“I’m in the funeral business. I like to leave room for a gray area.”
Amusement broke across his face. “Care to elaborate?”
Ginny hummed. “We had a client once, back when my father was still alive. The deceased asked to be buried with his gold watches. Jonas, he had fourteen of them. Seven on each arm.” She shook her head at the memory. “His sons couldn’t afford to pay for the funeral or his burial plot, so we snuck them two of the watches inside a Big Mac carton.”
He flashed a smile. “I detect no gray area there. What good would fourteen watches do buried six feet underground? You can’t take it with you.”
“Exactly.”
“When you’re dead, you can’t lift your wrist to check the time, anyway,” Jonas said.
Ginny laughed into her palm—and the sound made him misstep and stop walking.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.” He opened his mouth and snapped it shut. “It’s almost as if I missed your laugh more than mine.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
When they started on their way again Jonas appeared quite distracted. “All right, my turn for a question. Are you an optimist or a pessimist?”
“Pessimist to the bone. You?”
“Definite optimist.”
“An optimist who works in a funeral home?”
“Owns a funeral home.” She squinted an eye at him. “Jealous?”
He shoved his fingers through his hair, leaving it tousled and directionless. “Christ, Ginny, you are so endearing, it’s painful.” His jaw set. “Let’s head back.”
Reluctantly, she turned and they started off in the direction they’d walked. “Why a pessimist?”
“Seen a lot of things go wrong in…my time.”
“Name something you’ve seen go right.”
“Is this a technique optimists use to bring one over to the light side?”
“Nope, I just invented it.”
His white teeth flashed, but his smile slowly melted away. “Time gets things right, I suppose. The seasons show up without fail, cycle after cycle. People put up their Christmas lights at the same time every year. Nighttime arrives sooner, then later, then sooner again. Children grow up, learn, get married. Time never fails, it keeps going.”
Ginny looked out at the ocean, though her attention longed to be on Jonas. “I can’t decide if that’s beautiful or terrifying. Maybe it’s both.”
She felt his nod rather than saw it. “Both is right,” he said quietly. “Are you enjoying this walk, Ginny?”
“Very much.”
“Good. Quit while you’re ahead, please.” He took her elbow and propelled her along. “Midnight walks aren’t safe.”
“I never take them anyway.” That trickle of honesty broke the dam on the rest of it. “I just didn’t want to say goodbye yet and I knew you wouldn’t let me go alone.”
He frowned. “How could you be sure?”
“I don’t know. I just…was.” They were off the boardwalk now and onto the regular sidewalk, the El and P. Lynn coming into view in the distance. And if she thought she’d been panicked before when Jonas was preparing to leave, that feeling was sevenfold now, forming a block of ice in her stomach. “It’s your turn for a question.”
“Her voice,” he whispered almost inaudibly, closing his eyes. “I can’t think of one.”
“Try?”
His gaze traveled over her face in an almost desperate fashion. “What do you care about most?”
“Sure, save the whopper for last.” Ginny swallowed. “My father’s legacy. People thinking of me as reliable. Not having regrets. A perfectly pleated skirt.”
When he watched her in static silence for long moments, Ginny realized they were no longer walking, but facing each other beneath a street lamp, right outside the front entrance of P. Lynn Funeral Home.
“There’s more, but I can’t think of them right now,” she murmured.
Jonas reached up and smoothed her flyaway hair. “Oh to be on that list.” He seemed to brace himself—and fail. “I’m sorry I have to do this. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t understand.”
His voice became hoarse. “Look me in the eye, Ginny.”
“Why?”
“You can’t remember this. We’re not supposed to meet.”
The ice block in her stomach expanded. “I want to remember this.”
“Ginny…”
“I don’t understand. H-how are you able to make me forget?”
Jonas closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, the green embers in them glittered, flaring brighter when he took a step farther into her space. And another. Until she had to tip her head back to look up into his magnificent face. He raised a hand, extending it slowly toward the right side of her head, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing her hair—and fangs sliced into view between his lips like daggers.
“Do you understand now?”
The Q train roared past overhead, shaking the atmosphere, in the same manner her insides started to tremble. What…what was wrong with his teeth?
No, not teeth. Not incisors such as her own.
Those were…fangs?
Breath wouldn’t come. She was rooted to the spot, hypnotized and drawn closer, despite the voice of caution calling from the back of her mind. Something is wrong here.
Something is wrong.
Comprehension struck and a scream wound its way up her diaphragm, sticking in her throat. Surely he wasn’t trying to make her believe something so outlandish.