“I promise,” I say, and reach out again for her, but it’s too late. My body folds into itself, soft as porridge, and all at once I’m gone, torn back into the world.

fifteen

When I open my eyes, I’m huddled at the top of the stairwell, my knees pulled into my chest, my body stripped bare. Fresh skin tightens on my bones, my sinews snapping into place, but I barely feel it, everything in me numb.

Or almost everything. The same as always, I’ve come back famished, my head dizzy, my guts grinding together.

But what matters—the only thing that matters—is it worked. I’m on the other side of the door now.

My hands shaking, I struggle to my feet and wrench open the lock. It’s such a simple motion. A clang of metal, a flick of the wrist. I never should have had to die for this. Then again, I never should have had to die at all, at least not the way that Dracula did it.

The door lurches open, and inside, Bee’s collapsed in the far corner, her face red, her cheeks stained with tears. She blinks up at me, as if she doesn’t believe I’m real.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, shivering.

Jane crouches nearby, that strange gulf opened between her and Bee again. I wonder if they’ve spent the whole day fighting.

The floor creaks beneath me as I step into the attic. It’s late in the day, almost night now. I can feel it. We don’t have much time. Dracula’s been resting all afternoon, but he’ll awaken soon. And he’ll be even hungrier than before.

“Come on,” I whisper, and reach for Bee. Wiping away the last of her tears, she squeezes my hand before drifting down the narrow stairwell, her steps soft as an apparition’s. Jane follows behind her, keeping a safe distance, not wanting to get too close, not if Bee doesn’t want her to.

Michael lingers in the attic with me, averting his eyes, my naked silhouette backlit by the bare bulb overhead. For a moment, I forgot I was naked. Without looking up, he takes off his jacket and passes it to me. Shivering again, I slip into it, the sheepskin lining soft and comforting, the numbness in me fading away.

He glances at me now, his cheeks flushed. “Are you really all right?”

“I’m really here,” I say. “Isn’t that enough?”

Together, we start toward the steps, but before we close the door behind us, I pluck the Buick key from the floor. It feels heavier than I remember. It also feels like mine. Something that Dracula stole from us. Something we’ve now reclaimed.

At the bottom of the stairs, I hesitate, the second-floor hallway unfurling before us.