Bitter Blood

color.

Because it was dead, and it was…

Claire’s eyes opened wide. “The tree. The cemetery tree, it’s white, right?”

“I guess. It’s dead and the bark is all peeled off and it looks white.”

“So it’s at the cemetery,” Claire blurted, and opened her eyes. “It’s got to be there, whatever this—this hole is. That’s where Myrnin is. He’s in the hole, in water. And there’s some kind of a grate on top, with a cross; Jenna said she saw that in a vision. Mir, I have to go, right now. Can you stay with Eve?”

“I—well, yes, but you can’t go out there in the dark, all alone!”

“I have to. Myrnin may be the only one left who can help us get through this, and your other ghost said the sun will burn it away. If he’s in a hole in the ground, and the sun comes up, he could burn in there. I can’t let that happen.”

“I can’t go with you! If I did, the other ghosts—they’d be all over me. I have to stay in the house. And Eve’s too sick.”

“Then I’ll call Shane,” Claire shot back, and pulled out her phone. She paced as it rang, and rang, and rang, and went to voice mail. She hung up and texted him, with a 911. No details. And finally, after five long minutes, he called back.

“Don’t hang up,” she said. “I need your help.”

“Is it Eve?”

“No,” she said reluctantly.

“Then no.”

“Wait! Wait, listen to me. I have to go to the cemetery. There’s—someone’s in trouble, Shane. If you don’t go with me, I have to go alone. Please. I know you’re angry at me, but—but be angry tomorrow. Tonight, just please, do this for me.” He was silent on the other end, but she could hear the uneven hitch of his breathing. “Shane, please. One time.”

“Who’s in trouble?”

She’d been afraid he’d ask that. But she couldn’t lie. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and said, “Myrnin.”

Shane hung up. Claire screamed, a raw and wild sound, and threw the phone violently on the table. Miranda’s eyes were round as saucers.

“Wow,” she said. “So…you’re not going?”

“No,” Claire said grimly. “I am going. Alone.”

Eve’s hearse was still parked out on the curb. Miranda argued with Claire all the way out to the picket fence, but she wasn’t listening anymore. She’d put on Eve’s long leather coat over her jeans and plain black shirt, and brought along a heavy canvas bag full of weapons, plus her own backpack, which had all kinds of things she might need—even textbooks, if she got study time. At the very least, they were a kind of paper-based armor she could put between herself and something attacking her.

“But—what do I do if you don’t come back?” Miranda asked frantically as Claire settled in the driver’s seat. The Grim Reaper on the dash shivered and nodded its head, eye-lights flashing. “Claire! Who do I call?”

“Call Shane,” she said. “Maybe he’ll feel bad if I’m dead. But make sure Eve’s okay, and give her the medication she needs just before sunrise. Do not let her get up and do anything, and if she starts to run a fever, call the hospital and get them to send the ambulance. Promise me.”

“I will.” Miranda looked on the verge of tears. “This is bad. This is a really bad idea….”

“I’m open to suggestions.” When the other girl didn’t offer any, Claire shook her head. “Wish me luck.”

“I—” Miranda sighed. “Good luck. I’ll wait for you to come back, and if you’re not back before sunrise, I’ll call…somebody. Amelie. I’ll call Amelie.”

“Don’t do that,” Claire said. “Because it might be Amelie. Okay?”

“But—”

Claire didn’t give her time to argue.

The hearse drove differently from any other car she’d tried in her very limited driving experience…. It was heavy, hard to manage, and had terrible stopping distance, as she found when she rolled through a stop light while pumping the brakes. Luckily, no Morganville police cruisers caught sight of her. She passed some custom-tinted vampire cars. No one tried to stop her.

Claire drove the mile, give or take, out to the cemetery, which brushed the limits of the Morganville township. The place was surrounded by a thick stone wall and had heavy wrought-iron gates; the lightning-struck dead white tree loomed high, all spiky branches and intimidating angles. The gates were locked, of course. Claire considered ramming them, but she knew Eve would never forgive her for it, so she strapped the canvas bag over her shoulders, on top of her backpack, and climbed. The iron was cold and slick under her fingers, but there were plenty of crossbars, and she managed to make it to the top, then slipped down the other side.

Morganville Cemetery was an old one, back to pioneer days, full of time-sanded headstones that were hardly readable anymore, thanks to the constant wind. What grass there was grew fitfully. Nobody visited here with any reliability; the newer cemetery, Redeemer, was closer to the center of town, and that was where present-day burials were done. This was mostly just here for historical value.

It wasn’t a very likely spot for vampires to hang out, at least; there hadn’t been anyone with a pulse visiting the place in years. But it was still plenty creepy, all right—shadows like black knives across the ground, harsh and sharp in the moonlight. Tree branches rattled like dry bones.

Claire was headed for the tree when she saw the vampires appear on top of the wall and drop easily down, landing without breaking their stride. There were two of them, moving together. One had pale hair; the other had graying locks.

Amelie and Oliver?

She dropped to the ground behind a large carved angel and hoped that it would be enough to hide her. She also hoped she hadn’t landed on one of the huge fire ant mounds that dotted the grounds; if she had, this was going to be a very short and unpleasant adventure. If the fire ants didn’t bite her into a coma, the vampires would.

They passed fairly close to where she was hiding, and luck was with her; the wind had shifted, carrying her human scent away from them. And it was not Amelie with the pale hair shifting in the breeze, Claire realized, as she caught sight of the girl’s face, her smile, her dimples.

That was Naomi. Walking with Oliver. But Naomi was supposed to be dead. Of course, Claire thought in horror. Bishop’s other daughter. She might have the same powers, too. If Naomi and Oliver were in it together, Naomi could have turned Michael against them.

And Amelie didn’t know.

The two of them strolled through the weeds, through tombstones and tumbleweeds, and came to a halt under the white tree. Oliver dragged a fallen piece of marble away, and Claire heard it grate on metal.

She was also close enough to hear the voices, and she heard Oliver say, “No need to go down after him. Between this and the morning sun, he’s finished.” He reached into his pocket and came out with a bottle Claire recognized—one of the weapons that Shane had first developed. Then he shared it with Captain Obvious and his crew. And then with the vampires, to use against the draug…It was silver nitrate. Oliver had on gloves, but he still handled the bottle carefully as he opened the top, then poured it into the ground—no, not into the ground.

Through the metal grate on the ground.

Claire heard Myrnin’s scream of raw pain and fury, and she had to press both hands to her mouth to keep quiet. There was a splashing sound, and scraping, as if he were clawing his way up from a great distance below.

“He won’t get far,” Naomi said. “No vampire’s strong enough to make it all that way to the top before sunrise, and the silver in the grate will keep him in. If he falls, the silver in the water will finish him. Well done, Oliver. Now go back to Amelie. Our little chess pawns are almost all in place. We’ll play our last moves soon.”

“Yes,” he said, “my queen.”

“Your white queen,” Naomi said, and laughed. “I like the sound of that. You’re a useful blunt instrument, Oliver. I shall keep you in my court when I take my rightful place.”

“Amelie,” he said, and it seemed it was hard for him to get the words out. “What of Amelie?”

“What about her?” Naomi asked. She was staring down through the grate, to where she’d just condemned