Chapter 1

They used to joke that vampires only lived in stories. I knew better. I was one. At least, that was what my mother, Eleanor, had always told me.

She said my body could not bear the light. She said the sun would burn me to ash the moment it touched my skin.

So she sealed the house tight. Every window was nailed shut. Heavy black curtains hung day and night, never drawn aside.

She couldn't stand the thought of me being alone. So she pulled my older sister, Sophie, out of school, forcing her to stay home and rot with me. For my sake, she said.

Sophie called it a prison. The air inside the house was always still. One afternoon, Sophie could not take it anymore. I heard the scrape of fabric. Then a thin line of light cut through the dark.

Before I could react, Eleanor rushed in. She moved like something unhinged, fast and wild, and she slammed the curtain shut.

"Have you lost your mind?" she shouted. "Do you want to kill your sister with that light?"

Sophie did not flinch. She turned to look at me, and there was nothing soft in her expression. Only years of anger, packed tight and ready to break.

"You ruined my life," she said, her voice shaking. "You hear me? You ruined everything."

I wanted to say I was sorry. The words stayed where they were. Later, she dragged me to the door and shoved me outside.

I did not fight her. I did not knock.

The ground was cold beneath me as I lay down and closed my eyes.

If I died, Sophie would be free. She would go back to school. She would see the sky again.

Eleanor would not have to worry anymore. She would not have to cry.

But when the sunlight finally touched me, I didn't die. In fact, I felt warm.

So tell me. If I am not the one who is sick, then who is?

*****

"Penelope, you cannot go into the light. Not even a little. It will kill you.

"Your allergy is severe. You could stop breathing at any moment if you are exposed."

Eleanor had said those words to me every day for sixteen years.

Until today.

One second passed. Then another. A full minute slipped by.

My arm lay in the sunlight, and all I felt was warmth.

There was no swelling. No itching. No pain. Not even a trace of redness.

I stared at my skin, waiting for something to change. Nothing did.

I stood up and walked to the window. My hands hesitated for a moment, then I pulled the curtain open a little wider.

More light spilled in. It touched my face, my neck, my hands.

I stood there for ten minutes, barely moving. The warmth grew stronger, and it made me feel almost dizzy, but there was no pain. There was nothing wrong at all.

A thought crept in, quiet and dangerous. What if I were not sick anymore?

First came the confusion, then a sudden, terrifying rush of hope.

I reached for the curtain, meaning to close it before Eleanor came back. I needed to ask her. I needed answers.

The door burst open with a loud crash.

Sophie stood there, breathing hard. She froze when she saw me standing in the sunlight. For a split second, she looked stunned. Then her face twisted. She rushed at me and shoved me away from the window.

I had no time to react. My head slammed against the edge of the bed, and a flash of pain exploded behind my eyes.

"Why are you still alive?" she shouted. "You should have died a long time ago!

"Because of you, we cannot even open a window in this house. You ruined my life!"

She pointed at me as she spoke, her hand trembling. I could feel her breath on my face.

Then she struck me. The sound rang in my ears, and my cheek burned where her hand had landed.

"You should be the one who dies," she went on. "If you were gone, I could finally live like a normal person!"

Tears spilled down my face before I could stop them.

"Sophie, I did not do anything," I said, my voice breaking.

"You still dare to argue with me?"

Her anger only grew louder. The noise brought Eleanor running.

She stopped in the doorway, and her eyes went straight to the strip of sunlight by the window. Her face drained of color.

"Sophie, what are you doing?"

She hurried over to me, her hands shaking as she pulled a protective mask over my face, as if the light might still harm me.

Then she turned on Sophie, her voice sharp and furious.

"How many times have I told you that Penelope cannot be exposed to sunlight?" she said. "Are you trying to get her killed?"

Sophie's eyes turned red, bright with anger and hurt.

"Mom, why are you only yelling at me?" she said. "I am the one who has to live like this. It is the middle of summer, and the living room is always dark. I cannot even step onto the balcony."

Her voice rose as she spoke. She scrubbed at her face with both hands, rough and careless.

The skin she touched flushed almost at once, spreading into a deep, angry red.

Eleanor froze. Then she moved. She stopped arguing and rushed forward, guiding Sophie quickly into the master bedroom, the one place where no light ever reached.

She grabbed a cold towel and pressed it gently against Sophie's face. Then she hurried to the medicine box, shook out a pill, and brought it back with shaking hands. "Take this," she said softly. "It will help." Her tone changed completely. The sharp edge was gone. All that remained was worry.

I stood where I was, the heavy protective mask still covering my face. The room around me felt dim and distant.

I watched Eleanor's back as she bent over Sophie. I listened to the quiet, careful way she spoke, as if Sophie might break at any moment.

Then I thought about the sunlight. About how it had rested on my skin without leaving a mark.

A strange idea began to take shape.

So who is actually allergic to the sun?