Black Dawn

wasn’t the draug, at least. The relief of that was intense, until she tried to move, and discovered that she was tied to a chair. A heavy one, thick wood, plush fabric. A smell of old dust.

The room was dim, but after a few blinking seconds of confusion she realized that she knew it.

She was home. In the Glass House.

Don’t go home, Miranda had said. Oh God.

This was the parlor room, the one they rarely used; it was mostly a place to dump backpacks, coats, purses, stuff on the way into the living room, where they actually gathered. She tried to remember when she’d been home last. Days blurred together—God, had it only been yesterday? No, that had to be wrong. It felt like at least a week. Maybe it was somewhere in the middle.

Her head hurt in pounding waves, but she couldn’t feel any bruises. When she tugged at the ropes holding her in the chair, they were firm. Whoever had tied her up had been nice about it; there was soft padding between the ropes and her wrists and ankles.

That consideration didn’t make her feel any better about being restrained.

“Easy,” said a voice from behind her, and she felt someone tug on the ropes, probably checking the knots. Hannah Moses. She immediately knew it even before Hannah came around to look at her. The police chief looked eerily the same as she always had—competent, calm, a little hard around the edges. But still, always, honest and fair. That was creepy, considering their relative situations. “Easy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself. You’re fine, Claire. You’re perfectly safe.”

“Safe?” Claire echoed. “What are you talking about? I’m tied up!”

“For your protection,” Myrnin said. She hadn’t spotted him, but he was standing stock-still next to the front window, looking out through a crack in the blinds. “To keep you out of the way.”

“The way of what?” she demanded. Myrnin turned and exchanged a look with Hannah, and Claire didn’t like that, didn’t like it at all. “Where’s Shane?”

“Hopefully he is with the others,” Myrnin said. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

“The others—I have no idea what you are talking about!” She yanked at the ropes, unsuccessfully. “Let me go!”

“Where do you think you would go? The vampires’ ragtag army is, even now, taking your chemicals to the water treatment plant and the other targets I marked out for Oliver on my map,” Myrnin said. “They will almost certainly succeed in their attempts. You and Shane have given us an advantage the draug could not have planned for, and the draug will die, trapped where they are. Those in the clouds cannot stay; their safety there is shrinking and will soon be gone. They will have to fall to earth. The desert will consume what’s left.”

“Excuse me, but then why am I tied up?”

“Because those are the spawn,” he said. He still sounded like the old Myrnin, the one she mostly trusted, the one who always seemed to have a point, however weird and twisty it might be. “The spawn are nothing, they are the bees industriously gathering pollen for the hive. The queen—king, in this case—is vital to the survival of all. Magnus thought he could hide himself among his spawn, but he cannot. You can see him, whether he chooses it or no. He cannot afford that. Once his spawn are dead, there is nothing left to hide him. So he must count them lost, and find you. Kill you.”

He seemed to think that explained everything. Claire gritted her teeth and forced herself not to scream at him; it wouldn’t do any good. Neither Hannah nor Myrnin was looking like they had any doubts about what they were doing. “I don’t even know how I do it!”

“Myrnin explained that,” Hannah said. “The bracelet Amelie gave you to wear. It’s a kind of draug early warning system. It inoculates the wearer to be able to see them clearly. You wore it long enough for the effects to still be in your system. Myrnin’s right, Claire. Wherever you’ve gone since Magnus realized you could see him, he’s sent his creepers after you. Or even come himself.”

“He must come himself. With his spawn dead, he cannot hide in numbers,” Myrnin said. He was speaking to her directly now, and earnestly, as if he really wanted Claire to understand why he was doing all this. “You can see him, and he cannot hide. Nor, in Morganville, can he easily flee. This is the first time that we have ever had this advantage over him. We’ve never been able to destroy his thralls without damage to ourselves; we’ve never been able to hunt him. It equals the contest, you see. He won’t have it.”

“And this is why you tied me up. For bait?”

“Well,” Myrnin said, very apologetically, “it does keep you in place. I believe he sees you as a genuine threat. He killed you, and yet you are here, taking action against him. That makes you very nearly a master draug yourself. I suppose it’s a bit of an honor, if you look at it that way.”

The urge to scream was coming back, fast. Claire yanked against the ropes convulsively. She just couldn’t help it. “You’re using me as bait! It’s not an honor!”

“Well, not if you equate yourself to a worm. That’s a terrible self-image, Claire.”

Nobody knew she was here, she realized with an awful sinking feeling. Amelie probably wouldn’t have ever allowed this; even Oliver might not have. But Myrnin and Hannah were acting on their own. Myrnin was always— well, crazy; Hannah wasn’t thinking straight. She’d just had Richard die in her arms, and—“Oh God,” Claire said softly, looking at the woman. “You think it was my fault. My fault that Richard died.”

“They were coming for you,” Hannah said. “They didn’t go for the wounded men on the street, they didn’t go for me. They went for the car. Where you were.”

“Myrnin was in the car! They were going for the vampire, not me!”

“Think,” Myrnin said quietly. “You know it’s true, Claire. Magnus has sought you out for a reason. And now we must use it to bring him here.”

“You think you can kill him.”

“Well,” he said, “I certainly think this is our best and only chance. Once his spawn are dead, he will have to run—for the first time in their history, the draug will have failed to conquer vampires. We cannot afford to let him leave Morganville alive. Or find a hole in which to hide and hibernate and rebuild his hive.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “He’s not going to come here. Not for me.”

“Then there’s nothing risked,” Myrnin said. “And I chose you a very comfortable chair.”

This time Claire did scream, in pure frustration, and struggled so much that the chair rocked over on two legs. Hannah simply put a hand on the back of it and thumped it down to the carpet again. She didn’t say anything. Neither did Myrnin.

They just waited, hunters at the water hole, with the stupid goat tied down for the lion.

I am not the goat, Claire told herself. I am not.

All her struggling had loosened the joints on the wood of the chair enough to make it creak, just a little. She had a moment’s fantasy of somehow supercharging her strength, ripping the chair apart, whacking Myrnin over the head with a piece of it (more for satisfaction than damage), and grabbing Hannah’s gun from its holster to hold her at bay.

That wasn’t going to happen, obviously, but it was a nice fantasy.

Something sharp scraped against her wrist as she uselessly twisted it back and forth. Claire froze, and carefully moved her wrist again, pressing.

A nail. It had popped loose from the old wood when she’d twisted around. It wasn’t much, but it was something. By pulling her wrists apart, she could get the tough nylon rope in a position to scrape it over the nail, back and forth, until her shoulders were trembling with strain. Nobody spoke. Hannah and Myrnin were just going to let her struggle uselessly, she supposed, except that now it wasn’t useless. She could feel the rope fraying—slow, but steady.

Fifteen minutes passed, by the tick of the old clock in the corner. Outside, Morganville continued to be silent. No lights flared against the windows. It was like being on the moon.

And just as she felt she was really making progress, Myrnin turned his head and said, “Hannah, I believe she may be fraying her ropes. Please check them.”

No, no, no!

Claire yanked hard, frantic with frustration, and felt her right wrist slip loose as the rope gave, just a little. As Hannah bent over to check, Claire risked everything on one awkward lunge.

And grabbed Hannah’s gun.