The first few drops of blood hit her lips. She winced, stirring slightly. Her mouth parted, desperate.

With all my strength, I squeezed my wrist, pushing the blood out of my vein and into her mouth. When it finally hit her tongue she almost gagged.

‘Drink,’ I ordered. ‘It will help. Drink.’

She turned her head. ‘No,’ she mumbled.

Ignoring her feeble protests, I shoved my wrist against her mouth, forcing the blood into her.

She moaned, still trying not to swallow. A wind picked up around us, rustling her skirts. An earthworm dug itself deeper into the soft, moist earth, avoiding the cold air of the night.

And then she stopped fighting.

Her lips closed down on the wound in my wrist, and her soft tongue sought out the source of my blood. She began to suck.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump thump thump.

Her hand, the one in the blood-soaked glove, came fluttering up weakly and grasped my arm, trying to draw it closer to her face. She wanted more. I understood her desire all too well, but I had no more to offer.

‘That’s enough,’ I said, feeling faint myself. I gently disengaged my arm despite her mewling cries. Her heart was beating more regularly now.

‘Who are you? Where do you live?’ I asked.

She whimpered and clung to me.

‘Open your eyes,’ I ordered.

She did, once again revealing her Callie-green eyes.

‘Tell me where you live,’ I compelled her, the world spinning around me as I used the very last remaining drops of my Power.

‘Fifth Avenue,’ she answered dreamily.

I tried not to grow impatient. ‘Where on Fifth Avenue? ’

‘Seventy-third Street…One East Seventy-third Street…’ she whispered.

I scooped her up, a perfumed confection of silk and gauze and lace and warm, human flesh. Her curls brushed my face, tickling across my cheek and neck. Her eyes were still closed and she hung limply in my arms. Blood, either hers or mine, dripped down into the dust.