He gives the stake a twirl. “You were making me nervous with this thing.”

“Give it back.”

“If a vampire sneaks up on us, you’re safer if I have the stake.”

With the speed he just moved at, I should probably believe him, but I don’t trust him. “Give it back.”

“We’re still not vampires,” he continues, ignoring my outstretched hand. “Once vampires were created, some of the Acetabularii wanted to wipe their hands of it, but others felt an obligation to do something. But the curse makes the vampires strong and fast, and they can heal instantly from almost any wound because the curse wants to be fed, so it made them superior hunters. Nobody knew how to stand a chance against them without ending up cursed in the exact same way.” He twists his face up in such pure disgust that I find myself nodding with the sentiment.

“The Acetabularii started experimenting with natural ways to up their power, like more elaborate tricks to draw a bigger reaction from the audience and performing more often so the power lasted longer. But eventually two of the most powerful Acetabularii realized we’d never be strong enough without using blood magic, so they did. One of them sacrificed every drop of her magician blood, but she didn’t create her own immortality—she gave her life so the other magician could make these.” He holds up the leather cuff with the jagged red jewel in its center. “These hold the spell for immortality, but because we didn’t sacrifice our own blood, we don’t have to feed to sustain it. We still have to feed the spell, but it’s not fed with blood—it’s fed with performance.”

I eye his cuff. “So I need one of those to kill a vampire?”

“No, but it evens the playing field. It doesn’t just let us live forever, which in turn helps build the magic in our blood—the older we get, the more powerful we get. It also helps us store extra magic, like an amplifier. We’re stronger, faster, and we can heal wounds that aren’t severe. But even someone with no power at all can get lucky and bring down a vamp. A stake to the heart will work just fine. It’s the easiest. They can’t heal from wounds made by wood because it’s a natural thing in an unnatural body.” He grins down at my stake like a long-lost friend. “But they can’t heal from decapitation or burning to ashes either.”

There’s a viciousness behind his grin, and I know you don’t get that way without a reason. I thought he was all charm and flirting, but when I think back, I saw it in him last night when I was onstage with him.