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Eat, eat, eat, the thing inside of me chants. Hungry, hungry, hungry—

Find someone in a shadowed corner, drain them even just a little bit, and get out without being found? No problem. I’ll just switch masks with another unsuspecting dupe. It’s perfect.

Lacie never has to know what I am. I’ll never have to endanger her. We’ll go to the after-party and have a great time.

“Marcella?” she asks, her tone sharpening. “Hello?”

I mentally shake myself. “Look, I’ll see if I can get in, but no promises. I mean, you saw the size of that man at the door.”

“What about a window?” Lacie twists around, dodging a masked server carrying champagne. His rabbit ears bob.

“Lacie, Lacie. Have a drink. The night is young,” I purr. The scent of blood all around me makes me a little drunk myself. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

I can feel her burning stare through her mask. “What is wrong with you?”

Nothing, I want to say. Nothing, because for once, I feel alive and protected. And isn’t that exactly what this party was made for? Don’t these wights want chaos to reap what meals they can? They just didn’t realize that I was here—and that I was invited means they aren’t onto us after all. I can move with impunity. I bare my teeth in a grin but no one can see it.

“Marcella,” Lacie grouses. “What is going on?”

I pat her shoulder with a tingling hand, steering her through the crowds. “Let’s find Lyle, shall we?”

Grumbling, she allows me to lead her. I just need to find her a babysitter. My stomach twists, my head a riot of screams. Just put her somewhere safe, I tell myself, and sate it.

Then you can find Lacie again and figure out the next move.

Lovely Lacie.

My mind tosses the words like froth on waves.

Lacie, my littlest, loveliest lamb.

I giggle to myself and her head turns sharply toward me. Her heart hammers, hammers, hammers, picking up speed, her sweat stinking of panic. I wish I could tell her what was happening to me, the physical reaction I’m tamping down, a thumb and forefinger pinching hard, but I might as well be trying to snuff a forest fire like I would a candle. She can’t see this part of me.

No. I need to protect her from this.

We’re making our way behind the dean’s house now, where the tent soars into the sky to chandelier height. There’s a crystal-and-brass confusion hanging like a deformed spider, its arms lit with hundreds of candle flames. The dance floor is stuffed with masked attendees in their finery, laughter spilling over, wine sloshed in a goblet. Their joy scrapes me raw, perforates my eardrums. My teeth sharpen, pricking my tongue.

If I could just stop one. If I could just make one quiet.

There’s a man standing off to the side of the revelry, his characteristic scent, vellum and book glue and sweat, keying me in. “There he is,” I say, pointing.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” I tug her. “Come now, let’s say hello, give our condolences, and I’ll sneak around to find whatever I can.”

“You won’t leave me here, right? You’ll come back?”

I peel her from my arm, frustration sparking inside me. I’m just hungry. I just need to eat.

“Lacie, we talked about this. Since we can no longer meet inside, let’s convene again at the dance floor in an hour. It’ll be fine.” We stop in front of Lyle; he’s wearing a tortoise-head mask, the green a muddy brown in the writhing shadows. Ah, poor peon. “Lyle, so good to see you.”

He jumps. “How did you know it was me?”

I fairly shove Lacie at Lyle. “Excuse me a moment.”

“Wait, Marcella—”

First, I’ll eat.