“She needs air,” Daisy says, and even though that’s not true, it’s not a terrible idea. Fresh air would be outside, and outside would be closer to escape.

Michael helps me up, and I cling to him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the other clasping the urn.

“This way,” Daisy says, our eager tour guide as we slip through a service door, all of us stumbling into an alley. Bee and Jane are already here, lingering out in the open, still at each other’s throats.

“Lucy’s sick because of you.” Bee glowers at Jane. “She died when we were looking for you.”

Jane purses her lips, on the precipice of tears. “I didn’t do this.”

“You sure didn’t help.”

They keep on like this, but I can’t hear them. The world spins around me, their voices bleeding into static, everything bleeding together.

I sag against Michael, and he pulls me closer. “What can I do?” he asks, his heartbeat ringing in my ears, his scent like pine, like home.

It only takes a moment for it to happen.

“Uh-oh,” Daisy murmurs, watching me, understanding maybe for the first time what I really am. Bee and Jane turn toward us, their argument left hanging in the air, the two of them seeing it at the same time.

My wet mouth. Michael’s limp body. That glinting, unforgivable look in my eye, the one that makes me grateful I can’t see my own reflection anymore.

“Lucy,” Bee whispers, her face gone gray. “What have you done?”

I want to answer her, I want to tell her it’s not what it looks like, but we all know it’s exactly what it looks like.

“It wasn’t that much,” I say, but Michael’s drooping in my arms, the blood clotting on his collar, thick and dark.

The world’s a blur around me, the blood settling in my veins, the decay receding. I’m starting to feel like myself again, and I hate everything about it.

We’re moving now, out onto the street, Michael’s body propped up between Bee and Jane, his arms slung over their shoulders. I’m behind them, not wanting to get too close. After all, I already got close enough.

“Come on.” Daisy’s leading us. Of course she is. She’s the one who always knows the way. “There’s a place we can take him.”

We’re back in the Haight, rushing into a dark building and up a flight of narrow wooden steps, past a circular brown sign with simple white letters. HAIGHT ASHBURY FREE MEDICAL CLINIC.

We burst into the waiting room, a motley crew, three of us dead and one on his way.

“Help us,” Daisy cries out, and a nurse jolts to her feet.

“What happened?” She’s clinging to a brown clipboard, her smock bright white.