It wouldn’t be easy. He would probably get himself killed in the process. But he would find the man who’d been a monstrous father and a crueler sire. He would find him and Mouse would be avenged.

When Cyrus woke me at sundown, dark circles ringed his eyes. I’d heard him a few times during the day, talking to himself in a way that suggested he didn’t realize he was actually speaking.

I probably looked as worn-out as he did. It was hard to sleep, to let my guard down when the person in the driver’s seat seemed to be slowly losing his mind.

“Are you okay?” I asked as I eased from the back of the van into the front seat.

“I have been better. I’ll survive.” He slid into the passenger seat and buckled himself in. “But I need some food.”

I thought of the dwindling cash supply in the back. “Will fast food do?”

Surprisingly, he didn’t make a face or a snide comment, or reject the idea right out. He simply shrugged and said, “So long as it isn’t the one with that insipid clown.”

We rode in silence until the next town, where we found a burger joint with a drive-through. Cyrus had a voracious appetite, and he tore through his meal with uncharacteristically bad table manners.

“You’re not a vampire anymore. That stuff is terrible for you,” I reminded him.

“This stuff is terrible, period.” He seemed to remember himself, and wiped his mouth with one of the cheap paper napkins. “It’s greasy and unpleasant, but I haven’t eaten in a day. I must bow to the demands of the human stomach.”

“So, they kept you fed, then?” What a bizarre thing to make conversation about. I understand the vampires who brought you back from the dead and held you hostage treated you well?

He didn’t look at me, but squinted at the starry sky through the windshield. “No. Mouse did most of the cooking. I do know how to microwave a hot dog, though.”

“Well, at least you won’t starve when you’re on your own.” It occurred to me then that I imagined a future for him beyond whatever would happen when we returned to Grand Rapids. With every passing moment, Cyrus was becoming more of a person and less of a monster to me.

He seemed suddenly uncomfortable with the subject, becoming more interested in his soda than our conversation. When he spoke again, it seemed a wall had gone up, closing off both the newly human Cyrus and the familiar, terrifying one who’d sired me. “So, the Oracle said the Soul Eater is trying to become a god. Did she say what type?”