And then Olivia looked up, and realized that the dark-wood bookshelves lining the walls stretched up for another story, and there was a narrow walkway—like a balcony—to enable browsing up there.
This place is awesome! she thought.
Ivy dragged a second high-backed blacklacquer chair behind the desk and motioned for Olivia to sit beside her as she powered up her dad’s computer.
The screen lit up with a black-and-white photograph of Ivy in profile, looking thoughtful, the outline of tree branches against a sunset sky behind her.
“I wish my father would change his background,” Ivy said with a sigh.
“But that’s such a good picture of you!” Olivia exclaimed.
“Look at my nose,” her sister scoffed. “It’s huge.”
“Hey,” Olivia countered with mock offense. “You better be careful what you say about our nose!”
Ivy grinned. “Are you ready for the Vorld Vide Veb?” she asked.
Olivia nodded and Ivy clicked on an icon of a moon in the corner, and the screen went black, except for three big Gothic letters in the center:
VVV
“Can anyone access this?” Olivia asked. Ivy shook her head. “Your computer needs a special chip just to get this far.”
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