I go where he wants. I take what I can get.

  “Can I?” he asks.

  Can you what, Simon? Kiss me? Kill me? Break my heart?

  I touch him like he’s made of butterfly wings.

  “You don’t have to ask.” I say it loud enough that he’ll hear me, over everything.

  SIMON

  Cold lips, cold mouth.

  I’ve never heard Baz’s heartbeat.

  And I’ve lain all night with my head on his chest.

  BAZ

  My favourite part of kissing Simon when he’s cold is the way he goes warm in my hands. Like I’m the living campfire. Like I’m the one who lives. I warm him in my arms, and then he warms me in his. He gives it all back to me.

  SIMON

  I’d give him all that I am.

  I’d give him all that I was.

  I’d open up a vein.

  * * *

  I’d tie our hearts together, chamber by chamber.

  BAZ

  It’s good, it’s good, it’s so good.

  And I resist demanding an explanation.

  Why now, what’s the key? How do I get back here tomorrow? Promise to let me back in.

  Sometimes Simon kisses me like it’s the end of the world, and I worry he might believe that it is.

  * * *

  The truck stops too soon. Shepard doesn’t want to drive into Vegas at night. “We’re less likely to get noticed in the morning,” he says.

  He pulls into a campground, and all four of us bed down in the back of the truck, Penny between Simon and me, for safety. There’s only one sleeping bag, but I spell the truck soft with “Cushion the blow!”

  Shepard can’t get over it. He keeps jumping up and down like a kid in a bouncy castle.

  “So,” Bunce says, “what do you know about this hotel we’re headed to?”

  “The Katherine?” he says. “It’s one of the vampire hotels. The oldest, I think. The parties there are infamous—every night in the penthouse suite.”

  “There are vampire hotels?” Simon asks.

  “There are vampire everything in Vegas,” Shepard says. “There are probably vampire dry cleaners. Vampire taxis. Vampire accountants…”

  “I thought you said you’ve never met a vampire,” I say.

  “I haven’t. I hadn’t.”

  “So how do you know where they party?”

  “I know people who know,” Shepard says. “Well. Not exactly people…”

  Bunce huffs. “So we’re going to crash a vampire party and hope your charm attack works on them? ‘Hi, I’m Shepard, and I just want to be friends. Please tell me all your vampire secrets.’”

  “God, no,” Shepard says. “I’d get drained. Vampires are notoriously tight-lipped. They keep to their own.”

  “So?” Bunce asks.

  “So I’m not going to do any of that. Baz is.”

  42

  AGATHA

  I’m awake. I’m not sure if I’m still in my room.

  I think I’m waiting for Braden.

  * * *

  He came yesterday while I was still eating breakfast, and he looked so happy to see me that I found myself smiling back at him. For a moment I felt so ridiculous. Why was I worrying? I’d been given my own room at a luxury retreat. I was being courted by the sort of guy who shows up in Vanity Fair, under “Vanities.”

  He sat on my bed. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” I said. “What’s on the docket today? I think Ginger and I were supposed to meditate. Or possibly mediate … I’m game for either.”

  “Agatha…” Braden said. “I want to really talk to you.”

  “Haven’t we been really talking? It’s felt like so much talking.”

  “I want to be honest,” he said.

  I heroically resisted rolling my eyes. “Of course.”

  “Agatha, you’re a perfect specimen.”

  “Braden, I know you’re in health care, but girls don’t like being called a ‘specimen.’”

  He laughed. “You’re so funny.”

  “I thought we were being honest.”

  He laughed louder and took my hand. “Agatha … I know what you are.” He was still smiling at me.

  Not a single muscle moved in my face. “I told you everything I am.”

  “Come on.” His voice was gentle. “You can drop the artifice. There are no secrets between us.”

  There bloody well are.

  I waited for him to elaborate.

  “I saw you,” he said. “In the library. I saw you light your cigarette.”

  “I thought you’d forgiven me for smoking in the house.”

  His smile faltered for the first time. “Agatha, come on. I thought we could really do this—that we could just have this conversation.”

  I smiled exactly the way my mother does when she doesn’t want to hear something. It’s the look she gave me when I said I didn’t want to go to Watford, and when I asked for another horse.

  “Agatha.”

  “Braden…”

  “I know you have the mutation.”

  “The mutation?”

  “It must be a mutation,” he said. “We’ve ruled out anything communicable.”

  I genuinely didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

  “I know you can do magic!”

  There’s a protocol for this. It starts with avoidance. Then comes denial. “I don’t think I follow—”

  “We’ve got it on video, Agatha! I don’t know what spell you cast—you barely moved your lips. Is that something you’re taught?”

  Next comes flight. I stood up, I headed for the door. “You’re being silly.” That’s also something my mother would say. “I really need to catch up with Ginger. Do you want to come with?” I reached for the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.

  Avoid, deny, flee, fight. “Braden, what’s the meaning of this?”

  He stood up, too, cornering me against the door. “You don’t have to keep this secret from me. I know about you. I know about your kind.”

  What options did I have left? I didn’t have my wand. I could have started a small fire in my palm, I suppose, but then he’d have the proof he wanted. And a Bic lighter wasn’t going to get me out of this. “This is completely unacceptable,” I said. “I am a guest in your home, and I demand to be treated as such.”

  “You can talk to me, Agatha!” Somehow he was still smiling. “We’re both part of humanity’s next stage.”

  “Humanity’s next stage? Braden, I’m a freshman at San Diego State. I’m probably not going to get into vet school. I’m—”

  “Stop. Bullshitting. Me.” He very nearly raised his voice. “I thought we could do this together. I thought you’d want to do this together. You came here of your own volition—you want to level up. You want more from life.”

  “No. I don’t. I was just being a good friend.”

  “You’ve gotten to know us, you know we’re here to evolve. We’re moving mankind forward.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Braden, you’re very rich and very good at Ashtanga—”

  “We are the next stage of human life!” he snarled, baring his teeth at me. Baring his … fangs.

  My breath caught.

  “We are pushing past every single limitation, Agatha! We’ve already conquered sickness and decay, and next we’ll conquer the impossible!”

  I walked past him, sitting primly on the bed.

  He followed, standing over me, still ranting: “We know all about your people. We’re mapping your genome right now. In these labs. I’m building an entire facility for more research. We know about your wands and your spells—‘Sticks and stones,’ right? That’s one? And ‘Free at last’?”

  I folded my hands in my lap.

  “We’re going to know everything soon, and you could help us—you could make it so much more efficient. And it would benefit you, too. You’d be one of us. Strong. Well. Ageless.”

  I stared at the wall. “If you’re quite finished—”

  “Agatha.”

  “If you’re quite finished, I think I’d like to—”

  “It’s an invitation. But it isn’t a request.”

  “Ginger will be looking for me.”

  He touched my arm then. Probably with one of his infinitesimal needles. “I hope you consider it,” he said. By the end of his sentence, my head felt heavy.

  * * *

  But I’m awake now. My eyes are open.

  I can’t open my mouth.

  I can’t remember why not.

  I think I’m waiting for Braden.

  43

  SIMON

  Baz is standing in front of a full-length mirror, wearing—I swear to Merlin—a flowered suit. It’s some slick material, dark blue with blood-red roses. With a white shirt. No—a light pink shirt. When did he start wearing all these flowers? When did his hair get so long? He’s put stuff in it, and it’s hanging over his collar in thick, black waves.

  “You can’t be serious,” I say.

  He cocks an eyebrow at me in the mirror.

  “It’s perfect,” Shepard says. “Vampires are always way over the top.”

  Baz shifts his evil eye over to Shepard. “No, it’s perfect because it’s perfect.”

  If Shepard could see Baz’s house, he’d know that it isn’t just vampires living the goth life; it’s also stupidly rich magicians.

  Baz didn’t blink when we walked into this hotel, the theme of which seems to be What if Dracula opened a hotel and didn’t care whether everyone guessed he was Dracula?

  Everything is black. The walls, the furniture. Everything but the carpet, which is the colour of spilled wine. Or spilled blood, I reckon.

  Penelope walked in and nearly walked right out: The centrepiece of the lobby is a bunch of hanging birdcages. At least a dozen of them, all painted black, with only black birds inside. Black parrots and black—I don’t know—cockatoos or something.

  “Do you think they dye them?” Penny asked, walking along the wall to avoid the cages. (She’s hated birds ever since fourth year, when the Humdrum sent cravens after us, and they tried to peck out our eyes.)

  We all kept our distance from the front desk while Baz secured our room. I’m not sure if he had to use money or magic, or if the employees just recognized him as one of their own. Everyone who works here is pale and incredibly good-looking. The men wear black suits, and the women wear black leather dresses cut into lace. (Leather and lace.) (Are they vampires? Is everyone a vampire here? You’d think I’d know, from living with one. But it took me years of very close study to figure him out.)

  Our suite is slightly more cheerful, at least. It’s only mostly black. The walls are the colour of Baz’s new shirt (maybe vampires love pink?), and the beds are grey. Everything that could be leather is.

  We got here this morning, and spent the rest of the day washing the sand out of our hair, taking naps, and ordering room service. Baz went out for a while and came back with this suit and a change of clothes for Penelope and me. He was the only person Shepard would allow to leave the room.

  “Las Vegas can’t be that dangerous,” Penny says. “Some of the most famous magicians in the world live here.” She’s lying on one of the beds, wearing a pretty yellow sundress—Baz should pick out her clothes more often. (And he should never pick out mine. He brought me back a shirt with buttons. Like I work in a bank.) Penelope sighs. “I can’t believe I came all the way to Las Vegas, and I’m not gonna see Penn and Teller.”

  “Please,” Baz mutters. “Sellouts.”

  Shepard’s eyes light up. “Penn and Teller?”

  Baz finishes adjusting his cuffs and collar, and turns away from the mirror. He really does look perfect. Whatever strange look he’s going for—Gothic pop star—it works for him.

  Penelope sits up, looking serious. “Right then, Basil, we’ll be here listening, and your phone—”

  “Will be in my pocket, Bunce,” Baz says. “I’ll call you before I leave. You’ll hear the whole thing.” He’s all set up for international calling now.

  Thinking about him in a room full of vampires makes me itch all over.

  “If they start asking too many questions—” Penny says.

  Shepard takes over: “Be as honest as possible. You’re not from around here, you’re on holiday, you heard there was a party.”

  “That’s … actually a decent plan,” Penny says. “And if they don’t buy it—”

  “You set them all on fire,” I cut in, “and we get the hell out of here.”

  Baz smiles at me. His eyes are soft. I think they’re still soft from last night. From whatever spell we cast in the back of the truck.

  “On second thought”—I step between him and the door—“let’s just set this place on fire and get the hell out of here immediately.”

  Baz lowers his eyebrows, like he can’t tell whether I’m being serious. “What about Agatha?”

  I think I am being serious. “These vampires might not even know about Agatha. You might be risking your life for nothing.”

  “I’ll be fine, Snow. Have a little faith in me.” He adjusts his cuffs again. (What is even the point of cuffs that need constant adjusting?) Then he takes out his phone and dials a number.

  Penny’s mobile rings. She answers it without saying anything.

  Baz slips his phone back into his jacket pocket. He steps around me, opens the door, and holds out his hand: I give him the room key.

  Then he’s gone.

  Penny puts her arm on my shoulder. “He’ll be fine, Simon.” She pulls me over to one of the beds, and lays her phone down right in the middle, switched to speaker.

  We hear Baz’s phone rubbing against his pocket as he walks.…

  Then the ping of the lift arriving.…

  Doors opening. People talking, laughing.

  After a few seconds, another ping, and the people get off.

  Then we hear the lift whooshing to the top of the building. “Have a little faith,” Baz whispers.

  The lift pings. The doors open.

  He’s moving again. The hallway is quiet.

  He knocks three times on something solid.

  44

  BAZ

  I knock on the door. Which was apparently a mistake—because the woman who answers it is scowling. I start to say hello, but she leans in and sniffs me, then walks away, waving me in. I suppose I pass her test.

  I step inside. It’s the penthouse suite, much larger than ours, and crowded with people.

  Not people—vampires. People like me. I worried that I’d be overdressed, but Shepard was right: Everyone here has gone a bit over the top. Men in suits, women in gowns and capes. Everyone dripping jewels and gold chains and feathers.…

  It’s nothing like the club that Simon and I visited in London. Those vampires were lying low. These vampires want to be seen—and admired. They aren’t especially beautiful. (Though some are.) That’s a myth, I think—vampire beauty. What they are is especially rich. And especially … liquid. They move like oil, like shadows. Like cats.

  Is this what I look like? Like I don’t have any parts that stick?

  Everyone is drinking. So I look for the bar and find it along the wall. I pour myself something golden, just to have something to do with my hands.

  I told Simon I’d be fine here, and I will be. I’ve been to a hundred of my parents’ parties—I know how to stand around wealthy people and look bored. Though these people don’t look bored.…

  A few of them are dancing. There isn’t a dance floor; they’re just dancing wherever they happen to be standing. Two women are kissing very passionately in one of the window seats.

  There are Normals here, too. At least a few. I smell their heartbeats. If Penelope and Simon were here, that’d be it—they’d do whatever they had to do to save the Normals.

  But I want to save Agatha.

  And I want to crush these NowNext people before they take hold. The dragon was right, vampires mustn’t learn to Speak—no one should be allowed to be both.

  I walk up to a group of four or five people, hoping to introduce myself, but they break up shortly after I join them. I stand there for a moment staring down at my drink, pretending I intended it to go that way.

  A very beautiful woman—a girl my age—stumbles past me, laughing. There’s blood streaked down her neck, and she isn’t wearing shoes. My nostrils burn. A few of the other vampires turn away from their conversations to glance at her. Four hands catch her by the waist and pull her into the crowd.

  “Hello,” someone says over my shoulder. I turn away from the girl’s scent.

  It’s a man. Well, it’s a vampire. Like me. Though not exactly like me.… Shorter, slighter, a different shade of pale. His eyes are sparkling, like I’ve already done something to amuse him. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.

  I hold up my still-full glass.

  The vampire tilts his head and smiles. “You’re … not from around here, are you?”

  I try to sparkle back. “Is it that obvious?”

  He smiles, but there’s a flash of something else. “It is now. London?”

  “By way of Hampshire.”

  “I know it well.” He holds out his hand. “Lamb.”

  I take it. “Chaz.” (Bunce thought I should use something that sounds like my real name, so I’d still turn my head if I heard it.) His hand strikes me as cold, but it isn’t really—it’s only as cold as mine. I clear my throat. “You’ve been to Hampshire?”

  He feigns heartbreak. “Have I been gone so long? Do I pass as an American now?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “I take it back.” He seems utterly American to me. Or maybe I just mean utterly vampire—with his periwinkle shirt and his unfashionably extravagant auburn hair. It’s cut all at one length, loose and shiny, just below the tips of his ears. He pushes it out of his face, and it falls silkily back. He’s clearly one of those vampires contributing to the myth of beauty.