by Rachel Caine
“Was he going crazy?” Claire asked.
Miranda shrugged. “Maybe,” she said. “It’s not exactly easy to tell with him. I think that’s because I don’t understand boys very well.” She said that with utter seriousness, and Claire had to fight not to laugh.
“Who does? Anyway. Where is it I’m not supposed to go?” Because Miranda’s warnings, while usually on the nose, rarely occurred in a logical fashion. It was always beforehand, but how long before it would happen was an open question. Once Claire had tried graphing the intervals. It was as random as the value of pi, and made her head hurt in Myrnin-like ways.
“Home,” Miranda said immediately. “Don’t go home.”
“I’m not likely to be going home before the situation outside gets better,” Claire said gently. “So it’s probably not an issue, right?”
“Maybe,” Miranda agreed, but she still looked troubled. “I just—it keeps moving. I don’t understand. Maybe you should just stay here with me and not go anywhere. It might be safer here.”
“I can’t stay here, sweetie. Listen, do you have any food? Water?”
“I took some from the other closets. Power bars and water and those energy drink things. Do you ever read the labels? It’s a little scary. And they don’t taste very good. Next time Eve makes cookies I’ll get some.” Claire couldn’t tell if that was a promise or a prediction. She decided to let it go.
“Mir, thank you, but I really need to go now. Are you going to be okay here?”
“Here?” Miranda nodded. “I’ll be okay here. But you really shouldn’t go home.”
“I won’t,” Claire promised. “Not soon.”
“Don’t tell anybody I’m here.”
“I won’t,” she repeated, and backed out the door. “Stay safe.”
Miranda caught the closing door and locked gazes with her. “I mean it,” she said. “Claire, don’t go home. Bad things happen if you go home.”
That sent a little shiver over the back of Claire’s neck. “Promise,” she said. “Not going home.”
Miranda nodded and closed the door, then locked it.
That is one screwed-up kid, Claire thought, though Miranda wasn’t a child anymore, not really. Maybe she had never been. But she was more than fifteen now, probably sixteen—the age Claire herself had been when she’d arrived in Morganville. Wow. It didn’t seem so long ago, but at the same time, it seemed like … forever. Like there was no world out there beyond the borders of the town.
One day, I’ll get out of here, she thought. I can leave anytime I want.
That sounded uncomfortably like what addicts told themselves, now that she thought about it.
The ride down in the elevator was uneventful, but when she stepped off, she didn’t see Myrnin, or Oliver, or … well, anyone. Not right off.
Then she saw a Myrnin-shaped shadow over on the left side of the garage, standing next to a Morganville police cruiser. He was talking to someone.
Claire walked over, and Myrnin spun in place toward her. “Ah!” he said. “You’re here. Good.” He had that manic, frantic edge to him this time; she always dreaded when that happened. It made her very tired, and it was bound to be a sackful of crazy, whatever he wanted.
“Where’s Oliver?” Claire asked. Because he wasn’t here, although this had allegedly been all about the scary boss man. Hannah Moses was, standing next to the driver’s side door of the cruiser; she looked … remote was probably the best way to describe it. Closed off. “Don’t tell me he left. I didn’t take that long.”
“Yes, yes, Oliver,” Myrnin said. He seemed nervous to her. Oddly off balance, whereas Hannah just seemed—cold. Nobody was acting quite like they ought to, and for some reason, it rang an alarm bell, deep inside. “Oliver is over here. Come, he’s right over here.”
Claire took a step back instead of toward him.
She was too late.
Myrnin lunged forward, grabbed her with one hand over her mouth to trap her scream of surprise and the other around her waist to lift her, kicking, off the ground. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Claire, don’t. I promise, this is necessary. Trust me. Please.”
Hannah was opening the back of the cruiser. “In there,” Claire heard her say, over her own muffled shrieks. Myrnin slid in with her, keeping a tight hold so she couldn’t scream or struggle much. Panic was racing through her veins now, because this was wrong. Myrnin—there was a lot of crazy in Myrnin, but violence? Abduction? Not right. Not right at all.
And Hannah? Why was Hannah helping? Claire trusted her, absolutely trusted her. This … shook the world right out from under her feet.
Hannah slammed the back door and got in the front. “Keep her quiet,” she said. “I need to get us past the front lines. Once we’re out of here, it won’t matter.”
“I don’t prefer to do it this way,” Myrnin said. “I can make her understand. Truly.”
“In time, maybe, but we’re committed now. We don’t have time to sort out her questions. Oliver has the timeline?”
“Yes,” Myrnin said. “And I suppose you’re right. We can’t wait.” He looked down at Claire, who was staring up at him with horror and betrayal. And trying desperately to bite his hand. “I’m sorry, my dear. Just … relax.”
She didn’t. Couldn’t. She fought and fought, kicked the seats, shrieked, scratched, until finally, with a growl of frustration, Myrnin put his fingers to the side of her neck and pressed.
And she …
… Went dark.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
OLIVER
I had been waiting for this moment, and finally it had come. Our enemies, vulnerable. Our future, finally visible, if only we could reach out and take it. On that far horizon was freedom from the fear vampires had carried in their bones since before I’d been made immortal.
Freedom to rule unchallenged, again.
Whatever magic Myrnin had worked, there was no doubt that if he said such drab stuff as this powder would work against the draug, it would work; he was insane, and of doubtful loyalty to me, but on one front he had always been unshakable, and that was his commitment to destroying our enemies. Even when it had been advisable to run, perhaps necessary, he had been one to argue for the fight.
We had that in common, unlikely as it seemed.
His message over the radio had been simple: The powder in the drum in the lab will kill the draug. You will find them at the locations marked on the map. Dispatch your teams. Destroy them all. Myrnin was capable of surprising ruthlessness when pushed. We had that in common, too.
But it was the other part of the message that had startled me. Myrnin had, I realized, known all along how this would end. It was a measure of him that he had not given me any indication of that—or, as far as I understood it, anyone. Not even his pet, Claire.
No. Surprising did not, in fact, quite cover things, I found. Shocking might come close.
Before following his instructions, however, I had a problem to address. Amelie’s sister was a danger to her rule and a potential usurper, but by definition that made her a competent enough leader, and I needed all our resources now. I had the guards summon her as I put on my battle clothing; I missed armor, but it had never done us any good against the draug. It had only weighed us down, and that was never an advantage when fighting something that thrived in water. Leathers would do.
Naomi must have thought the same, because when she appeared in the anteroom of the Founder’s apartments, she, too, had donned thick leathers. The black made her stark as bone by contrast, a pale, sharp face and blond hair pulled back in a simple style for battle. She looked a great deal like Amelie—but there was no tug of connection between us at all. She eyed me coldly and said, “I will not be summoned like a servant by you, Oliver. This had best be important.”
“I have need of your skills,” I said. “You heard the call to battle, I assume.”
“Of course.”
“Then I need not tell you that this is the time to strike, hard and fast.�
�� I smiled thinly, allowing my fangs to show. She responded with the same, measure for measure. “I shall entrust you with command of this mission.”
That set her back a step. “Me? You won’t be leading it?”
“No,” I said. “I have another duty to perform. A more difficult one.”
She understood, then, or thought she did, and bent her head to me, just a little. “You have my respect, Oliver. And my sympathy. It is a terrible thing to do.”
At that point Theo stepped out of the shadows near the door. “You seemed ready enough,” he observed. When she sent him a murdering look, he shrugged. “I told you I don’t play politics. I don’t. But you, my dear, stabbed me in the back. Quite literally.”
“I wanted to spare my sister the agony to come,” she said. “As you do now, Oliver. I think we understand each other well enough. Whatever this heretic liar has said …”
“We are all heretics together, now,” I said. “Theo’s beliefs are between him and God above.”
She laughed at that and crossed her arms. “Quite a change from you, the warrior of God.”
She was right. I had changed. Vampirism does that—carves away all the arrogance of your place in the world and forces you to accept new, starker realities. It builds a far different kind of arrogance, which both Naomi and I had in full, violent, dark portions.
“I task you with the attack, Naomi, but be certain you understand: you are not Amelie, nor will you ever be Amelie. You will not rule Morganville, now or ever, while I survive. I am her successor. Not you. We can dance around it until you try to stick your stake into my back, but I can promise you, I won’t be as forgiving or as just as Dr. Goldman. Are we clearly understood?”
That earned me a full, cool stare. Full of steel, this one, underneath all the fine manners and kind graces. I wondered if the humans who liked her really understood her depths. Likely not. Amelie had been the same, capable of things no one would have ever guessed, and she had possessed more of a human conscience than Naomi ever had. There were many bodies in this one’s past, and that was well before she’d taken the path of immortality.
Politics was a game of murder, and always had been.
That was why she believed me now. And why she bent her head, very slightly this time, to acknowledge my sovereignty. For now. She knew it was not the time to challenge me.
But the time would never come. Not for her.
I accompanied her out into the area where the vampires were gathering. Eve and Michael were there, parsing out bags from the ridiculous barrel that—so Myrnin said—held the final victory of the vampire nation; I supposed I should not feel so disappointed that the fight would not be won with steel and silver, but with something so … humanly mundane. It was not my affair any longer. Naomi quickly took charge, once I showed the flag and acknowledged that I made her commander; she tried to appropriate Michael and shut out Eve, a tactic I knew to be doomed from the start. I didn’t bother to enlighten her.
“But there is no place for a human in this fight!” Naomi said, trying for her usual innocent charm. “Michael, you must understand that I am only trying keep her from danger. There will be no mortals at risk in this fight.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Eve said. “You take him, you take me. Or you leave us both. We’re a package deal.”
“But—”
“No,” he said, and stared Naomi down. “We stay together. Eve’s told me about your little plots. You don’t get to have either of our backs.” He looked past Naomi to me. “You can punish me if you want, but I don’t trust her. Not with Eve.”
The boy was right. He had matured considerably, I thought, from the unsure, tragically trusting young man I had so nearly murdered on my first night in Morganville. I’d meant to turn him, make him one of my vassals, but instead the outcome had been … less ideal. He had not fully trusted me since, of course. I couldn’t blame him for that.
It was a little amusing that he trusted Naomi less.
“Remain here,” I told him. “You won’t be needed in this, in any case. Not if this chemical Myrnin so loves is truly effective.”
“Oh, it is,” Michael said. “I’ve seen it.”
“Then you won’t require his assistance,” I told Naomi.
“I thought you said I was to lead this attack.”
“You are,” I said. “Delegated to lead. Don’t confuse it with commanding.” I nodded to Michael and Eve, who nodded back and kept filling plastic bags with the chemical to hand to my … what were they to me, precisely? Vassals? No, they owed their allegiance, such as it was, to Amelie. Kinsmen? Some I might claim, but no.
They were my army, though. Mine. And a fierce and angry one that had finally seen the chance to strike back at an enemy that had haunted us since the earliest memories of vampires.
I did not see them off on their mission. There was no need; Naomi would not thank me for taking the focus from her moment of glory, and there was nothing I could add. Michael and Eve would stay or not, as they pleased; I had given them my blessing to do so. There was no sign of Shane, which was a very good thing. I did not need the complication of his involvement just now.
I returned to Amelie’s apartments, now unguarded; her loyal men and women had gone to fight the draug, of course. I opened the door to her bedroom and stopped there, because the sight was … grim.
Amelie was hardly recognizable now. Still fighting, because there was still a human form to be seen beneath that … growth, but she was losing, slowly and grimly. I pulled the soft silk comforter from beneath her to wrap around her body. I needed the full thickness to cover her. Once I had cocooned her so, I tied it off with ripped curtain cords, and took her slight weight over my shoulder. The smell of the draug settled around me, rotting fish and flesh, and I fought the urge to gag. She is not one of them. Not yet. I stopped breathing. A convenience of vampire physiology, but not always effective; our senses are too acute.
Smells pervade.
Amelie didn’t move. She could well have been an inconvenient corpse I was removing for disposal; that would not be unique in my lifetime, either in my human days or in my new life. She felt heavier than she should have, but that might have been the burden of what I was about to do. I did not waste time; I was well aware there was little left. I carried her through the halls, now mostly deserted. I heard a buzz of human conversation from one room, and identified voices I knew. The Morrell girl, mourning her lost brother; she was right to do so, because he would be a grave loss to the town. A smart, fair man, unlikely as one was to arise from such low beginnings. The girl had no such … quality.
I could sense that only humans were left in the building now, save for Michael. It allowed me to easily avoid them all.
My car was parked below, silently waiting, and I put Amelie in the trunk, not so much for her protection as for mine, should she finish her transformation before I was ready. Driving out into the cloudy night, I saw signs everywhere of decay and destruction. The draug accelerated such things, turning creaking structures in need of paint and repair into crumbling, sagging ruins. They would destroy Morganville and rot it into the desert in a few months if left unchecked.
There were more than a few humans remaining in town; some had come against us in force a few nights ago, hoping to wrest control from the vampires. Those had scuttled back to their hiding places to await the end, whatever it might be, of our fight. I did not blame them. When giants fought, ants were crushed.
I navigated the streets without encountering a single draug, though I sensed their heavy presence. The lack of singing from them was an important and blissful indication of their wariness, their fear. Yes, I thought. You are right to be afraid. This time, we will end you. I imagined Magnus had felt the same exultation in discovering Morganville, the last bolt-hole of a doomed species. He’d gloried in the chance to finally, completely, eradicate us, even if it meant the end of his own—or would it? Without vampires to destroy, the draug would turn more toward less nutritious but mor
e plentiful prey. Shane’s captivity was proof enough of that. They could make do with humans.
In a way, as we saved ourselves, we saved those who served us as well.
I parked at the mouth of the darkened alley, opened the car door and checked around the area. There were shadows, ominous ones, but those were quite normal for this place. No sign or smell of the draug, save what was coming from the trunk. I reeked of it myself, I realized. A filthy business, and heartrending.
I carried Amelie down the narrowing alleyway to the shack set at the end of it. Myrnin’s hovel, which contained only a stairway leading down to his laboratory and nothing else but the flickering glances and scuttles of nighttime lower-form intruders. It was dark there, all lights extinguished, but as I descended lamps flickered on in response to the motion. Claire’s improvement, I should imagine. Myrnin would hardly have cared much.
The lab was a shambles, but that also was normal; Myrnin was, to put it mildly, not concerned with appearances. The girl had made attempts to clear it, but they never lasted long. I navigated around broken glassware, fallen chairs, scattered loose books and papers, and stopped in front of a large, locked cabinet marked DANGER, with many different dire-looking symbols and icons stickered on the face of it.
As I reached out for it, I felt a flicker of energy behind me, and glanced back to see a shape forming in mist and static. Not the draug.
Myrnin’s creation.
It was unnatural, this thing, this apparition; he had used the brain of a vampire to power it, and the spirit of the man remained. A reluctant vampire, to be sure; Bishop’s little joke, making our bitterest enemy into one of our own. Punishment for both the father and the son. I wondered how Shane Collins felt, knowing his father survived—if it could be called that—in this pathetic, impotent form.
Frank Collins was an image, nothing more. He existed as flat as a photograph, and with about as much power. He was indefinably degraded since last I’d seen him; then, he’d worn a certain cockiness, but now he seemed … faded. And old. The power in the lab flickered unsteadily, and so did his image.