“Cody.” I pause, carefully controlling my voice. “Turn around three times.”

He revolves in place three times.

I stare at him, and he stares back, peaceful and expectant.

This is so, so freaky. And dangerous. And possibly morally wrong.

And also, what the hell?

“We’re going to find Nick,” I tell Cody, softly and firmly. “And we’re going to pretend none of this happened, okay?”

“Okay,” he chimes back.

“Stop it, Cody! Please, just…stop.”

He frowns, his eyes clarifying, refocusing. “Stop what?”

“You were… I mean…” He’s obviously back in control again. And I can’t even begin to explain what happened when I don’t understand it myself. “Let’s just find Nick.” I turn and head for the stairs.

“Sure.” Cody inhales as if he’s going to say something else, but when I look back, he only shrugs and descends after me.

The guy at the foot of the steps frowns, as if he’s wondering how I slipped by him, but then his gaze flicks to Cody, and he lets us pass without protest.

My heart is jackhammering in my chest, and Cody keeps stealing glances at me. Finally, he says, “You seem nervous.”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Except it really might be something, and the only way I can figure it out is to collect more evidence. So here goes.

“I overhead a bit of your phone conversation,” I say to Cody. “And I was wondering… Is Jay in trouble? Who’s the Wolfsheim person you were talking to?”

He shakes his head. “Spying and eavesdropping. Naughty, naughty.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“No. If you want answers, talk to Gatsby.”

Okay then. Now I know this is a question he won’t willingly answer. Which makes it the perfect control factor to test my “hypnotic voice” theory.

We descend the steps to the second floor, but when we reach the landing I step in front of Cody, look into his eyes, and say in my silkiest tone, “Tell me what I need to know, Cody. Tell me who Wolfsheim is.”

His eyes drift instantly, sliding from mine.

Oh my god, is it actually working? “Cody, tell me who Wolfsheim is,” I say soothingly. “Come on. You can trust me.”

His voice is hollow, toneless. “Wolfsheim is the one who made me. He likes things done a certain way, the traditional way. Not the way Gatsby and I are doing them.”

“The one who made you?” My excitement surges but I press it down, keeping my voice soft and lyrical. “You mean he’s your dad? Or the one you got your money from?”

“He made me,” he repeats. “He’s not my father. And the money is mostly Gatsby’s. This whole thing was his plan.”

“What plan?” I urge. But at that moment Cody’s phone chimes, and he frowns, confused, his hands drifting over his pockets as if he’s not sure what to do.

“It’s fine. Go ahead and check it,” I say in my normal voice.

He’s back to himself again, casually taking the phone out and examining the text. “It’s Nick. He’s waiting for me.” His mouth curves, and I could swear he’s blushing a little.

Either the introduction of a new sound or the return to my normal voice snapped him out of the daze. I’m not sure which it was, and honestly, I’ve had enough experimentation for now. I think if I don’t dive into some kind of mindless entertainment, I just might start screaming or crying from sheer nervous exhaustion and too many fucking changes in my life.

“Before you go, would you mind telling me where the VR game room is? I don’t want to go back into that crowd right now.” The VR room might be a good place to hide out from Jay and to process the freaky, freaky weirdness that is me and my hypno-voice.

“I’ll do you one better,” says Cody. “I’ll take you directly there. A virtual world is a good place to escape once in a while.” He gives me a knowing look. Maybe we understand each other better than we thought.

And now I feel bad about whatever I did to him. I…compelled him, or something. That’s what it’s called in the vampire TV shows, anyway—compulsion. Or holding someone under your sway. That’s a witchy thing, I think. But vampires and witches aren’t real, so it’s got to be hypnotism. My grandmother’s gifts, resurfacing in me. Thanks a lot, Gran.

Cody leads me down some steps and along a hallway to a wide arch where a staff member stands with a tablet.

“Name?” asks the attendant.

“Daisy Finnegan,” I tell her, and then I smile at Cody. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Coffee Beans.” He saunters away down the hall.

“Daisy Finnegan,” repeats the attendant. “Ah, here we go. You’re preapproved by Mr. Gatsby, so no need to leave a deposit or ID. Please go in and help yourself to the equipment. There are instructions posted in each cubicle.”

Preapproved, huh? That’s pretty cool.

The room beyond is immense, divided into a couple dozen cubicles, each about eight feet square—enough room for one person to comfortably play a VR game. Each cubicle has padded walls—probably in case players bump into them—and a narrow, cushioned bench at one end for observers. I walk past a few cubicles occupied by people in chunky headsets, swinging wildly at nothing. When I find an empty one, the screen on the wall activates immediately and says, “Welcome, Player.” A short orientation video plays, and then a selection of games shows up. I choose a zombie one because I feel like fighting something. Come to think of it, there’s probably a punching bag somewhere in this place that would help me release my inner tension, but then I might come away with bruised knuckles and I’d rather not. Zero-impact punching and swinging should do the trick.

The screen on the wall switches to the in-game display mode. If I had a friend along, they could sit on the bench and watch what I’m seeing. But I’m alone, and for now, I want it that way.

The gloves and visor sit in their own dock, on a small table beside the bench. I’ve tried VR stuff before, things like skydiving and kayaking, but never a game like this, and always with controllers rather than gloves. The headgear also feels lighter than the ones I’ve used. With a bit of calibration to adjust for my height, it’s ready to go, and the game begins.

I’m in a ruined city, standing between walls of brick and concrete. There’s rebar and rust, cracked plaster and dry grass poking out of splits in the pavement. The sky overhead is dark blue, streaked and swirled with clouds in a smokier blue, dotted with a couple stars. The attention to detail is killer. When I look down at my hands, they seem slightly larger than usual. The pads of the fingers are stained and smudged, and when I rotate my hands, palms down, there’s dirt crusted under the nails and dried blood across the knuckles.

I move out of the little spawning alcove and into the alley beyond. A cat squalls and skitters across my path, making my heart jolt. The crate it jostled tips over, revealing a crowbar leaning against the wall behind it. Okay. I could use that. I reach forward and grab it, swinging it experimentally a few times. There’s a light buzz through the glove, and that, together with the visual input, makes me almost believe I’m really holding the weapon.

A zombie lunges from the shadows, a glistening eye bulging from one socket, its gnarled hands outstretched.

It’s so real and vivid that I jump back and scream, lashing out with my gloved fist. My iron bar bashes ineffectually against the zombie’s shoulder.

“Aim for the head.” A voice drifts into my new reality, and a chill floods every inch of my skin, raising goose bumps.

Jay’s voice.

He’s standing behind me. I can’t see him because of the headset, but I can feel him, like a sailor senses an oncoming storm. I can smell the pine, leather, and cloves of his cologne.

How did he find me? The staff member at the door of the VR room probably ratted me out.

The zombie lunges at me again, gargling from its broken mouth.