Ghost Town

fact, she didn’t think she was hurt at all, though there was some glass that had fallen on her.

Oliver was fighting to get free of his seat belt and the deflated air bag, but he didn’t make it. Someone yanked open his door, and Claire guessed they cut the seat belt, or broke it, because they dragged him out of the limo. He was struggling, but their attackers must have been vamps, because he wasn’t getting away.

They don’t know I’m here, Claire realized, and stayed where she was, curled into a very small ball in the shadows under the dash. Her backpack had slid off the seat and was next to her. She carefully unzipped it and pulled out the small, folding crossbow, cranked it open, and got out the bolts. She did it very carefully, hoping the noise of the fighting outside would cover up any sound of what she was doing. It must have, because nobody reached into the car to grab her.

She heard Oliver being dragged off, and finally risked slithering out of her hiding place to peek over the dashboard, out the sharp-edged hole where the windshield had once been.

There were vampires out, all in their heavy coats and hats and gloves. Some carried umbrellas, which was surprisingly practical of them. A whole group of them, maybe twenty in total, were standing in the shade of a building.

Amelie had an umbrella, but she didn’t carry it herself. She had a minion for that. Her umbrella, like all the others, was black, but the silk suit she was wearing was icy white, with hints of blue. The color of dead lips, Claire thought, and wished she hadn’t. Amelie looked dangerous, even though she was just standing there, hands folded, watching as Oliver was dragged over and dumped at her feet.

“I knew it was you,” she said. She sounded viciously angry. Claire could just barely hear her, but she certainly didn’t want to try to get any closer. “. . . think you wouldn’t be suspected? Such an obvious . . .”

The wind kept blowing, and it made it harder for Claire to hear what was going on. Oliver said something, and it must have not made Amelie happy, because she snapped her fingers and a couple of other vampires grabbed his arms and raised him to his knees. Claire couldn’t help but think how wildly all this had reversed. First Amelie had been at his mercy; then he’d been at hers; and now she had him once again.

That wouldn’t make Oliver happy. Not at all.

“Don’t spin your tales with me,” Amelie said. “I don’t believe we were ever . . .” More wind, and Claire lost the words. “. . . coming here. You were invited, once. You refused. Now you think you can just come here and scheme to take over—”

Oliver laughed. It had a raw, desperate sound to it. Whatever he said then, Amelie drew back a step, and then she shook her head. “Useless,” she said. “Take him to the cells. I’ll decide how to deal with him later.”

There were way too many for Claire to even think about staging any kind of rescue. Oliver was clearly hurt, and she didn’t think he’d appreciate any Rambo-style heroics, anyway.

But she’d just lost her chance to stop all this. Without Oliver, she had almost no chance of getting past Myrnin.

Unless Myrnin was more himself this time.

The vamps melted into the shadows, taking Oliver with them, leaving Claire and the shot-up limo where it sat, in the middle of the road. She sat back and dialed her cell phone, but the lab number kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. Just as she was about to hang up, there was a click, and Myrnin’s voice said, “Hello?”

“Myrnin, it’s Claire. Claire Danvers.”

Silence.

“Myrnin, do you know who I am?”

More silence, and then Myrnin said, very softly, “My head aches.”

“Myrnin, do you know who I am?”

“Claire,” he said. “Yes, Claire. I know you. Of course I know you.”

A feeling of hot relief made her just about melt into the seat cushions. Oh, thank God. She’d caught him at a sane moment. “Myrnin, you have to do something for me. It’s really important, okay? I need you to go down to the machine in the basement of the lab. Do that now, okay? Right now.”

“My head aches so. Do I have to?”

“I’m really sorry, but this is going to help. Please. Just go now.”

She heard noises that she assumed meant he was unlocking the trapdoor, jumping down, walking through to the cavern, and then he said, “All right, I’m here. Claire? Could you come here to help me? I really don’t feel at all well.”

“In a minute,” she promised. “Right now, I need you to go to the keyboard and enter the password you put on the system so we can turn it off. Can you do that?”

“Password,” Myrnin said. “I don’t think . . . I can’t remember any passwords with this headache. Could you come help me?”

“I can’t until you do this. Just concentrate. Remember the password, okay? Put it in and then I can come help you.”

“Oh, all right . . . I think maybe—yes, I think that’s it. I’m turning it off now.” She heard sounds of clicking, of what sounded like switches being thrown, and then Myrnin said, “All right. It’s safe. You can come back now, Claire.”

There was something strange about his voice. It wasn’t right. “Myrnin? Did you turn it off?”

“Of course. I did just as you asked. Now come.”

That really wasn’t right, and Claire felt a shiver working its way up her spine. “Myrnin, are any of the lights still on? Are you sure you turned it off—”

“Come here right now!” Myrnin roared, and she was so shocked she dropped her phone and scrambled away from it in panic, as if it had grown teeth. “Come here, little Claire. Juicy, sweet little Claire who thinks she can fool me into destroying Morganville. Come and get your reward!”

Claire folded up the phone and ended the call. She sat clutching the crossbow, feeling cold even in the sunlight.

She’d never felt so alone, never. Not even when she’d first come to Morganville.

She couldn’t stop this. She was helpless. Completely helpless.

She put her head on the deflated air bag and cried.

Eventually, crying wore off, but the feeling of overwhelming failure didn’t. She kept the crossbow ready, just in case. She thought she’d go to Eve, find her . . . but then she realized that although Oliver had known where they were going, she had no idea where Eve’s house might be. The only thing she could think to do was . . . go back to the Glass House. It seemed like a long, scary walk. There were lots of people roaming around, mostly confused, angry, or terrified. She tried to avoid them, but sometimes they confronted her and wanted to know where their wives, husbands, sons, daughters, moms, dads were. Or what had happened to their houses. Or their cars. Or their jobs.

She could have sworn someone was following her.

She finally just started running, running as if her life depended on it, and there was such a surge of pathetic hope when she saw the Glass House up ahead that she felt sick. She unlocked the door and slammed it behind her and slid down against it, holding her head in her hands.

It’ll happen to me, too, she thought. Maybe in an hour. Maybe tomorrow. But I’ll forget, too. And when I do, nobody will be able to stop this.

She felt a rush of warmth around her, almost of comfort. It was the house, trying to respond to her misery. She wiped her eyes and sniffled and said, “That doesn’t help. Nothing helps.”

But somehow, it did help a little, even though she knew it was as useless as a hug during an earthquake. She sucked in a deep breath and got up to go upstairs. No Michael, of course. Not yet. And no sign of Eve, so she probably was at her parents’ house, after all. Her door was open, and her clothes were all thrown around. It was impossible to tell whether that was panic or just natural behavior with Eve.

Claire’s room was neat and just the way she’d left it. She got into bed and pulled the covers up, keeping the crossbow with her, and curled onto her side. She still had her phone with her, and she paged through the contacts list, feeling miserable and alone. Finally, she tried to call Eve’s cell. She didn’t know why, but maybe Eve had snapped out of it. Maybe she—

“What?”

That sounded like the Eve she knew. Claire slowly sat up in bed, clutching the phone like a lifeline. “Eve? Oh,