“We should have a perfect view from here. Have a seat.” Jay gestures to a couple of padded chairs. On the floor nearby is a bucket of ice, with a bottle of champagne and a bottle of sparkling juice nestled inside. Two glasses stand on a tiny table. “Champagne for you, sparkling cran-grape for me,” Jay says.

“Is it heresy if I mix cran-grape with my champagne? I don’t like the taste of champagne by itself.”

“It is, but since it’s just the two of us, who cares?” He pops the cork and pours me some of each.

I sip the concoction and nod approvingly. “So, why are we back here?”

“You’ll find out in about”—he consults his phone—“one minute. Or less. I’d better put these in.” He tugs a pair of noise-canceling earbuds from his pocket and tucks them into his ears.

A handful of seconds later, a great swell of music envelops the place, echoing across the lawns and gardens. There’s a general murmur of expectation from the crowd, and then something bright rockets into the sky, cracking through the night like a thunderclap and splitting into a shower of golden sparks. Another burst of fire, pink this time, and then an explosion of blue.

“Fireworks,” I breathe. Jay can’t hear me, of course, with the noise-canceling buds protecting his sensitive vampire ears—but he looks way too pleased with himself. I twine my fingers with his and sip my drink while the fireworks spray and shatter across the sky, painting it in sizzling color and lingering smoke. The show goes on for a full fifteen minutes, ending with a series of enormous white fireworks with yellow centers. Wait a second…

Those are daisies. For me.

I tighten my fingers around his.

When the last glimmer fades, Jay removes the earbuds.

“You need to stop being so over-the-top romantic,” I chide him. “Men your age don’t do this stuff.”

“Daisy, darling, you have to stop thinking that everything I do is for you,” he says solemnly. “This show was for my wonderful guests. Think of how many vampires were able to slip away for a drink from their donors while it was going on.”

“Right. And those daisies at the end?”

“Just a coincidence. Is it my fault that you see yourself in everything I do?”

“Yes.” I trail my fingertips over his knuckles. “It’s absolutely your fault.”

He watches my hand wandering over his skin. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it.”

“Anything you don’t like, I’ll change. Immediately.”

“I told you, I don’t expect perfection.”

“Then you’re a rare soul.” He rises, looking off the balcony into the gardens. “When I look down there at all the guests who come to my house every Friday night, do you know what I see? I see a bunch of people starving for perfection. They all curate their social media with it in mind. Even their ‘real’ moments, their messy moments, are carefully chosen. They come here in search of the perfect night, the perfect entertainment, and they expect me to be the perfect host and provide the perfect experience. Anything less is my fault, even if it’s really theirs. And they’re not forgiving. Sure, they’ll ignore a guy like Tom, mouthing off while drunk. As long as I’m shelling out free booze and food and fun, they’ll claim to love me. But if I ever stop giving them what they want, all it would take is one rumor, and the whole rotten crowd would cancel me in a second, no proof required.”

“When did you get so cynical?”

“I’ve always been cynical. It’s what happens to dreamers who get their hearts crushed. And you’re no optimist yourself.”

He’s right, of course. “I’ve had my rough spots,” I admit. “First it was losing you and transitioning to a new social sphere, a new school. And then it was struggling through college while my relationship with Tom got…really dark. Even before he cheated on me, I was suffering with him, even though I didn’t fully realize it at the time. He was constantly cutting into me with his words.”

Jay’s face darkens, his frown turning thunderous. He looks as if he might go hunt Tom down and drain him dry.

Quickly I continue. “It wasn’t all bad, though. The best part was early high school, when Tom and I were still flirting, before we really started dating. I missed you a little less then, and everyone at school seemed to love me. I’ve tried a lot of new things during these eight years, you know. Money lets you do that, lets you try skiing and skating for the first time, gives dance classes and self-defense lessons.”

“And people say money can’t buy happiness.” Jay gives me a sardonic smile.

“It can certainly contribute to happiness. Although it’s not the only factor.”

“That’s for sure.” He runs his knuckles along my cheek.

“And what were you doing all this time?” I ask. “Besides surviving as a runaway and plotting your vampire takeover of the world.”

He snorts. “Not a takeover, Daisy. But to answer your question, I hung out with Cody, finished high school online, got a degree in chemistry, also online, took some medical courses, learned to dance. I taught myself how to talk more formally, with less of a southern hick accent. And I worked on the vampire transformation problem, to make the process safer and less excruciating.”

“Jordan told me. But you never explained how you managed that.”

“By piggybacking off the work of some other researchers and adapting it. And I had help from a doctor Cody knew. Basically, we designed an injection that dulls the pain receptors and keeps the body from fighting so hard against the formation of the new organs. That’s the biggest problem, you see—the body’s natural defense system, its tendency to reject new matter that’s introduced.”

“Like what happens when people receive donated organs,” I interject.

“Exactly. My formula calms everything down, puts the body in a more receptive state so the change doesn’t place so much stress on its systems. If you just drink a vampire’s blood, straight up, your transformation puts you at huge risk of stroke, heart attack, and organ failure, not to mention the strain on the nervous system because of the sheer agony of the change. A lot of traditionally made vampires have white hair because of the trauma their bodies went through when they changed.”

“Cody doesn’t have white hair.”

“No. But he still wakes up screaming from nightmares about his transformation. In the past, only twelve percent of traditionally turned vampires survived the process.”

“Oh wow. I had no idea it was that low. No wonder people pay you extra for the safer and less painful way.” I shudder.

“Exactly. I got my startup money for this place by testing the formula on some rich folks in Charleston.”

“So, how much do I have to pay you to get my shot and my little cup of vampire blood?”

He looks at me, his upper lip lifting just enough to show the tips of his canines. “Nothing at all. For you, it’s free.”

“Lucky me.” My voice is thinner and wispier than I’d like. “So can we do it now? Or—wait a second—I just gave you my blood, so wouldn’t I just be pouring my own blood back into myself?”

“Once human blood enters a vampire’s system, it’s mixed with all the other blood that carries the genetic catalyst. But we do recommend that the blood for a transformation not be drawn until twenty-four hours after a feeding.”

“You sound so official and proper.” I try to laugh, but it comes out as a nervous giggle.

“Daisy, you don’t have to change if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to. I honestly do. I just—”

“You haven’t thought it all through yet, and you need time.” His voice is gentle, soothing, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“I would never push you into this,” he says. “I want you to know exactly what to expect. Speaking of which, we have gatherings of recently turned vampires where they can chat, ask questions, exchange stories. Would you like to come with me to one of those meetings on Thursday night?”

“Wait a second.” More nervous giggles bubble up in my throat. “You’re saying that you have vampire support groups?”

He grimaces. “Yes?”