“Come on,” I cry out, and my voice is enough to break the trance. Her eyes swirling again, she races toward me, and we dash together for the hall, as the blaze wraps its long fingers around the room. The Victrola, the stack of records, the fainting couch, everything melting and crackling and turning to nothing.

We’ve spent years hiding in this place, and it only took Renfield minutes to destroy it.

And he’s not done yet. His filmy eyes set on me, he gathers himself to his feet and steps through the flames, his skin hissing like old wood set on an autumn bonfire.

Everything in me wants to run, to escape all of this, but I can’t leave, not yet.

“I’ll meet you outside,” I say to Bee, then rush up the stairs to my bedroom.

The decay’s waiting to greet me, swirling on the ceiling. With Renfield bellowing on the steps, I lock the door and start collecting the urns. First, the one beneath my pillow, dirt from the Hollywood sign still caked around the rim.

“Lucy!” Bee’s voice through my window. She’s standing below on the lawn, reaching up her hands. “Drop the urns down to me.”

I gape at her, wanting to tell her no, but I don’t have many choices left. I toss it through the window to her, and she easily catches it.

“The next one,” she says, and I go after it. The quiet urn, stashed in the vanity drawer. It’s barely moved, barely done anything at all, as though it’s been waiting for me. I’m starting back to the window when Renfield knocks on the door, like he’s a gentleman.

“Miss Lucy,” he wheezes, as he scratches at the other side, his gnarled fingernails screeching against the splintered wood. Dracula’s ashes are already starting to seep in through the cracks, as Renfield presses hard against the frame, the lock ready to give way.

I try to ignore it, try to pretend this is all a bad dream, but I barely manage to drop the second urn to Bee when the door collapses and Renfield’s suddenly at my side. He grabs me by the throat and shoves me across the room, my body bouncing off the wallpaper.

“Lucy!” Bee calls out below, but I can’t reach her. The flames are climbing through the floor, my bedroom curtains catching fire, the window closed off to me. Everything in the room is about to disintegrate, me and Renfield along with it.

But he doesn’t care. Near the vanity where I cast no reflection, Renfield corners me. Embers float like fireflies all around him, and I stare into what’s left of his face.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, but he shakes his head, flashing me a sad smile.

“You know I don’t have a choice, Miss Lucy.”