“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “You said you were fine being mortal, you said—”

“I said I was fine with a human vacation.” He cast his eyes down, unable to look at me straight. “It was always meant to end.”

“But tonight . . . Reg, we fought back. We won! What was the point, if—”

“The point was to save them, save their town. I didn’t want any part of that treacherous plan to rob them of their homes, their memories.” He looked up finally, human tears shining in his eyes. “I am so proud of what we did tonight. I am so proud of you, Charlie.”

I spluttered. “Everything we’ve done here—the people we’ve met. You’ll lose them all. What about Sal? What about Poe?”

A different kind of pain flickered across his features, and I could see then that Poe was part of the problem. What had ignited between them, fast and furious, had burned out almost as quickly. I could imagine Reg was anxious to be rid of those feelings.

He forced a smile through his tears.

“There is only one human I am truly worried about, and she still has a chance to change her mind.”

“Reg, I can’t—”

“I know you’ve grown fond of the humans,” Reg said. “I have too. But consider all you are giving up for them if you stay. Your youth and beauty, your strength and speed . . . your immunity to heartache.”

Yes, this was at least partly about Poe.

But Reg was wrong about heartache.

I had witnessed Lina’s suffering over Sal and the two different paths they’d chosen. Immortal feelings might be dulled by thirst, but they were not erased.

A heart doesn’t have to beat to be broken.

“It hurts to be human,” I agreed. “But I think maybe they are worth it.”

Reg placed his hands on my arms, grip tight, as if ready to shake sense into me. “Charlie, if you stay here, you will age. You will . . . you will . . .” He cast around, desperate for something that would change my mind. “You will have to get a job.”

I responded with a small, sad laugh. “I hear we have a few new mortals in town. Maybe the slayer will need an assistant to help run his human halfway house.”

Reg let out a guttural cry that was a cross between laughter and anguish. “Don’t joke, Charlie. House Drake is waiting for us.”

I took his hands and wrapped them in my own.

“I’m not a Drake,” I said softly. “I’m a Smith.”