As Margo walked up the stairs, she realized that she had company. A maid was unlocking the door to her room, completely ignoring the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the knob.

"NOO!" Margo yelled.

The maid hesitated.

"I don't want anyone going into my room!" Margo screeched. "Is that clear?"

"Perdoneme," the maid protested and Margo slowly let go of micro, battery operated chainsaw in her pocket.

The maid held up her hands and stepped back.

Margo eyed her coldly as she reached for the doorknob. "Do you mind?"

The maid rolled her eyes and wheeled her cart down the hallway. "Punta," she muttered darkly, making a note to steal something from Margo's room the next time it was empty.

She flopped down on her bed in her filthy roomto relax and daydream. With nostalgic eyes, she eyed the clippings of Elizabeth Wakefield that covered the walls. She reached for one of Elizabeth on the stand and lovingly stroked her gaunt cheeks and stared deeply into those haunted eyes.

Margo began to wander the room and examine her weapons collection with the appreciation of a true connoisseur. She ran her hands over her gleaming knives and began to feel turned on. She kept her guns in her sock drawer and a nuclear missile occupied the crawlspace under her bed.

"I have so many of them!" she murmured with pride.

She would probably laugh about this someday. Remember when Elizabeth was on trial for involuntary manslaughter and I was trying to take over her identity?

"Hehe," Margo chuckled.

Then there was a knock on her door. Margo sighed with exasperation and yanked it open. She hoped it wasn't that stupid maid.

It wasn't. Some moron wearing a were-wolf mask was standing there instead.

"Elizabeth," He said in a desperate English accent. "This isn't a mask."

It isn't a mask, the raspy voice in her head agreed appreciatively.

"What do you want?" Margo snapped.

His eyes lit up. "I knew it was you! Even though you dyed your hair and cut it short."

"Who did you say you were again?"

"I am an English werewolf in London," He answered. "My name is Luke. You don't remember me?"

Margo sighed. "This is book ninety-six, or ninety-seven, I forget, but you're early. You aren't supposed to be here until after Book 100 "The Evil Twin." She smiled proudly.

Luke didn't seem to like that very much. Helunged at her, his teeth aimed at her throat.

Margo expertly pulled a dart from her bra and aimed. It landed in his neck and he died instantly.

"Great," Margo muttered, rubbing her hands together like she wasbrushingdirt off them. She peeked around the doorway to peer into the hallway. That maid was standing by her cart, painting her nails. Margo pondered killing her as well, butdeduced it would be a waste of time.

She turned back to Luke's dead body. "Well I can't just leave him there."

She sighed again and dragged him into her closet.