by Rachel Caine
Then her eyes opened, and images flashed across her brain in a vivid, incomprehensible flow, and Claire screamed. She couldn’t help it. Whatever wall her brain had built between her and what she’d seen came down hard, and adrenaline flooded back into her body, kick-starting her heart.
Eve was running for the front door; Claire’s scream had been lost in a roar of thunder overhead.
In the flash of lightning, Claire saw a gray shape standing next to the car. It was a man, and it wasn’t.
Not at all.
She ran for the house.
Eve was already inside, shaking off water, when Claire lunged through the door, slammed the door, and locked it with trembling hands. Somehow, she’d held on to the groceries, but she had no idea how. Her teeth were chattering from the chill, and she sluiced water in silver streams to the already-drenched rug.
“God, we’re both soaked,” Eve said. “Guys? Hey, guys, we’re back!” She headed down the hall, paused to look at the clock, and sighed. “Oh God. We’re thirty minutes late. What do you want to bet Shane overreacted? Yep, here’s the note—they’re out driving to the store. Good job, guys, now you’ll get soaked, too. Hey, has he been blowing up your cell or what? Oh, damn, Michael’s been hitting mine. I’ll let him know we’re home. Wait here—I’ll get you a towel.” Eve headed for the stairs, phone to her ear. “Michael? Yeah, relax, emergency’s over. We’re home. Claire passed out at the store. I think she has low blood sugar—she seems really tired. I’ll get some candy in her and see if she feels better. . . .” Her voice faded as she disappeared up toward the bathroom.
Don’t go, Claire wanted to say. She managed to croak something out, but Eve was already gone.
Claire dropped the groceries and staggered into the living room. It felt like the water was turning to ice on her skin, and the cold was sinking deeper and deeper....
I have to tell Amelie what I saw. What I know.
Eve’s indistinct voice was still talking upstairs. The house seemed warm around her, as if it were fighting to make her feel better. Feel safer.
But she wasn’t safe, and Claire knew that. Nobody was safe.
She turned, and the gray man was standing right here.
Her body threatened to collapse again, and Claire braced herself against the wall. He was just standing there, staring at her with eyes that weren’t eyes. She couldn’t think of anything now except drowning, drowning alone.
“Shhh,” he said, and his voice sounded like the rain outside. Like water coming out of the faucets. “Shhh. It’s over now.” He tilted his head to the side, as if his neck had no bones. “Curious that you see me. I’m not ready to be seen. Why?”
“I don’t know.” She wanted to cry, scream, run, but none of those was possible now. “I don’t know why I can see you.” She swallowed and said, “Who are you?” Because even now, she couldn’t let her questions go. “What are you?”
That face that wasn’t a face smiled. It was the most horrible thing she’d seen, ever. “Magnus,” he said. “I’m the end.”
Then he reached out and wrapped those cold, damp hands around her neck, and she felt the house’s energy scream and rush around her, but it was as if it couldn’t help, not this time.
“Shhh,” he said again. In the last instant, Claire thought, Oh no, Shane, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry people keep leaving you. I love you. . . .
Magnus snapped her neck, and everything went star white. It hurt.
But it hurt for only a moment, and then the world shrank down to a bright pinpoint of light, racing away from her. Leaving her behind.
And then it was gone, and she was gone.
NINE
AMELIE
“As of last report,” Mayor Morrell said, “there are now at least twenty vampires missing. All just disappeared in the course of their normal activities, and most vanished during the day.” He stood in my office, looking exhausted and worried, as well he should; I had made it clear that sleep was a luxury none of us could afford now. With him was his chief of police, Hannah Moses, who seemed almost as tired but a great deal less rumpled.
“Here’s the report on what we know,” Moses said, and passed me a sheaf of papers. “Detailed information on where and when each one disappeared, as far as we can track it. Some vanished right in public, but nobody seems to have seen anything. What the hell is going on, Founder?”
I stared down at the papers, but the ink formed meaningless patterns. It was all meaningless now. All useless. I had waited too long, allowed myself to be swayed by sentiment and argument. I had denied my own instincts.
And now it was too late.
Instead of answering her, I pressed the intercom button to alert my assistant outside of the door. “Bizzie, get Oliver,” I said. “Get him now. I will hold.”
“Ma’am,” Bizzie said, efficient as always. There was a short delay, and then she said, “He’s not answering his phone, Founder.”
“Keep trying.”
Not Oliver. No, most likely he was simply out of contact for another reason. I had to believe so, at least. To lose Oliver now would be . . . catastrophic.
Chief Moses was repeating her question, more stridently. I lifted my head and met her eyes, and she went quiet. So did Morrell.
I stood and clasped my hands behind my back as I walked to the windows. The curtains were drawn against the day, but now I opened them. There was no light. Rain was falling, torrential rain that would wash away the world.
It was my fault.
I stared out into the cold silver downpour and said, “What do you know of our origins?”
In the reflection on the glass, I saw them exchange a look, and then Morrell said, “The origins of Morganville?”
That was not what I meant, but it would serve. “Have you never wondered why I founded this town here, in the desert? So far from the comforts of cities, rivers, lakes, water? In the baking sun, when sun is so toxic to younger vampires?” I didn’t wait for his answer; of course he had wondered. Everyone had wondered, and only three of us now living knew that answer: Oliver, Myrnin, and me. “I chose this place because the rains came so rarely, and when they came, the land soaked up the water so quickly. No lakes. No rivers. Not even creeks.”
“I—don’t think I understand,” he said.
“No. No, you wouldn’t.” I pulled in a breath and let it slowly out, a memory of the need for air. Vampire blood did not pound in the veins the way human blood did; it glided, cool and serene, never troubled by spurts of emotion. I missed that, betimes. “We have enemies. And those enemies are a kind of vampire, one that needs water to live. In the old tongue we are both called draug, vampire; my kind ruled the land, and theirs ruled the sea, and we were never, never at peace. I brought us here to be safe. Now the sea draug have found us. They’re here. They’re picking us off, like a pack of circling wolves. We have only one option if we wish to survive.”
I turned from the windows and faced them, these two most burdened with responsibility for the safety of the humans of Morganville. “The vampires must run,” I told them. “Far and fast. We cannot wait, and we cannot rescue those already taken. We must get out, because there is no fighting the sea draug. We did, once, in a war that shook the world. And they destroyed us.”
I saw the greedy spark of light in Hannah Moses’s eyes, quickly hidden; it was better concealed in Mayor Morrell, but still recognizable. Freedom, they were thinking. And they were right in this, but not in the way they understood. “So . . . you’re leaving Morganville,” Morrell repeated slowly. “All of you. When?”
“As soon as possible,” I told him. “We’ve lingered too long already.” I crossed back to the desk and pressed the intercom button again. “Oliver?”
“Nothing, ma’am,” Bizzie said. “His phone rings, but it goes to voice mail. I checked at Common Grounds and his home. There’s no sign of him anywhere.”
I felt the universe waver around me, and sank slowly into my chair. I tasted salt and ashes. Oliver would n
ever turn his phone off, not now. He would never fail to answer. He would never drop out of sight, not of his own accord.
He was gone. Another possibility taken from me, another piece of my world removed. The draug would take it from me bit by bit until there was nothing left but these humans, staring at me with the fatal glow of hope in their eyes.
I was alone now. Vulnerable.
“Ma’am?” I had left the intercom open. “Ma’am?”
“Myrnin,” I said. “Find Myrnin. Tell him not to leave his lab. Tell him to get what he needs together in preparation for departure. Bizzie—in your desk you will find a black binder. Break the seal and follow the instructions. On no account will you leave your desk until it is all done. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She sounded curious, but not shaken. Not yet. The intercom clicked off.
It was done, then. I had released the brake, and now the train would roll relentlessly on, no matter what might happen.
I had almost forgotten Morrell and Moses, but they were still standing there, watching me. I hated them in that moment for their humanity, their pulses, their safety. For the hope in them. For the way their fingers twined together, a secret promise of love that they thought no one could see.
So much lost now. So much.
“What do you need us to do?” Richard Morrell said. Fourth of his family to hold that office, and in many ways, he was the best of them. His family had rotten roots, but against all odds, it had produced this strong, healthy branch.
And Hannah Moses . . . a long history of her family here as well, a proud one. She had gone away to fight a distant war, and returned to us. She had strength, courage, loyalty, and cleverness.
I mourned for that.
I took a shallow breath, just enough to fill my lungs to speak. “I need you to get word to the humans of Morganville,” I said. “Bring them to Founder’s Square tomorrow at dusk. I will give you your freedom then, as we leave.”
I could not look at them now. Instead, I focused on the papers Hannah had given me, the meaningless reports, the world that was already gone.
They murmured their good-byes, and I did not look up to see them go.
I heard the door close, and I was alone.
So very, very alone.
TEN
CLAIRE
The world was gone, but there was something holding her. It felt like a rope, a thin, invisible rope; she bobbed against it like a balloon on a string, lost in a night sky. I’m dead. The thought came to her, but she didn’t really know what that meant anymore. If you were dead, you shouldn’t know you were dead. You just were, or were not, like Schröding-er’s cat.
I’m the cat in the box, with poison. The cat might be alive. The cat might be dead. You can’t tell until you open the box. Indeterminacy.
Funny how physics didn’t go away when you were murdered.
Claire thought she shouldn’t be feeling anything, but she felt . . . warm. Cradled, as if in someone’s arms. Safe.
The utter darkness was lifting a little, to a dark gray, and then to a pale shadow. There were things in the shadow that blurred, sharpened, became real as she concentrated. It was like watching an old black-and-white television, only she was in the television.
She was standing in the Glass House living room, and simultaneously, she was lying down on the floor, with her head turned to the side, hands flung out to either side. Her hair was covering her face. Her eyes were open.
That was the old Claire. Old Claire was lying there dead.
New Claire was standing over her, feeling a little odd about the whole thing, but not . . . not sad. Not afraid. Just interested. The cat in the box, she thought. I’m both things at once. Myrnin would be fascinated.
Now she was hearing something. A faint buzz, like electricity . . . no, a vibration. Claire concentrated on it, and realized it was a voice.
It was Eve’s voice, becoming audible as she descended the stairs. Muffled, because she was rubbing her head with a towel. “. . . really pouring out there,” she was saying. Eve’s voice sounded different from before, but still recognizable. It rang and echoed here in this not-place Claire inhabited. “I don’t think it’s letting up anytime soon. The boys should be back in a couple of minutes—they hadn’t gotten very far.” She reached the bottom of the stairs and let the towel slip down to hang around her neck. She was carrying another one, neatly folded. “Claire? Are you in the kitchen? Get me a Coke!”
Eve started to walk that direction, and Claire thought, I’m so sorry. This was going to be hard. Very hard.
At first she thought Eve was going to walk right past her; Claire’s body was behind the sofa, visible really only at an angle. But there was a thin trail of water running from Old Claire’s soaked clothes, like a miniature stream, and Eve slipped in it, caught her balance, and, as she bent to wipe it up, was at just the right angle to see Claire’s foot.
Eve came slowly upright. “CB?” She sounded quiet and breathless. “Oh God, you passed out again. I knew I should have taken you to the hospital. Damn damn damn . . .” She fumbled in the bag on the table and pulled out a candy bar. “I have sugar—it’s just low blood sugar; you’ll be okay. . . .”
Eve shoved a chair aside and knelt down at Old Claire’s side with the candy bar. She started to move her, and as she did, Claire’s head rolled a little—wrong, all wrong.
Eve saw her open eyes. Her blank, open eyes.
She froze. “Claire?”
New Claire crouched down, on a level with Eve. I’m here, she said. Don’t be afraid.
Eve couldn’t hear her at all, and her gaze remained riveted on Old Claire’s body. Horrified. Disbelieving. “Claire?” It came out small and pathetic this time, trembling with terror. Eve felt for a pulse. “Claire!” This time, it was a scream, a full and awful scream.
Stop, Claire said, but it was no good; she wasn’t going to be able to tell Eve it was all right. It wasn’t, really; that was her body lying there. She’d died. No, she’d been murdered, silently, without a witness. And now she had to watch helplessly while Eve realized all that.
Eve gasped, paper-white under the Goth makeup, and then steadied herself. She straightened out Claire’s body, opened her mouth, and breathed into her body. Claire watched her old chest inflate, then deflate. Eve feverishly counted ribs and put the heel of her hand on Claire’s chest, topped it with her other hand, and began pushing, five sharp, hard movements. Then another breath. Then five more pumps. Breath.
Stop, Claire said. Eve, please! Stop!
She couldn’t make Eve hear her. Couldn’t make her understand that it was useless.
“Claire! Claire, come back! You bitch, come back!” Eve was sobbing now, trembling with effort. It wasn’t doing any good, but she kept on trying. And trying.
There was a rattling sound from the hall. Keys in the lock.
Claire stood up and drifted that way, unconsciously moving around Eve even though it no longer really mattered. Why don’t I go through the floor? she wondered, but even as she did, it felt like the floor softened under her feet, and she realized that she could go through the floor if she wanted. Or the ceiling. The only thing that was stopping her was the Old Claire viewpoint.
The locks gave way, and the door swung open, and Michael and Shane came inside. Shane shut the door and locked it, shaking water off his coat and throwing back his hood.
She wanted to freeze him like this, in this one moment, where everything was still okay for him. Where he was smiling a little, and calling her name, because he expected her to be there for him.
Then from the living room, Eve screamed, “Help me!” There was a tortured panic in her voice, and the single instant of peace and normal life shattered, gone.
Michael and Shane lunged forward, through New Claire’s insubstantial body. Shane didn’t pause. Michael faltered, half turned, and then kept running.
She didn’t want to watch this. She didn’t.
But New Claire, Ghost Claire, The
Only Claire . . . really couldn’t turn her back on it, either. She drifted there in the room, watching as Michael thumped down on his knees next to Eve, lips parting in horror.
Shane skidded to a halt, face gone utterly still and blank.
Eve sat back, sobbing inarticulately now. Michael moved her out of the way and put his palm flat over Claire’s heart, then touched her neck.
Then, after a long, hard second, he reached up and closed her blank, open eyes, and grabbed Eve as she tried to lunge forward again. “No,” he whispered. “No. It’s no good. Eve, she’s gone. She’s gone.”
Eve fought him for a few seconds, and then collapsed in his arms. Michael rocked her, and then looked up. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, and Claire didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so . . . human.
He held out a hand toward Shane—to help, to hold him back, Claire wasn’t sure, and she didn’t think Michael was, either.
She drifted closer to Shane. Closer. I’m still with you, she said. I’m not leaving.
He wasn’t moving at all. It was as if Shane had shut down, as if he was as gone as she was. She looked around, somehow expecting to see the other Shane here, where she was, but it wasn’t like that.
Whatever was dying in Shane, it wasn’t coming here.
“Her neck is broken.” He said it quietly, in an awful, still monotone. “She didn’t just fall. Someone killed her.” He was staring at Claire’s body with so much intensity, but his eyes seemed dark and dead. “I know who did it.”
Michael slowly lowered his hand. “What?”
“I know who killed her,” Shane said.
He couldn’t. He’d never seen Magnus, as far as Claire knew.... What could he be thinking?
There were no tears for Shane. There was no breakdown. He was nothing but ice and steel. She’d never seen him like this, not even when he’d been at his worst and most violent. This was . . . empty, and yet still full of something she couldn’t really understand.
“Shane, what are you—” Michael kissed Eve’s forehead and slowly stood up. He wiped the tears from his face. “You’re in shock.”
