Curled on the couch in Jay’s office, lulled by the mellow tone of his voice, I doze off for a while—maybe an hour. When my consciousness slowly resurfaces, he’s sitting on the low table beside me, gazing at me with all the golden warmth of his beautiful soul shining in those brown eyes.

I uncoil myself, stretching. “You always did like to sit on floors and counters and tables. Even when there were perfectly good chairs around.” He doesn’t say anything, and my eyes drift to his soft lips, his crisp jawline. “Did you get all your work done?”

“Most of it. Jordan will be here any minute. Are you sure you’re up for this? I know it’s been a rough week.”

“Rough? That’s an understatement. I saw somebody die, Jay, and I have a feeling it won’t be the last time.” I scrunch my curls with my fingers. “And you’ve killed people before, haven’t you? With your own hands.”

His jaw tightens. “I killed gluttons who were out of control. People who didn’t follow the rules they agreed to, who put everyone at risk.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sorry.” He clears his throat, glancing away. “But I dream about it, sometimes. You know me, Daisy. I’m not a violent person.”

“But you could be.”

“Anyone has that capacity. It’s all about controlling your responses, making sure you’re mentally fit to handle the stress.”

“You’re only twenty-four, Jay. You shouldn’t have this much pressure on you.”

“Says who? All the smartest, most successful guys start young.”

I contemplate him, with my head tilted in thought. I know him so well—we have mutual memories—and yet he has inner sanctums I haven’t touched yet, deep wells he hasn’t let me peer into. Maybe because he’s afraid of himself, and what he is capable of.

“I can’t be your savior, Jay,” I tell him. “I tried that with Tom, and it didn’t work. I can’t save you from yourself.”

His mouth curves, a gentle smile, a glow that suffuses his eyes. “I would never expect you to save me. I did all this so you wouldn’t have to. We’re on equal footing again, and now I can give you everything—even immortality. When I first met Cody on that beach, and discovered what he was— Well, I won’t pretend I had it all planned out then, but I could see flashes of the path that would lead me back to you. Becoming a vampire and developing the new transition process was my key to giving you everything you could ever want.”

“Maybe what I want is a lot simpler than you think,” I say softly, leaning toward him.

“’Sup, monsters,” Jordan says from the doorway. Then she looks from me to Jay. “Oops. Did I interrupt something? I can wait out here for a minute if y’all want. Only a minute though, because I want to nail this cover song. Busy, busy, you know how it is. Chrystie and Ismay are already waiting for us in the studio.”

“I’m coming.” I rise from the couch reluctantly.

Judging by the constant interruptions, I must be fated to never kiss Jay again.

18

I’ve done a lot of things in the past eight years—things I never thought I’d have the chance to do before my dad scored his new job. But I haven’t been inside an actual recording studio before. I guess I expected something more glamorous, but it’s actually kinda plain. I suppose the real magic is in the walls, the soundproofing, and the acoustics, and in the digital spell that the soundboard casts over the raw music. Two friends of Jordan’s, Chrystie and Ismay, will handle the recording and processing part of things. They’re both human, as far as I can tell—no special bracelets. Chrystie is skinny, with lank blond hair, a beanie, and rows of bracelets covering half her arms. Her fingers are so laden with heavy rings it’s a wonder she can manage the soundboard controls so deftly. Ismay is a soft, quiet person with purple-streaked hair, a skull T-shirt, and a black stud in their nose.

I’m not feeling too confident as Jordan runs through trills and mouthy noises that are supposed to limber up her vocals and lips for the song.

“Should I be doing all of that?” I ask her.

“Not necessary. I just need your sweet little voice as a counterpoint.”

“So I’m your backup singer?”

“You cool with that?”

“Relieved, actually.”

“Sweet.”

We look at each other, really look, like we haven’t in a while. I thought we’d see more of each other over the summer, but so far that hasn’t happened. Breezing in and out of each other’s lives doesn’t really count.

Jordan’s eyes drop to my bandaged arm, then flash up again, widening with understanding. “So…”

“Yeah. Cody got into some trouble with the sun, and he needed—you know.”

“Right.” She nods, puckering her lips. She’s in her usual jaunty stance, one hip cocked and her hand at her waist. She’s one of those people whose strength is immediately obvious, from the muscles rippling under her dark skin to the confident way she moves, seamlessly comfortable in her body. But right now, there’s an edge to her movements. She’s tapping her fingers, working her lips.

I was pretty judgmental on the phone when we talked earlier, and she’s clearly not over it.

“Can they hear us in here?” I nod to Chrystie and Ismay behind the glass.

“Not yet.” She points. “When that light goes on, yes.”

“I think it’s great you’re a vampire,” I offer.

Her gaze whips back to mine, hopeful. “Yeah?”

“I don’t have to worry about your safety so much anymore. It’s actually a huge relief.” I allow a smile to creep over my mouth, and she grins back.

“For me too,” she says. “I still get the adrenaline rush, you know? Because if I fall, there will still be pain. But I don’t have the panic anymore. It’s good.”

“And you’re feeling okay?”

“I feel amazing.”

“Not physically, Jordan. You had a literal transformative experience. That’s gotta throw your mind for a loop, at least a little bit.”

“You know I don’t do feelings talk, babe.”

I consider her for a minute, then open my arms. “Come on.”

She narrows her eyes. “No hugs.”

“It’s the least you can do after turning yourself into a vampire without telling me. Come on, girl.”

She relents and steps in, letting me fold my arms around her. She’s so hard, muscle and determination, ambition and drive. But she softens a little bit as I hold her.

“Love you,” I say. “You know that.”

“Hmm. You too.”

It’s the most I’m going to get, so I let her go. “Okay, feelings talk is over. Let’s do this.”

The song is a duet arrangement of Lana Del Rey’s “Young and Beautiful.” Jordan’s smooth, rich voice slides over the lyrics, strong and glowing, and I’m the ethereal echo, the quiet harmony. Chrystie and Ismay are handling the soundboard behind the glass, but a few bars into our second run-through, another figure slips into the room with them. Jay stands there, watching us—watching me. His mouth is parted, his eyes glazed with a distant enchantment. My stomach flips, but somehow I manage to stay on key, to maintain the right pitch as my voice glides along behind Jordan’s.