Ghost Town

premonition, a black, suffocating feeling that this was the last moment for them, that one of them, maybe both of them, wouldn’t come through this alive.

She was going to lose him, and to make it worse, she didn’t really even have him anymore. That hurt so badly it almost made her cry.

Shane suddenly stopped, turned to her, and grabbed her. She didn’t know why at first, and then he bent his head to hers and oh, he was kissing her, and it was tentative at first, and then sweet, and then it was . . . incredibly hot and tender and lovely and it made all those brokenhearted moments vanish like snow under the sun.

He let her go, finally, and stepped back, eyes glittering, lips damp, spots of color high on his cheeks. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

Finally, Michael leaned over and said, “If you’re done, shouldn’t we be moving or something?”

“Oh,” Claire said, and almost laughed. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with, because I want to do that again.”

The moment of golden joy that kiss had sparked inside her stayed with her as she unlocked the shack’s door, and even as they started down the steps toward Myrnin’s lab.

It lasted right up until they were about halfway down, and she heard Myrnin say, in a silky, dark voice, “I do believe I have visitors.”

Well, it wasn’t as if she’d expected him not to notice, but there was something alien in his voice, something that made her completely go cold inside. “Keep going,” she whispered. “Spread out. Pretend it’s vampire dodgeball.”

“Oh, now you tell us,” Eve whispered back. Her voice was shaking. “I frickin’ hate dodgeball. Good luck, new girl.”

“You, too.”

“I’m faster than the rest of you, if—because I’m a vampire,” Michael said, and it was some kind of breakthrough for him to say that. “If you get in trouble, I’ll be there.”

“Nice,” Shane said. “I’m warming up to this bloodsucking thing, Mikey.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, no, I’m not, but right now let’s pretend I am.”

Claire stepped down to the floor of the lab. It was silent now, and it looked deserted. The lights were burning, but somehow it seemed very dark, and very scary. She reviewed what she had to do: get to the bookcase, move it aside, unlock the door that covered the portal, concentrate, get the portal open, and hold it while Frank and his people came through.

Yeah, that was going to be easy.

Shane, Michael, and Eve were moving farther from her, leaving her on the far right side. That was good; she had a straight shot to the bookcase from here.

Too easy.

“I warned you,” Myrnin’s voice said, echoing from the corners of the room. “I told you that if you came here, you were mine. Why wouldn’t you listen?”

“Because we can’t,” Claire said. “I’m sorry, but we have to do this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s sweet. And very unlikely, because I’m going to eat you and your friends, little Claire, just as soon as you tell me what you’ve done with Ada.”

The vicious darkness in his voice took her by surprise, but she should have known it was coming; she should have known that just as Amelie had assumed Sam was being held captive, Myrnin would think the same thing—or worse—about Ada.

He loved her, and he thinks we have her, hurt her, or killed her. Myrnin wasn’t going to help them. He’d do everything he could to stop them.

“We have to move,” Claire whispered to Shane. He nodded.

“Are we playing a game?” Myrnin asked. Well, of course he could hear her. “I like games. This looks like . . . chess.” And he leaped out of the shadows and up on top of one of the granite work-tables toward the back of the lab. “Your move, little pawns. But do try to play well. It’s no fun, otherwise.” He was wearing a black velvet coat that reached down to his ankles, a bright red silk vest, black pants, and high boots, like some escapee from a pirate movie. He crouched down on the table, watching the four of them as they slowly spread out. “So many choices. I think I’ll move . . . this way.” And then he leaped.

For Eve.

She screamed and dived forward, rolled, and he missed her by about a foot where he landed, but he was already turning and grabbing at her, so fast that it was a blur. . . .

And another blur hit him from the side and knocked him into an uncontrolled slide across the floor toward the other side of the room. Michael, who stood there over Eve, fangs down, looking pale and dangerous and angry. “Your move,” he said. “You hurt her, and I’ll take your arm off and feed it to you.”

“Oh, it’s the littlest vampire,” Myrnin said, and rolled to his feet. “Really? You’re already in love with one of them? That must be some sort of record, boy. Don’t worry. It’ll wear off by dinner-time.”

“Would you stop?” Claire yelled at him. “Stop with this cape-twirling stupid act? This isn’t you, Myrnin! You’re a good person!” Even as she said it, though, she kept moving toward the bookcase—careful not to look like she had a purpose.

He got to his feet and dusted himself off, with special attention to a spot of dirt on his coat. “Am I really?” he asked. “And how would you know? Oh, yes, you think you know me. I assure you, you don’t. Not at all, little girl.”

“You bit me, once,” she said, and showed him the healed scar on her neck. “And you cared enough to stop.”

“Oh, I think I’d remember something like that. And I can’t think why I’d ever decide to stop drinking from such a delicious fountain,” he said, and without a flicker of warning, he was suddenly coming toward her, a shape that almost disappeared in the dark as he moved between the wall sconces.

She didn’t wait. She whirled, grabbed a glass beaker of something from the worktable next to her, and threw it right in his face. Whatever the liquid was, it surprised him, and it must have hurt, because he gave a choked cry and veered off course to slam into the table and send it, and the glassware on it, crashing to the floor.

“Go!” Shane yelled to Claire, and jumped on Myrnin’s back, trying to pin him down. She couldn’t watch, couldn’t afford a second’s hesitation. She ran for the bookcase, hit it at speed, and sent it squealing out of the way. She already had the keys in her hand, but adrenaline was making her shaky, and it took two tries to get the key into the silver lock on the door. She finally got it open and threw the padlock aside, swung the door open, and stared into the darkness on the other side.

Concentrate.

It was so hard, because she could hear the fighting behind her. Michael and Shane had Myrnin, but he was throwing them all over the place, and glass was breaking, and Eve was screaming, and she had to look back; she had to. . . .

Claire closed her eyes and visualized the living room of the Glass House: the sofa, the TV, the table, the bookcases, the guitars, everything all in a rush. When it was stable in her mind, she opened her eyes and sent the image out into the dark.

Yes!

Colors swirled like ink in water, and started to make an image in the darkness. It was the Glass House. She’d gotten it right.

Frank Collins was standing on the other side. She raised a hand to tell him to come through. He jumped, and she felt the stir of air against her face as he passed her, heading for the fight. Then West came through with the bow. Rudolph was following her—

Something hideously strong grabbed her from behind, and she lost control of the portal. Rudolph screamed, and something terrible happened to him as the opening snapped shut—she didn’t know what; she couldn’t see; there was a hand over her eyes and her mouth; she couldn’t breathe, and the hand was cold, very cold. . . .

Myrnin’s voice whispered in her ear, “Checkmate, little pawn. Your move.”