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He doesn’t look away.

“Then why did you touch him?” he asks. “You knew it would hurt you.”

I look back at the jar on the table. “When I saw his body, I knew he’d been in pain. I thought… he deserved to be heard. To have someone know what happened to him.”

I try to change the subject.

“You and Julian,” I say. “You seemed close.”

Nero pushes off the wall and sits across from me. His elbows rest on the counter. I see the veins over his hands, the tattoos on his right palm, the same hand that he touched me with, the same hand that made me come so hard I cried. I want to feel something more when I think back on it, but I have so much stardust in me that I can’t. Stardust makes me numb to life. Numb to pain, to happiness, to all of it. It helps me get through, but it strips away everything good, too.

“We were friends,” Nero says. “When I was a kid and we weren’t this rich, we did some work for the Von Battens. They weren’t annoying pricks like most of these kinds of families. Still, my father hated them, he is just too proud.

“Julian and I got along. We became close. He never wanted to be a vampire. But he knew who else Marcus was considering, and he wanted to protect his family, other people. I don’t think he knew about the witch’s legacy then. That came out after.”

“You think that’s why they killed him?” I ask.

“Julian had big plans. He always looked ten steps ahead. He wanted to create a city council, like in the old days. Something to control and protect the city. Bring peace, or whatever his version of it was.” His muscles tighten. “It would have been him, me, some witches he was talking to and apparently even a necromancer.” He pauses and stares at me. “It couldn’t have been you, right? You don’t run the Southside.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” I stare into empty space. “You saw me in the Crown that evening?”

“Yes. I waited in the hotel lobby. I knew it was you he was talking about.”

“And still, days later, you decided to put your hands on my neck.”

“We both know you liked it.” He looks me straight in the eyes.

I roll my eyes.

“That night in the Moon,” he says. “When you touched me with your death magic. Was that your necromancy?”

“Yes.”

“How do your gifts work? What do you see exactly?”

I stare at the jar of soup.

“It’s not linear. When I touch a dead body, I see glimpses of their life. Mostly what happened right before death, and the death itself. It’s like… dying with them.” My fingers curl against the counter. “Over and over again.”

“How many bodies have you touched?”

“Too many.”

The kitchen goes quiet again.

“How many people know you’re a necromancer?” he asks.

“Very few. I rarely use my powers. I promised myself I would never do that again.” I swallow, and my throat feels raw. “I don’t boast about it. And now, with Julian killed, it’s better if it stays that way. How did you know I was in the bathroom at Fang?”

Nero’s face hardens.

“I ran into Piro outside the club,” he says, his voice cold. “He had your scent all over him. So, I went in looking for you.”

My stomach drops.

When was the last time someone was looking for me? Not for stardust, not for information, not for my powers, just for me. I don’t remember, as other memories start crawling up my spine. My hands start to tremble. The pain is coming back. Not fully, not yet, but enough. The cold knife in Julian’s chest. The chants. The chains. The pain in the place where his heart should be. I need Nero out of my apartment. I need him gone so I can do another line.

“Thank you for the soup,” I say, standing.