Daylighters: The Morganville Vampires

by Rachel Caine

  Right up until the knock came at the bedroom door.

  They were lying in each other’s arms, pleasantly drowsy, but Claire’s eyes flew open at the sound, and so did Shane’s. They hesitated for only a second before they rolled in opposite directions to fish clothes off the floor and start dressing. “Just a sec!” Claire said, and yanked up her pants, then threw on the hoodie over her T-shirt. The TPU VIPERS logo on it seemed appropriate this morning. She jammed her feet into her shoes, but as fast as she was, Shane was even faster. He was sitting on the bed calmly sipping coffee when the door banged open.

  “Good morning,” he said to Morley, who looked full-on Vampire Western again in his duster, boots, scarf, and hat. “Kind of rude to come in when the lady asks you to wait, isn’t it?”

  “My sincere apology,” Morley said, and did a straight-legged bow, whipping off his hat with a flourish. “But we’re about to go retake the town of Morganville, and manners are not my greatest concern. Might you want to join us, or are you, ah, occupied?”

  “Is that a choice? Because if so . . .”

  “We’re coming,” Claire said. She downed the rest of her coffee—cold, now—and walked over to Morley. “Come on, Shane. Do you really intend to sit this one out?”

  “You’re right. There’s a fight, and I’m not in it? That seems wrong.” Shane made sure to finish his coffee. “Okay, let’s do this thing. Wait, what exactly are we doing?”

  “I have no idea what you’re doing,” Morley said, “but Mrs. Grant is killing Amelie.”

  • • •

  Claire thought it was a flippant, weird thing to say until she saw Amelie lying on the table in the library, not moving, with a silver-coated stake in her heart.

  “What are you doing?” she blurted, and pushed forward. Michael and Eve were already there, standing together. “What happened?”

  “Don’t touch her,” Mrs. Grant warned. “Trust me, we’ve calculated this very carefully.”

  “Stabbing her? With silver?” Because even Amelie couldn’t resist that poison for long, not in her heart. She had more of a resistance than most of the other vampires Claire had ever seen, but this . . . this was extreme. And extremely dangerous.

  Then she saw the symbol on the side of the stake—an etched-in sunrise.

  “You’re a Daylighter,” Claire said flatly, and looked around for a weapon. She didn’t see one handy, so she grabbed a chair. It was heavy, but she raised it anyway. “Step away from her.”

  “Put that down,” said Oliver, and took the chair from her with one hand. He placed it back at the table, handling it as easily as if it was made out of matchsticks. “It’s an illusion. A carefully crafted one. The stake is silver, stolen from the Daylighters; their weapons come loaded with silver nitrate.” She knew that, because she’d seen one buried in Michael’s chest, back in Cambridge. They were designed to deliver a fatal dose of silver when anyone tried to remove them. “We’ve removed the nitrate from this one, and coated the stake with plastic. It’s not toxic to her, but it’s no doubt ridiculously painful. She’s most convincing in her death.”

  Amelie opened her eyes. “I can hear you, you know.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware,” he said, and however much he liked Amelie—which, Claire thought, was a lot—he also couldn’t resist taking a little bit of pleasure in her discomfort. “Stay quiet. You’re dead.”

  “We could always bury this stake in your chest, you wretch.”

  “I wouldn’t look half so lovely wearing it.”

  Morley shook his head impatiently. “Can we please just get on with it? Mrs. Grant and our humans will take Amelie into town and convince Fallon that they will trade her for some righteous revenge upon the vampires he has penned up in that mall. He’ll believe it; the story is more than convincing, considering the havoc Amelie’s blood-father wreaked upon this town. In the wake of last night’s vampire attacks, who better to swell the ranks of the true believers than the residents of a town already savaged by the monsters?” He looked very pleased with himself. Disgustingly so.

  “I’m so glad you think so, Morley,” Mrs. Grant said. “Because we had a discussion, and we decided to alter the plan a little bit. As an actor, you understand that we need to really sell the concept.” She nodded, and from the shadows behind the bookcases, two men stepped out, both armed with crossbows.

  Morley snarled and snapped to the side, and the bolt meant for his heart missed him. Oliver was slower—probably the result of all the terrible things heaped on him for the past few months—and the silver-tipped arrow sliced right into his chest and dropped him where he stood.

  But Morley wasn’t going down without a fight. He rounded on Mrs. Grant, roaring in fury, and she calmly brought up the small crossbow she’d held under the table. As he raced toward her, she sighted and fired.

  Morley slumped against the table, eyes and mouth wide, and finally collapsed.

  I was right, Claire thought with a jolt of real fear. They are Daylighters. But Amelie wasn’t reacting, even though she could have; the fact that she’d been able to talk proved that well enough.

  Which meant that it was Amelie’s plan, and had been from the beginning. She just hadn’t told Oliver and Morley how far it would go.

  Shane, Eve, and Michael hadn’t moved to protest, probably all for different reasons: Shane because he wasn’t inclined to protest vampires getting shot ever, Eve because she was conflicted about Oliver and had never liked Morley, and Michael because . . . well, probably because he’d figured it out the way Claire had.

  Mrs. Grant looked at the four of them. “Don’t just stand there, get them on the tables,” she said. She hadn’t liked shooting Morley, Claire could see that. “They’re old, but that wasn’t a bug bite. We need to get the coated stakes into them quickly.”

  That was a more clinical process than Claire was strictly comfortable with; she helped pull the arrows out, but pushing the stakes in was a lot more quease-inducing, and she let Michael and Shane handle that part. Not that they seemed to take much pleasure in it, either.

  Eve just turned her back entirely. “Are we sure this is a good plan?” she asked anxiously. “Because I’m starting to worry. It seems scary.”

  “That’s because it is,” Mrs. Grant said. She walked over to the four of them as Michael and Shane rejoined them. “I’ll have to keep an eye on my two gentlemen here to be sure they don’t do something silly like remove the stakes, but I expect this will appeal to Morley’s acting instincts, and Oliver can surely see the advantages. Now, as to the four of you: I’ll need you to put on a show as well.”

  “Wh-what kind of show?” Eve asked. She sounded even more doubtful.

  “Nothing too difficult, I promise,” Mrs. Grant said. “You simply have to be our prisoners.” She nodded, and more of her Blacke townsfolk moved up, armed not with crossbows this time but with zip ties. “Sorry about this, but we’ll cut you loose when the time comes. Fallon seems to want you all back—especially you, Michael. He seems to think you’re his new poster child for conversion.”

  “He’s not wrong,” Michael said. “Feels pretty good, having a heartbeat again. I was resigned to being a vampire, but I’m not going to lie . . . it was a gift I’m not turning down.”

  “Me neither,” Eve said. “You don’t have to put us in cuffs. Really. We’ll go along.”

  “Okay,” Mrs. Grant said. “I’m going to trust the two of you. Don’t let me down.”

  But, Claire noticed, that didn’t seem to include her, or Shane, because the next thing she knew, her wrists were being pulled together and zip ties efficiently applied. She exchanged a glance with Shane, but he shrugged. “Got to admit, Fallon wouldn’t buy either one of us as having a change of heart, especially when he realizes I’m not on Team Hellhound anymore. Makes sense. We haven’t exactly made ourselves potential allies of his, have we?”

  “No,” she admitted. “Not really. But—you’re going to cut us loose?”

  Mrs. Grant didn’t was
te words. She just passed a small set of nail clippers to Eve, who winked and stuck them in the pocket of her hoodie.

  “Got you covered, girlfriend,” said Eve. “And if I lose these and have to gnaw through the plastic to get you loose, I will. Virtual high five!” She raised her right shoulder. Claire raised hers. They bumped.

  “That,” Shane said, “is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever seen the two of you do, and that’s saying something.”

  “This from a man who has Blade action figures.”

  “Hey, those are classic! And collectible.”

  Mrs. Grant sighed. “Let’s get everyone loaded. Remember: Fallon may be in Morganville, but the Daylight Foundation has branches all over the world. They will come for us if we don’t come for them first. We might not be able to take them out, but we can at least remove the man who turned a search for a cure into a crusade. Let’s ensure he doesn’t do any more damage.”

  As battle speeches went, it wasn’t great, but obviously the folks from Blacke—mostly everyday folks, the kind of people you’d see in a bigger town at a Walmart or eating at the Dairy Queen—were already on board. Blacke wasn’t Morganville; by the time Morley and the rest of his vampire refugees from Amelie’s rule had arrived here, the town had already been ripped in half by an uncontrollable infection that had taken half the residents and reduced them to mindless, blood-craving monsters. Amelie’s father, Bishop, had done that, and then moved on, probably amused by all the mayhem he’d left behind him. That was why Blacke wouldn’t go with the Daylighters’ agenda; it meant subjecting their own families to a cure that was bound to kill most of them. In Morganville, the lines between humans and vampires were generally pretty well drawn.

  In Blacke, there were no lines. Only heartaches.

  In a fine display of symmetry, the townspeople piled into the same battered bus that Morley had commandeered from Morganville; it still had most of the body damage, but it was at least running, and it was relatively light-proofed. Amelie, Oliver, and Morley were loaded in last, lying stretched across seats. Amelie maintained her calm illusion of death—maybe it was easier for her that way. But Morley complained bitterly, and Oliver seemed uncomfortable even though he didn’t do more than glare at those around him.

  “Hey, man, don’t look at me,” Shane told him. “I’m back in handcuffs. Do you have any idea how many times this makes?”

  “Do you have a stake in your heart?” Oliver said. His voice sounded strained and faint, as if he was using all his willpower to suppress a scream. “At least if it was wooden, I’d be unconscious. This is hideous.”

  “I’m sure you can cope just fine,” Mrs. Grant said. She didn’t seem sympathetic. “Is everyone in?” She looked around at the rows of people—men and women, a few teens, even some elderly citizens. They all looked hard, tough, and ready for action. “Let’s go, then.”

  The driver looked as if he might have actually once driven a school bus, back in the dark ages; he was ancient, and Claire was a little afraid that he was so old he might nod off at the wheel. But his arthritic old hands seemed competent enough as he steered them away from the curb and picked up speed. They made the turn and went past the shuttered courthouse. The smug statue of Hiram Blacke stared after them.

  There were vampires in Blacke standing in the shadows, or in the windows, watching them go. This time Claire didn’t feel so creeped out by that. It was more as if they were wishing them luck.

  She really hoped it worked.

  • • •

  It was a long, bumpy ride, worse by far for the three staked vampires, but they bore it in relative silence—even Morley, after a while, when he realized nobody was going to respond to his outbursts. Claire decided not to complain about the chafing of the bands around her wrists. Seemed like the least she could do was bear it with the same stoic silence as the others.

  When the bus finally started to slow down and the brakes engaged, Claire looked up through the front window to see that they were approaching the Morganville billboard. It brought a flood of emotions—relief that the ride was nearly over, and the very real fear that what they were doing would go wrong. Badly. But she didn’t know what else they could do, except walk away . . . turn their backs on Morganville and just let it all happen without them. But how would that make them any different from the other Morganville residents who were willing to let horrible things happen to the vampires so long as it happened out of their particular view?

  The feeling came back again, sick and dark. I’m bringing trouble to Morganville. They’ve finally got their peace, what they always wanted, and I’m coming back to rip it apart.

  I’m the villain.

  All she knew was that she couldn’t run, not from this. She knew Shane wouldn’t do that, or Michael, or Eve. They’d grown up here. They had roots. And she had to confess it: she did, too. Her parents might live somewhere else, might not remember anything about Morganville except a vague sense of unease, but if her family history came from here, she didn’t think she could have run, either.

  Face it, the sensible part of her said. You can’t run because you don’t run. You’re stubborn. That’s always been your biggest problem. If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d have run away from this town the day Monica Morrell and her Monickettes pushed you down the stairs at the dorm.

  And if she’d done the reasonable thing and run home to Mommy and Daddy, what would she have missed?

  Everything. Including Shane.

  Mrs. Grant stood up and stepped into the aisle, facing back toward the rest of the people in the bus. “All right,” she said. “Remember: we’re not fighting for Morganville, we’re fighting for our own families. No matter what happens, you keep them in mind. Things are going to get ugly.”

  There were solemn nods from everyone from Blacke. From where he lay on the front seat, Morley said, “And if you lack for motivation, remember that you hate vampires for what they’ve done to you.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Grant said, very reasonably, “we do, so that isn’t much of a stretch, Morley.”

  “You wound me, sweet lady.”

  “You annoy me, troublemaker.”

  It had the well-worn feel of familiarity, and Claire wondered just how close Mrs. Grant (a widow, she remembered) and Morley had actually gotten. Not that it was any of her business, but it was more fun to speculate on that than on what Fallon was going to do next.

  “Speak of the devil,” Mrs. Grant said, turning to look out the windshield. The billboard of Morganville was looming, but so were the flashing lights of two police cars. There were also three solid black SUVs—new-looking SUVs (unusual for Morganville)—with the rising sun logo on the doors. At least ten armed men and women were braced for a fight out there.

  “Showtime,” Morley said.

  “Shut up,” she told him. “You’re dead, remember?”

  “Will you miss me when I’m gone?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.” Morley’s dry chuckle faded into silence, and the driver of the bus brought them to a rolling stop several feet from the roadblock.

  Claire heard an amplified voice—Hannah Moses’s voice, she was sure—ring even through the closed windows of the bus. “Out of the bus,” she said. “Do it slowly, hands raised, one at a time. When you come out, form a line and get down on your knees, hands on top of your head. You have ten seconds to comply.”

  Mrs. Grant nodded to the driver, who turned off the engine and opened the bus’s doors. “One at a time,” she told the rest of them. “The vampires and the prisoners stay in here. Michael, Eve, you’re getting off with me.” She was the first off the bus, and demonstrated the perfect technique of moving away, kneeling down, and putting her hands on top of her head.

  Michael and Eve got up from the seat in front of Claire and Shane. Eve looked anguished. Michael was hiding it, but he was feeling terrible about it, too.

  “Go.” Shane nodded to them. “You’re our aces in the hole. Don’t let us down.”

  “Never,”
Eve said, and leaned over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. Then she gave Claire one, too. “Love you guys.”

  “Love you, too,” Claire said, and managed a smile. “Both of you. Be careful.”

  Michael nodded and ruffled Claire’s hair, like a big brother, then led his wife off the bus.

  The rest followed in a slow, methodical procession, disembarking and kneeling. Claire heard Mrs. Grant explaining things to Hannah. Hannah was no fool; she would probably get the subtexts. She knew the history of Blacke well, and she wasn’t going to believe the story as much as newcomers to town like the Daylighters would.

  Claire’s instincts were that Hannah didn’t want to help Fallon, but she was forced to, and they were proven right as Hannah heard Mrs. Grant out, and said, “You’ve done the right thing turning them over, and Mr. Fallon will thank you for that. But I have to ask, why did you bring so many with you?”

  “These are the humans from Blacke,” Mrs. Grant said. “I figure when you’re done ridding Morganville of the vampires, you can take care of the nest in our town, too. Until then, it’s safer for them here, with you. They’re eager to learn about the Daylight Foundation. Bring a little light into our lives, too.” Her tone turned dark. “And we deserve a chance to kick some vampire ass for a change. They destroyed us. Tore our town apart.”

  It sounded good, especially the angry way Mrs. Grant referred to the vampires. Claire had no doubt that she was being honest about that. Bishop’s nasty, gratuitous feeding in that town had brought disaster down on it, divided families and killed friends. Of course she hated the vampires, on some level, even if none of that was their own fault. Who wouldn’t?

  What if this is all just a scam to get us to go along with it? What if those Daylighter silver stakes are loaded with liquid silver? She got them to agree to be staked. How genius would that be? It was just plausible enough that Claire caught her breath in real alarm, but it was too late, way too late, and Hannah Moses was now mounting the steps into the bus and surveying the situation. It wasn’t much of one, by this point. Just her and Shane, zip-tied, and the three staked vampires.