“Uh-huh.” Lina looked from me to Dexter and winked. “How would I know? I’ve only been a few places.”

She busied herself with the complicated contraptions behind the counter, pulling levers and sliding tiny silver cups in and out of giant machines. As we retreated to our table, the Lina in all the exotic photos seemed to be giving me that same squinty-eyed assessment.

“Don’t mind her,” Dexter said as we joined the others around a large oak barrel that had been converted to a table. “She likes to haze new kids. But she’s like a second mom to us.”

Sophia propped her elbows on the barrel table, her blond hair swinging around her shoulders. “If she challenges you, it means she likes you.”

“Totally,” Sydney agreed, chomping her gum. I wondered if it was the same piece from earlier. I wondered what gum tasted like, what made it last so long. Was it food or something different?

“When I dyed my hair,” Sydney said, “Lina put a sign on the door saying ‘No Pink Allowed,’ but when I came in, she had made me a special pink latte.”

“She did charge you double for it though,” Sophia pointed out.

My eyes tangled in Sydney’s pink tresses. For a century, I had wondered what it would be like to try out new hair colors. When humans transitioned to vampires, many physical imperfections improved, and disease disappeared, but other things were unchanged. Height and weight stayed roughly the same, and skin maintained its general tone, fading from peach and copper and ebony to cooler shades. But for reasons absolutely nobody could properly explain to me, immortality made hair black as midnight—no exceptions—not even a teensy little highlight. I curled a lock of my new brown hair around my finger, wondering what I could do with it now.

A moment later, Lina dropped off our drinks, and I was sure I didn’t imagine the way she hovered a moment too long, wiping her hands on her apron and looking back and forth between me and Reg. But if she had something to say, she swallowed it and walked away.

Reg and I exchanged a glance over the tops of our drinks, a silent “cheers” before sharing our first-ever sip of coffee. Then we were both gagging and retching in unison.

“Too sweet,” I said, holding the icy concoction away from me.

Reg lifted his own mug. “Too . . . bitter?”

There was a pause, then laughter from the group as Reg and I swapped drinks.

He declared mine delicious, as I took a tentative sip of the hot black liquid he had passed to me.

Nirvana.