There was sunlight coming in the window, but it was at a low angle. She’d been out for hours, and there was a bitter, nasty taste in her mouth. They’d given her something, on top of knocking her in the head. Maybe chloroform.
By twisting her wrist, she could see her watch.
Five o’clock.
The sun would be down soon. Nobody would have missed her yet; it wasn’t dinnertime, and she’d been casually intending to drop in at Myrnin’s lab to see how far he’d gotten with setting it back up. But he hadn’t been expecting her.
Nobody had been expecting her. Shane had gone to work, and wouldn’t be home until dark.
Phone.
It wasn’t in her pocket. They’d taken it.
She blinked, and she must have lost time, because when she opened her eyes again, Dean Simms was sitting next to her, staring down. In the doorway of the decaying room stood Jason Rosser, looking sick and ill at ease.
Dean was smiling like he owned the world.
“Hey,” he said. “So, you’re up and around, right? Good. I thought you’d be tougher. I mean, they all talk about you like you’re something special, but you went down just like the others. No problem at all.”
“I . . . ” Nausea boiled up inside when she tried to talk, and she stopped and swallowed helplessly until she could talk again. “My friends will look for me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. So when they find you drained like some sad little vamp quickie outside of Oliver’s back door . . . well. They won’t be real happy, will they?” Dean’s eyes practically glowed. “Man, you were so easy. Frank thought you had backbone. Guess not.”
“Why?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this?” She really wanted to know. Somehow, if she had to die, she felt like she wanted to understand. She wanted it to make sense.
“Look, it’s not personal.” Dean dragged a fingernail down her cheek, scratching her. “Well, maybe a little personal, because, you know, fun. But this is about setting this town free. Fighting evil. It’s what Frank Collins wanted. It’s what I want. It’s what you want, right, Claire? I know it’s what Shane wants, too. So you’re doing everybody a favor by dying.”
Dean hadn’t come to Morganville just to have Shane’s back; he’d come to have his fun. If he even knew Frank Collins at all, he’d just been using Frank. Once he’d come to Morganville, he’d realized it was open season, and he could do whatever he wanted.
Still could, Claire realized sickly. Nobody suspected him at all.
She certainly hadn’t.
“What?” he asked her. “You’re not going to tell me I’m making a mistake? Beg me not to do it?”
“Why bother?” she whispered. “You’ll do what you want, right?”
“Always do.” Dean leaned back. “Jase. Hold her feet. I don’t want her kicking me.”
“It’s not right. This isn’t right, man.”
“Shut up or I’ll make it two bodies tonight. It just makes my point better.”
Claire kicked out, but it was no use; Jason leaned on her ankles and held them down. Dean forced her arm down and opened up a rusting medical kit. He took out one of those hollow needles doctors used to draw blood, but instead of connecting it to a sample tube, he stuck on some rubber tubing.
The rubber tubing ended in a big empty gallon jug that had once held milk.
“Little stick.” He smirked and slid the needle into her vein.
Claire screamed. Jason looked away, guilt written all over his face, but Dean just kept on smiling. Red flooded out into the tube, ran along the coils, and began pumping out into the milk jug.
“How’s it feel?” he asked her. “You like vampires. How’s it feel to have your life drained out of you, just like they do it? I hate vampires. I really, really do. And if I can get this town to rise up and kill even one more by doing you, it’s a bargain.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something she could do.
Blood.
A black-and-white ghost flickered into view at the far end of the room. Ada’s image looked quiet and composed, and just a little bit pleased. She’d come to watch Claire die.
“Get help,” Claire whispered. “Please, go get help!”
Jason and Dean, at least, had no idea who she was talking to, since Ada had manifested behind them. “Who are you talking to, idiot? Jason’s not on your side. Jesus, Jason, hold her feet! Come on, man! I’m not asking you for much, here!”
Ada raised thin eyebrows. Her image flickered. Claire didn’t want to look at the red line rising in the milk jug; she could feel herself getting weaker, her heart pounding harder to keep up.
“Myrnin,” Claire panted. “I need Myrnin.”
Ada flickered out. Claire had no idea whether or not she’d even make the effort.
Outside, the sun settled below the window.
Twilight.
Jason jumped up at a sound from outside. “What the hell is that?”
“Nothing,” Dean said. He was watching Claire’s face. She was breathing too fast, and she tried to slow down; her heart was racing, and she was losing too much blood. Ada, please. Please. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the wind.”
Jason let go of Claire’s feet. She was too weak to move much, anyway. “No, it’s not. There’s somebody out there. Dude, leave her. Let’s go!”
“No frickin’ way. We’re almost done here. Five more minutes. Keep it together, bro.”
“I’m not your bro!” Jason snarled. “You’re on your own, asshole!”
He took off. No—please wait. Claire tried not to cry, but she was losing track of why she ought to be strong. Was somebody coming? No, she had to save herself. Nobody was coming to save her.
“Dean,” she said. “You know about the portals, don’t you?”
That got his attention. Full on.
“I can tell you something about them you don’t know. If you stop this.”
His dark eyes took on a strangely stubborn look; he didn’t like being robbed of his pleasure. “What kind of something? Because it’d have to be really good.”
“Oh, it is,” she said. “I can tell you how to make your own portals. How to go anywhere. Do anything. Imagine what you could do with that, Dean.”
He was imagining it, all right, and she could see color rising in his cheeks. He liked it.
He liked it a lot.
Dean glanced over at the milk jug, which was shimmering with her blood. A steady stream flowed out of the tube to patter down inside. “Start talking,” he said. “If I like what you say, I’ll turn it off.”
He was lying to her; she could feel it. “You can stop pretending you’re killing me for a cause. You’re not. You’re killing me because you like it, Dean. You’re not a vampire; you’re worse. They’re like tigers. You’re a cannibal.”
His eyes flickered, and he leaned forward. “Maybe I’ll try that, too,” he said. “Maybe I’ll start on you.”
She blinked, light-headed. The world seemed to shift in front of her. She had a vision, and it was so real.
She was looking past him into the living room at home, just like through a tunnel. The TV was on. Eve was singing along to some obnoxious commercial, shim- mying her hips as she put a plate full of hot dogs on the table. It was Eve’s night to cook. Michael was tuning his guitar, intent on frets and strings and sounds.
Shane walked in from the front hall, dropped his keys on the table, and said, “Where’s Claire?”
“Not here yet,” Eve said. “Probably on her way.”
I’m not. I’m not coming. I’m sorry.
Shane dug his cell phone out and dialed.
Somewhere in another part of the abandoned house, Claire heard her ring tone echoing. The odd thing was, Shane seemed to hear it, too. He looked around, raised his eyebrows at Eve, and Eve shrugged. “Maybe she left it.”
They could hear the phone. But the phone was here.
Claire pulled in a breath to scream, but she didn’t have to.