“I was going to say—”

“Insensitive? Uninformed?”

“Not cool.”

“That too.”

I took a breath, dried another dish. “Anyway, I’m sorry, okay?”

He humphed and passed me a cluster of spoons. “Okay.”

We washed and dried in silence for a few seconds.

“So have you heard of this Halloween Hoopla?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“You ever been?”

“Once or twice. Not much for costumes. Or crowds.”

“What about this year? Fiftieth anniversary and all.”

“I’ll pass.”

I resisted the urge to cheer and instead said a silent thank-you to the old guy for making this part of the job so easy. And there was something else.

It wasn’t just that Sal would not be there to interfere, I realized. I was also relieved that he wouldn’t witness my betrayal, to know I played a part. I got a sick feeling imagining his disappointment and wondered briefly if memory fades worked on slayers.

“I’m on the planning committee, you know.”

Sal lifted his bushy eyebrows and handed me more silverware. “Is that what you’ve been up to? And what do you get out of it?”

I feigned insult. “I get nothing more than the satisfaction of doing a good deed, of course!”

We both laughed, and I admitted, “Okay, I was pressured into it by Syd and Soph. And I get to ride on the float.”

“You do? Maybe I should come, then—”

“No! I mean . . .” I made a show of rolling my eyes. “It’s going to be totally lame, and I’ll be super busy with committee stuff. I won’t even be able to talk to you.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

It was almost too easy to get Sal to stay home. All the pieces were falling into place, and there was little doubt now—Halloween would be our last night as humans.

When the dishes were done, we sat at the table, Sal carving away at a block of wood and me, pretending to pore over a biology textbook. I turned to a chapter on human anatomy, and Sal reached over to tap the page with his whittling knife.

“Left a few things out, didn’t they?”

“Ew. I hope you’re not going to give me the talk or something, because I’ll be immortal again soon, and we don’t worry about the birds and the bees—”

“Relax,” he said. “I just meant, they think a beating heart is the only thing that keeps us moving, keeps us alive.”

“But isn’t that what you believe too?”

He turned his wooden block in his hands, inspecting all the angles. “The way I see it, there’s a difference between natural life and unnatural life. One is a gift. The other is . . . stolen.”

I scoffed. “That sounds like something straight out of the slayer handbook.”