I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I woke to the gentle touch of Bella’s hand on my shoulder. I lifted my head and saw Nathan. He was awake, but clearly drugged. I’d pulled a chair to his bedside just hours before. When I’d finally collapsed from exhaustion, I’d rested my head on the bed next to him. Now, my back ached and a cold sheen of drool coated my cheek. “Good morning.”

“We must talk,” she said humorlessly. “About the ritual.”

I didn’t think we’d talk about the weather, but now wasn’t the time for sarcastic quips. “Just tell me what I need to do.”

She led me to the kitchen, where Max and Cyrus waited. The former handed me a mug of blood and the latter rose to offer me his chair. I waved for him to sit, and turned to Bella. “Okay, give me the gory details.”

The basic form of the ritual sounded simple enough. Despite his unreliable state, Bella insisted Nathan not be given another sedative. It would ensure he could become conscious during the ritual and reap the full benefits. But since he was still crazed, Max would stand in for him, a proxy or a magical power of attorney, I supposed, as Nathan wasn’t truly able to give his consent. The whole thing seemed oddly democratic for a magic ritual. Of course, my notion of “magic” came from various sensational news reports about witches, and David Copperfield specials. The combination created a strange picture in my mind of Max wearing a hooded robe and waving burning herbs while Bella sawed me in half.

I shook the scene away and tried to concentrate on Bella’s instructions. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice I’d drifted. “You will be fully conscious of what is happening around you, but you will not be able to control your physical or astral bodies. Once you get there, it will be important that you do not panic.”

“Get where? Where am I going?” I hadn’t realized bilocation or astral travel or any of the other mind-numbingly boring topics that interested Nathan would be involved, and I certainly wasn’t prepared to actually do any of those things.

Bella hesitated, looking at Max and Cyrus before saying, “You will be going to the night Marianne died.”

I waved a dismissive hand in the air and made a plosive sound like a slow leak. “No problem. I’ve been there before.”

“But you didn’t see it through her eyes,” Cyrus interjected quietly. “Are you sure you can do this? Are you ready to know what it’s like to have Nolen kill you?”

Though Cyrus’s words sent a shock of horror down my spine, I forced myself to project an illusion of bravery. “Will everyone stop looking like you’re preparing for my funeral? I can handle it.”