Oliver snarled, showing teeth, but Amelie held out a hand toward him. “No,” she said as Jason aimed the shotgun. “He’s quite serious. He will fire. He’s too close for it not to do significant damage to at least one of us.” She considered him for a moment, then gave him a slow, cool smile. “Very well.”
“Very well what?” Jason didn’t lower the shotgun. His eyes were wild behind it. “Swear. Swear as the Founder that you’ll turn me.”
“I swear as the Founder that you will be turned,” Amelie said. “I need the blood, and we have lost significant numbers of our ranks in this war. You will be … useful.”
Jason nodded, took a deep breath, and lowered his weapon. “Let Claire go first.”
Amelie opened both hands and spread them wide, stepping away from Claire. She stumbled forward, not quite daring to come near Jason, either. He gave her a disinterested glance, then moved away from the stairs.
He walked straight toward Amelie.
She came up in one smooth, vicious motion, and all the restraint she’d shown with Oliver was suddenly, awfully gone. Her eyes flared bloodred, and she buried her fangs in Jason’s neck. Claire couldn’t look away, somehow; that could have been her, should have been her.
It didn’t take long. Jason collapsed, and Amelie took his weight in her arms, drinking until finally she shuddered, pulled away, and let him fall limply to the carpet.
She looked at Oliver as she wiped the blood from her mouth. She seemed almost herself again. Almost. But there was something savage and bright in her eyes that Claire had never seen before.
“He’s yours to finish and raise,” she said to Oliver. “I’ll not have him as my get. He’s damaged.”
He nudged Jason with a foot. “I’ll find good use for him,” he said. “We need new, strong blood in Morganville.” Oliver’s shining, alien gaze came up to rest on Claire. “You should go now if you want to survive.”
For the first time in a long time, Claire turned and ran … from the Morganville vampires.
And straight into Shane’s arms, as he came charging up the stairs to her rescue.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
SHANE
It hadn’t been much of a fight, because it isn’t a fight when your enemy just completely ignores you. I’d never seen anything like that …. Magnus was hard to see—he kept slipping in and out of shadow, blending into the background—but whenever I caught a glimpse of something, I nailed it with buckshot.
I might as well have been tossing rose petals at him, for all the good it did.
I’d tried to cover Claire’s retreat, but the fact was, I couldn’t stop him from going after her. None of us could. I was still in shock from seeing how fast, how easily he’d killed Miranda; it wasn’t as if she was my friend, exactly, but nobody deserved that, and it was a terrible end to what must have been a pretty hellish life.
I’d tried. I’d jumped onto Michael’s chair, swung onto the banister, and then onto the stairs, halfway up. Shotgun ready. I hadn’t wanted to die, especially not with the cold, stinging horror of the draug closing over me. But I’d known it would be better than living with knowing I’d let it get Claire.
I’d fired at Magnus, knowing it wasn’t going to do any good, and closed my eyes.
And then something—not Magnus, not even one of my friends or allies—tossed me like a rag doll off the stairs into a windmilling, uncontrolled fall that ended in a bouncing landing on the sofa.
Saved my life.
And that was when I saw her. Miranda. Pale, flickering, translucent. Holding a hushing finger up to her lips, and giving me a sweet, crazy smile.
The Glass House had a brand-new resident ghost. Too late for me to stop Magnus, who’d already passed us by and gone upstairs; Jason, who’d been about as useful as snowshoes in the whole fight, had run up after him. I rolled off the couch and saw that Michael and Eve were standing together near Myrnin; Michael’s arm was around Eve’s shoulders, and she was crying a little.
Myrnin should have looked sick, or horrified, or something, but instead, he just looked … smug.
I wanted to break that grin in pieces, but when I lunged for him, Miranda was in my way again. Granted, she couldn’t stop me, but she could chill me to the bone, and she did. No, I heard her say. This has to happen. She didn’t sound especially happy about it.
“Claire will be all right,” Myrnin said. He sounded unbearably happy with himself. “We planned this, Oliver and Amelie and I. We needed him here, in her place of strength, and Claire was the only bait tasty enough to lead him to the trap.”
“Then you don’t need her up there!” I said. “She’s done her job. I’m going to get her.”
“No, not yet,” he said. He was looking up, as if he could see through the ceiling. We all instinctively looked up. Even Ghost-Miranda’s glowing form, which was starting to gradually take on flesh and substance, like a real live girl. Drawing on the power of the house.
“We have to wait,” Miranda said. “It’s not done yet.”
The hell with them. If Jason could go up, I could, too. I headed that way, but Myrnin’s room-temperature hand shot out and locked me in place. “Not yet,” he said. “You heard the girl.”
I put my shotgun business end against his chest. “You’re going to want to stop touching me now. And I’m getting Claire. You know, the one you’re willing to let Magnus eat.”
“He won’t,” Miranda said, with that same eerie calm that she’d always had. “Wait. Please.”
I should have pulled the trigger. Thought about it, real hard. But instead, I looked at Michael, who was always the one with the cooler head, and he said, “She’s always right, isn’t she?”
She always was. Damn her.
When Miranda finally said, “You can go now,” Myrnin let go of my wrist, and I took the gun from him and ran for the stairs. I don’t even remember pounding up them, just landing at the top, and seeing, in the murky shadows, Claire running toward me.
Into my arms.
I dropped the shotgun and hugged her close, but I kept watch down the hall, just in case. There was no sound. I saw a glow of electric light cut off as the hidden door to Amelie’s upstairs room slid shut.
Whatever had just happened, it was over.
I picked up the gun one-handed, held on to Claire’s waist with the other, and walked her downstairs. The others were gone, except for Miranda, who smiled at Claire. Claire, after a shocked second, smiled back. “You’re—here.”
“Yes,” Miranda said. “I’m home. Right where I’m supposed to be. Don’t be sad. It only hurt a little.” She twirled a little, and vanished in a sparkling haze. I was pretty sure that when Michael had been a ghost, he hadn’t been able to vanish at will. Or, for that matter, sparkle.
She popped back in, just her face hanging in midair. “They’re in the parlor.” Poof. Gone.
“We are really going to have to tell her to stop doing that,” I said. “Because it’s upsetting.” I turned to Claire. “Are you okay? Really?” I couldn’t stop touching her, smoothing my hands over her skin, her hair, her face. She had red marks on her wrists, and a nasty bump on the head. They’d tied her up, and she’d struggled. None of that surprised me, although I was going to take it out of Myrnin’s hide.
“I’m fine,” she said, and I sensed that it was half a lie, but considering how much I’d faked it since the water treatment plant, I could cut her some slack for now. “Hannah. She was in the front room …”
I hadn’t seen Chief Moses anywhere, but then, I hadn’t gone in the parlor. According to Miranda that was where we’d find the others, too, so I led her that way.
Hannah was the first one I saw. She was lying on the floor with her head in Eve’s lap; she was alive, too, but just barely. She’d lost a lot of blood from a gash on her leg, and Michael was twisting a belt tourniquet around her thigh to slow the flow. He looked relieved to see us. “Hold this,” he said. “How are you at field sutures?”