Michael’s waiting in the hallway, and I gaze back at him, my hunger churning in me. He looks ready to say something, when fervent voices break through the wall. Bee and Jane in the next bedroom.

“How do we know we can trust you? That you’re not still on his side?”

“He locked me in that attic too, remember?”

“Maybe that’s all part of your plan.”

“I’m so sorry, Bee. I’m trying to fix it.”

“Please just stop.” Her words sharp as a bayonet. “I can’t listen to this anymore.”

Heavy footsteps across the floor, and Bee comes bursting into the hallway, holding the urn away from her like a grenade.

“Take this,” she says, and shoves it into my arms. “I don’t trust her with it.”

And with that, she’s gone, vanished out the front door. I want to go after her, but the sun’s too strong now. I want to check on Jane, too, but she’s already closed the door.

Michael and I stand together, neither of us speaking a word, before he finally sighs.

“Come to bed,” he says, and disappears inside his room at the end of the hallway.

I hesitate, remembering the last time we were here. How fast I ran from him in the dark. How it was the only reason he survived the night.

“I trust you, Lucy,” he says, his voice floating out into the hall, and I want to trust myself too.

His bedroom is cramped, the ceiling low, the walls arrayed in yellowed tape, posters tacked up that must be a decade old. Pictures of old B-52 fighter planes picked out when he was no more than a child, back when war was only theoretical to him.

The bed was built for one, but I climb in next to him, Michael curling close to me. I hold him with one arm and the urn in the other. His body’s warm, his skin soft and tan and unblemished, everything about him electric and alive. He’s the inverse of Dracula. The inverse of me, too.

I stare up at the ceiling. We’re safe from the others for now. They’ll wait until it’s dark. That’s when Dracula will be at his peak. We can rest for a little while.

“Sleep,” I whisper, but Michael doesn’t close his eyes. He just keeps watching me.

“Is there anything you need from me first?”

I shake my head, even though it’s not true. I could use what he has very badly, only I won’t hurt him again. I’m holding it back, holding it in. This hunger blooming inside me is mine, and so is the decay. I won’t let one drop of it go to waste.