There was a polite smattering of applause. I tried not to scan the garden walls for signs of the Movement. It had to be nearly time now. Nathan promised they would come tonight.

The cavalry didn’t show up. Not during Cyrus’s long-winded speech about the importance of tradition and the looming threat of extinction.

God, it’s like he’s running for office.

Finally, he ended with some sugarcoated platitude about old and new friendships, clapped his hands and signaled the guards waiting inside the French doors.

“As you know, our guests of honor will enter in a moment. Please remember that one of them is for the Soul Eater, and the other is our traditional first course.”

Dahlia and Ziggy joined us on the terrace. As I looked at her beaming face, a pang of guilt shot through me. She thought she’d been chosen for a great honor. I’d condemned her to a fate worse than death, once Jacob Seymour consumed her soul.

Cyrus waved Dahlia forward. I expected him to bite into her, to start the process so she’d be turned quickly for the Soul Eater.

Two guards stepped forward and grasped Ziggy by the arms. I assumed they prepared to throw him into the crowd.

Nathan, where are you?

I felt sick to my stomach as I saw Cyrus’s hand twine around Dahlia’s hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen, bon appétit!”

Then he threw Dahlia off the terrace.

Eighteen

The Soul Eater

Confusion flashed across her face as the vampires surged forward and seized her. She fought their greedy, clutching hands as she looked toward us. “Cyrus? What’s going on?”

My own panicked brain echoed her question.

“This was what you wanted,” Cyrus snarled at me before rounding on Ziggy.

“I thought you’d feed her to your father!” I gripped his arm, but I didn’t have the strength to stop him as he turned away from me.

“No fucking way!” Ziggy struggled against the guards and actually managed to break their hold. He fell to the hard stone, scrambling backward on his hands and feet like a frightened crab.

He didn’t get far.

“No!” I shouted as Cyrus descended on him. There was a sickening crunch as muscle and vein gave way under fangs. Ziggy’s agonized screams filled the air, a death rattle of blood gurgling from his throat.

I needed something, anything to use as a weapon. Ziggy’s cries slowed, then stopped altogether, and his body hung limp in Cyrus’s arms.

Dahlia faired much better. She shrieked a command and the vampires fell back in a wave. She ran toward the maze, never looking back. The Fangs followed her, whooping war cries as they disappeared into the dark hedges. The diners who were unaffected by Dahlia’s flight murmured in surprise and looked around uncomfortably.

Cyrus rose and left Ziggy unconscious where he lay. I watched, sickened, as Cyrus wiped a rivulet of blood from his chin and raised his arms. His roughened voice and savage vampire face made him seem more evil, if that were possible. “Ladies and gentlemen, enjoy the hunt.”