Shadows dance sharply on the ceiling, and Rochester and Dracula dodge out of the way, their hands over their faces, but this isn’t about them. In a flash, all the wolves shepherd Michael and Daisy outside, the night air sticky and unrelenting. I watch from the doorway, as Jane and Walter rush to them, their arms outstretched. Daisy curls into Jane, half-dazed, but Michael turns back.

“Lucy,” he says.

My heart aching, I take one last look at him. “I’m sorry,” I say, and slam the door in his face, locking him out. Locking all of them out. This is what Bee and I want, what we’ve been waiting for. To have everyone out of the way. To have Dracula and Rochester all to ourselves.

We’re in this together or not at all.

She waits inside the door for me. Even this claustrophobic booth can’t stop her now.

Rochester and Dracula are hovering next to the projector, their eyes black as cinders.

“You were always trouble.” Rochester gnashes his teeth at Bee. “Trouble to be married to, and trouble even after. You’re all I’ve heard about for the last hundred years.”

Bee gapes at him. “From who?”

“From Jane, of course,” he says with a sneer. “The way she kept talking about you, it’s like I never got rid of you at all.”

A wave of relief washes over Bee. What Jane said was true. She’s always loved Bee. She’s always regretted not going with her.

“Thank you,” Bee says to him.

The men stand across from us, and they’re the ones frozen now. They can’t leave this booth, and they know it. Between the wolves and the girls, there’s nowhere left for them to run.

But maybe they don’t need to go anywhere. In a way, this is right where they belong. In this city that helped to make them legends. Hollywood. The movies. This is their native soil now, and there’s no better place for them than in the heart of this drive-in, in this projection booth, cold and dark, like one giant urn.

A tomb where they can be laid to rest together.

In her pocket, Bee’s still got the letter opener. Her hands steady, she takes it out and drags it up one arm and down the other. Everything he’s ever done to her comes leaking out.

And we’re not done yet. My hunger, burning bright inside me, is a weapon too. I close my eyes, and it unfurls from my fingertips, climbing up the walls like ivy, blighting everything, turning it all to dust.

What Rochester and Dracula did to Bee and me was different, but in the end, men like them are always the same. That means they can die the same too.