“No?” said Jerry, not sure what to answer anymore. It was like he was taking his SATs all over again. He’d wanted to run then, too.

“Here’s the thing, Jerry,” said the redhead. “You only get to leave if you can come up with something better than that pretty throat of yours.”

Jerry pulled out his Caleximus pendant. The redhead frowned. “What’s that?”

“It’s a Caleximus thing,” said a brunette next to the redhead. “I’m not sure. I think they’re some kind of metal band.”

“Didn’t they play with Slayer on their last tour? They sucked,” she said, and all the little girls laughed.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, Jerry,” said the redhead.

“I could beg. Just don’t tell my dad.”

The redhead sat down next to him on the fountain. “That sounds fun, but not quite enough.”

“I have money.”

“And I have an AmEx black card.”

“Wow. Even my dad doesn’t have one of those. You must have a really good credit rating.”

“An eight-fifty. What’s yours?”

Jerry started to lie, thought better of it, and said, “About a six.”

The redhead smiled. “You’re cute for a scaredy cat.”

“That’s me. The scarediest cat ever.”

The girl on the end said, “Enough with this stiff. Let’s drain him and go try on shoes.”

“Wait,” said Jerry. He hesitated for just a second. What he was contemplating was a sin of the highest order, but wouldn’t Caleximus reward him for his resourcefulness when the time came? And he really, really wanted to be alive for that. For anything, really. Jerry reached into his jacket and pulled out the silver ceremonial dagger he was supposed to use to kill the black boar. Giving away one of Caleximus’s relics was a big deal, but so was being a juice box for a bunch of pint-size brides of Dracula. He handed it to the redhead.

She held it up and light from across the mall threw a reflection onto her pale face. “Is this real silver?” she said.

“Yes. And full of dark power. It once belonged to our lord . . .”

“Yeah, yeah,” said the brown-haired girl. “It’s not a George Foreman grill, so don’t oversell it, pink boy.”

The redheaded girl nodded and handed the blade to a blond girl. “Not too shabby, Jerry. You just might live long enough to improve that credit rating. Now, why don’t you scoot back home to Grandma’s house before us big bad wolves eat you up for supper?”

He got up. “I will. Thanks. I’m going now.”

“Hit the bricks, loser,” said the brown-haired girl. “We still have to find dinner.”