Claire’s cell phone screamed so loudly that it seemed like the speaker was melting from the force of it; the sound dissolved into high-pitched static, and Claire took a deep breath and put the end of the bone against Myrnin’s shoulder. He was wearing a black velvet jacket, and the bone looked very white against it, almost blue in the Maglite beam.
She saw Michael as a shadow in the backwash of the light. “Ready,” Michael said.
“Go!”
They pushed. Michael, of course, had vampire strength, so it was over in a flash—Myrnin’s body flying backward from the console, crashing on its back in the darkness. A glittering, frustrated arc of blue sparks from the keyboard snapped toward Claire and fell short.
Claire almost dropped the bone as she turned it in her hand so the sharp end was ready to use, then got on one knee next to Myrnin’s motionless body. She carefully brushed hair away from his marble-pale face. His eyes were open, and fixed. They looked dry, but as she watched, moisture flooded over them, and he blinked, blinked again, gasped, and came bolt upright. His gaze fixed on Claire’s face, and he grabbed her arm in a tight, grinding grip.
“Let go,” she said. He didn’t. “Myrnin!”
“Hush,” he whispered. “I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, great—can you do it without breaking my arm?”
“No.” He didn’t even try to explain that, but just got to his feet while still clamped on to her wrist like a person-sized handcuff. “That hurt.”
“You need to shut her down; she just tried to kill you!”
Myrnin’s eyes flashed a bloody red.
He shoved her abruptly at Michael, and the glare was even angrier for him. “What are you doing here?”
“Talk later. Go now,” Michael said, and grabbed Claire up in his arms before she could protest. “Those things are coming for us.”
Myrnin looked around into darkness that hid whatever it was that scared Michael so much. Claire didn’t think she wanted to know; she put her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life as she felt his muscles tense. Things moved past, and she noticed a sense of air pressing against her.
Michael landed perfectly just beyond the trapdoor set into the lab’s concrete and stone, and quickly spun around, backing away at the same time.
Myrnin seemed to almost levitate up out of the hole in the floor, graceful as a cat. As his coat swirled like black fog, he turned in midair, reached out, and slammed the trapdoor shut.
Then he landed on it, light and perfectly balanced, and leaned over to slam his palm down on a red panel on top. It lit up, and a metallic
Claire let go of Michael and slid to her feet. She was still gripping her sharp-pointed bone weapon, and she didn’t really feel inclined to put it down. Not yet. “What just happened?”
“I set the lock,” Myrnin said, and tapped a toe on the carpet, in case she’d missed the point. “It’s quite clever, you know. Electromagnetic. Keyed to my own handprint.”
“Yeah, that’s great. Why were you down there in the first place? You know she’s not—well.”
Myrnin fussily adjusted the lapels of his velvet coat, frowned at his bright blue vest as if he didn’t remember wearing it, and shrugged. “Something to do with adjusting her emotional responses. Unfortunately, she was ready for me, it seems. She’s quite clever, you know.” He seemed almost proud. “Now—was there something you wanted, Claire?”
“A thank-you might be nice.”
He blinked. “Whatever for? Oh, that. The electricity was only to keep me immobilized. She’d have had to let me go, eventually.”
“Not really. She could have just kept you like that until you starved, right?”
“I can’t die. Not like that. I can be made very uncomfortable, and very hungry, and quite a bit mad, but not dead. She’d have to have one of her creatures—cut my head—off. . . .” Myrnin’s voice trailed away, and he seemed very distant for a few seconds; then he said, “I see. Yes, you’re quite correct. She would have options. But she wouldn’t kill me.”
“Why not?”
“I think we both know why, Claire.”
“You mean, because she loves you? I’m not really seeing it right now.”
“Ada needs me as much as I need her,” Myrnin snapped, suddenly—and very un-Myrnin-like—offended. “You know nothing about her, or me, and I am ordering you to stay out of my affairs where they concern Ada.” He suddenly staggered, and had to put out a hand to steady himself against the nearest lab table. “And fetch me some blood, Claire.”
“Get it yourself.” She couldn’t believe she’d said it, but he’d really stung her. “Also, your precious Ada killed Bob by supersizing him and trying to get him to bite me. So maybe
“Get me blood, or I’ll have to take what’s available,” Myrnin said softly. He didn’t seem dramatic about it, and it wasn’t a threat. He raised his head and looked at her, and she saw that shine there—lunatic and focused and very, very scary. “I’m very hungry.”
“Claire, go,” Michael said, and moved to stand between her and Myrnin. “He’s not faking it.”
He really wasn’t, because Myrnin lunged for her. He was faster than she or Michael could have expected, and Michael was off balance and nowhere near the right place as Myrnin shoved him out of the way and sent him crashing into the nearest stone wall. . . .
Then he grabbed Claire by her shoulder and a fistful of hair. He wrenched her head painfully to the side, exposing her neck, and she felt the cool puff of his breath against her skin, and she knew she had only one move left.
She touched the tip of the bone stake to his chest, right over his heart, and said, “I swear to God I’ll stake you and cut your head off if you bite me.” Her hands were shaking, and so was her voice, but she meant it. She couldn’t live in fear of him; it hurt her to see him lose control like this. There was something shining and good in Myrnin, but there were times it just drowned in the darkness. “If I let you do this, you’ll never forgive yourself. Now let go, and get yourself a bag of blood.”
She could actually feel his fangs pressing dimples into her skin. And Myrnin himself was trembling now, a very fine vibration that told her just how much he was in trouble—well, that and the fact he was about to kill her.
She pressed harder with the stake, and felt the blue satin tapestry vest give way to the point.
She didn’t see Michael move, but in only a few breathless seconds he was at her side, carefully putting in her free hand a squishy bag of blood. It was straight out of the refrigeration; he hadn’t taken time to warm it, which was probably lifesaving.
“Let go,” Claire said.
And Myrnin did, loosening his hands just enough to let her step back. His eyes were wild and desperate, and his fangs stayed down like glittering exclamation points.
Claire held out the blood bag.
After a second’s hesitation, Myrnin grabbed it,brought it to his mouth, and bit down so hard, blood squirted over his face, the way a really juicy tomato would.
Claire shuddered. “I’ll get you a towel.”
She went to the small bathroom—so well hidden, it had taken her forever to find it—and turned on the rusty tap to moisten a towel marked PROPERTY OF MORGANVILLE; it was probably hospital supply, or from a prison. She splashed some water on her face, too, and looked at herself in the mirror for a few seconds. A stranger looked back at her—someone who didn’t look that frightened. Someone who had just faced down a vampire intent on feeding.
