“Leave her alone,” I cry out, my voice ricocheting off the night sky. It must be louder than I think, because Michael emerges suddenly from the projection booth, his eyes wide, his back ramrod straight, all his battlefield instincts kicking in.

But I don’t need him out here, another potential casualty.

“Don’t,” I say, but it’s too late. Dracula’s already spotted him.

“Hello again,” he says, and seizes Michael by the throat. Dracula glances back at me, grinning, before he drags him into the booth. Rochester wrenches Daisy after them.

The girls close in around the door, but as much as I’d love to watch them tear these men to shreds, we don’t have time for their grudges.

“Get them out of our way,” I whisper, and the wolves nip at the girls’ heels, dispersing them for a moment, just long enough for Bee and me to cut through the crowd like a knife and slip into the projection booth.

It’s dark inside, the space no more than a shack. Out in the lot, the films are still flickering on the screens, and a bit of pale light bounces back in, illuminating figures against the wall. Daisy and Michael have backed into a dusty corner, their hands wrapped tight together, desperate to hold on to something. A stack of metal film cans has toppled over behind them, the reels unspooling at their feet like a tangle of satin ribbons.

Right next to me, something moves. Dracula, only inches away in the shadows, leaning back against the cold wall. “So which one of them should we start with, Lucy?” he asks. “The one I’ve already had, or the one you’ve had?”

“Leave them out of this,” I say.

Growling, the wolves are going wild now, looming in the doorway.

“Such traitors.” Dracula shakes his head. “But it proves my point, doesn’t it? You’re just like me, Lucy.”

Bee takes a long step forward. “She’s nothing like you,” she says, and Dracula only laughs.

“That’s because she hasn’t told you everything, Bee.” His gaze flits to me. “Remember what you were like before? So charming, so persuasive. How many men proposed to you in one day? Was it four?”

I grit my teeth. “It was three.”

“And that was before you ever even met me,” he says. “You’re not the nice girl you pretend to be, are you, Lucy?”

I smile. “Who wants to be a nice girl anyhow?” I ask, and with the snap of my fingers, the wolves charge in.