“Tom’s been doing his homework on you,” Myrtle says. “He knows you’re up to something bad. Probably raping and murdering the people who come to your parties. You’ve got a basement full of body parts, don’t you, you sick bastard?”

“I’m not the one threatening murder here.”

I twist, craning my aching neck, and there’s Jay, rounding the edge of the pool, prowling toward Myrtle. Myrtle stands with her back to me, no longer circling. She’s caught, cornered. The roles have shifted, and Jay’s the hunter now, stalking slowly nearer.

“Stay where you are,” Myrtle croaks. “Or I’ll shoot you.”

“You’re going to shoot me either way, right?” he says quietly. “You really shouldn’t, though. I promise you’ll regret it. Think of your own future. Are you ready to go to jail for life?”

“Tom will help me. We won’t get caught.”

“Oh, Tom will help you? Because he’s so reliable. I’ll bet he talked you into this, didn’t he?”

“No. I mean, he wants justice for George. For me.”

“And justice is shooting me and Daisy?”

“Because of you, I lost my brother!” Myrtle screams, tears thickening her voice. “He was all I had, do you understand? The only person who cared.”

“Interesting. Doesn’t Tom care about you?”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You dared George to climb that cliff. You didn’t stop him. You basically murdered him.”

“But your voice startled him. That’s why he fell.”

“You’re blaming me?” Myrtle’s voice shrills with anguish.

Jay is still walking the edge of the pool, half a dozen steps from her now. “I’m only telling you the tr—”

The shot cracks the air. Short. Brutal. Final.

Jay stands as still as a tree, the breeze fluttering through his shirt and hair.

Dark blood spreads slick across his chest, blooming wider like a malignant rose. I whimper against the gag and lurch forward, bucking savagely against the ropes. Pain flares through my wrist bones, but I twist harder, and one hand pops free of the loop.

Jay wavers, takes a staggering step, and falls backward into the pool, arms wide and eyes unfocused. I tear away the ropes and fight with the gag knotted at the back of my head, but I can’t pick it loose. Myrtle has her back to me. She’s frozen, the gun still raised. When I struggle to my feet, pain forces a tiny cry from my throat, and she whirls, aiming the gun at me. But I’m blind with grief and reckless rage, and I throw myself at her in a tackle worthy of a linebacker. We crash to the ground, and the gun skids away. My nails find her face and her throat, clawing, shredding. I grind my teeth into the gag until pain shoots through my jaw.

I want her to hurt.

I want her to die.

Twisting a fistful of her hair in my hand, I slam her skull against the cement. Once is enough; she’s out cold, and I crawl backward, off her body. My fingers tremble with the urge to smash and smash her head against the patio.

But I have to help Jay.

Sobbing around the gag, I crawl to the edge of the pool.

Jay floats in a cloud of his own blood, delicate crimson swirls unfurling around him like spectral wings. His face under the blue surface is unbearably beautiful—dark lashes on pale cheekbones, lips parted over white teeth.

I have to get him out. I have to help him.

Scooting to the edge, I’m about to leap in when Jay’s eyes flash open. They’re milky white from corner to corner, irises erased, pupils a mere pinprick of black. His face contorts in a snarl. Maybe it’s just the ripples, but it looks as if his canines are elongating, like rapiers sliding from hidden sheaths. His spine arches, his hands splaying rigid while dark claws extend from his fingertips.

He soars from the water like a ball shot from a cannon, and he crashes to one knee beside the pool, droplets raining around him, his claws screeching against the white cement.

Screaming through the gag, I scuttle backward, away from him. He looks up at me and cocks his head with inhuman suddenness. A second shriek dies in my throat. A knot of terror is tightening in my brain, and if it bursts, I think I might never recover my senses.

Jay rises to his full height, touching his wounded chest with delicate black claws. “Damn it, I’ve lost a lot of blood.” The fangs slur his words a little. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, Daisy. I was going to tell you gently, I…”

His head whips back toward Myrtle, like he can’t help it, like something is summoning him, something more primal and needful than his desire to explain himself. He stalks toward Myrtle’s body, kneels beside her, and slides his claws under the back of her neck. His jaws part wide.

I know what he’s going to do a split second before he does it.

His fangs sink into Myrtle’s flesh, and the slurping, sucking sound that follows drives nausea through my stomach.

Jay Gatsby—my Gatsby—is a vampire.

Holy freaking hell.

Whatever happened to vampires confessing their secret quietly during a walk in the woods, or in a meadow of flowers or whatever?

Whatever happened to vampires staying in TV shows and novels where they belong?

What is…what is happening? What the hell is happening right now?

Jay extracts his fangs from Myrtle’s neck and licks the marks he left. Then he sighs with something like relief. And turns to me.

No. No no no. I can’t look at him, not when he’s like this. But I can’t stop looking at him.

He crawls toward me—actually crawls, with frightening grace.

“Let me take care of that.” He reaches for my cheek, wriggles one sharp nail under the gag, and slices through the cloth.

I rip the fabric out of my mouth. “Did you just kill Myrtle?”

“No more than she killed me.” He smiles, fangs shining with blood.

“Don’t smile,” I snap. “Why are you smiling about this?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m nervous?” He laughs hoarsely. “I know this isn’t funny, but I can’t stop.”

“Is that so?” Rage bubbles inside me, and I smack his cheek, as if smacking him hard enough might possibly restore him to a previous timeline where he’s not a vampire. Though in that case he’d be lying in the pool, a tragically murdered human. Fine, I guess the vampire version is better than the completely dead version.

But he wasn’t a vampire eight years ago, when I knew him.

“When did this happen?” The words tumble out of me, toneless and raw.

He flexes his fingers, and the claws slide back into their sheaths. His fangs seem to be receding as well. “After you left Easley, I felt so angry and lost that I started getting into trouble. Then my mom got arrested for dealing again. I was coming home one day when I saw them putting her in the cruiser, and I knew I’d have to go into foster care, so I ran away. Hitchhiked to Charleston, where I met Cody. I was spending the night in the shadows of a dune on the beach, and I saw him going out to swim in the dark. I watched him stay underwater for a full five minutes, until I thought he must be drowned. When I swam out to try to save him, I discovered that he was perfectly fine. So I told him I wanted whatever power he had, and I’d do anything to get it. He could have drunk me dry right then, but he didn’t. I guess he was impressed with me for some reason. He gave me a place to stay, and we became friends. On my twentieth birthday he turned me.”