by Rachel Caine
He raised his cuffed hands and gave her a finger wave.
Fine. If he wanted to stay in prison, she had absolutely no objections.
There were alarms all over the place, summoning people to fight the fire. It wasn’t a big one, and it’d be out in seconds, but she’d created chaos, and that was all she needed. She just had to get to the basement, find a car, and … she’d figure out the next part as she went along. She’d have to. If Michael and Eve weren’t going to help …
She made it to the elevator and pushed the button for the parking garage. There had to be some car she could steal, something. She needed to get out of here and back to the treatment plant. Seconds counted. Shane was still alive; she believed it, despite what Myrnin said.
She refused to believe him.
The elevator doors opened, and Claire rushed out, then skidded to an immediate halt, because Hannah Moses, Morganville’s police chief, was standing there, gun drawn, looking really damn serious. She wasn’t aiming it, but it wouldn’t have been much work to take that step, either. Standing a couple of paces away was Richard Morrell, the mayor. He was tall, good-looking, and young, not even ten years older than Claire, but he looked older, way older now. Stress, she guessed.
He was holding his sister, Monica, by both elbows as she twisted to get free in a storm of flying long, dark hair. She froze when she saw Claire. If Morganville had a queen bitch, it was Monica; she’d elected and crowned herself way before Claire had ever run afoul of her. It didn’t help that she was also pretty and had a huge budget for clothes and shoes. Monica’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything. She tried to stomp on her brother’s foot with her high heels, but he was obviously used to handling her, and he must have been wearing steel-toed boots.
“Let’s all just be calm,” Hannah said. She was a scary figure, Claire thought; there was presence to her, a cool and competent sort of aura that made you instantly believe, in any situation, that she’d been there, done that, and written the how-to book. It was almost certainly not true some of the time, but it was impossible to tell that from her body language and expressions. She had her cornrowed black hair tied back in a messy knot, and although she was wearing her police uniform, she’d lost the hat somewhere. The scar that jagged its way down her face looked fearsome in the dim light, and her dark eyes were very, very steady. “I’d ask where’s the fire, but I’m guessing it’s upstairs.”
“It’s out,” Claire said. “Hannah, I have to go. Right now.”
“Not alone, you’re not.”
“Why is Monica here? She left with the others.” Morganville’s privileged elite—mostly vampires, but a few well-connected humans—had fled before the draug had really attacked in force. Monica had cheerfully boarded the bus.
“God, let go, Richard. I’m not going anywhere!” Her brother released her, and Monica made a show of smoothing down her entirely-too-high-priced dress, which ended just below illegal. “My brother’s all I have left, and he came running back here out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the little people. I couldn’t let him face danger without me, could I?” She hesitated, then shrugged. “Besides, I ran out of money. And my credit cards were frozen.”
“So you came back here?” Claire stared at her for a second, stunned by the magnitude of the void that was Monica.
Monica said, “Bite me, preschool. I don’t care what alligators you’re swimming with, anyway. I hope they eat all the best parts.”
“Whatever. I don’t have time. Shane’s been taken by the draug, and I have to get him back. I have to.”
Hannah’s whole body language softened. “If he’s been taken, you know how that ends, honey. I’m sorry about that, I truly am.”
“No, he’s strong. Shane is so strong. If anybody can survive, he can—I believe that. Hannah, please, you have to help me ….” She gulped back tears, because tears wouldn’t help. “Please.”
Even Monica had gone still now, and she’d lost some of her edge. Hannah considered all this in silence, and then slowly shook her head. “You’ve got no chance,” she said. “You don’t even know where he’s being held—”
“The water treatment plant,” Claire interrupted. “They haven’t had time to move him anywhere, and they can’t, because Myrnin closed off the pipes. They can’t leave there, not easily.”
“I’d never say can’t when it comes to these bastards. They supposedly couldn’t get here at all, but here they are.” Hannah made a decision of some kind, and holstered her weapon, though she kept her eyes on Claire. “What’s your plan?”
“Go get him.”
“Honey, that is not a plan. That’s what we in the military call an objective.” Hannah said it compassionately but firmly. “You don’t know he’s even still alive.”
“Actually,” said a voice from the shadows by the stairs, “we do.” Michael emerged, along with Eve.
He had Myrnin by the throat, and Myrnin was not looking good. In fact, he was looking like he’d gone ten rounds with Michael and lost.
He looked … beaten.
Michael shook him, his face tense and hard. “Tell them what you told me.”
Myrnin made a choking sound. Michael let go, and the other vampire fell to his knees, coughing. “I meant no harm,” he whispered. “I was trying to save you. All of you.”
“Just tell her.”
Myrnin’s head was bowed, his dark hair hiding his expression. “He may yet be alive.”
Hope wasn’t a peaceful thing; it was painful, a jagged white-hot explosion that ripped through her and forced her heart into overdrive. Claire heard herself say, over that heavy hammering, “You lied.”
“No. No, it’s true, he’s gone, Claire. When the draug take humans, without exception, they die. It’s just—vampires last for a long time, humans for a much shorter one, and humans seem to … dream. They don’t suffer as vampires do. It’s easy for them. They slip into … visions.” He looked up then, and she honestly couldn’t figure out what was in his face, his eyes, because her own were shimmering with tears. “It’s kinder to leave him in them. He’s dying, Claire. Or dead. But either way—”
“He’s alive right now,” she said flatly.
“Yeah,” Michael said. It sounded like a growl, and his eyes glowed dull red in the shadows. “He lied to us. And we’re going to get Shane. Right now.”
Myrnin looked down again. He didn’t even try to speak this time. He just … shook his head.
Claire couldn’t begin to think of how much it hurt her for him to do this, so she just … didn’t. She turned to Hannah. “We’re going.”
“You still don’t have a plan.”
“Yeah, we do,” Michael said. “They came after us because we were attacking weak points in the system. Attacking them directly. We’re not doing that this time. We’re just going in after him, and they don’t really care about humans; they care about vampires. They hunt us.” He let that fall into silence before he said, “They’ll care about me. I’ll make them care. I’ll go a different way and lead them off. That lets everybody else get to Shane.”
This plan was clearly news to Eve. “No!”
“Eve, I can do this. Trust me.”
“No, Michael, they already had you once, and—”
“And I know what it’s like,” he said. “That’s why I can’t leave him there, and we don’t have time to beg for help, which Oliver isn’t going to give anyway. Claire was right about that.”
Hannah glanced down at Myrnin. “What about him? Is he helping?”
“He’s helped enough,” Claire said. “He stays here.” Myrnin looked up at that, but she just stared at him, hard, until he looked away. “We don’t need another vampire right now. Agreed?”
“All right,” Hannah said. “It’s a decent rough plan, but you don’t know exactly where he’s being kept, and it’s a large building. You need more boots on the ground—humans, not vampires. I’ll go with you.”
“Hannah,” said the mayor. He sounded tense, a
nd his expression mirrored that. “You can’t. It’s dangerous.”
“Danger’s what you pay me for, Richard,” she said, and smiled at him. There was something a whole lot warmer in that smile, Claire thought, than just a mayor/police chief sort of friendship, and the look in Richard’s eyes confirmed it. “You go on, take care of your sister. I’ll be fine.”
He closed his eyes for a second. “No,” he said. “If you go, I go, too. I’m coming. Monica, just get inside and stay there.”
“No way. I’m not letting you run off to get killed somewhere without me, jackass.”
“Shut up,” Eve said flatly. “We have zero time for you and your bullshit dramatics.”
“Or what, you’ll bleed on me, Emo Princess of Freakdomonia?”
Claire stepped forward and got Monica’s attention. She didn’t know how she looked, but Monica seemed to shift a little, as if she was considering taking a step back. “Fine. You come with us.” At the very least, Monica was a rabbit to throw to the wolves, and she wouldn’t hesitate to do it if it was the difference between life and death for Shane. “If you get in my way, I’ll kill you.” It was glaringly simple to her right now, and she meant it, every bit of it. Monica had never earned herself anything else, and despite all the breaks Claire had been willing to give, and how kind she was deep down, right now all that was gone. Just … gone.
And what was left was something Monica fully understood, all right, because she took a breath and tossed her hair back and nodded. “I’m not getting in your way,” she said. “I’ll help. I owe Shane for something. Besides, who do you know who’s more ruthless than me? Them?” She tilted her head at Michael and Eve, and Claire had to admit she had a point. “It’s just once, and then it’s all square. I’m not your friend. I’m never going to be your friend. But Shane doesn’t deserve to die like that. If he dies, I get to kill him.”
She was perfectly earnest about that, and Claire didn’t have time to untangle the crazy, anyway. She just said, “Fine. Let’s go,” and headed for the armored truck. Michael was already unlocking it. “But you ride in the back, Monica.”
Michael drove, because he was once again the only one with vampire vision; Eve and Claire shared the rest of the front seat, not very comfortably because of the shotguns he’d given them, and Monica, Richard, and Hannah were in the back.
Eve was watching Monica through the narrow window. “If she puts a foot wrong, I am seriously considering playing Shank the Skank,” she said.
“What happened?” Claire asked. “You and Michael—you were convinced he was dead. I saw you. But then …”
“Then Michael overheard Myrnin fessing up to Lord High Inquisitor Oliver, and Oliver mentioned how Shane just might be alive. Which Myrnin already knew.” Eve bared her teeth in a thing that was so not a grin. “Michael decided to have a chat with him. We went to the garage because we figured you’d end up there.” The not-grin faded. “I’m all for having more hands with guns on this, but you sure we can trust Richard Morrell and Hannah Moses? Not to mention Monica?”
Claire shrugged, not really caring right now. “I think that once they’re in it, it’s pretty hard for them to back out,” she said. “I’m not leaving without him, Eve. I can’t. Not again. I don’t care what happens, but I’m not letting him die like that.”
Grief and terror threatened to spill out of the tightly locked container inside her, and Eve grabbed her hand and held on to it, hard. “I know,” she said. “Trust me, I know.” She did. Michael had been taken by the draug, anchored underwater. Fed on.
She knew.
Claire swam up out of her misery long enough to ask, “What about, you know, the two of you? Better?”
Eve cut a glance toward Michael, who was driving and pretending hard not to be hearing any of this. His acting needed work. “Sure,” Eve said, but that wasn’t so convincing, either. “We’re good to go.”
“I’m not asking if you’re good to be working together. I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Eve interrupted. “Let’s just … talk about it later.”
Michael could not, Claire thought, have looked more tense, or more sad.
Richard and Hannah were having a fierce, whispered conversation in the corner of the truck as they braced themselves against the metal walls, and gripped the panic straps overhead. Monica had apparently decided that she had every right to sit on Amelie’s plush throne, which wasn’t at all a surprise. Claire really hoped that Amelie found out about it later.
That would be fun.
The drive back across town didn’t take long, especially at the speed Michael was driving. Night had fallen hard because the clouds were still hanging heavy over the town, though the rain had stopped. The air still had that moist, unpleasant feel to it, and Claire felt as if she had mold growing on her skin in a sticky, invisible net.
The clock in her head was ticking, and it had been too long, way too long, for Shane already. She closed her eyes and concentrated on him, on somehow reaching him, giving him strength. Stay with me. Please, stay with me. He’d begged her for the same thing, not so long ago, when things had looked darkest. He’d had faith that she’d survived beyond any reasonable evidence to the contrary, and she couldn’t do any less for him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t face the darkness without him by her side.
If she’d ever had any doubts that she loved him, really loved him, she knew now. It was easy to love somebody when love was happy, but when it was hard, when it meant facing things you feared … that was different. He’d done it for her, many times. And now she had to do it for him.
She opened her eyes, feeling calm and centered and focused, as Michael brought the truck to a halt. “Same drill,” he said. “I get out and open the back. Claire, you keep the keys.” He didn’t say, in case I don’t make it back, but that was what he meant. Eve let out a wordless little sound of despair; just for a moment, their gazes locked.
“I still love you,” he said. “I mean it. All of it.”
She didn’t answer, not verbally, but she nodded.
And then he was a blur as he bailed out of the truck.
Tears rolled down Eve’s cheeks, and she whispered, “God, I love you, too.”
Maybe he heard it. Claire hoped so.
Claire climbed out, helped Eve, and by the time she’d made it around to the back, Hannah, Richard, and Monica were out. And Michael was gone. Claire locked the truck again with the remote and stuck the keys in her pants pocket.
Hannah clicked on a heavy flashlight. Eve had one, too. “Richard, I’m with you and Monica. Claire, the cell network should still be working for high-priority users. Call if you find Shane. I’ll do the same. Either way, we’re back here in fifteen minutes.”
I’m not leaving without him, Claire thought, but she didn’t say it. She just nodded and checked her phone. She had a signal. “Good,” she said. “They’d have him in water, right?”
“Through the center entrance, staircase down. Then we split off, right and left. Check every pool and tank,” Hannah said. “Girls, you watch your backs in there.”
“Ay-firmative,” Eve said, and tried for a smile. “Sorry. An Aliens reference always makes me feel better at times like this. Except I’m not sure I’m the one who lives through the movie.”
They moved together in a group, in through the main entrance.
It was dark inside, and Eve’s flashlight didn’t light up too much. They took the stairs down, and Monica stumbled; Eve hissed at her, something about what dumbass wears heels at a time like this?, but Claire was focused straight ahead.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Hannah nodded. “You go right,” she whispered. “Stay quiet. Fifteen minutes, Claire. I mean it.”
Claire nodded. She didn’t mean it at all.
She and Eve split off to the right. Eve’s flashlight illuminated a hot circle that showed concrete, pipes, neon yellow signs and tags; there were some faint emergency lights down here, still functioning on battery, Clai
re guessed, so she asked Eve to switch her flashlight off. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust, but it meant better peripheral vision.
This bottom level of the building extended out into open-air pools, but they were farther away, on the other side of a large chain-link fence. Inside, there were regimented rows of closed and open tanks. Eve climbed the ladder to the first one and used her flashlight. She shook her head and jumped down.
The next, farther on, was a closed tank with a plastic curved lid over it and some kind of sliding port for taking samples. Claire’s turn to climb, and she slid open the port, gagged on the smell that issued forth, but she couldn’t see anything in the cloudy, foul water. If Shane was in there, he couldn’t have made it.
She jumped down next to Eve. Eve didn’t even ask; Claire guessed she didn’t have to.
They kept going. Five more tanks, some closed, some open. Nothing.
The draug were nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Maybe Michael had been right. Maybe they’d ignore the humans in favor of Michael’s wild-goose chase …
“Out there,” Eve whispered. “Look.”
Michael. He was outside by the pools, running over catwalks, and the pools were bending, twisting, shuddering, reaching.
The draug were after him, but he was giving them a game.
“We have to go faster,” Claire said. “Come on.” She swarmed up the next ladder and looked in the pool.
A dead face looked back at her, eyes pale and blind in the dim light.
She screamed, and her scream echoed and echoed and echoed through the dark, loud as an alarm, but she didn’t care because oh God, she’d been wrong …
“Move!” Eve shouted in her ear. She’d climbed up next to her, and had her arm around Claire’s waist. “Go on, get down! Now!”
“He’s dead,” Claire whispered. “Oh, God, Eve—”
Eve gulped, visibly gathered her courage, and turned her gaze on the dead face in the pool. And then she said, “That’s not Shane.”
“But—” A bubble of hope rose up, fragile as glass. “Are you sure—”
