Wow you guys, thank you so much for all the awesome reviews! When I posted the last chapter, there were 72- as I'm posting this, there are 98. I got 26 reviews on one chapter, which is frigging awesome. I love all of you guys! And see, when you review like the wind, it encourages me to update quickly. Keep that in mind. ;)

Before we get on to the chapter, I have a feeling I might get some criticism for the onslaught of another new character. I just want to let you guys know that all of my OCs WILL contribute to the plot. I'm not just adding them in for kicks.

On that note, enjoy chapter 9, and Happy New Year!

... . .-.. .-.. - ..-..

What?

.- - -.- ..-..

I got home earlier than my mom, and the Emily situation was really bugging me, for reasons that I don't particularly want to think about. Because of this, I ran downstairs as soon as I got home.

Our basement is sort of really creepy. It's filled with random junk mixed in with Priceless artifacts, stolen art and, for some reason, a stuffed tiger. (My theory is that's why Walter the Great doesn't come down here, so I appreciate that beast.) It's creepy as hell, but I love it. I come down here when I'm pissed off about one thing or another.

What I never noticed, however, was the old military Morse code machine… thing. I probably would never have noticed it, if it hadn't started sending a message. Hello? Followed by Amy?

Thanking the Madrigals for teaching me Morse code, I sent a message back.

.- ... - .. ... - ... .. ... ..-.. Who is this?

.. .- -. .-.-.- Ian.

My hands froze. I immediately backed away from the machine… thing (what the hell are those things called, anyway?) and sat by Simba. (Who, if you're wondering, is the stuffed tiger. Yeah yeah, Simba was a lion, yatta yatta yatta. I was 3. I saw a big cat and my mind jumped to Lion King, ok?) I tried to ignore the beeping coming from the other side of the room, but my mind is pretty hardwired for Morse code, so it was hard not to get the message.

.. ... - ... .. ... -. .-. .- -.-. . ..-.. Is this Grace?

I don't know what made me do it, but I crossed the room and responded.

-.- . ... .-.-.- ... . .-.. .-.. - .-.-.- Yes. Hello.

.- ... . .-. . .. ... -.- - ..- .-. - - - ... . .-. ..-.. Where is your mother? Came the quick response.

- ..- - .-.-.- .- .. - ... -.- - ..- ..-.. Out. With you?

-. - .-.-.- ... ... . .-.. . ..-. - .-.-.- -. - - ... - - . -.- . - ..-.. No. She left. Not home yet?

So that's how he's playing it. I thought he would immediately deny having any contact with my mom. Way to pick now to be an honest guy, Ian.

.- ... -.- -.. - -.- - ..- -.-. .- .-. . ..-.. Why do you care?

.. .- - .-. .-. -.- .-.-.- I worry.

... ..- -.-. ... .- ... .- .. -. - .-.-.- Such a saint. I hope he can feel the sarcasm through a Morse code message.

- ... .. ... .. ... ... - .- .- . ..- ... . -.. - - -.-. - - - ..- -. .. -.-. .- - . .-.-.- This is how we used to communicate.

-.-. - - .-.. ..-.. Cool? I was getting bored of this.

- . .-.. .-.. ... . .-. .. - .- .- ... -. - - ... . .-. ..-. .- ..- .-.. - .-.-.- Tell her it was not her fault. What? I hesitated before responding for the last time.

.- . .-. .-.. .-.. ... . . .-.-.- We'll see.

I left the basement, opting instead for my room. Once I was away from the distraction of talking to Ian, though, everything that had happened in Emily's hotel room came rushing back, succeeding in making me even more upset.

Emily had explained that she was in town on family business, looking at me strangely until Benjamin introduced me as Grace Cahill, and her eyes widened in recognition, which, I've got to admit, was fun to watch.

After she learned who I was, Emily seemed to take me a little more seriously. I'm not sure if that was a good thing or not, because that seemed to make her sit just a tad closer to Benjamin than was strictly necessary. Every so often she would notice me noticing, smirk evilly, and start going on about some inside joke that apparently was so funny if you were there.

I tried to keep the conversation going, asking just what kind of family business Emily was on.

"Just… Family stuff." She said, trying to be casual. How can this girl possibly be a Lucian? She smiled good-naturedly. "Sorry Grace, but I'm not really supposed to tell you. You understand, right?"

"Of course." I said tightly. It's not that I didn't get that the Lucians don't exactly want me to know their secrets, but it sort of bugs me that it was glaringly obvious that I was the only non-Lucian in the room.

We all sat around awkwardly for about 40 years, until I broke the silence.

"I should probably get going." I said, standing up and fidgeting with the sleeve of my shirt. Emily got up gracefully and smiled.

"If you have to." She said in a tone that clearly implied Oh please do.

"I do." I said in a tone that clearly implied that I was giving her the finger in my head.

Benjamin got up, perfect gentleman that he apparently is.

"Don't feel like you have to leave because of family stuff, Grace." He said quietly to me, Emily watching him the entire time. I had the sudden urge to run up to her and scream HA HA! But, of course, I didn't.

I shook my head.

"No, it's cool." I said, "You guys probably have stuff you need to talk about. I don't want to be the Madrigal third wheel." I laughed awkwardly.

Emily laughed along with me, only hers sounded more like a pageant queen's charming giggle. I realized then that I sort of hate this girl.

"Ok then." Benjamin said. "I'll…" his voice trailed off. I knew he was going to say something along the lines of 'I'll call you later', but he wasn't sure how to say it. I had no idea what his number was. He didn't know mine, we hadn't exchanged email addresses, and we really didn't have any way to communicate other than showing up at each other's houses and hiding until someone found us. Looking back, I really wish I had known about the Morse code machine… thing (henceforth referred to as the MCMT) then, so I could have just told him to contact me that way. Instead I just nodded, letting him know that I got the general message- we'll talk soon, somehow.

I left the room, walking down the ornate hall.

Okay, I swear I meant to just go home. But I mean come on! Benjamin was in there with like, blond Megan Fox. So I can't be judged for what I did next.

I calmly waked into the elevator at the end of the hall, but instead of pressing the button that would've taken me to the lobby, I only went two floors down. Once it stopped, I walked out of the elevator like I owned the place (actually, I very well may have owned the place. Or known someone who does. I'll have to ask about that.) And started slowly walking down a hall. When I got to a door that, as far as I could remember, was directly below Emily's window (or one of them, anyway), I knocked quietly on it. When nobody responded, I knocked harder, and then went down on my stomach to look under the door. I didn't see any signs of people, so I went for it. Taking the pin that I keep tucked in my hair near the back of my neck, I picked the lock efficiently and let myself in.

This room was still nice, but it was nowhere near as nice as Emily's penthouse, two floors up. I'm not sure what made me want to spy on her- it was probably just Cahill instinct, automatically knowing who not to trust (i.e. everybody). Either way, I made my way over to the window, thankful that this room had a balcony. Stepping onto it, I carefully lifted my foot onto the railing, then the other foot, until I sort of looked like a Gargoyle.

Okay, so, as a Cahill, people expect you to be pretty damn fearless. The only thing, however, is I'm so not. Heights aren't exactly my thing. It's not that I'm scared of them. I'm more scared of the whole falling to my death thing. Most times I'm totally fine with it, but not when Emily's room was the Penthouse, the 25th floor. That's 25 stories. That's 250 feet. If I took a tumble, I wasn't going to bounce back, that's all I'm saying. I slowly stood up, grabbing the floor of the balcony above me, so I was only one floor away from Emily's room. It was quite the work out, hoisting myself onto the next balcony, let me tell you. The next one was easier, partly because I was already warmed up from the first one and partly because I neglected to check and see if anyone was in that room, so I had to go faster. Cautiously lifting myself onto Emily's penthouse verandah, I crouched in the corner, where the curtains were blocking any view of me. I'm not sure what I expected to see- proof that Emily was evil would have been nice, come to think of it.

I got proof, all right.

Benjamin's back was towards me, but Emily was facing the window. So, I guess when you think about it, it was a good thing her eyes were closed.

Emily had her arms snaked around Benjamin's waist, her talons gripping at the back of his shirt. It sort of looked like she was trying to eat his face. She was kissing him, straight-up, full on the mouth. I totally saw tongue.

I know how people always say my heart dropped, but that's not what happened. It was all of my internal organs, all plummeting to their demise. And Goddamn, it hurt.

Emily opened her eyes then, but I didn't move. I was paralyzed, a dear caught in headlights. She locked eyes with me and smirked into the kiss that was still frigging going on. Her hand disentangled itself from Benjamin's back and made a little shooing motion, like you can leave now.

I went down the same way I came up, faster this time, and went down the rest of the way on the elevator. I started walking through the lobby, then speed walking, until finally I was downright sprinting out to my car. I took a shaky breath once I was safely inside, and drove off at a speed that probably wasn't legal, but I didn't think to check and I didn't get caught, so it didn't matter.

And that leaves me here, alone in my room, with a really shit realization hanging over my head:

I totally like Benjamin Kabra.

I mean, it's not like I never thought about it. For the love of God, we kissed before and it didn't exactly suck, but I always thought I was better than that. No offence to my mom, or anything, but I thought I would be smarter. Liking a Lucian always leads to a shitstorm of epic proportions. I knew that. But since Emily tackled Benjamin in the park earlier today something bugged me about her, something poking me in the back of the head.

I didn't realize that it was jealousy until now. Well, damn.

Just as I was thinking this, I heard the front door open. I went downstairs to see my mom struggling with a bunch of shopping bags. I grabbed some of them to ease her load, peeking in and noticing that they were full of booze.

"Mom…" I said quietly. I didn't want to question what had happened, even though I already knew it had to do with Ian.

"Just… Don't." She said, "Listen, Grace, maybe I was wrong. Maybe you should stick with hanging out with kids from branches we've already united, okay? It's safer that way."

I bit my lip and nodded.

…

Have you ever noticed how you can see something every day of your life, but the one time you're actually looking for it it's nowhere to be found?

A few months ago I went to this concert that I probably shouldn't have gone to. In my defense, it was like, my all-time favorite band and they never come to Boston, and the fact that it was an 18+ show was sure as hell not going to stop me. I met this girl there who clearly wasn't 18, and got in with a fake ID, like me. I walked over to her and we started talking, and at the end of the concert I had her cell number. I stuck it in a random corner of my room and didn't think anything of it, until today.

I could tell by the way she acted that this girl (I can't for the life of me remember her name now, so I hope I wrote it on the piece of paper with her number on it) wasn't a Cahill. And she seemed like a decent person, and really I'm at a total loss right now because I can't think of anything else to do. I mean, I feel like I need to talk to someone, but everyone I know'll be worried that I'm trying to take family secrets from them. I need to talk to a girl, so I can bitch about my apparent boy troubles. I need a normal person to talk to.

Honestly? I need a friend.

…

"F Yes!" I screeched when I found the little slip of paper tucked away in an old pair of shoes. It said Becky and a phone number. I quickly dialed it, and waited.

This made me sort of rethink this entire thing. I mean, I know she's a nice person, but how nice is nice? And I don't think I would take to kindly to a random girl that I spoke to for like an hour months ago calling me up out of the blue. I was just about to hang up before a pleasant voice answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Um, Hi." I said, unsure. "You probably don't remember me, but we met at that concert a few months back? My name's Grace."

"Grace!" Becky said. I could hear her smile- a good sign, I hoped. "Of course I remember you! You and I were the only people who agreed that that drummer was hot!"

"Well he was the drummer," I said, already comfortable, "it's band logic that the drummer has to be hot. Every time."

Becky laughed.

I hesitated slightly, "You wouldn't want to come over, would you? I know it's kinda late, but you could always stay over."

That end part came out without my consent, I assure you. She's never going to want to come over now! I sound like a rapist!

"Sure!" Becky said, peppy but not annoyingly so.

I quickly gave her directions and hung up so I could hunt down my mom. As expected, she was slouched in the living room, reading Nicolas Sparks with a bottle of wine tucked between her legs. Pure class, that woman.

I marched up to her and yanked the book out of her hands, eliciting an annoyed growly noise.

"Mom, I don't particularly care if you want to get trashed tonight. Really, I don't. But I have a friend coming over in like ten minutes, so it'd be awesome if you could get trashed in the privacy of your own room."

She looked up at me with glassy eyes.

"Who?" She asked.

"A girl." I said, "A girl that has no idea about the hunt, and is completely normal."

My mom nodded.

"Okay then."

I wasn't asking your permission there mama, but alright.

"Okay." I said, "So take your cheap romance novels and expensive alcohol and get out of here."

If she was sober I probably would have gotten a lecture.

I led her up to her room and set her up. This probably wasn't a normal daughter's job, but I believe it's been established already that normal I am not.

Just as I was leaving, I risked a glance back at her, lying in bed.

"Ian told me to tell you it wasn't your fault." The words came out in a rush, but I knew she understood them. She looked sharply up at me, and I shrugged.

"Don't shoot the messenger." I said.

…

Becky arrived a few minutes later, carrying a backpack which, I assumed, was holding her overnight stuff. I couldn't help but remember the last person who spent the night, and that made me want to talk to Becky even more.

We made chicken nuggets, and then went up to my room to eat them. I was worried that we weren't going to have anything to talk about, but it turned out that we actually had a lot in common. Plus, it helped that we were quite possibly musical soul mates. Speakers blaring, I finally told her the reason I invited her over.

"So there's this guy," I started, making Becky nod understandingly, "and I mean, it's not as if we were exactly bffs before, but I saw him kissing another girl today, and I sort of realized, well crap, apparently I like him."

That's how it begun. We spent the rest of the night analyzing every conversation I've ever had with Benjamin (fudging the details of how we met just a touch.), until eventually, somehow I ended up crying on Becky's shoulder, cursing myself all the while.

I sniffed and wiped my eyes, trying to regain control.

"I'm sorry." I said, and laughed shakily, "I'm unloading all of this on you and I don't even know your last name." I joked.

I saw something flash behind Becky's eyes, but I ignored it for the time being.

"Why does that matter?" she said, smiling.

"I guess you're right." I said, and laughed again.

It was sort of liberating, not having to go through the mess of last names with someone. My last name precedes me wherever I go. It makes people judge me, and mistrust me on sight. Maybe not knowing last names is a good thing, for now.

…

So I've decided that Becky's a generally good person, but a shit judge of character.

Late last night, Walter the Great stalked into my room, to check out the new person in the house, I guess. Becky immediately scooped him up and made these ridiculous gurgling noises at him, and now they're best friends. Becky left an hour ago, and Walt's still moping around.

Becky and I came up with the general plan to meet up with Benjamin sometime soon, so she could "assess" him. I'm perfectly fine with that, because it means I don't have to face him alone. As babyish as that sounds, it's true.

Back in the basement, I was leaned up against Simba, trying to work up the nerve to tap out a message on the MCMT. Eventually, I made my way over to it and nervously sent a message.

.. .- -. ..-.. .. - .-. ... -. .-. .- -.-. . .-.-.- Ian? It's Grace.

I got a message back almost instantly.

-.- . ... ..-.. Yes?

.. - - .-.. -.. ... . .-. .-.-.- - . .-.. .-.. -... . -. .- .- - .. -. - - ... . -. -.. - . .- - . ... ... .- -. . .- ... . -. ... . -.-. .- -. .-.-.- I told her. Tell Benjamin to send me a message when he can.

- ..-. -.-. - ..- .-. ... . .-.-.- Of course.

I hesitated, and then sent one last message;

- ... .- -. -.- -.- - ..- .-.-.- Thank You.