With that, the Vampire King took off flying. It was quite an exit. Like Peter Pan’s bigger, blood-sucking clone, he swept upward with no visible means of propulsion. His legs craned, his arms outstretched, he sailed through the hole in the roof and out into the night. In his wake, he left a miasma of magical sparkles that glittered in the moonlight. Kara had never seen a more ridiculous sight in her entire thirty-two years on the planet. At least, the dragons had wings. Wings had some dignity. Wings didn’t twinkle.
