My hands knot in my lap, and I need to focus. I need to figure out a way to get these kids out of the car. Only I don’t really know how to do this. How do you tell a total stranger they’ve been dog-eared for the slaughter?

So I try something different, something to earn their trust first. “I’m Lucy,” I say, turning around, smiling back at them. “Where are you from?”

A little part of me dies. Small talk. I’m making small talk.

It must be working, though, because one of the girls gives me a big toothy grin. “We’re from all over,” she says, and I think how their bodies will be scattered all over too, if Dracula gets his way.

We’re at a stoplight now, and this is it, our perfect chance to run. I gaze back at them, at those fresh faces that believe they’ve figured out the world when they haven’t even figured out themselves.

“Why don’t we get out here?” I ask. “I know a house on Waller where we can crash.”

But the kids just gape back at me. “It’s way too early for that,” one of them says. “Besides, he told us about this great party spot up north. That’s where we want to go.”

“Yeah, Lucy,” Dracula says. “That’s where they want to go.”

We don’t have much longer here. Another ten seconds, the light will change again, and the Buick will be in motion, carrying us away, carrying them to their graves.

My chest constricts, panic setting in. “You need to get out of the car,” I say. “Now.”

The girl in the middle tilts her head, one brow arching up. “Why?”

“Because,” I say, my voice steadier than it has any right to be, “he’s going to kill you.”

This should scare them, this should do something, but the girl just rolls her eyes.

“Man,” she says, and shoots a look at Dracula, “your old lady’s a real drag.”

Dracula lets out a sharp laugh. “I warned you,” he says, and all the kids in the back laugh too. Laugh at me.

I sink down in the passenger seat, wondering if there’s anyone left in the Haight who hasn’t heard Dracula complain about me.

The light turns green, and we’re off again, every road sinuous and steep. Dracula takes the curves fast, the tires threatening a blowout with every jolt of the wheel. The Buick’s looking worse than before, Dracula’s decay as potent as poison. The dashboard’s got a crack right down the middle, the chrome on the accessories and wiper knobs peeling away, the seat belt buckles rusted around the edges. He’s done more damage in an evening than I’ve done in a year.