“Focus,” Myrnin said. “Forward three small steps. Be careful not to overshoot.”
She found out why when she took the steps; her toes overhung what felt like another sinkhole.
Myrnin’s voice was close now, very close. “Next,” she said.
“This is the difficult part,” he said. “You’re going to have to jump.”
“Jump?” She wasn’t sure he was thinking straight. “I can’t jump. I can’t see!”
“You wanted to get to me, and this is what it takes. If you want to stay where you are—”
“No. Tell me.”
“Two steps to your left, and jump straight forward, hard. I’ll catch you.”
“Myrnin—”
“I’ll catch you,” he whispered into the dark. “Jump.”
She took two running steps and before she could let herself think about what she was doing, dug in her toes and leaped forward.
She crashed into Myrnin’s solid body, his cold arms wrapped around her, and for a few breaths he held her close as she shivered. He smelled like metal. Like cold things.
He didn’t let go.
“Myrnin?”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And then he bit her.
13
When Claire came awake again, there were lights in the cave—diffuse and dim, but enough to make things out. Like Myrnin, sitting huddled against the cave wall. She must have made some noise, because his head came up, and he looked straight at her.
She didn’t think she’d ever seen anybody look so miserable in her life, and for a moment she couldn’t think why he would look that way, and then it all came crashing back.
The throbbing in her neck.
The hollow, disconnected feeling inside her.
The panicked thudding of her heart trying to speed too little blood through the racetrack of her veins. Yeah, she recognized that feeling all too well.
“You bit me,” she said. It came out surprised, and a little sad. She started to sit up, but that didn’t go so well; she sank back to the cold stone floor, feeling sick and vague, as if she were fading out of the world.
“Don’t move,” he said softly. “Your pressure is very low. I tried—I tried to stop, Claire. I did try. Please give me the credit.”
“You bit me,” she said again. It still sounded surprised, although she really wasn’t anymore.
Shane had said that. And Michael. And Eve. Even Amelie.
Myrnin had told her that, too, from the very first. She’d just never really, really believed it. Myrnin was like a thrill ride, one of those dark carnival tracks where scary things swooped in close but never
Now she knew better.
“I told you I’d kill you if you did that. I
“I am so sorry,” Myrnin said, and lowered his head.
“Lie still. It won’t be so bad if you keep yourself flat.” He sounded tired and defeated. Claire blinked back gray fog, fighting her way back into the world, and almost wished she hadn’t when he shifted a little, and she saw— really saw—what had happened to him.
There was a silver bar through his left arm, driven in between the two bones. On either side of it hung silver chains that rattled on the stone and were fixed to a silver-plated bolt. The wound continued to drip red down his arm and hand, to patter into a large puddle around him.
Claire had a flash of Amelie at Sam’s grave, silver driven into the wounds to keep them from closing. But Amelie had chosen to do that. This had been done to keep Myrnin here, pinned and helpless.
He shuddered, and the chains rattled. Even as old as he was, the silver must have been horribly painful to him; she could see tendrils of smoke coming from his arm, and he was careful to keep his hand away from the chains. His skin was covered with thick red burns.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I tried to warn you, but I couldn’t—I needed—”
“I know,” Claire said. “It’s—” What was it? Not okay, okay would be a real stretch. Understandable, maybe. “It’s not so bad.” It was, though. Still, Myrnin looked a little relieved. “Who did this to you?”
The relief faded from his face, replaced with a blank, black rage. “Who do you think?” he asked.
And from all around them, from the faint shimmer of crystal embedded in the walls, came a soft, smoky laugh.
“She touched me,” Claire said, remembering. “She dragged me here. I didn’t think she could do that.”
“No,” Myrnin agreed. “I didn’t think she could do a great many things, although she was capable of them on a purely theoretical level. I’ve been a fool, Claire. You tried to warn me—even Amelie warned me, but I thought—I thought I understood what I’d created. I thought she was my servant.”
“And now,” Ada said, gliding out of the wall in cold silver and black, “you belong to me. But am I not a generous master? You starved me for so long, barely giving me enough blood to survive. Now I give you a feast.” Her cutout image turned toward Claire, and she folded her hands together at her waist, prim and perfect. “Oh, Myrnin. You didn’t finish your dinner. Don’t let it go bad.”
Myrnin stripped his black velvet coat off his right arm, then shrugged it down his left until it was covering the chain. He took hold of it, right-handed, and pulled. Claire tried to get up to help, but her head went weird again, and she had to rest. She rolled on her side and watched Myrnin’s right arm tremble as he tried to exert enough pressure to snap the chain, and then he sat back against the wall, panting.
He stared at Ada as if he wanted to rip her into confetti.
“Don’t pout,” she said. “If you’re good, I’ll let you off the chain from time to time. In a few years, perhaps”
Claire blinked slowly. “She’s sick,” she said. “Isn’t she?”
“She’s insane,” Myrnin said. “Ada, my darling, this would be amusing if you weren’t trying to kill us. You do realize that if I die, you waste away down here. No more blood. No more treats. No more anything.”
In answer, Ada’s image reached out and grabbed Claire by the hair, dragging her up to a sitting position. “Oh, I think I can hunt up my own blood,” Ada said. “After all, I control the portals. I can reach out and snatch up anyone I wish. But you’re right. It would be terribly boring, all alone in the dark. I’ll have to keep you all to myself, the way you kept me all to yourself, all these years.” She dropped Claire and wiped her hand on her computer-generated gown. “But I can’t share you with
Myrnin’s eyes flared red, then smoothed back to black, full of secrets. “No indeed,” he said. “Why, she’s in the way. I see that now. Send her out of here, lock her out of the portals. I never want to see her again.”
“Easily done,” Ada said, and grabbed Claire’s hair again. She dragged her backward, and Claire flailed weakly, grabbing at loose stones and breaking nails on sharp edges of rock.
She looked over her shoulder in the direction they were going.
Ada was dragging her to the edge of the sinkhole.
“No!” Myrnin said, and got to his feet. He lunged to the end of his chain, reaching out; his clawing fingers fell short of Claire’s foot by about two inches. “No, Ada, don’t! I need her!”
“That’s too bad,” Ada said. “Because I don’t.”
Claire’s hand fell on a sharp, ancient bone—a rib?—and she stabbed blindly behind her head. A second later it occurred to her that she was trying to stab an image, a hologram, an empty space—but Ada let out a yell and the pressure on Claire’s hair eased.
Ada’s pressed both hands over her midsection, which slowly spread into a black stain.
