The sounds of fighting were audible once they were in the hallway. They reached a split in the hall, and Jack went right, leading them to the base of another, shorter stairway. She reached up, untying her cravat. The scars on her neck stood out starkly, tiny white dots outlining the arch of her veins. She pulled the cravat free, wrapping it around her hand.

Without a word, she began to climb. The others followed, a step at a time. The air grew colder, and the scent of rain tickled their noses, until they emerged onto the high parapets of the castle. There, standing with her hands resting on the edge of the wall and the wind whipping her gown into a pale froth around her legs, was Jack’s twin.

Jack stopped just inside the narrow chamber separating the castle from the storm. “Hello, Jill,” she said, voice low and almost apologetic. “You know I don’t like it when you touch my things.”

“Do you mean your body or your precious teacher?” Jill turned, leaning languidly against the wall as she ran one bare hand down the slope of her side. “I can’t apologize if you don’t tell me which I’m apologizing for.”

Christopher, who had never wanted to think of Jack like that, flushed and turned away. “Uncool either way, Jill.”

“Christopher?” Jill sounded unaccountably delighted. “Kade! And—Sumi? Didn’t I kill you already? I know things were a trifle hectic there toward the end, but I usually remember when I kill someone.” Her attention flicked dismissively to Cora. “And you. Who are you?”

“You did,” said Sumi. She twirled her baling hook, seemingly unconcerned. “I got better.”

“You went back to school. Why, Jack, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Jill beamed. “See, we can all be happy: you can take your friends and go sit in math class washing your hands until all the skin comes off. I’ll stay here and keep watch over the Moors with my father, forever.”

“He’s not your father,” said Jack. She tilted her chin upward, exposing the soft, scarred skin of her throat—Jill’s throat, really. Jill was the one who’d willingly submitted to a vampire’s idea of love. “Would a father do this?”

“He’s better than the one you have,” snapped Jill.

“I don’t know whether you mean Mr. Wolcott or Dr. Bleak, and I don’t care,” said Jack. “Mr. Wolcott was a fool who should never have had children. His genetic donation is noted and appreciated. Dr. Bleak is not my father, but he loves me, and he cared for me when no one else would, and you had no right to kill him. Where is his head, Jillian?”