Prendergast takes it and slips it under his tongue. Within a minute, his breathing has returned to normal, he straightens up. He looks around as if confused to find himself standing in the middle of a circle. “What’s going on?”

The pain must have been so intense, he wasn’t aware that Leticia had carried him from his place at the bar. He remembers everything else, though, the familiar look of panic settling over his features.

Leticia turns again to Sophie. “What now?”

“He needs to lay down in the circle. I will lie beside him. You read the ritual. Anna, you sprinkle the contents of this vial over me at the proper time.”

My head swims with questions. “How will I know the proper time? What’s in the vial? Will Prendergast feel anything?”

Sophie has stepped into the circle. “You’ll know the proper time, don’t worry. And it’s holy water in the vial. That should assuage some of your guilt. Nothing poisonous or harmful. Holy water. Prendergast may feel a tingling. But it will feel like renewal, not death. He will feel strong and healthy. That should be the last nitroglycerine tablet he ever needs.”

Too pat. What isn’t she telling me? Vampire whispers in my ear, magic always exacts a price.

“What about you, Sophie?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Worse case scenario, I’m eighty again. But I was healthy before, I should be healthy again.”

Leticia’s impatience sparks again. “Can we get on with it?”

“Prendergast, lie down.”

He tries to step out of the circle, but Leticia swings him up and has him prone on the floor before he can take a step. He struggles to get up. She places a hand on the middle of his chest. “Sophie, can I knock him out? I can cut off his breathing by pressing right here,” she demonstrates by placing a palm on his jugular.

Sophie leans over Prendergast. “Think of it this way, Steven. A new life. One without pain. You’re getting everything you wanted.”

Prendergast draws a breath, his eyes searching Sophie’s. “I won’t feel anything?”

Sophie nods. “Nothing bad. Promise.”

Leticia removes her hand. “Remember, I move faster than you think. Don’t try to pull anything.”

He closes his eyes. Is he praying?

Sophie hands Leticia the paper and bundle of herbs and me the vial. Then she steps into the circle and lowers herself to the floor. She positions her body so her head is at his feet. They are close, but not touching. She ignites the candles as she did before, with a wave of her hand. Then she takes Prendergast’s hand and looks to Leticia. “Begin.”

I see Prendergast’s body tense. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. Part of me feels sorry for him but part of me feels it was his thirst for vengeance that got him into this predicament. That and the thought of a fortune if he could extort it. What does he think now that he knows the truth? That Deveraux didn’t turn his great-grandmother, she turned him? Does he wish he’d never seen the manuscript? Does he curse the lies his family perpetuated to ease their own guilt?

I close my eyes, too. I’m letting this happen. How guilty am I going to feel if something goes wrong?

I imagine pretty fucking guilty.

Leticia reads the Latin script expertly and without hesitation. It’s a long passage, full of pauses during which she waves the bundle of herbs in ways that resemble the sign of the cross. Did Sophie take her rite from a Catholic exorcism textbook?

Nothing is happening. The words provoke no immediate reaction in the two on the floor. I guess I was expecting the dramatic three-sixty head spinning and projectile vomiting pictured in movies when an exorcism is performed. Or at least an impressive string of cursing. Sophie and Prendergast lie still and seemingly unaffected. Even Prendergast shoulders start to relax and his breathing is so regular, I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. Will Jonathan’s spirit slip effortlessly from Sophie into his body?

But I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

Leticia is caught up in the words, the magic. Her face takes on an excited flush, her voice rises and falls. Soon the crystals begin to glow. I take an involuntary step back, remembering the flash fire of before. There’s no mist this time, no colorful liquid vapor you can touch and send gently rippling with a touch of your hand. This time the crystals send off scorching heat and light as bright as a laser, turning night into day in the confines of the bar.

Prendergast groans. My eyes snap to him. He’s writhing on the floor, his face contorted.

I thought Sophie said there’d be no pain?

Sophie is still quiet, not moving. She has a smile on her face and she clutches Prendergast’s hand like a lifeline.

Leticia continues to read. Pause. Wave the bundle of herbs. Her face reflects excitement, anticipation. She glances now and then at the two in front of her, as if gauging something.

Then it happens. Sophie’s back arches, she cries out. A specter, a cloud of grey, rises from her body. At the same time, the crystals flare and go out. The specter pauses, suspended in mid-air, as if aware but unsure what path to take.

“Now, Anna, the holy water.” Leticia’s hushed voice rouses me. “Quickly. Sophie.”

I uncap the vial and sprinkle the water over Sophie’s writhing body. As if the act is a cue, the specter moves away from her and into Prendergast. He bucks once. Then, as the cloud is absorbed into his body, he grows still.

The candles flicker, too, and go out, plunging the room into darkness.

It’s so quiet.

I can’t take my eyes off the two on the floor. They lie as if asleep. Leticia hasn’t said a word either and I feel her tremble. She’s as eager with anticipation as I am. I fight the urge to reach out, shake Sophie’s shoulders, ask the hundred questions spinning in my head like bits of driftwood in a whirlpool.

As the minutes tick by and there’s no movement, no sign of consciousness returning to Sophie and Prendergast, I’m overcome with dread.

They are asleep aren’t they?

I feel Leticia’s anxiety growing with mine.

“What have I done?” she whispers.

I move to stand beside her. “You did what Sophie asked.”

“But what if I’ve killed Jonathan?” Her voice becomes hard, concern replaced with anger. “She didn’t ask Jonathan what he wanted. I should have made her bring him back. Let him choose.”

I remember Sophie in the office when she came to ask me to accompany her to Leadville. “Sophie would have gotten rid of Jonathan one way or the other. She was that desperate.”

Leticia turns puzzled eyes on me. “I don’t even know how they came to co-exist. How could such a thing happen?”

I give her a condensed version: who Sophie was, how she came to have access to Jonathan’s ashes when he was immolated, what she tried to do with them that produced the unorthodox results.

Rather than feel sympathy for Sophie after hearing the story, Leticia snarls. “She should have been happy. He gave her youth, wealth, a life without bounds. Stupid witch. If she survives and he doesn’t I’ll make her pay for her ingratitude.”

I blow out a breath. I can tell from what she’s feeling, there would be no use arguing the point. And I have a question of my own.

“You and Jonathan obviously loved each other very much. Why did you part?”

For the first time, a deep well of regret opens in Leticia’s thoughts, allowing me to glimpse the depth of her remorse. “I talk of Sophie being stupid. I was no less so. I wanted to move on, to California where new adventure beckoned. Jonathan liked our life in Leadville. And he knew part of the reason I wanted to go to California was because Anthony, my sire, invited me there. He sent letters full of stories of the beauty of the state, of the ocean. Jonathan felt I might still have unresolved feelings for Anthony. And he was right. I did. But Anthony had moved on. He found he liked ‘recruiting’ new vampires into his fold and I would have been just one more in his harem.”