Black Dawn

And Magnus then rolled over her.

Miranda disappeared into him, absorbed the way Shane had been at the water treatment plant—trapped inside the bubble of draug fluid. But unlike that time, where they’d been trying to keep Shane alive, Magnus had no interest in Miranda at all.

Claire saw her … dissolve. Like flesh dropped in acid. Miranda disappeared in a cloudy mist of red, and in a matter of seconds, what was left of her oozed out to clatter on the floor.

Bones.

Eve screamed, and Michael grabbed her and held her close. Jason had gone milky pale, but he raised his shotgun and fired, three times, straight into Magnus’s body.

Magnus ignored it.

Myrnin scrambled up and jammed more shotgun shells into the weapon, then racked it. “None of this will work,” he said. “There’s only one thing that can kill him.”

Shane was up, too, and he was breathing hard, fighting, Claire thought, not to be sick after what they’d just seen happen. “What?” he demanded. “Because this son of a bitch has to die.”

“Upstairs,” Myrnin said. “Lead him upstairs. Claire, go. He needs to destroy you, not us. Go now.”

After a breathless look at Shane, Claire turned and ran. She scrambled up the steps, only half balanced now, and made it to the top with a surge of relief. The hallway was so familiar, this was home, she loved it here, and there was Eve’s room with the door open on its crazy, dark chaos; Shane’s door was closed. Her own was open, her bed unmade. It hadn’t been long; the place still smelled of cinnamon and Eve’s perfumes, of chili, of the normal life that had been taken away from them.

We’ll get it back. We have to get it back.

Shane and Michael and Eve were down there, fighting for their lives. For their home. Please, God, please let them be okay. She could hear the sound of the shotguns going off, but then … then suddenly they went silent.

She felt for the hidden controls in the paneling. For a heart-stopping moment she couldn’t find them, and then it seemed that they wouldn’t work; she glanced back down the hall and there he was, Magnus, standing motionless next to Michael’s closed door.

Watching with those terrible, monstrous eyes.

“What did you do?” she asked, and panic smothered her—not for herself but for them. For Shane. For her friends.

“They’re unimportant,” he said. “You have a power the others do not. You must not survive to lead them to me again.”

His whole body rippled in a sickening, wrong way, and she knew that she had seconds to live. No. Not again.

She slapped frantically at the controls to the hidden door, and it popped open in the paneling. She charged in and slammed it shut. It was inky in the shadows down here, but at the top of the steps she saw the warm, colorful glow of the Tiffany lamps. Safe up there. It had always felt like another world. If there was anyplace Magnus couldn’t reach her, it would be here.

Deep down, Claire knew it wouldn’t be enough. But there was a portal up here, and maybe, just maybe, she could get through, get out that way …

She reached the top of the stairs and saw … Amelie. But not the Amelie she knew. This was only the shell of her, glossy and hard, and underneath was the same rot and writhing awful foulness that was inside Magnus.

Amelie was a draug, a master draug.

The creature—like Amelie, but not her—was holding Oliver by both wrists. He was on his knees in front of her, face upturned and marble white, and Claire could see the horror in his eyes.

The loss.

There was a silver knife on the carpet next to Amelie, and Claire, not even thinking now, threw herself at it, grabbed it, and plunged it to the hilt into Amelie’s back.

The shrieking knocked her backward into the wall, then into a shuddering, fetal ball with her hands over her ears.

Amelie let go of Oliver and turned toward Claire, just as the wooden panel opened below with a sudden cold rush of damp air.

The smell of dead things doubled.

Oliver toppled over heavily to the floor, facing away from Claire. She tried to get up, tried hard, but nothing was working in her body. It was like receiving a violent electrical shock. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Something wet slithered over her outstretched foot, and she pulled it in closer, whimpering. That touch felt like worms and mold, filthy water, dead flesh. She was grateful it lasted for only a second, and then was past her as Magnus flowed up into his human form, facing Amelie—or at least the draug that had once been Amelie.

She pulled the silver knife out of her back and stopped screaming, and for a second neither of them moved.

Magnus said, “Your transformation is almost complete. You will be a beautiful and terrifying thing, my queen.”

She said nothing. Her silvery, shimmering eyes looked empty as a moonlit lake.

Oliver made a raw sound, and it took Claire a moment to realize that he was laughing. “You’ve lost, Magnus,” he said. “Your thralls are dead.”

“You were passing clever in using human science. I will have to find a new defense to counter it.” Magnus didn’t seem overly concerned about it. “No matter. I will create a new generation. They will have resistance to your poisons. And after all of you are dead, they will learn to feed on lesser fare. I have heard there are seven billion humans on the earth now. Enough for us to feed for thousands of years.”

Oliver pushed himself up to a sitting position. He looked awful, but there was fire in his eyes, bright and furious. “No,” he said. “You won’t. Because you’re not leaving this place alive.”

“I am a master draug. You, fool, can’t kill me. But you’ll make a fine addition to my blood gardens.” The draug reached down for him, and Oliver batted the hand—the misshapen thing that passed for one—away.

“You’re not the only master draug here,” he said.

“You mean my lovely creation?” Magnus laughed, a sound like saws rubbing together, and Claire flinched and fought the urge to cover her ears. “Your former queen? She has no thralls. No hive. She is no master draug yet. She will make her own kingdom, yes, but not here. This town is mine. You and the last of the vampires are my meat. She can feed her spawn on the thin blood of humans, far from here, when I allow her to go.”

The draug that had once been Amelie was watching him with blank concentration, and something eerily like hunger. She took a step toward him, and Magnus watched her without any sign of alarm.

“You forget something,” Oliver said. “Legend says a master draug cannot die by the hands of vampires. But it says nothing about dying at the hands of another draug.”

Amelie continued to advance with steady, relentless steps. And this time Magnus backed up. Just a little. “I am her maker,” he said. “And she must obey my commands.”

“Think you so?” Oliver sounded viciously amused. “Try.”

Claire pulled herself into a tighter ball. This is bad, she thought. Really bad. I need to get out of here. Being in the middle of this was like being caught in a swarm of hornets, but despite the panic tearing at her, she knew that if she tried to get up, tried to run, Magnus would kill her instantly.

Or Amelie would.

Magnus had forgotten all about her, his focus now on the new master draug before him. “Stop,” he said. “I am your maker. I command you to stop.”

Something happened, deep inside that thing … the inner dark shadow seemed to thrash, come into focus, and then that was Amelie, looking out of the draug. The real Amelie. Her eyes. Her anger. She wasn’t gone after all. Not