Black Dawn

I didn’t trust her. Not at all. But Jason deserved the attempt from me, didn’t he? “What exactly would I be helping with?”

“Research,” she said. “Only research. And I promise you, it is research that Oliver needs as well. Your friend Claire means something to Magnus; the draug target her, and I wish to know why, and how it can be of use to us. You must help me discover it.”

“But—” That felt uncomfortably like betraying Claire, somehow, and yet it was also something I knew Claire was wondering about herself. She could see the head draug, Magnus; nobody else seemed to be able to unless he wanted it. It was a good question, and even Claire wanted the answers. Win/win.

Unless there were traps I couldn’t see. And there probably were. “Okay,” I finally said, reluctantly. “I help you find out why Claire can see Magnus, and you back off my brother and promise not to turn him. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she said, and smiled. There was that dimple again. “May I send for tea?”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN CLAIRE

“Just tell me,” Claire said to Shane. She was getting annoyed with him just now; he’d been silent ever since they’d settled the matter of examining the map, determining safe routes, and discussing transportation for the latest mission to Morganville High School.

And, of course, going anywhere with Myrnin, which had been a lively, interesting discussion that had ended with Michael saying that he was coming along and if Myrnin tried anything he’d stake him with silver.

There was absolutely no question that Michael meant it. Even Myrnin figured that out.

“Tell you what?” Shane asked. They were sitting in the backseat of the car, and Michael was driving, which was a huge improvement over the prospect of Myrnin doing it; his modern-vehicle-piloting skills were—to put it mildly—tremendously bad. They were driving a standard-issue black vampire sedan, with tinted windows, although as best she could tell, it was gloomy and cloudy outside. Myrnin was in the shotgun seat in front, which left just the two of them in the back. It felt private, even though it really wasn’t.

Why you still sit so stiffly. Why you touch me as if you can’t believe I’m really there. Why, when nobody’s paying attention, you look so … lost. She couldn’t ask him those things yet. He was supposed to be better; he insisted he was. Michael, when she’d pulled him aside on the way to the car, had said he seemed okay.

But she knew he wasn’t. No idea how she knew, but she just … did. He wasn’t right, though he was faking it really well. It wasn’t the kind of discussion they should have in front of Myrnin. Or maybe even Michael. There was something way too personal, private, intimate about those questions.

So instead she said, “Tell me what we’re supposed to be out at Morganville High School looking for, because I know it’s not their amazing chem lab.”

“You’d be right about that,” Shane said. “Although to be fair, chem class did turn out some would-be meth cookers—right, Michael?”

“Would-be is right. They blew themselves up in a trailer at the edge of town,” Michael said. “Not exactly an endorsement of our fine public school system.”

“Which way?”

“Either way.”

“Good point.”

God, Shane sounded fine, but when she touched his fingers she felt him shiver, then grab hold tight, as if he was clinging to a life raft in a stormy ocean. The question he’d asked last night kept haunting her. Are you really here?

Was he?

“You didn’t answer my question,” Claire said. “What are we looking for?”

“Let me have my moment,” he said. There was something weird in his voice now. “Always dreamed of being the one to come up with the answer.”

She suddenly didn’t want to push him anymore. Instead, she just held his hand and scooted over close. He put his arm around her, holding her closer.

As if she might just … fade away.

Michael rolled the car to a stop and said, “We’re here, guys. Shane, gonna need a plan now, please.”

“Wait,” Myrnin said, staring intently through the window. He had brought along his giant boom box thing, and now he clicked the switch on it and turned it off, and Claire heard the faint, whispery sound of the draug singing. It wasn’t much, but it was there. Myrnin hastily flipped the machine on again. “We’re too close to the infected side of town; they still have enough numbers to call, at least for now. We should be quick about this. Shane, I do hope you know where we are going …?”

“Sure,” Shane said. “It’s a shed at the back, near the field house. Michael, you know where it is. You can drive around there. Just go around the building and park right there in front of it. I think it has a storage sign on it.”

“Locked?” Myrnin asked, as Michael put the car in gear again.

“Yep,” Shane said. “Big chain with a padlock. But I’m pretty sure you strong vampire types can take care of that, right?”

Michael maneuvered the car through some twists and turns, then hit the brakes and brought them to a movie-worthy skidding stop, throwing gravel in a wave ahead. “Stay in the car until I open the doors,” he told Shane and Claire. “Myrnin, you get the lock and open the shed. Anything else?”

“Open the trunk,” Shane said. “What we’re looking for is pretty big. We’ll need vamp muscle to move it.”

He’d never asked for that, as far as Claire could remember …. Shane, saying he needed more muscle for something? Sometimes he accepted help, but he rarely asked. Even Myrnin seemed to recognize that. He didn’t make any quips or taunts, just leveled a sober look at her boyfriend, nodded, grabbed the boom box, and left the car, fast, on the passenger side. As Michael swung open the car door beside Shane, Claire heard the snap of metal breaking, which must have been Myrnin snapping the chain, the lock, or the door itself; there was a dry, high-pitched squeal of hinges as her own car door popped open. Claire stepped out, and saw that Michael had also opened the trunk, as Shane had asked.

The shed they were facing was really that—a shed, sheet metal, nothing fancy. The ancient cigarette butts littering the gravel around the side showed it was the smokers’ hangout. Probably the stoners’ as well; those groups usually shared space away from everybody else, since both things were illegal. She headed for the open, gaping metal door, and stopped, because Shane had stopped.

He was staring at the school.

Morganville High was a not-so-big brick building that had that early-sixties uncomfortable architecture to it— boxy, intimidating, more like a prison than anything else. Even the fence around the perimeter was high enough to qualify as escape-proof. The faded sign towered over the school, with a really quite scary rendering of the high school mascot. Of course Morganville High’s team symbol would be a viper, showing fangs.

“Shane?” Michael was at the shed door, looking back at them. “Faster is better, man.”

“I know,” Shane said softly, but he kept staring at the brick bulk of the main MHS building. “Hey. Is there still a pool inside?”

“A pool?” Michael frowned, and for a second he looked … worried. “No. You remember, there was some kind of accident and they closed it down, drained it, filled it in right before you left town. It’s a gym now.”

“I was thinking that the draug …” Shane’s voice died out. It was too quiet out here, and Claire felt clumsy and awkward as she moved toward him. “I thought there was a pool.”

“Hey,” she said, and took his hand. “Stay with us, okay? I don’t know what’s wrong, but just … stay focused. We need you.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. There was a dark, damp chill in the air, and overhead the clouds rumbled. “Right. I’m here. You’re here. We’re okay.” He turned a smile on her, and it almost felt right.

But not quite.