“You’re not getting away from me,” I say, and apparently, he’s eager to prove my point, because all at once, the cloud of ash churns faster, and he rushes toward me. In an instant, he forces his way between my lips, filling up my mouth with him, snaking down my throat.

He’s inside me, crawling his way in deeper, and all I can taste is him. Bitter as decay but almost sweet, too, like a whiff of marzipan. My head spinning, I fold at the waist and gag him up. He comes out in wet, sticky clumps, writhing on the stone floor where I spat him. As I wretch up the last of the dust, I’m sure I hear him laugh, sharp and strong and cruel. Then he’s off again, the bits of him moist and heavy, though it doesn’t slow him down. He winds up the steps and down the hall.

My bedroom. I charge upstairs and push my way through the door, and there he is, whirling over my mattress, twining through the sheets, his scent permeating everything that should be mine.

“Get out of here,” I growl, and I hate myself for saying it, because once again, he obliges. The ash darts toward the open window, billowing through the heavy curtains and dissolving into the day.

My hands curl into fists. He won’t get away that easily. Not now, not after all these years. I don’t have time to go back downstairs and do this the civilized way. My heels kicked off, I climb onto the sill and toss myself out the window after him. Sun on my face, breeze in my hair. For a moment, it almost feels like flying.

Across the street, Tyrone is watering his bungalow’s lawn. He sees me as I hit the earth, my body landing with a heavy thud on the shriveled grass. An ache’s already blooming in my bones, but I’m up again, searching the sun-drenched sky, trying to follow the ashes like vapor trails across the clouds.

Unfortunately, this is a perfect California day, bright and bold and merciless, and the sunlight ricochets through me. I shouldn’t be out in this. Neither should Dracula. Daytime whirls his mind as much as it does mine, so he won’t stay outside for long. He’ll find a dark, quiet place to hide. I need to get to him before he disappears.

He’s floating higher, snaking through the serrated leaves of a palm tree, too far up for me to catch. I reach for him anyhow, my long arms stretching until my joints pop, but it’s not enough. The sunlight sinks deeper into me, and I can’t focus, a face from my past creeping closer. Mina, my first friend, my lost friend.

Lucy, the ghost of her whispers. Don’t leave me.