Gus shoved the cop aside then, and held up his mirror. The last vestiges of the dying orange sun were just poking over the building across the river. Gus called Felix’s name one last time, as though saying his name would snap him out of it, would miraculously bring Felix back…

But Felix was no longer Felix. He was a vampire motherfucker. Gus reminded himself of this as he angled the mirror so that the blazing orange shafts of reflected sunlight shot into the overturned van.

Felix’s dead eyes went to horror as the beams of sun shot through him. They impaled him with the force of lasers, burning holes and igniting his flesh. An animal howl arose from deep inside him, like the cry of a man shattered at the atomic level, as the rays ravaged his body.

The sound etched itself into Gus’s mind, but he kept working the reflection around until all that was left of Felix was a charred mass of smoking ash.

The light rays faded and Gus lowered his arm.

He looked across the river.

Night.

Gus felt like crying—all kinds of anguish and pain mixed together in his heart—and his pain was turning into rage. Fuel was pooled beneath the van, almost at his feet. Gus went to the cop who was still staring from the roadside at what had happened. He riffled through his pockets, finding a Zippo lighter. Gus popped the top and scratched the wheel and the flame jumped up dutifully.

“Lo siento, ’mano.”

He touched off the fuel spill and the van went up with a boom, knocking back both Gus and the cop.

“Chingado—he stung you,” Gus said to the cop who still held his neck. “You’ll become one of them now.”

He took the cop’s gun and pointed it at him. Now the sirens were coming.

The cop looked up at Gus, and then a second later his head was gone. Gus kept the smoking gun aimed at the body until he was off the side of the highway. Then he tossed away the gun and thought about the handcuff keys, but too late. Flashing lights were approaching. He turned and ran off the side of the highway, into the new night.

Kelton Street, Woodside, Queens

KELLY WAS STILL in her teaching clothes, a dark tank shirt beneath a soft wraparound top and a long, straight skirt. Zack was up in his room, supposedly doing his homework, and Matt was home, having only worked a half day because he had a store inventory that night.

This news about Eph on the television had Kelly horrified. And now she couldn’t get him on his cell phone.

“He finally did it,” said Matt, the tails of his denim Sears shirt pulled out for the time being. “He finally cracked.”

“Matt,” said Kelly, only half scolding. But—had Eph cracked? And what did this mean for her?