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I tear the candles from the altar, setting the expensive cloth to flame. I make sure it’s smoking before we shove the wooden pews toward it, until they too become kindling.

Lacie takes my hand in the darkening smoke, our green glows mingling. We hold each other until the end comes.

EPILOGUEMarcella

“Easy,” I whisper, running my fingertips over the edges of Lacie’s shoulders. She shivers under my touch, pricked and attuned to me. “It might be your first solo hunt, but you’ve seen me feed so many times, you know what to do. Take a deep breath and find some calm.”

“I don’t breathe anymore,” Lacie snarks, shifting in the shadows. She can’t hide her green glow just yet, but that’s alright. She’s not here to be invisible.

All around us, Mardi Gras riots, and Lacie, clothed in a skimpy red lace dress, is here to be obvious.

“I don’t know how I feel about this, Marcella,” she whispers. “I—Can’t you—”

“It’s high time you learned how to do this on your own.” I kiss the back of her neck, inhaling the soft smell of clove and aloe. Goddess, I would love to be back in our hotel room. Clean sheets, old books, the kinds of sex men can only dream of. My fingers running into the wet center of her, making her shake.

Alas.

She has to eat, and it’s my duty as the draugr who turned her to teach her in turn how to hunt.

She shifts on her heels, staring down the long alley toward the parading stretch of Bourbon Street. The tension crackles off her. I taste it on my tongue and it makes me grab her chin, pulling her into a hard kiss.

“I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

Lacie swallows hard. “You won’t leave.” She laces her fingers into mine, her palm pulsing tight.

“Not if the world ends. You will find me on my knees before you when the sky comes down and the dark suffocates us.”

Her eyes, glowing and ravenous, meet mine. The center of her trembles, but she gathers her human skin around her and nods. “Okay.”

Like any good scholar, she’s studied me as I’ve hunted for the two of us, twining her innate understanding with hard-won technique.

I let her hand go. “You’re ready.”

With a final nod, she swans away from me. I’m careful to give her a good amount of space, but given the crowds, it’s the perfect venue. No one will notice I’m following her, and there are plenty of horrible men who would see a pretty young thing like her and want to do awful things to her.

I did promise her I wouldn’t have her kill anyone. For now, anyway. We go home tomorrow, and so far, we’ve managed a lovely holiday without too many problems. I’ve even avoided adopting a street cat—I did try to sneak one into our hotel, but Bellatrix hated her.

A hot breeze blusters down the street and cheers erupt. The day’s been heavy, horrid. If I could sweat, I’d be pouring buckets. Air-conditioning is saving my undead ass right now, though Southern-born Lacie seems unbothered. Undead or not, this heat is oppressive.

As she teeters down the street, she gets a fair amount of catcalls. At first, I’m preening—she is beautiful, and everyone should appreciate seeing her—but then I grow angry. Angrier.

How dare they raise their voices, shout the depraved things they’d do to her. I pick up my pace, sensing her growing discomfort. She doesn’t like crowds on a good day, but this is the safest way to prowl. New York isn’t a safe place for this kind of hunting; too many cameras. But I’m beginning to understand why she didn’t want to do this. There are too many alleys. Too many people.

She slips through a raucous crowd, a bridal party in neon pink, howling and laughing and waving bottles of champagne high above their heads. Sticky liquid dampens the back of my neck, and I squint as it hits my eyes. A single second too long.

I lose sight of Lacie and my chest gives a tight squeeze of panic.

Enough with being coy and careful. I cut through the crowd, weaving in and out of thrown beads and the obscene honking of vuvuzelas, the teeth rattling tone of air horns. Dancers in their bright, soft boas, a shimmering scene of skin.

None the body I want.

“Lacie!” I cry. “Lacie?” I’m moving against the stream, and every red dress I see isn’t hers.

“Fuck,” I dive down an empty alley, vault over a puddle of vomit. “Lacie?”

She’s not here. Goddess, what have I done? She can handle herself, of course she can, but I promised, promised, to be by her side.

I emerge into the parade again, but there are massive floats now, revelers cheering from rooftops. I can’t hear her or feel her—I don’t know where she is.