I finally understood. Exhilarated, I stared at the road ahead, not seeing it. My heart was pounding and I felt light-headed.

“That’s why Audrey insists on being my scion,” he said softly, “even though it’s going to be very hard on her.”

I wanted to stop. I wanted to stop right there in the middle of the freaking bridge and figure this out. Peter looked miserable, and I wondered how long he had agonized over remaining as he was and causing her pain, or becoming an undead and causing her a pain of another kind. “Does Ivy know?” I asked. “About the auras?”

He nodded, his eyes lighting briefly upon my stitches. “Of course.”

“Peter, this is…is—” I said, bewildered. “Why are you hiding this from everyone?”

He ran a hand over his face, the angry gesture so reminiscent of Nick that it shocked me. “Would you have let Ivy take your blood if you knew she was taking your aura, the light from your soul?” he asked suddenly, his eyes fixing on mine vehemently.

I glanced from the road, blurting, “Yes. Yes, I would have. Peter, it’s beautiful. It brings something right to it.”

His expression went from anger to surprise, and he said, “Ivy is a very lucky woman.”

Feeling my chest clench, I blinked rapidly. I wouldn’t cry. I was frustrated and confused. I was going to kill Peter in less than three miles. I was on a train I couldn’t stop. I didn’t need to cry, I needed to understand.

“Not everyone sees it like that,” he said, the shadows of the passing girders falling on him. “You’re truly odd, Rachel Morgan. I don’t understand you at all. I wish I had time to. Maybe after I’m dead. I’ll take you dancing and we can talk. I promise I won’t bite you.”

I can’t do this. “I’m turning the lights on.” Jaw clenched, I leaned to reach the knob. He wasn’t done yet. There was more for him to learn. More he could tell me before he dropped his thread of consciousness forever.

Peter didn’t move as I pulled the knob. I leaned into the seat, my face going cold when the dash remained dark. I pushed the knob in and pulled it back out. “They aren’t working,” I said as a car passed us. I pushed it in and tried again. “Why aren’t they working, damn it!”

“I asked Jenks to disengage them.”

“Son of a bitch!” I shouted, hitting the dash and hurting my hand through the pain amulet. “That damn son of a bitch!” Tears started leaking out, and I twisted in the seat, desperate to stop this.

Peter took my shoulder, pinching me. “Rachel!” he exclaimed, his guilt-ridden expression looking at me from Nick’s face tearing at me. “Please,” he begged. “I wanted to end it this way because it would help someone. I’m hoping that because I’m helping you, God will take me even without my soul. Please—don’t stop.”

I was crying now. I couldn’t help it. I kept my foot on the accelerator, maintaining that same fifteen feet between me and the next car. He wanted to die, and I was going to help him whether I agreed with it or not. “It doesn’t work that way, Peter,” I said, my voice high. “They did a study on it. Without the mind to chaperone it, the soul has nothing to hold it together and it falls apart. Peter, there will be nothing left. It will be as if you never existed—”