Saved at Sunrise

the other
     camp leader who was a friend and sort of a father figure wrapped into one. Her two
     roommates, Della and Miranda, who’d felt abandoned by Kylie when she left. And Derek,
     who’d vowed his love to her, even when he knew she loved Lucas.
    Oh God, she missed everyone so much. Amazingly, she was only a few miles away from
     Shadow Falls, tucked away in a secluded spot in what Texans referred to as the Hill
     Country, and yet it might as well have been across the world.
    Sure, she’d spoken to Holiday every day. At first, her grandfather had refused her
     this right, but her aunt had insisted he see reason. He’d relented, but only if she
     used a certain phone and kept the conversations very short, so the calls couldn’t
     be traced. And by no means could Kylie tell anyone where she was.
    Because of the camp’s affiliation with the FRU, her grandfather didn’t trust anyone
     at Shadow Falls. And his distrust only added to Kylie’s feelings of isolation from
     everyone she loved. Even her mom, who called to inform her that she was about to fly
     to England with John, her mom’s new boyfriend, who Kylie wasn’t so sweet on. Sure,
     her granddad allowed her to call her mom back every time she called. So they had spoken
     twice. But only twice.
    Kylie’s throat knotted with tears, but she refused to cry. She had to be strong. Pull
     up her big-girl panties and be an adult.
    “Is the pizza to your liking?” Francyne, her great-aunt, asked.
    “Yes, it’s great.” Kylie watched the two older people slice into their pieces of pepperoni
     pizza as if it were steak. She knew they served it just for her—because after barely
     touching her meals these last few days, they’d asked about her favorite foods. Feeling
     obligated, to both eat and to comply with their show of manners, she forced herself
     to cut a bite of pizza from her slice and slip it into her mouth.
    She wasn’t vampire right now, so she should be able to enjoy food. But, nope.
    Nothing tasted right.
    Nothing felt right.
    Not eating pizza with a fork off a fine china plate that looked old and rare enough
     to be in a museum. Not sitting at this fancy dining table with a formal place setting.
     And especially not feeling right was the spirit who now moved in closer to her grandfather
     and held the sword over his head.
    Kylie stared at the spirit. Either tell me exactly what you need, that doesn’t involve murder, or go away.
    A drop of blood splattered onto her grandfather’s forehead. Not that he could feel
     it or see it. But Kylie could. The spirit performed this show just to get Kylie’s
     attention.
    And it was working.
    Stop it! Leave. Kylie shot a warning glance at the spirit.
    You are in a nasty mood, huh? the ghost said.
    Yeah, she was, Kylie admitted to herself. A broken heart would do that to you. It
     pretty much sucked the joy out of life. Or maybe what sucked the most was missing
     everyone.
    Not that Kylie’s time here had been in vain. She’d discovered a lot about herself,
     about chameleons, these twelve days. Chameleons had only come into being in the last
     hundred years. While they considered themselves a species, they were really a blend
     of all paranormals—individuals who retained the DNA and powers of all the species.
    Problem was, learning to control that power was a real bitch. Most chameleons didn’t
     even master the feat until their midtwenties. Not that there were a lot of young chameleons
     trying to master things. Chameleons were rare. Her grandfather said about a hundred
     compounds existed across the world, but in total there were less than ten thousand
     of her kind. And only one in ten chameleon couples had been able to produce a child.
     Hence the low population.
    Kylie couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever be able to have a child. But damn, she
     was sixteen, too young to start worrying about being infertile.
    “How did classes go today?” her grandfather asked.
    Kylie focused on the man. In his seventies, his hair held tight to its strawberry-blond
     color, with only a few signs of graying. His eyes, a vivid light blue, matched hers
     and her father’s.
    Another drop of blood landed on his cheek. Kylie scowled at the smirking spirit who
     sliced the sword though the air only an inch above his head.
    I said, stop it! Kylie tightened her eyes.
    “So it didn’t go well?” her grandfather asked, obviously reading Kylie’s expression.
    “No, it went fine. I’m … I was able