“Okay, enough,” Reg said, sliding to block Adante from my view once more. “He’s right. It’s nearly dawn. It’s time.”

My chest heaved. I was on the verge of hyperventilating.

But I knew they were right. The black of night had already bled out of the sky, and a new purplish blue hue announced the coming day. If they waited any longer, Reg would be turned just in time to get burned to a crisp.

Better an immortal brother than a dead one.

“Do it now, before I put up a fight.”

I looked away as Reg moved toward Adante, unable to watch, but I knew the ritual well. Two bites, an exchange of blood, mortal for immortal, and then the transformation was complete. It was quicker than death and much less messy.

My tears had barely dried when I felt Reg’s hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes at the touch—powerful, though he was trying to be gentle, and ice-cold, even through my sweater. When I faced him, the eyes that met mine were pitch black, set into pale white skin.

He was the brother I remembered, but also someone new. There was a warmth still there in his eyes that I had not known in our immortal lifetime—a little human still lingering. But maybe that was only because his memories were not yet gone. That ritual was longer and still to come. I wondered how much would change in his eyes when Nowhere, Iowa, was wiped away.

“One final chance,” Adante sang. Behind Reg, he was dabbing a black cloth to the corner of his mouth, his lips stained red with Reg’s blood. “Join your brother. Reclaim your immortal identity of Charlotte Drake, proud member of the Clan of Bone.”

I marveled at the way those words—that were all I longed to hear just a few short months ago—did absolutely nothing for me now.

I ignored Adante and spoke only to Reg.

“Try to remember,” I whispered. “Try to remember me here, what we did tonight.”

“You know I can’t—”

“Just try,” I pressed. “Otherwise, you won’t know why I made this choice. You’ll think I abandoned you, and you’ll never forgive me.”

“Is that how you feel?” he asked. “Abandoned?”

I didn’t want to answer that . . . not to Reg, not even to myself, and definitely not now, when we were saying goodbye.

“At least I will remember why you did it,” I said. “You won’t remember anything about my choice.”

I was crying again, and Reg brushed away one of my tears with his icicle finger. “All right, Charlie. I will try to remember.”