Just before sunrise the next morning, after doing me one last favor, Jude and Gunnar depart. Despite the fact that they won’t recall where they were, they will remember everything we discussed—and everything we did. I’m finally certain I can trust them; they could have bled me dry, feasting on the magic that fills my veins, but they controlled themselves. And with even their most carefully hidden feelings now written indelibly in my memory, I know they’ll do what I’ve asked.

I sleep late into the afternoon and then spend some time reviewing my plans yet again. One of the requests I made of Hope and Adriana was to leave a series of notes around Fulton Heights with a message for Rasputin: I’m willing to meet your terms, but first you need to prove that my parents are alive and unharmed. With a dummy email address at the bottom, I scribbled out enough for them to tack up all over town—school, Sugar Mama’s, Colgate Center, the abandoned factory, and even my front door.

Rasputin isn’t the only one who needs to get the message, and scattering a few breadcrumbs is the only way I can think of to get everyone following the trail.

As the shadows grow long, the sky turning lavender above the water, the streetlamps blink on against the gathering dusk—and I finally leave the apartment. Head down and collar up, I strike out for the nearest library. Vampires roam the city—my radar strong enough now for me to detect even their moods—but none of them are here for me.

It’s twenty minutes until closing when I hunker down at a public internet terminal and sign in to my new email account. I could use my phone for this, but I’m far too paranoid at this point. Five groups want to get their hands on the Corrupter, the newest of which is a century old, and all of them have had plenty of time to prepare—to hack my GPS or plant a source capable of tracking my cell usage … I’m not taking any chances.

My inbox contains a single email, a blank message with an attached video. Although I try to brace myself, there’s no way to prepare for what I see when I open it. My parents, pale and wild-eyed, still dressed as I last saw them, sit side by side on plain wooden chairs. They don’t look hurt—but they don’t look well, either, their bodies rigid with fright. On either side, they’re flanked by vampires with matching, blank-eyed expressions of cruel glee, and my finger trembles as I press play.

“Auggie…” My father’s voice cracks as he says my name, and I start to weep, just like that, struggling to be silent. “We’re okay. We’re alive and unhurt. We’re being treated well.”