That heartbeat, a relentless melody in his chest, strong and rich and unapologetic. He’s alive, and he’s acutely aware of it. Most people don’t think much about whether they’re breathing or not. It just becomes so automatic, so banal. But not for him, not with where he’s been, what he’s seen at war. He knows death more intimately than a lover. We’re the same in that way.

A flush of heat surges through me, and I suddenly can’t help myself. I think of all the lovely, terrible things I could do to him. How sweet he’d taste. The way he’d moan my name. The way he’d scream my name, too. I wonder which I’d like better.

My head goes gauzy, and I won’t do this. That’s the one thing I’ve promised myself: that I won’t become like Dracula. I start to inch backward, to do the right thing, but outside in the lot, an old clunker backfires, the noise sharp as shattering glass. Michael startles, his whole body going rigid, his head twisting toward the sound. That’s when he sees me standing here. His eyes lock on me, and I should turn away, I should run, but I don’t. I gaze back at him, just for a moment, just long enough for it to happen.

I don’t move any closer. I never even lay a finger on him. That doesn’t matter. Something in his face shifts. Something in me shifts too.

“Hello,” he whispers, and a heavy veil of shame settles over me.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, but it’s too late. I can already see what I’ve done to him floating behind his eyes.

When it first happens, it’s intoxicating. Like a spoonful of laudanum, like being lifted through the sky and then plummeting just as quickly, clouds pulsing past you, the whole world drifting away.

This is what Dracula did to Renfield. It’s the same thing Dracula did to me. A bewitching, a thrall, a single look that turns you pliant. Something like love. Something like death, too.

“Are you Lucy?” Michael asks, his face so sweet and eager.

“I am,” I say, and wish I wasn’t.

“My grandfather’s told me about you.” He busies himself behind the counter, still looking at me, his eyes glazing a little from what I’ve done. “You and your friend Bee come here every night, don’t you?”

“We do,” I murmur as I watch him. He’s pouring me two Cokes. I haven’t ordered anything yet, but he already knows what I want. I’m doing this to him, putting thoughts in his head without even meaning to.