” I demanded in a tight voice. “Where is she?”

 

But Brandon just shrugged. He was so out of it. He had no idea where he was.

 

Out in the main part of the loft, the party was in full tilt—it was everything Lulu could have hoped for. There were so many gyrating bodies dancing—and sweating—in time to the music, you could hardly see from one end of the room to the other. Overhead, the girl on the trapeze had ditched her long red scarf and was performing almost fully naked. The music was so loud it seemed to pulse through my chest. I wondered if the other tenants in the building would call the cops—then realized Lulu had foreseen this problem by inviting the other tenants…I could have sworn I saw the guy who lived on the floor above us dancing with someone who looked a lot like Perez Hilton. Lulu, obviously, was a genius. It wouldn’t surprise me if the cops themselves turned out to be here somewhere, dancing.

 

But I couldn’t find Frida. Looking for her in that packed room of sweaty bodies was a nightmare. I had to shove past Moschino-clad guest after Moschino-clad guest, murmuring, “Excuse me,” again and again. And, of course, half of them—the male half—one after another, would reach out to grab my arm, crying, “Nikki! Stay and dance! Come on, don’t be a drag!”

 

“I can’t,” I’d say regretfully. “I’m looking for someone.”

 

“Me, I hope.” Some of the guys would leer.

 

“Oh, ha-ha,” I’d say. “Sorry. But I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“You better!”

 

It wasn’t pretty.

 

The truth was, I felt guilty. I never should have let Frida out of my sight in the first place. If it had been anyone but Christopher, I never would have. Of course, I’d explicitly forbidden Frida to attend this party. Then again…I should have known she’d show up, anyway. Frida’d always done precisely what I—or Mom and Dad—had asked her not to. Didn’t all little sisters, intent on proving they were just as “good” as their big sisters? It was no surprise she was in trouble somewhere.

 

And when I found her, I knew what her excuse was going to be, too: “But you’re here, Em. Why can’t I be? Just because you’re older…It’s not fair!”

 

I stumbled across Lulu before I found Frida. Lulu was dancing with Steven, and she looked as if she was having the time of her life. Steven didn’t look as if he was having a half bad time, either. But Lulu’s face was the one transported with joy. It brightened even more when she saw me, her dark eyes, rimmed with mascara that had gotten smudgy with perspiration, widening to their limits as she let go of Steven and hurried over to grasp my arm, standing up on tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “Oh, Nikki! Can you believe it? Everyone showed up! Everyone! This is the best party ever! And can you believe it? Steven…your brother? He’s a Libra!”

 

I blinked down at her. “That’s…that’s amazing,” I said.

 

“No, you don’t understand,” she said, shaking me a little. “My astrologer. She said I’m supposed to end up with a Libra!”

 

“Oh,” I said. “That’s great. Have you seen Frida?”

 

Lulu’s smile immediately vanished. “Frida’s here? I thought you told her she couldn’t come.” Her gaze flicked to someone behind me. “Oh, hi, Christopher.”

 

I turned my head. He’d followed me, of course. All those guys I’d thought I’d managed to put off with my bold assertiveness had actually been put off by a supervillain’s menacing glare. Great.

 

“Hey,” he said. Then he pointed. “Isn’t that her over there, with that Gabriel Luna guy?”

 

I turned my head and saw Frida—or someone who looked like Frida, in her handkerchief dress—leaning perilously close to the open windows, with Gabriel Luna’s arms around her shoulders. What was he doing? Knowing the depths of Frida’s crush on him, whatever it was, I instantly assumed it was something inappropriate.

 

“Hold on,” I said, and stalked toward the two of them, ready to shove Gabriel out the window, if necessary, that’s how huge my murderous rage toward him was for taking advantage of my little sister.

 

But when I got closer, I saw what was actually happening. Frida was retching out the window, which was tilted open, into the flower box—mercifully empty this time of year—and Gabriel was holding on to her as convulsive spasms clutched her body. He looked up as I approached and said, raising his voice to be heard above the pounding music, “She’s a bit young to handle an open bar, I think.”

 

Frida reached up with a trembling fist to wipe her mouth. I saw a caterer walking by with a tray of canapés, and so I grabbed a handful of napkins from it and passed her those instead. Frida accepted them gratefully.

 

“He said it was fruit punch,” she said weakly as she sat back on her heels and looked up at us with big, mournful eyes.

 

“Who said it was fruit punch?” I asked her, picking up some of the extra napkins from the pile and dabbing at her face where she’d missed.

 

“He did.” She pointed an indignant finger at a group of people dancing nearby. “Justin Bay.”

 

I turned my head and looked where she was pointing. Sure enough, Justin Bay, star of the movie version of Journeyquest (which sucked), stood nearby, swiveling his hips against some slinky-looking model types (not his girlfriend, Veronica), all of whom were wearing even less clothing than Frida, and even higher heels.

 

Lulu, who’d walked up behind me, followed the direction of my gaze and gasped.

 

“Who invited him?” she demanded, looking furious.

 

“Half the people here,” Steven said, “had invitations they printed off the Internet, according to the bouncers at the door. They did their best to screen, but after a while, it was too hard to tell the fakes from the real invites. There’s paparazzi all up and down the street as well,” Steven went on. “Your party may go down in the history books…not the least for violating every fire code in Manhattan.”

 

“It wasn’t really fruit punch,” Frida said sadly. “Was it?”

 

I couldn’t look away from Justin. There was just something about him—not the skintight black silk shirt he was wearing, or the multiple gold chains—that made it impossible for me to think about anything else.

 

No one can just disappear forever…Even when they give people in witness protection programs new identities, they feel compelled to reach out to friends they knew before, at the risk of their own lives. It’s force of habit. Everyone messes up eventually. You did it, with the dinosaur stickers. I was just too stupid get it.

 

Oh, my God. Of course.

 

It didn’t seem possible. It was ridiculous. It was beyond insane.

 

But then, didn’t that apply to everything that had happened to me so far?

 

I elbowed my way to where Justin was dancing and laid a hand on his arm. He opened his eyes to snakelike half slits and then slowed down his gyrating when he recognized me.

 

“Oh,” he said, with a lazy smile. “Hey there, Nik.”

 

“Justin,” I said, without smiling. “I need to see your cell phone.”

 

“Now, that’s a new one.” He looked over his shoulder at the models he was semi-humping and started to laugh. They were all as wasted as he was and started laughing, too, none of them without pausing in their dancing. “I’ve heard some crazy come-ons in my day, but I need to see your cell phone has to take the cake.”

 

In a flash, Christopher was at my left shoulder. “Show it to her.”

 

“Now.” And Gabriel was at my right.

 

Justin, realizing something serious might be going on, finally stopped dancing. His eyes widened to normal size.

 

“Whoa,” he said. “What’s with the third degree? I’m just dancing.”

 

“You’ll be lying in a pool of your own blood if you don’t hand your cell phone over to my sister,” Steven advised him.

 

Neither Christopher nor Gabriel nor Steven could have had any idea why I was so anxious to see Justin Bay’s cell phone. But the fact that they were willing to wipe the floor with him merely on my say-so was warming my heart. It really was.

 

“Fine.” Justin reached into a pocket of his tight striped suit pants and pulled out a silver flip phone, which he tossed in my direction. “I don’t know what you want it for, anyway. You e-mail me enough as it is.”

 

I nodded, feeling triumphant. “That’s what I thought,” I said, scrolling through Justin’s messages.

 

“You still e-mail him?” Lulu stared at me. “Oh, my God, I thought you gave up on that loser, like, months ago.”

 

“Hardly,” Justin said, with a sneer. “She’s still begging for it. Bad.”

 

Christopher stepped forward and, in a smooth motion, wrapped Justin in a headlock. It was a startling development that caused Frida’s jaw to drop. I have to admit, I was shocked myself. Christopher had never been the most physical of guys back in his pre-supervillain days.

 

But now I suppose he had the forces of evil propelling him.

 

“Jesus,” Justin croaked. The models he’d been dancing with, so skinny they looked like pieces of Slim Jim, pranced backward a little, eager to get out of the danger zone in case there was bloodshed. They didn’t want their Dolce&Gabbana outfits messed up. “Let go of me, man! Do you know who my father is?”

 

“Apologize,” Christopher said. He’d evidently squeezed, since Justin began making choking noises.

 

“Sorry,” Justin said, gagging. “Don’t bruise the face, man. I’m starting an Ang Lee film after the New Year.”

 

I scrolled until I found a message with NikkiH as the sender, then read the extremely flowery text I found there.

 

It didn’t make any sense.

 

But then, neither had the dinosaur stickers.

 

“Can Felix trace an e-mail?” I asked Christopher.

 

“Of course,” Christopher said.

 

“Tell me where to send this so he can figure out where it came from.”

 

Christopher did. I pressed FORWARD and sent the message from NikkiH to Felix, with a note asking him to trace its origin.

 

“Oh,” I said, looking up when I was done. “You can let go of him now.”

 

Christopher released Justin, who staggered around a bit, holding on to his neck.

 

“Christ,” he said. “Have you lost your mind? What was that all about?”

 

“I don’t know.” Gabriel seemed quite calm. “But this is for lying to the little girl about the punch.”

 

And he slammed his fist into Justin’s stomach—really hard, judging by the way Justin doubled over, then collapsed onto the floor, gasping like a goldfish that had leapt from its bowl.

 

Steven, standing beside Lulu, glanced from Justin to Gabriel to Christopher and then back again. Then he said, with a grin, “You know, I had my doubts at first. But this is turning out to be a really great party.”

 

“I don’t understand any of this,” Frida said, looking upset as she stared down at Justin, who was beginning to recover himself—with the help of the models who’d come tottering over to his rescue. “What’s going on? Why did you need to look at Justin Bay’s cell phone? What is Christopher even doing here?”

 

“That’s a very good question for you,” I said, eyeing her severely. “And what have you got on? Where did you get a dress like that? If it can even be called a dress.”

 

“I came to support Lulu,” Frida said, pouting. “I know how much this party means to her. I didn’t want to let her down—”

 

Lulu looked touched. “Aw,” she said. “Isn’t that sweet? Really, Nikki, you can’t be mad at her for that.”

 

“Yeah, I can,” I said. “I told her she wasn’t invited, and you were there when I did it, remember, Lulu? I don’t think there’s anything sweet about it.”

 

“I think you’re being a bit harsh,” Gabriel said. To my utter astonishment, he plucked off his jacket—an ultra expensive one with frayed edges, just like Steven’s—and laid it over Frida’s bare shoulders, since she was shivering a little from the breeze that was seeping in through the open window she was still standing in front of. “She’s learned her lesson, don’t you think?”

 

“Yeah,” Frida said, clutching the collar of the jacket closed and gazing up at Gabriel with what looked, literally, like stars in her eyes. But then I realized they were reflections of the special party halogens Lulu had installed. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

 

Lulu elbowed me, giggling, but I didn’t see what was so funny, really. My little sister was crushing on Gabriel Luna—something she’d been doing for months now—and it was inappropriate. He was too old for her, and he was only encouraging her with this behavior, knocking out cretins like Justin Bay.

 

And, okay, yeah, that had been pretty badass. But hello. That didn’t mean Gabriel could just go around giving his coat to my sister. My little sister, who wasn’t even supposed to be here, let alone dating at her age.

 

“This is probably Felix,” Christopher said, and reached into the pocket of his leather jacket for his cell phone, which had just let off a dragon battle cry. When he glanced at the screen, he nodded and picked up. “What have you got?” he asked.

 

He nodded a few more times. Then he looked at me. His blue-eyed gaze was like a laser pointer, it was so sharp. I could feel it all up and down my spine.

 

And not in a good way.

 

I couldn’t read the thoughts behind the gaze. But I sensed trouble.

 

Christopher pressed END and put away the phone. Then, that impenetrable gaze still on me, he asked, “Can I have a word with you—in private?”

 

This time, however, Steven put his foot down.

 

“No,” he said. He didn’t say it angrily. He said it quite calmly, as a matter of fact.

 

But that “No” came out as forcefully as a king’s.

 

“Anything you have to say to her involving all of this, you can say to me,” Steven said. “I’m her brother, remember?”

 

Christopher blinked at him. I don’t know what went through his mind at that moment—“You’re not really her brother”? which we all knew was true (well, maybe not Gabriel). Even Steven.

 

And yet, in those few seconds, it seemed more true than if Steven had been my real brother. Christopher certainly didn’t seem to question it.

 

“Right,” he said to Steven. “Well, here’s what Felix found out. He traced the e-mail to a computer with an IP address in Westchester.”

 

I gaped at him. “Westchester? That’s just, like, twenty miles from here.”

 

“Right. And it belongs to a doctor. His name is Jonathan Fong.”

 

Lulu made a face. “Why would a doctor be sending e-mails to Justin Bay, pretending to be Nikki Howard? What kind of sick perv is he, anyway?”

 

“That’s not the real question,” Christopher said. “The real question is, who does Dr. Jonathan Fong work for?”

 

I stared at him. Even though the party was still in full swing behind us, and it was boiling hot in the apartment except for the few places where the windows were open, I felt cold as ice all of a sudden.

 

“No,” was all I said.