I’m still figuring out that strange sensation I get when I’m close to a vampire, but I know it’s growing stronger, its range getting wider. Now, using all the focus I’ve got, I flex the same muscles I used to read Gunnar’s thoughts, and reach out into the space where I can feel the undead. Instantly, the whispering takes on a sharper focus, and I smile in grim triumph—for the first time, I can tell the different signals apart.

For a while, I wander without direction, just stretching my awareness and trying not to tire myself out—not knowing how much energy I’ll need later. Some of the vampires I detect are familiar in a way I can’t explain … until I eventually figure out that they’re the ones who’ve been watching my house. Seven vibrations at seven unique frequencies, I’ve felt them all before, even if I didn’t know it. I even manage to identify Jude among them, more familiar than the rest, and I wonder what he thinks of what he’s seeing.

Gunnar’s thoughts continue to buzz in my ear, accidentally caught in the unrefined web I’m casting out. There’s no way to stop the Dark Star from Rising. It’s something Viviane has said to him countless times, and he repeats it to assuage his guilt, but a timid, persistent thought keeps poking through nonetheless: But what if there were?

I look over at him. It’s a bad idea to have a love story with a vampire, and I know it; but I kissed Gunnar anyway, and it was incredible. The truth is, I really do understand what he was talking about in the kitchen, and maybe it’s because he’s my first, but I kind of can’t help wishing things were simple enough that we could both have what we want.

Just as I’m tempted to bring this up, another vampire registers on my radar—another signal I recognize—and it draws me up short. At the very perimeter of my awareness, nothing but the lightest touch, is a vibration that strikes right to my core. Somehow I know, I know, it’s the man from Sugar Mama’s.

“Auggie?” Gunnar’s brows rise as I spin on my heel, following the source of that faint whisper, the sensation building with every step. “What is it? Where are you going?”

The closer we get, the faster I move, until I’m at a full jog—desperate to catch up with him before he pulls his spider-monkey act again and leaps out of range. But he stays where he is, and by the time we reach Fulton Heights High, we’re so close I can practically smell him. Moonlight pours through shredded clouds, casting sepulchral shadows across the front entrance, painting everything in gunmetal tones of blue and gray.