The curtain of flame leaped higher, licking dangerously at the weathered boards of the collapsing roof, and the bearded man began to sweat from the heat. No matter how many times he died, each experience was freshly unpleasant. “My purpose here is simple. I have come with a proposition.”

And there, backed by flame in a crumbling church, the Corrupter shared his design for eternity—and made each of them an offer …

29

The last vestiges of a dark dream cling to my thoughts when I force my eyes open, lids heavy as a lead apron—a lonely battlefield, churned earth, an army hidden by makeshift camouflage—and I know it’s a memory from yet another life I never lived. A throbbing headache pounds nails into my brain, so sharp I want to vomit, and for just a moment I’m ready to give this body to the Corrupter.

“Auggie?” Gunnar hovers over me, his expression apprehensive. “How do you feel?”

“My skull is malfunctioning,” I reply through gritted teeth. “Please remove it for me.”

“I got you some water. I thought you might need it.” He indicates a glass on the side table. “You were kind of … sweaty tonight. A lot.”

I sit up, and my brain seesaws dangerously, everything unsteady. I’m on the couch in my living room, and the sky outside the windows is a slate gray. Dawn is coming. “What happened?”

He helps me bring the glass to my lips, his brows creasing with concern. “Do you not remember?”

My instinct is to tell him that’s a stupid question—if I remembered, I wouldn’t be asking—but as I think back, an image comes to me in a startling instant: fire. I can practically see it in front of me, towering, rollicking, smoke pouring up to the ceiling. “Something was burning?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Gunnar allows, forcing me to drink some more.

“It was in the church.” Words echo in my ears, and I repeat them without thinking. “‘The stars don’t take sides.’”

“What?” Gunnar tucks a gentle hand under my chin, turning my face to his so he can look into my eyes, more worried than before. It’s embarrassing how welcome I find his touch. “Auggie, what are you talking about? This was at your school.”

When he says it, it’s as if a filter is removed from my mind, and a new picture swims into focus. The hallway, those glowing eyes, that ferocious heat. “The vampire. William.”

“Was that his name?”

“Yes.” I reached too deeply into his memories, I think, because they’re stuck to me. His rocky childhood, his surly adolescence, his descent into self-pity and retaliatory violence. “I killed him, didn’t I?”

“You immolated him,” Gunnar corrects softly. “Did you know you could do that?”