“Um, thank you?” Reg tried.

Adante lifted a stiff arm in response—his bony hand a shade darker than ours, but just as bloodless—fingers pointing ominously toward the small gate in the white picket fence. He meant for us to cross through it.

Instinctively, Reg backed away a step instead. But a single step was as far as he got. The other Elder was behind him in an instant. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. She was faster than both me and Reg, and I was certain that her sole job tonight was to make sure we passed through that suspicious gate.

I resisted the urge to expose my fangs. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of seeing any fear. Instead, I summoned up all the attitude I could and pointed at the pile of luggage filling the sidewalk and spilling into the street. “And just who exactly is going to carry our bags? I assume there is no bellhop?”

Adante’s arm still hung in the air, pointed at the gate. He could stand there for a decade and never get tired. “Your bags are not my concern. Now it’s time to go. We’ve said our goodbyes.”

“Yes.” I smiled. “And what warm and fuzzy goodbyes they were. Thanks ever so much for your hospitality over the last century. Do tell everyone back home we said, ‘Bite me.’”

Reg grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the Elders, who remained as still as statues but now had their fangs bared. “Stop it, Charlie.”

“Get it?” A hysterical laugh bubbled up from my throat as Reg dragged me backward. “Bite me?”

“Be quiet!” Reg gave me one final yank, and I stumbled right into the gate. He caught me a split second before I fell through, but my rear end bumped the gate, and it swung open with an ominous creak like a tree swaying in a storm.

As if to complete the scene, a slight breeze swam up from the cottage yard, rustling fallen leaves and blowing my long dark hair across my cheeks.

“We’re going, okay?” Reg called back to the Elders. “We’re going.”

He set me upright, and our eyes locked. At first glance, his eyes were so much like my own—as tar black as our hair. But Reg’s eyes were the kinder pair, always. There was fear in them now, but also a softness. “Let’s make the best of it, shall we?”

“Will we,” I corrected.

“Right.” Reg put on a big fake smile and grabbed my hand tight as we faced the cottage, the tips of our toes right on the threshold of the open gate. “Here we go, then.”

“All your fault,” I breathed. But I squeezed his hand hard, grateful to have at least one part of my life I could still hold on to.