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I have everything under control.

I stand up and survey my outfit, twisting this way and that. I’m wearing what could only be described as Dark Academia Boy Villain: well-fitted khakis and a white button-down under a heavy wool sweater, a navy blazer. I paint on some lipstick, but halfway through, it gives me an odd wrong feeling, so I swipe it off with the back of my hand, leaving a dribble of color across my chin that I rub at a moment.

Odd that my body, this form that I’ve had for centuries, no longer feels like it fits. A problem for another day.

Muttering to myself, I turn away and reach a hand toward Bellatrix, who bats at me and disappears into the apartment’s early morning shadows.

“Suit yourself.”

I toe the cat food bowl, half off its pad thanks to Bellatrix’s ministrations, back on again, and flip off the lights. In the dark, the soft green light so familiar to my form ghosts my shape. I pull a dark overcoat on, slip into Brooks Brothers loafers, and edge into the early morning hall.

Lacie’s already there, scribbling something in her notebook.

“Lacie,” I whisper.

Her head snaps up, a wary glint in her eye as she surveys me, no doubt looking for cracks in my armor. “Good morning.”

She doesn’t move toward me. And why should she? Pity the fool who sees a monster and leans into it anyway.

“Shall we?”

She shakes her head. “Perk’s closed, which is just as well. Something about renovations?” She tilts her head at me. “Any idea what that’s about?”

“You could have texted me. And no, of course not. I’m not the prime mover of all ills, as you know.” My words come out waspish and I school my tone. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“Thanks, you look great, too.”

This isn’t going awesome. I grit my teeth and say, “Shall we go to the Div School food hall for a change?” Loath as I am to be near the chapel where we buried Dr. Sims’s body, this kills two birds with one stone: I can survey the university for any sign of ambulance or other vættir and walk outside with Lacie.

“Isn’t that dangerous? Shouldn’t we … I don’t know … be careful?”

“Honestly, I think that if we act afraid, we’ll only put a target on our backs. We already ran away—”

“And why wouldn’t we have?” she cuts in.

“Well, for one, I think since they themselves turned Lyle, they probably had more control over him than we saw. They probably stopped him after one kill.”

“That’s not heartening.” She’s paled, her lips a grim, nauseous line. “We’ve got to stop this.”

“I agree. That means actually leaving this building.”

She sighs but nods, tucking her notebook into her satchel. She’s underdressed for the snow filtering down from the slate morning sky, her black tights’ denier not quite thick enough. I can see a wink of soft thigh and I have to avert my eyes to the buttons on her tweed vest, the curl of her blonde hair.

Wordlessly, we exit Craven.

Overnight, Preston’s turned into a winter pastiche. For a suburb of Boston, they seem ill-prepared for this little ruffle of weather: no one is out with shovels, and none of the walkways have been sanded or salted. I put an arm out for Lacie to hold. She hesitates, a bobble someone else might have missed if they didn’t hear the stammer of her heart, before taking hold.

“Are you cold?” I murmur.

She shakes her head but doesn’t look at me. I suppose that’s fair. I wouldn’t want to look at me, either.

We draw toward the chapel, and meanwhile I’m biting the inside of my cheek to iron-flavored slop. There’s not a single car, let alone an ambulance. The dais of the entryway beneath the central spire looms, the dark windows of its bell tower watchful eyes. I lead Lacie around to the right, skirting skeletal magnolias, slipping under the granite and limestone breezeways. Inside are tucked little stone benches surveyed by more gargoyles, perfect for spring morning coffees. I make a mental note and tuck it away. Though to be honest, I don’t think I’ll be here very long. What is there to keep me? Why would I stick around a dozen predatory vættir and risk my own skin, everlasting though it might be?

The answer comes quickly and easily: her.

I could have left her there and skipped town last night, but I didn’t. I probably should have.

I tighten my gloved hand over Lacie’s bare one, feel the cold settled into her fingertips. “Careful of ice,” I say, but she doesn’t spare me a glance. She stares ahead, her breath clouding every second or so in front of her face.