“A cult is a label too readily applied by those who dislike exclusivity,” he replies. “You are one of Gatsby’s abominations. Do not speak to me again.”
“I’ll speak to you however and whenever I want, asshole,” Jordan says. There’s a laugh in her voice, the confident glee of power and freedom, and I’m suddenly, passionately grateful to Jay for giving my friend that extra strength and protection. Jordan has always been fearless, but becoming a vampire has unlocked her truest self.
“Brave speech from one who is about to die,” Wolfsheim says coolly. He lifts his hands, turning his head slightly toward his people. “Let’s end this, my friends. Kill them all except Gatsby and my former pet.”
“Weapons,” Jay calls, and his people draw knives and short swords from beneath their clothes. From what I can glimpse, some of the weapons look like collectibles, not actually meant for fighting. I’m pretty sure one guy is holding a replica from The Lord of the Rings. It’s pitiful. Sure, they’ve got their fangs and claws too, but judging by the speed and efficiency of the vampires who attacked the support group, Wolfsheim’s people have training and better weapons. Jay’s group is going to be slaughtered.
Talking didn’t work, and the backup plan is me.
For half a second—one horrible, nightmarish instant—I think about what would happen if I ran away. If I turned and left this house, retreating back into my parents’ money and my summer and my normalcy. Jay and his vampires would be killed, and all of this—the parties, the blood, the kisses—would fade like a dream. I could go on as if none of it ever happened. I could go back to being fun, flirty, popular Daisy, and find a normal human boyfriend and a regular job, and never think about scary supernatural crap again.
But I’ve been the fun girl, the easygoing girl, the one who smothered my anger so I could keep up friendships with people who hid terrible secrets from me. I’ve been the person aching to fit in, to fill the hollow inside me, to wedge myself into the prescribed mold—the life I’m expected to have. But here in the quivering space between threat and bloodbath, none of that matters, and the knife-sharp clarity that floods my mind is a beautiful thing.
I took the first steps into my new self when I knocked Myrtle out, and when I threatened Tom. Wolfsheim is just another Tom, selfish and proud, lusting to impose his will on others. I don’t need to split myself in two and create some façade to shield my emotions. I don’t need to bow to false friends or cower from men like him.
I just need to be me, real and whole and powerful.
Adrenaline races through me from shoulders to fingers to toes, bathing my body with burning ice.
I rise, collect the cordless mic from its stand, switch it on, and hold it to my lips. Slowly I stalk down the steps of the platform.
“This isn’t your house, Wolfsheim,” I say quietly, and my voice echoes through the room. “You don’t own this space, or this world, for that matter. I don’t think you have the right to dictate the choices anyone else makes.”
I’m still working on clearing away the lingering rasp in my throat, ratcheting down my tone to the right timbre, controlling my nerves enough to find that lyrical rhythm. It’s terrifying to be visible to everyone, to have all the First Gen vampires and their Progeny staring at me, to have every eye in Jay’s group fixed on my face. But it’s empowering, too. And their surprise gives me the time I need to find my voice.
“Who the hell are you?” says Wolfsheim, his lip curving scornfully. His gaze flicks to my wrists. “Not one of Gatsby’s pets.”
“I’m the person telling you all to calm down and lower your weapons.” I’m there now. I’m in that silky space where the words just flow, undulating from my mouth and twining around the vampires like slithering cords. Every gaze locks on me—Jordan and Cody, Jay and his people, the First Gens and their Progeny—even Wolfsheim himself. Their eyes glaze over, lips parting as if they’re listening to the most beautiful song in the world. I keep talking, scarcely conscious of what I’m saying while I recover from the shock of all those minds tethered to my words. I have to stay focused. I have to figure out how to defuse this situation safely.
“That’s much better now, isn’t it?” I croon. “Let’s have no more bloodshed. Why don’t we put down all the swords and knives, okay?”
The vampires obey, and a clatter of blades rains onto the dance floor. For a panicked moment, I fear the sound has disturbed their trance—they’re beginning to frown and glance around—so I keep talking, keep weaving my voice around them, low and thrilling and irresistible. “Let’s all be friends, because that’s so much nicer than fighting, don’t you think? Now, everyone, put your hands in your pockets, and if you find a pair of earplugs there, go ahead and put those in—and once you have them in, you’re free to do what you need to do, to follow the instructions Gatsby has given you.”
Jay’s people find their earplugs immediately and insert them, slowly coming back to themselves and remembering the plan, what they’re supposed to do next. Wolfsheim and his vampires fumble desperately with their clothing, raking their fingers through their empty pockets.
Time for the next phase of the plan.
“It’s all right if you don’t have earplugs,” I tell the Progeny softly. “There’s nothing to worry about, nothing at all. Let yourselves relax. You’re perfectly safe. Your fangs are receding, your claws are disappearing. You’re doing just fine. Everything is going to be fine. Softly now, quietly, move to the center of the room, and hold out your hands, because you’re going to be getting some lovely bracelets.”
The bracelets are reinforced zip ties, some type of enhanced polymer Jay developed for restraining gluttons. Jay’s vampires move in, zip-tying the intruders’ wrists one at a time. The thrill of my power zaps along my nerves, an electric ecstasy beyond anything I’ve ever felt, as every Progeny vampire remains stock-still and glassy-eyed, mildly holding out their hands to be bound.
Jay’s people keep quiet, because we haven’t explored my voice power thoroughly and we don’t yet know what sounds could break our enemies out of the trance. My palm is sweating against the microphone. I’m running out of things to say, but I keep repeating myself anyway, maintaining that low, melodic tone, terrified that if I stop, the Progeny will break free of my control.
This room is a death trap, and my voice is the golden chain, the thin border between peace and carnage.
“It’s hard to imagine that this room is the place I first saw him again,” I say softly. “It looked so different then, dark and wild, shuddering with music, lights strobing back and forth. Keep holding out your wrists. It’s all right if the bracelets are tight.”
Jay finishes securing a Progeny vampire’s wrists and glances up at me before moving to the next prisoner. I know he can’t hear me because of the earplugs, and for some reason that knowledge frees me to speak words I normally wouldn’t say.
“If anyone is worth following, it’s Gatsby, not Wolfsheim. Is Gatsby perfect? Hell, no, but he tries. He learns, he grows, he’s willing to listen and do better…and sometimes I think that’s all any of us can ever do. Listen, and change. Like you’re listening to me right now.”
My gaze travels the group again, and another thrill hits my stomach as I realize I can sense them all—each mind tethered to my voice, each will bound by my words. The connections are smooth, silken, no hint of resistance…except…
No, there’s one thread that’s taut and threatening, pulses of conflicting energy rolling along it.
Wolfsheim.
The longer I talk, the more fiercely his frown deepens. He’s fighting me, revolting against the influence of my voice, and I’m not sure how to lure him back in without losing my grip on the others.
He was the first one they zip-tied, but there’s a power rolling through our connection that frightens me. I’m not sure one set of cuffs is enough.
I wave my hand to Cody, miming the act of reinforcing the zip ties. He nods and steps in, adding another set to Wolfsheim’s wrists.
“Stay where you are,” I tell the older vampire. It’s command, no less forceful despite my crooning tone. “Give in to me, and surrender.”
Sweat beads on Wolfsheim’s forehead, and his fangs are growing longer again, spit flying from his lips with each harsh breath. The link between us shudders violently, and I gasp at the strain of holding it in place.
I can’t warn Jay because he has earplugs in and he won’t hear me, and I can’t stop talking or the other vampires might break free and not all of them are handcuffed yet—
Shit, I’m losing him.
Wolfsheim’s body seems to swell larger, muscles straining and swelling, tendons standing out along his neck, arms bulging against his shirtsleeves. Claws longer than any I’ve seen on a vampire extrude from his fingertips. He rips through the zip ties as if they’re twigs, and his jaws clamp down on Cody’s neck, ripping out a massive chunk of flesh, and Cody goes limp, sliding to the floor in a quick-flowing pool of his own blood.
I try to hold the mesmerizing rhythm of my words, but my voice rises to a shrill cry of alarm—and my control over the vampires snaps, like a guitar string breaking. Protected by the earplugs, Jay’s people don’t hear the change, but the Progeny vampires stir, waking from their daze, and the ones who weren’t bound yet leap to attack Jay’s vampires. There’s a roar of alarm and a horrible cacophony of thudding bodies and savage snarls.
Wolfsheim charges me, his eyes stark white, bloody slaver swinging from his fangs. This is the devil of myth, the monster Jay never wanted to be, rocketing out of hell, bent on my destruction.
If I die, at least I gave Jay and everyone else a fighting chance.
