Black Dawn: The Morganville Vampires

by Rachel Caine

  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.

  Hannah straightened up, fast, and Claire held the pistol in a shaking hand, aimed at her. “Cut the other ropes,” she said. “Now. You can’t want this, Hannah. This isn’t you. You wouldn’t just let me die like this, tied down.”

  “We’ll protect you,” Hannah said.

  “You can’t protect me! At least let me try to protect myself!”

  “Hannah,�
� Myrnin said, “stand aside.”

  If she did that, Claire knew Myrnin would take the gun away. It’d be easy for him. Even if she shot him, she couldn’t stop him. He’d probably gripe about the hole in his shirt; that would be about the worst damage she could inflict on him.

  Hannah didn’t move, though. She was blocking Myrnin’s path. Her dark eyes were on Claire’s, and for a moment Claire saw just a bit of doubt on her face.

  “You couldn’t do this, either,” Claire said to her. “Sit helpless, waiting. Could you? Look, if you want me to play bait, I will. But not tied up.”

  Hannah reached behind her back and took out a carbon-black combat knife. It must have been razor-sharp; it sliced through the ropes in three quick jerks, freeing her other hand and her ankles.

  Hannah turned to Myrnin. “The kid’s right. She deserves to be on her feet, at least.”

  Claire got up, rubbing her numbed hands, and glanced toward the parlor door.

  And found that Magnus was standing right there.

  She froze, unable to move or speak from sheer surprise. He was just as he had been the last time she’d seen him here in the Glass House—average, forgettable, a man without a face of any note until you concentrated a little, and things moved behind that shell, things that were wrong and utterly sickening. He was a bag full of grave worms, wriggling. He was rot and ruin and destruction, mouths and teeth and madness.

  And Hannah glanced at him, then away, as if she couldn’t see him at all.

  Myrnin didn’t even turn toward him.

  “He’s here,” Claire said through a suddenly bone-dry throat. She could feel the ache in it, where his hands had grabbed and twisted and shattered. “He’s in the doorway. Right now.”

  Myrnin turned and stared in that direction, but it was very clear that all he saw was an empty space. Hannah, too. Claire clutched Hannah’s handgun in both hands, raised it, and fired.

  It had a kick, but not as bad as the shotgun; the noise was sharper, like a slap to the ears that left hers ringing. Her eyes stung a little, and her nose hurt with the sharp smell of burning cordite … and she hit Magnus, square in the chest.

  It didn’t matter at all. The bullet passed right through him and buried itself in the far wall. Well, she thought, that wallpaper’s toast. Michael was going to be so mad.

  Hannah grabbed the gun from her, holstered it, and tossed Claire a shotgun loaded with silver—but it was too late.

  Because Magnus had moved, in a sickeningly liquid, boneless rush, and now he had Myrnin pressed against him as a shield.

  Claire brought the shotgun up, but she couldn’t fire.

  “Kill him!” Myrnin shouted at her. “Claire, I don’t matter. Kill him!”

  She couldn’t. She angled around for a better shot, but Magnus turned with her, his teeth gleaming silver-sharp over Myrnin’s shoulder. If Magnus bit, he would infect Myrnin just as he had Amelie. The threat was very clear.

  “I don’t want this one,” Magnus said. His voice was pale and whispery, and Claire had the eerie feeling that she was the only one who could hear him. “His blood is tainted. But I will kill him if you don’t put down your weapon.”

  Hannah had backed away, into the far corner of the room, and Claire pretty much forgot her immediately. The world narrowed to the shotgun barrel, Magnus’s multiple rows of gleaming teeth, Myrnin’s pale, exposed neck and the horrified look on his face.

  “Kill him,” Myrnin said again. His voice was soft and gentle and very steady. “I don’t matter so long as he is stopped, Claire. There are things that are more important than a single life.”

  “Like I didn’t matter when you stuck me here as bait?” she asked. “I’m not you. And you do matter.” Claire felt the pressure of Hannah’s stare, suddenly, from the corner, as if Hannah was trying to tell her something. Something silent, yet important.

  All of a sudden Claire realized what it was. This hadn’t been quite so stupid an idea after all.

  If they could pull it off.

  She took a step back, toward the hall. Magnus pushed Myrnin ahead of him, following her. “Drop the weapon,” he said again. “Submit. It will be quick.”

  “Like last time?” Claire said. “Didn’t really enjoy that. And I’m not doing it again.” She felt giddily like she was channeling Shane now, or maybe Eve. God, she wished they were here. Wished she had people she could trust at her back. “No second dates for you.” She took another step back. Another.

  Magnus followed, and showed Hannah his back.

  And Hannah pulled out a plastic bag full of white powder, opened it, and flung the contents straight at him.

  Magnus dived away at the last second, but part of the powder hit him. He let go of Myrnin and shrieked as the stuff settled on his shoulder and turned gray, leaching away his vital moisture. It was the same scream his spawn had given, but deeper, longer, and louder. Claire yelled herself and tried not to drop the shotgun; the urge to stop up her ears was almost overwhelming. Myrnin lunged away, toward Claire, grabbed the shotgun from her hands as he spun gracefully around her.

  “Surprise,” he said, and gave Magnus a savage grin. “You’re not as invisible when you’re hurt.”

  The silver pellets hit Magnus squarely in the chest and tore through him, splintering wood and fabric and wall, breaking the window.

  But it didn’t work. The shotgun didn’t work.

  The powder didn’t take him down. Neither did the silver pellets.

  Magnus was still coming.

  “God help us all. Go,” Myrnin said softly and shoved Claire into the hall. “Run!”

  She ran.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  OLIVER

  I felt Amelie’s hand tighten on mine, and looked up to see her watching me. Her eyes were no longer her own—still gray, but a muddy, watery gray, not the shining steel that they had always been.

  She was drowning just as surely as the draug’s other victims, but this was somehow even worse than what I had expected. She was trapped within the prison of her own body, drowning in her own extracted and infected fluids. Nothing I could do for her would save her.

  “You need more blood,” I said, and bared my wrist, but she shook her head.

  “It only feeds the other side now. Oliver, I can’t. I can’t hold.”

  “You must,” I said.

  “Kill me or go. You have whatever’s left of my city to protect. My people.” For a moment, the queen was there, gazing at me, her vassal. “You will save them, Oliver. You must. No matter the cost. Do you understand?”

  I smiled thinly. “It has always been my goal. We have simply had differences of opinion about what it meant to save them.”

  “Humans, too. Don’t betray my dreams. My promises.” Her eyes slowly closed. “I am very tired now. So tired. It has been a long fight, has it not?”

  “Ages,” I said. “Against Bishop. Against me. Against a thousand foes, all laid at your feet.”

  That got me a dry rustle of a laugh. “I never laid you at my feet, Oliver. Never you.”

  She was wrong in that, and had been for some time, but there was no point in telling her. And I was still proud enough to want to conceal that … weakness. “If I am not defeated, then you cannot order me to leave you, can you?”

  She released her hold on my wrist, but I kept my hold on her hand. She didn’t open her eyes, but I saw the faintest lift at the corners of her mouth. I had won a smile, at least.

  But she said nothing else.

  Not even good-bye.

  I had no warning before she lost the battle. The draug rose in a glistening, heaving surge, coating her, consuming her. I fell backward in momentary shock; I could see Amelie’s form within it, trapped, but the thick, gelatinous coating on her skin grew in size, multiplying rapidly to cover her. She was only a shadow within it in seconds.

  Gone.

  I had known it could happen, would happen, but I had hoped … hoped for more time. For, perhaps, a miracle. I used to place such t
rust in miracles, in my breathing days when I was right with God.

  I had not felt such an impulse to pray in many years, but this … this was the face of evil, overtaking us. God helps those who help themselves, I thought, and shook myself out of that dark hollow of fear. The draug were enemies, yes, but I had fought enemies all my life, and beyond. Some were well deserved; some I had created through my own actions, and those, I regretted.

  But this was pure, a battle against something more evil than I could ever be, vampire or no.

  And I had to win.

  I drew the silver knife from my belt, the one that Naomi had urged me to plunge into Amelie’s chest, and I began to fight for my life.

  Where the silver tugged through the draug’s gelatinous, rippling, changing form, it burned, blackened, and shriveled the thing; like us, they were vulnerable to it, but unlike us, the silver did not significantly slow it down. A master draug was strong, dangerous, fast, and cunning; a master draug fueled by Amelie was far worse. It was still fighting to absorb her power, still vulnerable in at least a small degree, but that would be done soon.

  And this room was very small. Our plans were crumbling before my very eyes.

  A sound drifted up through the house, shuddering it to its very bones, and I recognized the shriek of pain of a master draug.

  Magnus was below, and something—someone—had hurt him. Badly. Yes. Yes, at last.

  As if fueled by that scream, the draug came for me, and as it did, the form finally solidified, pulled into human-seeming flesh, and it was Amelie striding toward me, pale and strong, but with rot and foulness writhing behind those shining silver eyes.

  I took a firmer hold on my dagger, and prayed.

  And then I stabbed straight at her chest. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to kill her, but I had to get her back, the Amelie within. The Amelie who understood what was at stake.

  Her hand caught my arm and paused the silvery point just as it touched the writhing slime that covered her body. I felt the stinging agony of the draug’s tiny mouths drawing away my blood, even through the protective leathers. “Amelie, you know the plan, you know what you must do. Hold on. Hold!”