Before we leave, I put on my mom's jewelry. It's not easy. My hands shake with nerves, and while I get the earrings in after a few tries, the delicate clasp on the necklace proves harder to manage. By my fifth attempt, I'm swearing and fighting with hair that already fell loose from my bun.

Gideon pretends to be interested in the herbs again while waiting for me, but when I finally snarl as the clasp slips from my fingers yet again, he clears his throat. "Would you like help?"

"No." The chain slithers from my hand like something alive, and I have to make a quick grab to catch it. "Shit. All right, yes."

His fingers lightly brush against mine as he takes the ends of the necklace, and something flutters in my belly as he moves in close. My tank top has a low neck, so when his arm grazes me, it's skin on skin. And even in areas where he isn't touching me, I feel the heat of his ink sink through the thin material of my shirt. My bra, too.

Despite myself, my face grows hot. Kinda impossible not to think about sex in a position like this. Kinda impossible not to wonder whether Gideon thinks the same thing, because he suddenly clears his throat and shifts until his arm is away from my chest. "This is a very elegant design."

"Thanks," I mutter, feeling like my cheeks have gone supernova. He's ducked his head a little to see the clasp, leaving his mouth only inches away from mine. Now I really can't stop my mind from going there. Why did I never notice how nice his lips look? Wonder if they feel just as good...

Guilt flashes through me. Oh, God. I really am interested in him. Even though, in the end, he probably wouldn't stir up anything stronger than Elliot ever managed to.

Probably.

The necklace suddenly settles around my throat, clasped together. I flinch, the blood draining from my face as quickly as it rushed up there. For one horrible moment, the cool metal feels like Valentine's clammy tongue, sliding along my skin.

"Sorry I startled you," murmurs Gideon, and steps back.

I shake my head, fighting for words. Christ, how could I wonder about Gideon's mouth on mine? I'm two minutes away from breaking into a house to stake my neighbor. Stupid, stupid.

Trying to ignore the lingering feeling, I fuss with my hair. "It's nothing. I'm just not used to wearing jewelry. This was my mom's."

"It's very good silver," he says, back to waiting by the kitchen door. "Probably even pathfinder origin."

"It worked on Valentine, anyway." Grief briefly throbs through me as I grab Gran's purse, the same one I used while in Glimmer. The wooden stakes fit inside it easily. Let's just hope I don't end up in a position where it'll get bloody.

When I silently offer one to Gideon, he only shakes his head and sends miniature lightning crackling up his arm. Still not believing the whole vampire thing, then. It's a little annoying, and I buy time to keep calm by checking the stakes for cracks. The thought of one splitting on me twists my stomach into knots. They came from the supply shed for the communal garden, made to support young trees, so who knows if they can even take being stabbed between human ribs. But, it's all I have.

As if sensing my doubts, Gideon says, "Are you sure about this?"

I settle the purse over my shoulder and move for the kitchen door, wanting to get it over with. "Laci specifically said wood. Maybe silver only burns vampires."

"I meant attempting to kill him."

"Oh. Yeah. Are you?" It never occurred to me that he might try to ruin my plan, and I give him a sharp look as we step into the garden, scrutinizing his expression for any hint of reluctance.

But he has his agent face on. "Even if I were to collect enough evidence to arrest him, it's very possible he might be released by my superiors. When they dismissed my report, I discovered signs that certain people in the Kingdom would prefer Scheer to be charged, no matter what. And INKtech, despite what it conveys otherwise, isn't above political machinations. If the evidence is there, then yes, I agree killing him is the only way to be truly safe."

I'm not an idiot; I know most people in official positions dip into corruption when it suits them. Try experiencing just one bad hospice counselor without losing faith in the safety of a system. But hearing Gideon admit it so flatly is a big shock. What will they do to him afterward? Something ripples through me, and it feels a lot like fear.

My silence must tip him off, because he glances at me. "Don't worry; I've already considered the consequences. I'll still help you."

If that's supposed to reassure me, it's doing the complete opposite. "What kind of consequences?"

"Depends on the outcome, really."

When he doesn't say any more, I grab for his arm. "Wait a minute, I don't want you doing this if you'll be killed for—for insubordination or something."

It's deliberate hyperbole I'm using, trying to make him dismiss it as the absurd idea it should be. But he doesn't smile at that, and the muscles under my fingers go tense. "No, I won't be killed."

I can only stare at him. His face still doesn't show anything, but behind those quiet words is something that sounds like grief. "Gideon?"

"Phoenix, please. This is hardly the place to bare souls," he says, shooting a significant glance at Valentine's back door, which waits only steps away.

We already talked about how to do this—check the house from top to bottom before searching the hidden basement. As soon as we reach the final step, tendrils from Gideon's ink slide through the tiny space between door and doorway. When I hear the locks pop open, I shove one hand into my purse, ready for anything. As we step inside, his tattoo slips out of its normal patterns, reforming into a replica of the blueprints he showed me earlier. Each room we move through switches from glowing blue lines to a dimmer orange.

The inside of the house looks the same as before, except the room Zoe was in is now as pristine as a furniture ad. The broken window has been replaced, and the bed is perfectly made, with the pillows and comforter neat and unstained. I hiss in a breath, knowing each step makes my story look less credible.

Gideon crouches by the bedframe and studies the solid iron. It's from hospice, made to take anything from spell effects to violent patients. Light stretches from his ink, spilling over the entire bed. It lasts for only a second or two, but he obviously got more from it than me, because he flattens to his belly and looks under. "This bed is bolted to the floor. Hospice equipment is usually portable."

Even though he can't see me, I shrug in response. It's hard to find any words now, considering how close I was to being on that bed myself. Without warning, Zoe's eyes flash through my mind. I never really saw their color, not in the haze of adrenaline and shock, but I do remember the way the whites were visible. The look in them when she saw the sunlight waiting...

The scrape of Gideon's shoes against the floor pulls me back to the present. I watch him straighten up again to study the headboard. "No other signs of modification. Was the girl restrained in any way?"

"She had a name, you know." I know I'm being rude, but I hate hearing her reduced to a nobody term.

When he turns to look at me, I'm ready to meet his eyes. But his gaze falls on my hand instead. My fingers are strangling the purse strap, claws digging into the leather. The remote expression on his face fades, and I know he probably realizes gut-deep what I felt from the moment I stepped into this room again. What he views as a piece to fit into a puzzle has been a place of terror for others. And for me, though at least I was lucky enough to only get a glimpse.

After a moment, he nods. "Was Zoe restrained at all?"

I force my fingers to relax. "No. She just lay face-up, but not naturally. More like she'd been flung onto the bed. I thought she was dead at first."

"And that window is the same one you crawled through to escape?" He stands up to examine it.

I nod. "I guess he already fixed it." As he continues to look around the room, I find myself worrying at the purse strap again. "So, um, are you finding any evidence yet?"

"Nothing conclusive," he says, and I feel my heart sink.

As we move toward the basement, I check every window we pass, reassuring myself the sun is still there, waiting for us to come back out. I also find myself hovering close to Gideon. His ink lights up the air around us, but there are still pockets of shadow, and I can't help thinking of how Valentine appeared out of nowhere. He probably watched me struggle with Zoe to the window, the fucker. He's probably watching me now.

Suddenly, Gideon murmurs, "Your heart is beating very fast. Are you seeing something I'm not?"

"Just remembering," I say shortly, making it clear from my tone that I don't want to go into it.

When we reach the basement, light streams from Gideon's ink, forming bright lines across the walls and ceiling, erasing every shadow in the room. There's no one here but us.

Gideon begins studying the floor with additional threads of ink. While he works, I try not to fidget; I hate standing around with nothing to do. So, when some of the ink flares orange, outlining a section of the tiled floor, I grow out claws, ready to scrabble for a hidden door. After checking the blueprints on his arm, Gideon nods, and we both kneel by the section.

I run claws along the orange lines, searching for a hidden catch along the tile edges. In response, something gives just enough to get a grip, and I pull back with all my weight, feeling my sore muscles strain. But the sound of tile scraping keeps me steady.

"You've got it," says Gideon, moving beside me to add his strength with mine. Together, we lift up the hidden door just enough to shove it to the side. An empty black hole greets us. Air drifts up from it, smelling like hot metal. When Gideon sends a stream of light down, thin as a fishing line but bright as lightning, I see a metal ladder bisecting the tunnel, the rungs thick enough that two people could scale down it on either side. The ground looks pretty far, probably fifteen feet or so. How the hell did Valentine do all this without being noticed?

My palms break out in sweat as I sit down, swinging my legs toward the opening to start the climb down. Before my sneaker can hit the first rung, Gideon's arm snakes around my waist and yanks me back. "Have you gone mad? We don't even know what's down there."

"We need evidence, and a hidden room sounds like a good place to find it," I hiss. "Besides, you already mapped it out."

"A cursory version. At least let me go down and examine the scene, first. It would only take a few minutes to map out the surroundings in more depth."

"And leave me up here alone? Fuck that." I glance around, half-expecting to see a form lurking in the shadows.

The line of ink in the tunnel snaps back up into his arm as he makes a sound deep in his throat. If he was a wolf witch, I'd call it a growl. "My ink isn't configured to work at full power, and as this is an uncertain situation, it's very—will you stop?"

I made it down three rungs while he babbled, and jump a few more so he can't reach me. It's not my best moment, but fear fills up more of my body with each passing second. If I stand there and argue with him, I'll lose the courage to keep on at all.

Complete darkness surrounds me as I keep going down, and my hands grow slippery with sweat against the rungs. Yeah, this was a bad idea. My breath speeds into shallow, frightened panting just before I feel vibrations run through the ladder. In another moment, blue light streams past me, breaking off into swirls of codes that attach to the walls before dimming to moonlight-strength.

My relief evaporates when I glance up and see the soles of Gideon's shoes on the other side of the ladder, right above my head. In the next moment, he slides down, stopping only when we're face to face. There's actually a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Do you ever listen to other people?"

"Sure. You just talk too much." I continue moving down.

He keeps pace with me, ink lashing along his arm. "No, you simply run whenever I attempt a conversation involving compromise."

"That's stupid; why would I run from that?"

"Something I'd like to know, myself."

As soon as I glance at his face, he tries to lock eyes with me. He really won't back down from this. "I do not appreciate being treated like something to be used as is convenient. Whether or not you agree with what I say, at the very least I'd like my opinion to be considered, not dismissed before I've even finished making it. I am not a mindless tool."

His words sound cool and clipped, but we're inches apart, and even in this dim light I see the anger seething in him. Something tells me it spills over from something much bigger than me going down a stupid ladder.

"I..." I'm at a loss. If Elliot was here, arguing with me, I'd apologize to get it over with. But I know that won't work with Gideon. And, well, if I hurt him that much, then I want to do more than get him to drop it. "Look, I'm used to making decisions on my own. Comes from being a Fivefield brat; when you have to care for someone, you can't stand around wondering what to do. You just do it. So, I never learned how to make a compromise. Not really. And I guess, yeah, that makes me an ass sometimes. I'll work on it."

We both stopped climbing down, I realize, and instead stare at each other between the rungs. His face is partially in shadow; I can only see the line of his nose and the light reflecting off the frames of his glasses. That's not enough to guess what he thinks.

So, when the silence continues, I add, "But I don't think you're a tool. I don't think that at all."

His head tilts a little. I still can't see his eyes clearly, but the anger left his jaw and mouth. Then he sighs. "And I don't think you're an ass. At all."

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I only say, "Do you want to go back up to figure something out?"

His voice turns wry. "We're already at the bottom. My feet are on the floor."

"Oh." Mine are still on a rung, and I quickly step down. "Okay. Onward, I guess."

Gideon's only response is to move up beside me, and when I sneak a glance at him, he seems intent on the short hallway ahead of us. It's geometrically barren like a hospital hallway, and so is the glimpse of the room at the other end.

My pulse hammers in my throat as we inch closer. "Is your ink picking up anything?"

"No heartbeats inside," he says, tensely.

We stop in the doorway to study the room. It's small and empty, save for a row of doors only two or three steps away from where we stand. They look strong, made of metal with tiny windows that are probably reinforced glass.

The only lighting in the room is sterile, fluorescent tubing running along the ceiling by the doors. I glance nervously at the pockets of shadows on our left and right, but before I can say anything, every window in every door flickers with sudden light.

I flinch instinctively, bumping against Gideon. His ink brushes the skin on my arm, hot and prickling. Lines unfurl from the patterns of light, cutting through the air to run over each door. Then, he says, "They're all locked, and can be opened only from the outside."

After a glance between us, we move closer. My hand grips a stake so tightly the skin on my knuckles feels ready to split. When we're only a step away from the door directly in front of us, I realize the window is set high, at an eye-level closer to Gideon's than to mine.

"Shit," I mutter.

"I could lift you up," he says, but the doubtful look on his face suggests he finds the idea as appealing as I do.

"Like a three-year-old? Forget it. Just tell me what you see." I move to the side to give him more room, feeling a drop of sweat trail between my shoulder blades as he takes the final step closer. The room is so quiet, my pulse sounds like a drum in my ears.

Just as he angles his head toward the window, I hear the scrape of a footstep behind us. Then someone laughs and says, "No peeking."

Even as I spin around, my breath chokes in my throat. I know that voice.

Light blooms around me and Gideon, spreading in the air like ink through water until a glowing barrier separates us from the figure emerging from the shadows. I stare at the hair first, not bright pink anymore but some kind of bronzy shade just as unnatural a color, and styled in a complicated updo that's come half undone. Then at the eyes, which are completely black and squint at each pulse of power in Gideon's ink. But the alien teeth is what kills any words I have, savage and bristling as she hisses.

I still recognize her. Of course I do.

Gideon glances at me, eyes gone wide behind his glasses. He doesn't say anything, but I can read the question right on his face.

Somehow, I nod. "That's Laci."

Laci, wearing a short, frilly, champagne-colored dress she'd never pick on her own. The front of it is spattered with blood, and so are her knees. She smiles, those sharp, jagged teeth turning it into a twisted version of the type she'd wear while preparing a verbal flaying. "Nice. I never knew you had a thing for Kingdom fucks. Guess anyone's better than Elliot Hopkins, though. You know, I used to stare at that shithead in class, wondering how the hell you could take being with him. He pays you, right? I mean, he has a face like a weasel."

I swallow hard to keep my words steady. "Laci, where's Valentine?"

"Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough." She waggles her fingers at me. There's dried blood under the nails. "Go on, make yourself comfortable. Want something to drink?"

She reaches into the folds of her dress—hidden pockets, I realize—and pulls out two slick blobs of muscle. My stomach rolls over with nausea. She holds a heart in each hand. Trails of blood run down her wrists as she grins. "What do you want, the useless security guard who gave you three parking tickets, or Ms. Darzi, who failed you in bio?"

"You..." I can't stop staring at her smile, the way the dimple in her left cheek is as recognizable as my own face.

"You're lying," says Gideon, suddenly. His voice sounds quiet but firm, clearing the shock in my head like a breeze blowing away smog. "Both of those belonged to pigs."

"The fuck would you know?" Laci abruptly drops the hearts, which hit the floor with a squelch. Her smile fades as she looks Gideon over, but her teeth still show.

That stirs me into stepping forward to get her attention back. "You have to tell me where Valentine is."

She scoffs in the same way she used to whenever I was being stupid about something. "Why, so you can kill him? Get real. He's got big fucking plans for you, the kind that won't be stopped by some shitty tree stakes taken from the garden shed. I know; I tried."

I feel my face flush. "Laci, I'm so sorry I didn't believe you before, but—"

"Sorry?" Her voice rises into a snarl as her face goes through that rippling change I remember seeing with Valentine's. "You're sorry? I'm the one who ended up like this! You left me, and then I had no one else. Sorry. You gutless bitch, I'll show you sorry."

She rushes toward me, impossibly fast and hissing in an inhuman voice. The barrier of light brightens as she hits it, and I freeze to the spot, unable to look away as she flails back and shrieks. Gideon mutters something under his breath, but my gaze locks onto the burning skin on her face and hands, pieces flaking off into ash as she writhes from the pain. With a final scream, she falls to her knees, peeling fingers finding one of the dropped hearts. Her teeth tear into it, and for a moment, her eyes meet mine, wide and completely mindless, before she curls up, hunching over the flabby meat with sucking noises.

Her face is almost back to normal by the time she licks the floor to find stray blood drops. As I watch, I feel heat on my own face. Tears, I realize, and quickly wipe them away before she can see. When my hand falls back to my side, it bumps into Gideon's. His fingers wrap around mine, loosely enough that I can pull away if I want to.

Instead, I clutch back, holding on so tight I probably make his bones ache. But he doesn't flinch, doesn't let go. Instead, he leans down to my ear and murmurs, "Phoenix, throwing her back from the forcefield took much more power than I anticipated; she is tremendously strong."

He stops there, but I can read between the lines. "So you're not sure you can hold her off again."

He nods. "We either need to kill her—"

"No."

"Or leave before she kills us."

I don't like that option much, either; it'll only push off the situation until nightfall. "What about putting the field around only yourself while I talk to her?"

"Like hell," he says, fiercely enough that I glance at Laci to make sure she didn't hear.

"You'll save power, won't you? I'm wearing silver, so I'll be okay. It's a compromise," I hiss.

"A bad one."

I can think of a few choice words to answer that, but right then Laci stands up, smoothing down her dress with shaky hands. "That hurt, you inbred piece of shit. I can't wait to see you torn apart. Hey, Nina, is my lipstick still on straight?"

"Can't tell under the blood. Laci, I have to know where Valentine is." I force myself to look into her eyes.

"And you used to call me impatient," she mutters. "He doesn't tell me shit, so how should I know?"

Gideon clears his throat. "Another lie. He certainly told you some things if you knew enough to call me a Kingdom fuck even before hearing me speak."

Laci hisses, jaws moving in a way that a human's shouldn't, and looks at Gideon again. "I'm really sick of you, four-eyes. But since you want to step in..."

She moves back, reaching up behind her to one of the shadowy areas of the wall. I see her fingers flutter, like she presses something. A small red light flashes by her hand, and then there's a quiet beep that makes my blood freeze. The cell door behind us unlocks, swinging open an inch.

Without thinking, I whirl and shove Gideon away from the door. It's enough to make him stumble back, safely out of reach as something inside the room shrieks. I see a blur of movement through the doorway, a glimpse of nails split and sharp like Laci's. They shoot through the forcefield for me, and I instinctively throw up my hands to protect my face. The smell of sizzling skin fills the air just as nails dig into my arm, and then I'm yanked into the room, flung across it until my head cracks against a hard cement wall while something growls in my ear. The grip on my arm turns into a slash of pain.

Gideon shouts my name, but Laci's giggling smothers the word. I'm on the floor, vision blurring until I barely see the door slam shut, locking me in with whatever's here. All sound dies away, but Laci's laughter rings through my head. And that's what brings tears to my eyes, not the pain in my arm, or feeling a clammy tongue lap at the blood running down my skin, but how her laugh sounds exactly the same. Then, anger burns through me; she's still in there somewhere, and I'm going to get her out.

Blue light flares against the small window, briefly filling the room and making the thing on me flinch. It lasts only a second. Still long enough for my good hand to rip off my necklace and mash it right into the thing's face. Teeth scrape against my palm, and then skin sizzles against mine, the silver suddenly hot as fire. The thing shrieks and flings itself away, giving me a good look at what I'm stuck with.

Something that used to be human. Like Laci, it wears blood-stained clothes. Part of the hospice security uniform. But Laci is still recognizable; this thing's face is terrifying. I shudder as it jerks, clawing at the marks left by the silver. Somehow, my purse is still with me, and I fumble inside it until I feel the rough grain of wood.

The silver chain falls to the floor, finally clawed free. Then, the vampire hisses at me, the action splitting apart its face in a way I've never seen. Teeth bristle, some still red from my blood, and black eyes track the stake in my hand. We're at a stalemate until either I get up enough guts to attack, or the smell of my blood drives it for me again.

Quickly, I fumble at my ears with my wounded hand, not daring to let go of the stake with my good one. If the vampire is now nervous toward silver, maybe I can move it away from the door by throwing the earrings. My fingers feel sluggish, the pain easing into a numbness that scares me even more, but somehow I pop out the first earring and throw it. The vampire jumps away, giving me a few steps closer to freedom.

The second one is harder, because my fingers are growing slippery with blood. When I keep struggling, the vampire grows bold again, circling me to see how quick my response is. Each time I lash out with the stake, it returns a little faster.

The door cracks open and slams shut two or three times while I work, the only noise in those split-second gaps being Laci's voice, harsh and angry. It adds to my urgency, which adds to my clumsiness.

Finally, just as my breathing slides toward panicked gasps, the second earring slips free. Immediately, my bones twist in a way that sends me sinking to the floor, guts squeezing themselves into a pulp. The vampire inches closer with a hiss, reeling back only when I lash out with the stake.

It doesn't even come close to catching the fucker, but the movement brings my hand into my line of vision, and despite everything going on, I can only stare. The sight of claws growing from my fingers is now a familiar one, but this time it's different. The entire bone structure has changed, leaving long, strong fingers ending in dark, thick claws. Coarse fur shading from silver-black to red runs up my arm, fading past my elbow. It looks thick enough to shake off any bite attempts.

My arm turned into a monster's limb, something that could not only crush the stake already splintering in my grip, but bone, too. Both of them have, I realize, looking at my wounded arm only to find hair and claws there as well. Suddenly, the vampire's teeth don't look so savage. Suddenly, they look fragile.

With a final shudder, I feel my body come back together, and push myself up.

The vampire snarls again, but this time sounds uncertain.

I bare my teeth, feeling a thrill of strength go through me. "Try sucking me dry now, motherfucker."

Whether it understands or not, it shrieks and lunges for me. Without thinking, my wounded arm shoots out to grab it by the throat. Only it doesn't feel hurt at all, the numbness in my muscles giving way to iron strength. Fingers claw at my wrist and arm, weak and ineffective as I stab with the stake. The vampire's teeth gnaw uselessly at the air, and its shriek turns into a gurgle as the wood finds its target.

It's over quickly; blood barely splatters over me before the flesh under my claws disintegrates. One breath, two, and I'm left gripping only air, a pile of clotted blood on the floor in front of me. The smell is awful.

Heart pounding, I stare at the mess. Holy shit. I just killed a vampire. No time to think about it, though; I got to get out of here. The glint of silver catches my eye as I move for the door, and I scramble to pick up the necklace and earrings. As soon as my claws brush the silver, a shudder goes down my spine. The lurching bone feeling runs through me again, and if this time the twisting in my guts hurts a little less, it's still no fun to go through.

When I stagger upright, silver in hand, I realize I'm back to normal, fingernails and all. The wound on my arm turned into a faint, silvery scar. Something to think about later.

After shoving the silver into a pocket, I hurry to the door, which still goes through the pattern of jerking open and then slamming shut. The next time it happens, I drive my shoulder into it with all my strength, not caring if I bust something. The door flies open, and I end up tumbling to the floor, landing hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. But I'm out, and able to see what's happening.

The field around Gideon has brightened to the point where every shadow in the room disappeared. Now I can clearly see the panel box Laci uses. As I struggle up, she pushes a button, opening all the doors. Gideon's ink slams into the doors just as the vampires inside try to lunge out. Sweat runs down his neck as metal groans in protest, caught between two forces.

Seeing his distraction, Laci darts toward the forcefield, which dwindles in size and strength with each second. Christ, she's trying to wear him down until he doesn't have any power left to use against her. Panic fights with a seething rage in my chest as I stagger up, expecting her to rip into him before I can get over there.

But he's not reduced to that point, yet; bolts of ink crackle in the air between him and Laci, forcing her back with a snarl. Then the threads of light running over the cells falter, and when the vampires attack the doors, they give, opening an inch.

"Gideon!" I shout, but he's already acting, throwing all of his ink back to the doors until they slam shut again.

He looks at me, face tight with strain. "Phoenix, go!"

I shake my head. This is one thing I won't compromise on.

Laci turns to me, sneer made uglier by those bristling teeth. "Yeah, Nina; run like you always do!"

I run all right, but straight for that fucking panel box. The bones in my arms shudder, gaining enough strength to rip it from the wall. Laci shrieks as I tear into the wires. Then she's slamming into me, knocking us both against the wall. Her claws scrape against me, and I feel mine dig back at her as we fight in a tangle of arms.

"Guess it's dicks before chicks, right, Nina?" she grits between her teeth. "You haven't changed at all."

Since her hand is locked around my throat, my words come out as a gurgle instead of a yell. "Will you get over it? Just because I didn't want to be your girlfriend doesn't mean I worship every cock I find. And even if I did, it doesn't have anything to do with what happened between us!"

She hisses something else, but my pulse pounds through my head, filling up my ears. Suddenly, her weight is off me. As I gasp in air, my eyesight clears enough to see her lash out at Gideon, who lost his forcefield. He avoids the swipe and keeps trying to pin her arms behind her back. But it doesn't work; her body looks human, but doesn't move like it, sliding out of each hold he tries. By the time I stagger toward them, they're on the floor, still struggling.

And Laci's winning.

"Get off him!"

I grab her by the shoulders, but she only elbows me in the gut and hisses, "Pull me off, and I'll take pieces of him with me."

Gideon, who handled Frankie with ease, strains with every muscle in his body to keep her away as she pins him to the ground. As I try to get my breath back, her tongue flicks out once, twice, catching the blood trailing from a cut by his eye. "He said to wait, but you know what? I'm really fucking hungry. I think I just can't help myself."

"Laci, stop!" My hand fumbles for a stake, gripping so hard that splinters lodge into my palm, but I can't make myself move closer.

She only hisses, lips curling to reveal most of her teeth have drawn back, leaving only two needle-sharp fangs. The fingers of her free hand burrow into Gideon's hair. The growl that comes out of him would make any wolf proud, but she's still able to pull his head back, exposing the pulse pounding in his throat. His ink crackles erratically along his arm, and I can hear the doors screeching open, inch by inch.

Without looking away, she says, "Who do you want to see die, Nina? Me or him?"

"Let him go!" I hear my voice crack.

"Guess that means you, four-eyes," she croons to Gideon, and leans in.

I don't realize I'm moving until I stab down, every muscle in my arm and shoulder burning as if on fire. I feel everything; the crunch of bone as the stake jolts past ribs, the lurch of pierced organs and flesh. It's as if it's my own body I'm breaking.

Laci screams, and this time, it doesn't sound like a monster's shriek;, it's her voice, the wail I remember when she fell off her bike and broke her wrist while we were both learning how to ride. I jerk back, for a dizzying moment wishing I could pull out the stake and take back its damage as well.

And when I get her off Gideon, it's not to free him but to hold her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She's gasping, coughing as the blood around the wound curdles, veins of rot spreading along her skin. But when she looks up at me, it's her face twisted with tears. "Me?"

I shake my head, and even though I'm covered in blood—her blood—for a moment time shifts around me, and we're back in her bedroom, her face twisted up just like that and my hair sticking out where she pulled me in for the kiss. But now, finally, I can say the words that always stuck in my throat before. "Just because I don't want that doesn't mean I love you any less."

She just says my name, lips shrinking back to reveal normal human teeth. And then I realize we're back in this fucking basement, me kneeling in gore while cradling her.

"I'm so sorry..." My eyes blur over.

And then she's gone, nothing but clumps of dark, clotted blood that slide between my fingers. No bones, no hair, no clothing. Nothing recognizable.

Behind me, I hear Gideon groan, and then the scrape of his shoes against the floor as he gets up. It sends me staggering to my feet, globs of gore squelching as I take a few shaky steps toward the cell doors.

"We have to get rid of them," I mutter, as he moves up next to me. A lot of Laci's blood must have poured onto him when I stabbed her, because he's covered in it.

When he replies, his voice sounds only a little uneven. "I agree."

I watch him slide shaking fingers along his ink. "Can you do it without killing yourself?"

"Barely."

His ink flickers slowly, and then flares, as bright and hot as a star. Light pours over each cell door, slipping between whatever cracks are found. Though it's impossible to hear anything, within moments the window of each door blazes from the inside. Just as quickly, they go dark again, and Gideon staggers. Without thinking, I move over and wrap my arm around his ribs to give him something to lean on. He breathes raggedly while the original lines of ink fade from the doors, letting each one swing open.

Only ashes are left, scattered across the floors.

"Would you like me to..." He nods at Laci's remains.

"No." I keep my voice flat.

After a moment, he adds, "Then there's nothing left to do down here."

We stay silent while climbing up the ladder, and head for the basement window to crawl through with only a shared glance between us. I go first, digging my claws into the wall to get a grip. But as soon as I pull myself up to the mantle, my arms start shaking. "I need a push to make it all the way out."

He must be hurting really badly, because he doesn't even make a gesture of doubt over whether giving me a shove on the ass would be proper. He just does it, and as soon as I scrabble onto firm ground, he's right behind me, gore-streaked hair falling into his eyes as he squeezes through. When the sun hits us both, Laci's remains sizzle, flaking away until we're covered in ash instead of blood.

As we make our way back to my house, gulping in fresh, sun-warmed air, I hear myself saying, "So. Believe me now?"

His answer sounds just as flat. "Completely."