The five of them blink up at me, their cheeks flushed. These girls are sick all right, but it’s not with measles. It’s something different, something no doctor could diagnose. A lovesickness of sorts, a thrall in the making. They want Dracula all to themselves—that’s why they put that sign on the front door, anything to keep others away.

“Show’s over,” I say, and start toward the urn, but the girls scramble to their feet.

“Who says it’s yours?” they ask, frowning, and honestly, it’s a fair question.

“I made it,” I say. “That should give me some kind of claim.”

They snap their tongues. “You didn’t make what’s inside,” they say, and they’re not wrong. I stare at them, at the whole line of girls, thinking how they might not be the worst people to take care of him. They clearly haven’t tried to free him, and let’s face it, they’ve kept this urn intact longer than I probably would have.

“Listen,” I say, “you don’t know what you’re dealing with here.”

One of the girls rolls her eyes. “That’s what the other woman said too.”

I squint at her. “What other woman?” I ask, and they all nod behind me.

Her shadow passes over us, even before I turn around, the shape of her emerging from the dusty corner behind the door.

Jane Eyre, with tears in her eyes and a stake in her hand.

eleven

Jane doesn’t move. She just stands there in the shadows, backed against the wall, like a still life, like a dour wax figure from Madame Tussauds.

Bee stares back at her, her gaze fire-bright. “Get out of here. Now.”

“Bee, please.” Jane’s voice is spiderweb-thin. “I came to help.”

“Really?” I gape at her, edging back a step, half tripping over the ring of flowers. “Then why the hell do you have that?”

I point at the stake gripped in her hand. She looks down at it and lets out a little squeak, as though she’s as surprised as we are, before tossing it away like a cherry bomb. It rolls quietly across the floor, stopping sullenly beneath an open window.

“That’s not what it looks like.” Jane winces, flushing with embarrassment. “It’s not for you, Lucy. It’s for him. In case he followed me here.”

I nearly laugh aloud at this. It’s something I hadn’t even considered. There’s more than one vampire in this city now. And by the time Dracula’s done, there’s going to be a whole lot more.

I take another step back, inspecting Jane, her eyes downcast, and I’m curious if she really wants to help, or if this is just another of her tricks.

“How did you know the urn was here?” I ask finally.