Jude shoots another dirty look Daphne’s way. “It’s complicated. The formal position of the Syndicate is that the Corrupter is a myth. Aside from a handful of prophecies and some outrageous claims that can’t be verified, there’s nothing to prove its existence—and, just in general, the grander a prediction is, the more skepticism it warrants.” He sits back. “If the stories are true, then the Corrupter would have corporealized hundreds of times by now—but there are no confirmed firsthand accounts. Thousands of vampires have alleged direct contact over the years, of course, but nothing has ever been verified. There are no records that this thing has ever successfully manifested inside a human body.” Turning his palms to the ceiling, Jude says, “After a while, the Syndicate decided that this one was all smoke and no fire.”

“Then what are you doing here?” I ask, breathing a little easier. Something is definitely happening to me, but if even the oldest and most influential group of vampires on the planet think “the Corrupter” is fictional, then maybe Ximena was right after all. Maybe I’m just developing some spooky, paranormal sensitivity thanks to the Nexus, and all of this is just more vampire bullshit.

“Yes, Jude, what are you doing here?” Daphne asks with the air of a prosecuting attorney about to spring a trap. “What is it that the Corrupter supposedly does that would be worth your coming all the way out to Fulton Heights, of all places, from the Syndicate’s headquarters in … where is it, again? Some ski resort in the Carpathian Mountains, right?”

She waits, and when Jude scowls deeply in reply, a glimmer of interest burns its way through the tumult of my anxiety. More than ever, I’m glad Daphne showed up when she did. Reluctantly, the vampire says, “The few writings about the Corrupter that remain all generally say the same thing: It will Rise once in every generation, it will borrow the guise of a living human, and it will … free vampires from the shackles of death, bringing them true immortality once and for all.”

He mumbles this last part, and after a moment of awkward silence, Daphne helpfully elucidates, “He means daylight. And fire, decapitation, pokey pieces of wood, holy water, garlic, and all the rest of it, too. The standard package.”

Looking from her to Jude, I give him a chance to rebut the claim; when he doesn’t, it’s my turn to scowl. I’m furious with myself for wasting precious energy freaking out over this. “This is about another sunlight cure?” Disgusted, I get to my feet, my chair scraping the tiled floor behind me. “Are you fucking kidding? I’ve been panicking for days because some vampire showed up, telling me the world was going to end, and now it turns out it’s just one more day-walking fantasy? Fuck off. Let’s go, Daphne.”