twelve

I stare at the three girls in the back seat, all faded denim and iridescent beads strung around their necks like nooses. They’re so young, even younger than Daisy. Runaways, maybe. The Haight’s got plenty of those. This is a place where everyone’s searching for something else, something better. And that’s what Dracula’s offering them. He’ll break that promise, of course, the same way he’ll break everything else about them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, watching me. “That’s why you should come along. Make sure I behave.”

Then he flashes me that smile, the one that started all this trouble.

The streetlight flickers above us, and the girls are giggling as they blow smoke rings, their legs in a tangle in the back seat, a human rat-king.

I want to yank them out of the car, one by one, nudge them along the sidewalk like wayward toddlers, and send them on their way. But they won’t listen to me, not without convincing, not without force, and I don’t have time for that. Another car comes revving up behind the Buick, honking impatiently.

“Make up your mind, Lucy.” Dracula still hasn’t taken his eyes off me. “I don’t have all night.”

Except that’s exactly what he has, what we both have. All night, all eternity.

The passenger door is still hanging open, like a question I don’t want to answer. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t put myself at his mercy. But then again, there’s a lot of things I shouldn’t do.

My heart in my throat, I slide in, and he doesn’t hesitate. The car jerks into gear, and we surge forward, the sidewalk a haze around us, voices on the street fading like static into the night.

Dracula leans back, inspecting my face. “There’s something different about you.”

“No, there’s not,” I say, fidgeting, not wanting him to look any closer. Not wanting him to notice the fresh color in my cheeks, the brightness in my eyes.

But a harsh smirk blossoms on his lips, and he sees it anyhow. “So,” he says, already savoring what I’ve done, “is that little soldier of yours still breathing? Or did you take every single drop of him?”

“Michael’s fine,” I say, remorse settling in my guts.

“What was he like, Lucy?”

I shiver a little, the taste of licorice, the taste of Michael still lingering on my tongue.

“I don’t remember,” I say.

Dracula heaves up a chuckle. “Liar.”

Rage churns in me. I scan the car for a weapon, for something made of wood, but then I remember: this was our car, mine and Bee’s. And we knew better than to keep anything handy that could kill a vampire.