Ghost Town mv-9

by Rachel Caine

  “Come on, I’ve seen you with fake IDs since you were twelve,” Michael said, and looked at Claire. “Is it real?”

  “It’s real. She’s eighteen. You’re nineteen, by the way.”

  “Huh.” Michael said that like he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

  “You’re going to let her drive?” Shane asked Claire quietly. “Really? Even though she doesn’t remember how?”

  “Think of it as on-the-job training,” she said. “You can co-pilot. She’ll be fine.” Claire left them and went to Frank and his group. “Move this.” She pointed to the bookcase Michael had put in front of the portal for extra protection. The bikers shoved it out of the way, with a lot of enthusiasm that sent books tumbling to the floor. “There’ll be a door here at some point. Whenever there is, get through as fast as you can. I don’t know how long I can keep it open.”

  Frank frowned at her. “Why don’t we just all go the same way?” he asked.

  “Because the door’s locked on the other side, too,” she said. “I need to unlock it before you can get through. Trust me: this is better.”

  “Well, hurry up,” he said. “Getting dark out there. You don’t want to be on the streets at night.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” Shane said. “Great advice. Never would have thought of that on my own, what with all the vampires and crazy people and everything.”

  Frank just shook his head and said, “Be careful. All of you. I get the feeling this one ain’t gonna be no walk in the park.”

  That, Claire thought, was probably an understatement.

  The streets were a mess. People had abandoned cars and left them; they passed the wreck of Oliver’s limousine, too, which, now that Claire took a good look from the outside, seemed even more terrifying. Eve drove with extreme caution, steering with both hands rigidly on the wheel in the driver’s-education-approved ten and two positions. She looked petrified, and that didn’t get any better the farther they got from the Glass House, and the closer to their destination. By the time they’d pulled to a stop where Claire said, next to the entrance to the alley next to the Day House, Eve looked ready to collapse.

  Claire looked over at her from the passenger seat and said, very softly, “Eve, are you sure you can do this? You could stay here. In case we need to get away quick.”

  “That’s true,” Michael said. “We could use a reliable getaway driver if this doesn’t go well.”

  Eve was breathing too fast, and even with the makeup, her face was flushed, but she shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I can do it. I want to stay with you guys. Besides, Collins might do something stupid if I’m not there to tell him different.”

  “Bite me, Goth princess,” Shane called from the back. “Not literally or anything.”

  “Maybe you should say that to Michael.”

  “Not funny, Eve,” Michael said.

  Eve raised her eyebrows and held her fingers up, measuring off about an inch. “Little bit,” she said. Claire smiled. “So. We’re going, then.”

  “Yeah, we’re going.” Claire opened her door and got out. The sunset was beautiful tonight, all oranges and deep reds against a dark, endless blue. She stared at it, because the thought crossed her mind that if this didn’t work, if she couldn’t pull this off, it might be the last sunset she’d ever see.

  Or any of them would ever see.

  This is my fault, Claire thought, as she did about every minute of the day. And it’s my responsibility.

  Michael was holding Eve’s hand, Claire saw, or at least, Eve was holding his for dear life. They joined her. Eve still looked petrified. After a second’s hesitation, Michael put his arm around her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, and leaned closer. “You’re going to do okay.”

  “Really? How do you know?”

  “Because I know you.”

  Eve smiled faintly, and then grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him close. They stood that way for a second, Michael staring down into her eyes, and then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

  “Whoa,” Shane said. “Really? Now? Seriously?”

  Fifteen-year-old Shane was no kind of romantic, Claire thought, and wanted to smack him in the back of the head. Michael and Eve ignored them, and just kept on kissing until finally Eve pulled back and took in a deep breath. The white makeup really wasn’t doing much to tamp down the brightness in her cheeks.

  Michael had black lipstick smeared all over his mouth. Eve reached in her pocket and dug out a tissue, and wiped it away. It was sweet and sexy at the same time, the way Michael watched her, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

  “Sorry,” Eve said. “I needed to do that. In case I die or something.”

  “It’s okay,” Michael said. “Really. Anytime.” He sounded like he meant it, too.

  Shane looked at Claire, and for a second she thought—But no. He said, “Don’t expect me to go all Romeo on you or anything.”

  She swallowed a little bubble of disappointment. “I don’t,” she said, and kept her voice cool and level. “Just watch my back.”

  “Uh . . . okay.” He sounded a little disappointed, too. What was she supposed to have said? Guys.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

  Shane stuck next to her, and Michael and Eve followed behind, still holding hands. Claire glanced over at him as they walked down the narrowing, high-fenced alley. “You scared?”

  He shook his head. “Weirdly enough? Not really. It feels . . . like I’ve done this before. Or like it’s just a dream, and I’m going to wake up. I can’t tell which.” He made a fist and looked at it. “I’m bigger than I feel like I should be. Three years of growth, I guess. I feel stronger. That’s good.”

  “Shane, in case we don’t . . . don’t come out of this, I wanted to say . . .”

  He glanced over at her, and she felt her whole body warm from it. She remembered that look. It made her feel naked inside and out, but not in a creepy kind of way. In a way that felt . . . free. “If what you say is true, and I guess it has to be, I think I know why we’re . . . together,” he said. “I think I’d fall for you no matter what, Claire. You’re kind of awesome.”

  She grinned. “You just like older women.”

  “Damn straight,” he said, and spun a stake in his fingers as if he’d been doing it all his life. Which, she thought, maybe he had, really. “So what were you going to say, before?”

  She sighed. “Nothing.”

  “No, really.”

  “I was going to say that I love you.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that, she could tell, and for a few steps there was dead silence. “I knew I didn’t just hook up with you,” he finally said. “You know I can’t say it back, right? Because I just met you and everything?”

  “I know,” she said. “But I had to say it anyway. Kind of like Eve, with the kissing.”

  The shack was up ahead. Once they were inside, there would be no going back. Claire had a terrible premonition, a black, suffocating feeling that this was the last moment for them, that one of them, maybe both of them, wouldn’t come through this alive.

  She was going to lose him, and to make it worse, she didn’t really even have him anymore. That hurt so badly it almost made her cry.

  Shane suddenly stopped, turned to her, and grabbed her. She didn’t know why at first, and then he bent his head to hers and oh, he was kissing her, and it was tentative at first, and then sweet, and then it was . . . incredibly hot and tender and lovely and it made all those brokenhearted moments vanish like snow under the sun.

  He let her go, finally, and stepped back, eyes glittering, lips damp, spots of color high on his cheeks. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she.

  Finally, Michael leaned over and said, “If you’re done, shouldn’t we be moving or something?”

  “Oh,” Claire said, and almost laughed. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with, because I want to do that again.”

  The moment of golden joy that kiss had sp
arked inside her stayed with her as she unlocked the shack’s door, and even as they started down the steps toward Myrnin’s lab.

  It lasted right up until they were about halfway down, and she heard Myrnin say, in a silky, dark voice, “I do believe I have visitors.”

  Well, it wasn’t as if she’d expected him not to notice, but there was something alien in his voice, something that made her completely go cold inside. “Keep going,” she whispered. “Spread out. Pretend it’s vampire dodgeball.”

  “Oh, now you tell us,” Eve whispered back. Her voice was shaking. “I frickin’ hate dodgeball. Good luck, new girl.”

  “You, too.”

  “I’m faster than the rest of you, if—because I’m a vampire,” Michael said, and it was some kind of breakthrough for him to say that. “If you get in trouble, I’ll be there.”

  “Nice,” Shane said. “I’m warming up to this bloodsucking thing, Mikey.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Okay, no, I’m not, but right now let’s pretend I am.”

  Claire stepped down to the floor of the lab. It was silent now, and it looked deserted. The lights were burning, but somehow it seemed very dark, and very scary. She reviewed what she had to do: get to the bookcase, move it aside, unlock the door that covered the portal, concentrate, get the portal open, and hold it while Frank and his people came through.

  Yeah, that was going to be easy.

  Shane, Michael, and Eve were moving farther from her, leaving her on the far right side. That was good; she had a straight shot to the bookcase from here.

  Too easy.

  “I warned you,” Myrnin’s voice said, echoing from the corners of the room. “I told you that if you came here, you were mine. Why wouldn’t you listen?”

  “Because we can’t,” Claire said. “I’m sorry, but we have to do this. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “That’s sweet. And very unlikely, because I’m going to eat you and your friends, little Claire, just as soon as you tell me what you’ve done with Ada.”

  The vicious darkness in his voice took her by surprise, but she should have known it was coming; she should have known that just as Amelie had assumed Sam was being held captive, Myrnin would think the same thing—or worse—about Ada.

  He loved her, and he thinks we have her, hurt her, or killed her. Myrnin wasn’t going to help them. He’d do everything he could to stop them.

  “We have to move,” Claire whispered to Shane. He nodded.

  “Are we playing a game?” Myrnin asked. Well, of course he could hear her. “I like games. This looks like . . . chess.” And he leaped out of the shadows and up on top of one of the granite work-tables toward the back of the lab. “Your move, little pawns. But do try to play well. It’s no fun, otherwise.” He was wearing a black velvet coat that reached down to his ankles, a bright red silk vest, black pants, and high boots, like some escapee from a pirate movie. He crouched down on the table, watching the four of them as they slowly spread out. “So many choices. I think I’ll move . . . this way.” And then he leaped.

  For Eve.

  She screamed and dived forward, rolled, and he missed her by about a foot where he landed, but he was already turning and grabbing at her, so fast that it was a blur. . . .

  And another blur hit him from the side and knocked him into an uncontrolled slide across the floor toward the other side of the room. Michael, who stood there over Eve, fangs down, looking pale and dangerous and angry. “Your move,” he said. “You hurt her, and I’ll take your arm off and feed it to you.”

  “Oh, it’s the littlest vampire,” Myrnin said, and rolled to his feet. “Really? You’re already in love with one of them? That must be some sort of record, boy. Don’t worry. It’ll wear off by dinner-time.”

  “Would you stop?” Claire yelled at him. “Stop with this cape-twirling stupid act? This isn’t you, Myrnin! You’re a good person!” Even as she said it, though, she kept moving toward the bookcase—careful not to look like she had a purpose.

  He got to his feet and dusted himself off, with special attention to a spot of dirt on his coat. “Am I really?” he asked. “And how would you know? Oh, yes, you think you know me. I assure you, you don’t. Not at all, little girl.”

  “You bit me, once,” she said, and showed him the healed scar on her neck. “And you cared enough to stop.”

  “Oh, I think I’d remember something like that. And I can’t think why I’d ever decide to stop drinking from such a delicious fountain,” he said, and without a flicker of warning, he was suddenly coming toward her, a shape that almost disappeared in the dark as he moved between the wall sconces.

  She didn’t wait. She whirled, grabbed a glass beaker of something from the worktable next to her, and threw it right in his face. Whatever the liquid was, it surprised him, and it must have hurt, because he gave a choked cry and veered off course to slam into the table and send it, and the glassware on it, crashing to the floor.

  “Go!” Shane yelled to Claire, and jumped on Myrnin’s back, trying to pin him down. She couldn’t watch, couldn’t afford a second’s hesitation. She ran for the bookcase, hit it at speed, and sent it squealing out of the way. She already had the keys in her hand, but adrenaline was making her shaky, and it took two tries to get the key into the silver lock on the door. She finally got it open and threw the padlock aside, swung the door open, and stared into the darkness on the other side.

  Concentrate.

  It was so hard, because she could hear the fighting behind her. Michael and Shane had Myrnin, but he was throwing them all over the place, and glass was breaking, and Eve was screaming, and she had to look back; she had to. . . .

  Claire closed her eyes and visualized the living room of the Glass House: the sofa, the TV, the table, the bookcases, the guitars, everything all in a rush. When it was stable in her mind, she opened her eyes and sent the image out into the dark.

  Yes!

  Colors swirled like ink in water, and started to make an image in the darkness. It was the Glass House. She’d gotten it right.

  Frank Collins was standing on the other side. She raised a hand to tell him to come through. He jumped, and she felt the stir of air against her face as he passed her, heading for the fight. Then West came through with the bow. Rudolph was following her—

  Something hideously strong grabbed her from behind, and she lost control of the portal. Rudolph screamed, and something terrible happened to him as the opening snapped shut—she didn’t know what; she couldn’t see; there was a hand over her eyes and her mouth; she couldn’t breathe, and the hand was cold, very cold. . . .

  Myrnin’s voice whispered in her ear, “Checkmate, little pawn. Your move.”

  FIFTEEN

  He took the hand off her eyes and wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her tight against him. “Stop,” he said to the others. Claire opened her eyes to see Shane getting up from the floor, wiping blood from his eyes. He looked dizzy, but focused. Eve was standing frozen about twenty feet away, terrified and unsure. Michael was down with a wooden stake in his chest—oh, God, that could kill a young vampire if it was in long enough—and Frank Collins was slowly circling around, staring at Myrnin and Claire with the intensity of a hunting tiger.

  West, the only other member of their backup who’d made it through alive, had her bow drawn and was standing with an arrow pointed at Myrnin’s chest. The only problem was that Claire’s own chest was actually in the way.

  “Help Michael,” Claire said. Myrnin’s hand closed around her throat, choking off her words, but Shane seemed to understand, and went to pull the stake out of Michael’s chest. Their friend rolled on his side, coughing, weak and not able to even try to get up.

  Shane held the stake in his fingers and twirled it restlessly, staring at Myrnin now with the exact same expression his father had.

  “Let the kid go,” Frank said. “You know how this is going to end. It’s just a matter of how bloody you want to make it.”
/>   “Well, friend, I don’t know about your tastes, but I tend to like it very bloody,” Myrnin said. He shifted position, dragging Claire along like a rag doll without any effort at all. “Have we been introduced?”

  “Probably not. Why, you asking me out, sweetheart?”

  “You’re not my type, darling. Is this one yours?”

  “No,” Frank said, and looked at Shane, just in a quick flicker. “Let’s say she’s a friend of the family.”

  “That’ll do. Now, if you want to keep her breathing, you’ll take all these children and your woman-at-arms—hello, West, how have you been, my dear? Haven’t seen you since Richard was king—and depart gracefully, while you still have the chance, and bring Ada to me. If you do, I may let this one go.”

  “Nice offer,” Frank said. “Why exactly should I take it again?”

  “Because the boy there wants you to,” Myrnin said. “I can tell. Can’t you? He’s just dying to come over here and save her from the evil, wicked vampire. Well, boy, why don’t you? Don’t you like her?” Myrnin’s hand tightened on her neck. “Come on—tell her how you feel. It’s your last chance, you know, before she dies.”

  Don’t, Claire tried to say, but all that came out was a squeak. She felt a little sick, because she knew what Myrnin was doing, and she hated it.

  “Sorry, freak,” Shane said, “but you’ve got a wrong number. I don’t know that chick at all. And the second you kill her, we’ll take you down, so maybe you’d better find a new plan.”

  That stung a little, but Claire could see that he was lying, at least about that first part. She could see it in his eyes. It hadn’t been long, but he felt something for her, even if it wasn’t maybe what she felt yet—and she knew Shane. He’d never, ever stand by and just let her be hurt. He wouldn’t do that even if she was a total stranger.

  “I think your friend has a hero complex,” Myrnin said in a whisper, right into her ear. “That makes this even more interesting, doesn’t it, Claire?”

  She felt her heart stutter in her chest. He knew her. No—no, wait, he didn’t; he just knew her name. It wasn’t the same Myrnin, not at all.