I wanted to slam the receiver back into the cradle and flee from the scene of my heinous crime. It would have been the sensible thing to do. Instead, I kept talking. "He knows something. He knows where the Soul Eater is, but he couldn't tell me."

"We can find another way—"

"He's going to die!" I gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked.

The silence seemed endless. For all I knew, this could have been a pointless argument. Cyrus might already be dead.

"I'll be over in a minute with the med kit." Nathan's voice sounded tight, strained. The tension shattered with a guttural sob, "Please, don't do anything until I get there!"

But it was far too late. The seed of the evil notion had been planted, and I would see it through to harvest.

"I'm sorry, Nathan." I hung up the phone with shaking hands and slowly stood. Every step I took toward the bathroom seemed to require more effort than the last, as though I were wading into deeper and deeper water. When I finally reached Cyrus's side, I knew I couldn't hesitate. He was so close to death I could feel the angel in the room with us.

"Sorry to send you back empty-handed," I muttered, rolling up one of my sleeves. There was a cup with a toothbrush and a razor on the edge of the sink. My hands shook so badly I knocked it the floor when I reached for it.

The noise, coupled with my jostling of him while I groped for the razor, brought Cyrus back from the brink for a moment. His eyes searched my face, his mouth worked soundlessly as understanding cascaded over him.

He managed one word. "No."

I flicked the blade across my wrist. The pain surprised me. In the movies, it never looks as though it hurts. The blood didn't well up gracefully. It spurted, hot, wet jets from my torn veins.

He gathered enough strength to rise on his elbows and pull back. His mouth clamped in a tight line, and I had to force his jaw open with my free hand.

"No," he begged, trying to spit out the blood that had already fallen on his lips. "Not this… "

I couldn't bear to hear it, to hear him say he would rather die than let me save him. I gripped his shoulder to pin him to the ground, and pressed my slashed wrist to his mouth to stifle his protests.

Cyrus had once warned me not to test his will. His might have been strong, but mine was stronger.

He stopped struggling, jaw going slack beneath my wrist, but he didn't draw the blood into his mouth willingly. It didn't matter. All he needed was to ingest some.