Kieran disappears almost silently. One moment here’s there, frowning at the bag of apples in my hand, and the next moment he’s gone.

Beckett and I look at each other. I have no idea what’s going on, but Beckett’s eyes flick warily from my face, to the spot where Kieran disappeared, to the back of the store.

That makes me nervous.

‘What is it?” I ask, the bag suddenly tight in my hand.

“Probably nothing, but I’m not sure,” he says, voice tense. “I think...”

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for an answer. His lips form a line and he frowns, the spot between his eyebrows just barely creasing.

“I’ve got a bad feeling,” he says, voice low and serious as he takes my hand. “Come on.”

I put the apples down and let Beckett lead me back into the sunlit cobblestone street, heart pounding. I don’t know what Kieran saw or what Beckett saw, but it was something that put them both on edge, and that means I’m on edge.

“You know how he is,” Beckett says, one hand on my shoulder. “He’s jumpy, especially when he’s on a mission like this, I’m sure someone just looked at him funny and now he’s on the hunt—”

Suddenly, there’s a huge crash behind me, glass breaking, something heavy smashing. A woman screams, and it’s not just a scream of surprise, it’s a scream of pain and terror.

I can feel the blood drain from my face, and Beckett grabs me, pushes me up against the warm stone wall in the bright sunlight.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Stay where everyone can see you, I’ll be back in a second.”

I open my mouth to say no, don’t, what if it’s a trap but then he’s gone, jogging around the corner, his whole body rigid and military. It would be sexy as hell if I weren’t so nervous.

Standing there, against the wall, I take a deep breath. It’s so bright, beautiful, and sunny that it’s a little hard to stay this nervous, be this freaked out.

I mean, who’d try something in broad daylight, in full view of a dozen people?

Well, who’d broadcast something during primetime on a national network?

I have a point.

I take another deep breath, collecting myself, my back and shoulders still against the wall. Beckett hasn’t reappeared from the alley, and Kieran hasn’t reappeared from the shop, but I crane my neck, looking for either of them.

I don’t find them.

But I find a dark, hooded figure in a cape. I jump about a mile when I see him, and then a cold shock goes through me, because he doesn’t move. He didn’t move, not at all.

He’s been standing there, across the street, in the shadow of an ironwork balcony the whole time. He could have been there for hours, he might have watched me go into the store, pick out apples, come out and—

He grins, his mouth oddly white in the dark shadow, even from this far away.

My whole body breaks into a cold sweat. I don’t know who it is or what’s happening. For all I know, he could be part of some animatronic Halloween decoration, only it’s not October. I just know that he’s staring at me, watching me, and grinning in a way that makes my blood run cold.

And then he lifts one hand in a wave, his unnerving grin plastered onto his face.

I start walking. I know that Beckett told me to stay right there and not move, but he’s not here. He’s not watching this creep in a cloak wave and grin at me, he’s not here to go tell him to knock it off or find out what’s going on.

And you know what? I’ve seen horror movies before. I know what happens to the girl who just stands still and screams while the bad guy comes for her.

She dies first. That’s what.

No thanks.

I walk as fast as I can along the cobblestone street, my summer dress swishing along my thighs. Even though it’s warm I can feel cold prickles along the back of my neck, the ooze of cold sweat trickling down my body.

He’s coming, I think. He’s watching you, and he’s walking after you.

Don’t turn around. Don’t look. Don’t let him know you’re afraid, just act normal.

I last another fifteen seconds, and then I can’t help it. I turn around and look.

There he is, half a block behind me. His creepy cape is billowing out behind him, lined with blood-red satin, his face deep in shadow under the hood. I can tell he’s wearing a full tuxedo despite the summer heat, along with white gloves, walking swiftly. Purposefully.

He’s coming for me. There’s no other interpretation of this I can make, nothing else I can think.

I gasp, try to get a hold of myself, my hands balled into tight fists at my sides as I push myself to walk even faster down this street, even though I don’t know where I’m going. Inversberg is tiny, only a few blocks long, and already the houses and shops are spacing out, but I can’t turn back.

He’s back there.

I look again, despite myself, and this time he’s closer. Still marching steadily for me, and I’m almost out of town, nearly to the dark woods that surround the place.

Go somewhere, I think. Do something, only don’t go back, do something smart and clever and outwit him somehow...

Up ahead, I can see one last shop, the door open, a chalkboard sign out front that says ‘Lose yourself in a book!’

There, I think. Go in there, call for help, people who like books are always good people.

Despite myself, I break into a run, but I can hear footsteps behind me, way too close. The bookstore is only a block away, and I put every ounce of effort and energy I’ve got into sprinting for it, completely panicked, every alarm bell in my body blaring at full volume.

Fifty feet. Twenty, ten, and then I’m there next to the cheery chalkboard sign, wrenching open the door so hard that the bells on it slam against the wood.

“Hi, welcome to Isabelle’s—”

“Please help me I’m being chased he’s right behind me call someone please,” I gasp, nearly running into a table filled with kids’ books.

I dart around it wildly, heading for the counter in the back of the store where there’s got to be a phone as I hear the bells on the door again.

He’s right behind me, he’s right—

“Günther!” a woman’s voice says sharply.

I rush between two bookshelves, careening toward the counter. There’s no one behind it right now, and I scramble around it, frantically looking for a phone.

Somewhere in there, I look up, toward the front of the store, and I come to a dead stop.

The guy in the cloak is just standing there, hood off, head down, shoulders slumped. The woman who told me hello is standing in front of him, about a foot shorter but clearly in control.

“You know better!” she says.

“I forgot,” he mutters.

I stand up straighter, hands on the counter.

“You can’t just forget,” she warns. “You promised everyone that would wouldn’t play Dracula with strangers, and now here you are, and that poor girl is terrified out of her wits!”

I bristle at that. I’m not some poor girl, and I’m not terrified out of my...

Well. I did kinda freak out there.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I thought she was...”

The woman crosses her arms.

“Are you lying?” she asks, her voice still stern.

“I thought she was Rosalind?”

“Günther.”

“Maria?”

“You didn’t think she was anyone, you just wanted to scare her, and you know you broke your promise.”

“Sorry, Belle,” he whispers.

The woman sighs.

“Sit down,” she says. “I’m going to call your grandpa to come get you.”

Günther slumps off, and Belle turns authoritatively, walking toward me.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about that, he’s totally harmless but I know he really scares people,” she says, walking toward me. “Are you okay? Can I make you tea or anything? I’m Isabelle, by the way.”

Up close, she’s prettier and younger than I thought she’d be: honey-brown hair, warm brown eyes, the kind of welcoming smile that makes me feel a little better.

“I’m fine,” I say, still catching my breath. “Is that— does he—”

She leans in, confidentially, her eyes looking sad.

“He fell out of a tree as a kid,” she says, voice hushed. “Doctors didn’t think he’d live, but when he finally woke up there was... damage.”

“I see.”

“Right now, he’s really into vampires, and he’s invented this game where he stalks people around town, pretending like he’s lurking in the shadows, and everyone who lives here knows him and kind of ignores it. Some people even gave him the costume because, you know, poor Günther. Six months ago he wanted to be a ballerina, and was always pirouetting into bookshelves.”

I move around the counter and sneak a glance of the guy in the cloak. Sitting there, head and shoulders slumped, messing with his fingers, he’s not scary at all.

“Right,” I say, still trying to collect myself.

Isabelle cocks her head.

“Let me call his grandfather to come get him, then I’ll make you some tea, all right?” she says.