Текст книги "Kiss of Death"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Ernie filled out the title and handed it over, along with the paperwork and Eve’s driver’s license and insurance. Eve juggled all the paper to shake hands with him, and he gave her a smile that was definitely flirting. “Thanks,” he said. “You staying in town long?”

“Oh—ah, no, I’m—we’re heading out. To Dallas. With my boyfriend.” Eve said it without too much emphasis, which was good; Claire didn’t think Ernie was a bad person or anything. And Eve was cute, even when she hadn’t made an effort to dress herself up Goth-style.

Ernie winced. “Should’ve seen that coming,” he said. “Well, enjoy the new ride, Eve. And don’t be a stranger.”

“No stranger than I am already,” she promised, straight-faced, and then they went out to admire the big black hearse again.

Linda moved straight past them to her own truck. “Hey,” Shane called. “How about breakfast? We were going to buy—”

“No need,” she said, and climbed into the cab. Through the open window she said, “I’m going to go see the sheriff, see if I can find out what the heck’s going on today. If I don’t see you kids before you go, have a safe trip. And thanks for livening up my week. Hell, my whole month, come to that.”

“No, thank you,”Shane said. “Your motel is great.”

She gave him a tight, quiet smile. “Always thought so,” she said. “Good-bye, now.”

She took off in a spray of gravel, raising plumes of dust as she skidded back onto the road. Ernie, who’d come out with them, sighed. “My grandma, the race car driver,” he said. “Have a good trip, now.”

They said their thanks, got into the hearse, and headed back to the motel.

They never got there. As they passed the town limits sign, and the road rose up a little in a mini-hill, Claire caught sight of flashing red and blue lights up ahead. “Uh oh,” she said. Eve hit the brakes, and she and Shane exchanged a look. “That’s the motel, right? They’re at the motel.”

“Looks that way,” Shane said. “This is not good.”

“Ya think?” Eve chewed her lip. “Call Michael.”

“Maybe they’re—”

“What, hanging out there looking for somebody else? Call him, Shane!”

Shane dialed the number of Michael’s cell phone, listened for a second, then closed his phone. “Busy,” he said. “We need to get in there.”

“And do what,exactly?”

“I don’t know! You want your boyfriend dragged out to french fry in the sun?”

Eve didn’t answer that. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, looking agonized, and then said, “I’ll apologize later, then.”

She hit the gas, and the hearse picked up momentum coming down the hill. It zipped past the motel, doing way past the speed limit.

One of the police cars—there were two in the parking lot—backed out and raced after them. Eve didn’t slow down. She hit the gas.

“Eve, what the hell are you doing? We can’t outrun them in a hearse,in the middle of the desert!”

“I’m not trying to,” she shot back. “Claire, look out the back. Tell me if the other car joins in.”

It took a few seconds, but then Claire saw another flare of red and blue flashers behind them. “They’re both following,” she called back. “And how is this good, exactly?”

“Text Michael,” Eve told Shane. “Tell him the coast is clear and to get his butt out of there.”

“What about Oliver?”

“Michael’s too much of a Boy Scout not to tell him, too. Don’t worry about that.”

Shane texted fast. “It’s still kind of sunny out, you know.”

“Oliver’s older,” Claire said. “He can stay out in the sun a lot longer than Michael. Maybe he can lead the police away, or something.”

“That’s up to them,” Eve said. “I just need to keep driving as long as I can before we give up. The more we piss these guys off, the more chance Michael and Oliver have of getting away.”

It turned out, as the police cars cranked it up, that Eve’s hearse really wasn’t made for car-chase speeds. They were overtaken in about another mile, and boxed up in another two.

Eve, surrendering, eased off the gas and hit the brakes to slow down and pull over.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Shane said. “Keep your hands up, and play nice. You panicked, that’s all. We were telling you to pull over, but you locked up. Got it?”

“It’s not going to help.”

“It will if you play the ditz. Better sell it, Eve. We’re in enough trouble already.”

The rest of it went straight out of the reality-TV-show playbook. The police ordered them out of the car, and before she knew it, Claire was being thrown up against the back of the hearse and searched. It felt humiliating, and she heard Eve crying-whether that was acting or not remained to be seen; Eve cried over smaller things. Shane was answering questions in a quiet, calm voice, but then, he’d spent a lot of time getting hassled by the Morganville police. For Claire, it was kind of a new experience, and not at all a good one. She had the deputy, she supposed; he was a tall, skinny guy whose uniform didn’t fit very well, and he seemed nervous, especially when he put handcuffs on her.

“Hey,” Shane called as his own hands were secured behind his back. “Hey, please don’t hurt her. It wasn’t her fault!”

“Nobody’s hurting anybody,” said the sheriff from the night before. “Okay, let’s just calm down. Now, let’s have some names. You?” He pointed at Claire.

“Claire Danvers,” she said. Oh man,there went any chance at all of ever getting into MIT. She was going to have a mug shot that got pasted all over Facebook. People were going to mock her. It would be high school all over again, times a million.

“Address?”

She gave him the address in Morganville, on Lot Street. She didn’t know what the others would have done; maybe she ought to have lied, made something up. But she didn’t dare. Like Shane had said—they were in enough trouble already.

Eve gave her name in a trembling, small voice, and then Shane finished things up. They both gave the Glass House address.

“So, you’re all, what, sharing a house?” the sheriff asked. “Where’s the blond kid from last night?”

“I—” Eve bit her lip and closed her eyes. “We had a fight. A big one. He—he left.”

“Left how? Seeing as the car you came in is still smoking in the parking lot back there, and it ain’t going anywhere. There’s no bus coming through here, young lady.”

“He hitched a ride,” Eve said. “With a truck. I don’t know which one. I just heard it on the road.”

“A truck,” the sheriff repeated. “Uh huh. And he wouldn’t be back there in Linda’s place with the door all locked up, then.”

“No sir.”

That, Claire reflected, might be almost true, because if Eve’s gamble had paid off, Michael and Oliver weren’t there any longer. Where they werewas another story.

“Well, we’re waiting for Linda to get back; then we’ll open up those doors and see what’s going on. Sound okay to you?”

“Yes sir,” Eve said. “Why the handcuffs?”

“You three are a bunch of desperate characters, way I see it,” the sheriff said. “I find you causing trouble last night, get a report your car’s been trashed by the very same boys who say you threatened them, and next thing you know, I’ve got one man dead and two men missing this morning. The dead one got found in his pickup truck just about a mile up the road from your motel.”

“I—” Eve stopped, frozen. “Sorry, what?”

“Murder,” the sheriff repeated, slowly and precisely. “And you were the last ones to see them alive.”

7

For a long, long moment, nobody moved, and then Shane said, “You don’t think we killed—”

“Let’s just stop right there, son. I don’t want to be making any mistakes about how we do this.” The sheriff cleared his throat and recited something about rights and remaining silent. Claire couldn’t make sense out of it. She felt sick and horribly faint.

She was being arrested.

She was being arrested for murder.

Eve’s crying was uncontrollable now, but Claire couldn’t help her. She couldn’t help herself.

Shane stayed uncharacteristically silent as they loaded him into the back of the squad car, then put Claire and Eve in with him. The sheriff leaned in before he closed the door to look at them. He almost looked kind now. That didn’t make Claire feel any less sick.

“I’m going to have the deputy drive your, ah, vehicle back into town,” he said. “Can’t leave it out here. Might get stolen, and you folks already lost one car in Durram. Don’t want it happening again.”

He slammed the door on them. Claire felt Eve flinch all over at the boom of solid metal.

“Deep breaths,” Shane said softly. “Eve. Sack up. You can’t go to pieces like this. Not now.”

The sheriff got in the front, on the other side of a wire mesh screen. He put on his seat belt, looked in the rearview mirror, and said, “No talking.”

Then they drove back to the motel, where Linda’s truck had just pulled in. She looked pale and worried, but she didn’t betray much of anything at the sight of her three former guests in the back of a squad car. She listened to the sheriff, nodded, and went into the office to get master keys.

She opened up all three rooms they’d rented. Shane let out a sigh of relief even before the sheriff went in to look around. “They’re gone,” he said. “They got out. Somehow.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because Michael’s smarter than me, and he’d have found a way. Ow, Eve, stop squirming. Not like there’s a lot of room in here!”

“Sorry,” Eve said. She sniffled uncomfortably. Her eyes were red and puffy, and so was her nose, and in general she looked pretty miserable. Claire bumped shoulders with her gently.

“Hey,” she said. “It’ll be okay. We didn’t do this.”

“Yeah, they never put innocent people on death row in Texas,” Eve said. “Don’t kid yourself. We’re in big trouble. Bigtrouble. Like, not-even-Amelie-can-get-us-out-of-it trouble.”

Her eyes started to tear up again. Claire repeated the shoulder bump. “Don’t. We’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

Sniffle. “You’re just Little Miss Optimist, aren’t you? Do you come with accessories, like a glass half full and lemons to make into lemonade, too?”

“I’m not an optimist,” Claire said. “I just know us.”

“Damn straight,” Shane said. “Look, they’ll separate us at the station. Don’t say anything about anything. Just watch and listen, okay? No matter what they say, just stay quiet.”

“I’ve seen cop shows,” Eve said, offended. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

Shane leaned forward and looked across her at Claire. “Okay, Eve’s going to spill her guts the first time they look at her harshly. What about you?”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Claire said. Her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t sure she could keep that promise, but then again, she’d kept secrets from Mr. Bishop.

This wasn’t nearly as bad.

Was it?

The sheriff’s station in Durram, Texas, was basically two rooms, if you didn’t count the bathroom; there was a small open area with a couple of desks and computers, some cork boards on the walls full of notices and pictures, and behind that, a door with iron bars. But first, before they got to the iron bar part, Claire and Shane were seated on a wooden bench—it was a lot like a church pew, only with big bolts drilled into it on either side—and cuffed to the bench; too far apart, for Claire’s comfort. She really ached to be held by him right now.

“Hey, sir? Could I use the bathroom?” Shane asked.

“Not until you’re processed.”

“I’m not kidding. I really need to go. Please? Or would you rather clean it up?”

The deputy stared at him, harassed and doubtful, and Shane did a convincing squirm that Claire wasn’t absolutely sure was fake. The deputy finally sighed and unhooked him to escort him to the small bathroom off the main room.

Eve, meanwhile, had been taken straight to the sheriff’s desk, where he offered her a big box of tissues and a glass of water.

Claire was wondering what the heck to do, when she saw a flash of a face in the window of the station, behind the sheriff’s back. A tall, lean figure in a long black coat, hat, and gloves.

Oliver.Dressed for the sun. Out and moving, getting an assessment of where they were and what had happened. He saw her watching him and gave her a quick nod that told her nothing at all, not even, Don’t worry.Then he vanished.

Her phone gave out an ultrasonic ringtone. She blinked and looked around, but neither the sheriff nor the deputy had noticed it at all. Eve had, but after that first involuntary glance, she kept her back turned and stared off into space, Kleenex crumpled in both hands.

Claire squirmed and managed to get her phone out of her pocket without attracting attention.

She had a text message, from Michael. It read, We’ll get you guys out of there soon. Meanwhile, stay quiet.

It was pretty much the same advice Shane had given. She wanted to believe it, but her insides were still shaking. She was definitelynot meant to be a career criminal.

Right. She should just sit here, then, and—think of something else. Like science. Some people recited baseball scores to distract themselves; Claire liked to go through the entire periodic table of elements, and once she’d finished with that, she started on all of the alchemical symbols and properties Myrnin had taught her. That helped. It made her remember that there was something out there beyond this room, this moment, and that there were people out there who might actually care if she didn’t come back.

Shane came back from the toilet and was cuffed in place again. He edged over a little closer to her and leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, head hanging down so his hair covered his face.

“There’s a window in the bathroom,” he said. “Not very big, but you could get out of it. Doesn’t open, though. You’d have to break it out, and that would be noisy.”

Claire coughed and covered her mouth. “I’m not breaking out of jail! Are you crazy?”

“Well, it was a thought. I mean, seemed like a good idea at the time.” Shane sat back up and looked at her, forehead crinkling in a frown. “I just don’t want you here. It’s not—” He shook his head. “It’s just not right. Me and Eve, well, yeah, she piled into it head-on, and I’m always in trouble. But you ...”

“I’m okay.” She reached out and put her palm against his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stubble there. It made her steadier. It made her want to be somewhere else, like in the motel room, with the door closed. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“I am sucha bad influence on you.”

“Trying to get me to stage a jailbreak? Yeah. You really are.”

“Well, at least you didn’t do it. There’s that.”

The deputy got up from his desk and came to unlock Shane from the bench. “Let’s have a talk, Mr. Collins,” he said.

“Oh, let’s,” Shane said, with totally fake enthusiasm. He winked at Claire, which made her smile for a second, until she remembered there really was something tragic here—one man dead; two missing. Granted, they hadn’t been the nicest people, but still...

She realized, with a grim, cold, drenched feeling down her spine, that she had no idea what Oliver had been doing when those men were being killed.

No idea at all.

The sheriff kept them talking for hours, then locked them in the cell in the back. Shane went in one cell; Eve and Claire together in the other. All of their stuff was taken away, of course, including cell phones. Claire had erased the text messages, but she figured it was only a matter of time before the sheriff got them, anyway. And then he’d know for sure that Michael was out there, a fugitive from justice.

That sounded romantic, but probably wasn’t, especially since he was a vampire caught without shelter in the daytime.

She hoped he and Oliver had remembered to take the cooler of blood with them. They might really need it, especially if they got burned.

And here I am, worrying about a couple of vampires who can take care of themselves, she thought. I ought to be worrying a lot more about what’s going to happen when they call my parents.They would—and that would make it just about a million times worse.

“Hey,” Shane said from the other side of the bars. “Trade you cigarettes for a chocolate bar.”

“Funny,” Eve said. She was almost back to her old un-Gothed self again, though there were still red splotches on her cheeks and around her eyes. “How come you’re always behind bars, troublemaker?”

“Look who’s talking. I didn’t try to outrun the cops in a hearse.”

“That hearse had horsepower.” Eve got that moony look in her eyes again. “I love that hearse.”

“Yeah, well, I hope it loves you back, because otherwise, that’s just sad. And a little sick.” Shane drummed his fingers on the bars. “This isn’t so bad. At least I’ve got better company this time around.” And he wasn’t scheduled to be turned into a vampire, or burned alive, but that kind of went without saying. “And they even have toilet paper.”

“Oh, I reallydidn’t need to hear that, Collins.” Eve sighed and paced around the cell again, hugging herself tight. “It tells me way too much about your past.”

Claire leaned into the bars. Shane leaned in from the other side, and their fingers brushed, then intertwined. “Hey,” he said. “So, this is familiar.”

“Not for me,” she said. “I’m usually outsidethe bars.”

“You’re doing fine.”

Claire smiled at him, then drew in a quick, shaking breath. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “It’s important.”

Shane’s fingers tightened on hers, and his index finger stroked gently over the silver claddagh ring, with its bright stone. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. I saw Oliver,” she whispered, quickly and as softly as she could. Clearly, that was not what Shane was expecting to hear, and she watched him go through a whole list of reactions before he finally settled on annoyed.

“Great,” he said. “When?”

“Outside the windows while they were talking to you,” Claire said.

“Was he barbecued?”

“No, he was wearing a big coat and hat. I don’t guess he was any too excited about being out in the daytime, though.”

“I guess barbecued was too much to hope for.” Shane fell silent as he thought about it, then finally shook his head. “They’ll wait for dark,” he said. “They’ll have to, whatever they plan to do; Michael’s just too vulnerable out there in the day. I wish we knew what they were doing.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re thinking the same thing about us,” Claire said. “Since they probably have no idea what happened. As far as they know, this hassle is all about Eve’s bad driving.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Eve said.

Shane smiled, but it was brief, and his dark brown eyes never left Claire’s. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you two in here.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” Claire said. “I haven’t enjoyed it much seeing you behind bars, either.” She laughed sadly. “This was supposed to be a fun little trip, remember? We should be in Dallas by now.”

“My dad used to say that life’s a journey, but somebody screwed up and lost the map.”

Claire wasn’t sure she wanted to think about his father right now. Frank Collins wasn’t the kind of ghost she wanted drifting around between them, especially since being in jail—again—probably made Shane think a lot about his dad. Not that Frank was a ghost. Unfortunately. He’d been a terrible, abusive father, and now he was a vampire, and she couldn’t really imagine that it had improved him all that much.

Even if he had saved her life once.

“As long as we’re together,” she said. “That’s what matters.”

“Speaking of that,” Shane said, “we could be together and headed anywhere when we get out of this, you know. I’m just putting that on the table.”

He was talking about not going back; about leaving Morganville. She’d been contemplating it, and she knew he had, too. “I—I can’t, Shane. My parents ...”

He bent his head closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you really think they want you to be there? Risking your life, every day? Don’t you think they want you out, and safe?”

“I can’t, Shane. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

Shane was silent a moment, then let out a long breath. “I bet I could convince you if I could get through these bars....”

“You’d get arrested all over again.”

“Well, you’re just that tempting. Jailbait.” He kissed her fingers, which made her shiver all over; his lips lingered warm on her skin, reminding her of what it felt like to be alone with him, in that timeless, special silence. “Not a lot we can do until—” He stopped, then, frowning, looked over at the barred door that led into the sheriff’s office. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Even as she asked it, Claire heard the growl of an engine outside—a big one. It had to be some kind of truck, maybe, but not just a pickup—a big delivery van, or an eighteen wheeler. The brakes sighed, and the roar of the engine cut out. “I guess they’re getting some sort of delivery, maybe?”

Maybe, but somehow, Claire didn’t think so. She had a bad feeling. From the way Shane was staring at the jail door—which wasn’t telling them anything—he was feeling the same thing.

And then in the outer office, glass crashed, someone yelled, and Claire heard laughter.

Then more crashing. More yelling.

Shane let go of her. “Claire, Eve—get to the back of the cell.” When they hesitated, he snapped, “Just go!”

They did it, not that there was anywhere in particular to go, or to hide. They sat together on one of the two small cots, close together, watching the jail door to see what would come through.

What came through wasn’t Oliver. It wasn’t even Michael.

It was Morley, the vampire from Morganville, in all his homeless-bum glory. He was dressed in layers of threadbare clothes, and he had a large, floppy black hat on his head over his straggly graying hair.

He looked at the bars on the jail cell door, sneered, and snapped the whole thing off its hinges with a heave. He tossed the iron aside as if it weighed next to nothing.

Morley stepped through the open space, surveyed the three of them, and swept off his hat in a low, mocking bow. He was good at the bowing thing. Claire supposed he’d probably had a lot of practice. He seemed old enough to have lived in a time when bowing well got you somewhere.

“Like lobsters in a tank,” he said. “I know we agreed you’d give up your blood to me, but really, this is just too easy.”

He smiled.

With fangs.

Claire got up and walked toward the bars. She didn’t like letting Morley—or any vampire—see she was afraid of him; from working with Myrnin in his crazy days—crazier?—she’d realized that showing fear was an invitation to them. One they found really hard to resist.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Because for a confusing few seconds, she thought that maybe Oliver had teamed up with Morley to rescue them. But that was flat-out impossible. The idea of Oliver and Morley ever being able to have a civilized conversation, much less actually work together, was completely ridiculous. “You’re not supposed to leave Morganville!”

“Ah, yes. Amelie’s rules.” He said that last word with a lot of relish, and there was a muddy red flare in his eyes to match. “Poor, dear Amelie is operating at a disadvantage these days. Rumors said she was unable to keep the boundaries of the town in quite the same condition they had been. I decided to test the theory, and behold. I am free.”

That was really, really not a good thing. Claire didn’t know a whole lot about Morley, but she knew he tended more to the bad-old-days model of vampire—take what you want, when you want, and don’t care about the consequences. The opposite of how Amelie—and even Oliver—ran things. To Morley, people were just blood bags that could talk—and sometimes outrun him, which only made it more exciting.

“They’ll come after you,” Claire said. “Amelie’s people. You know that.”

“And I look forward to seeing how that turns out for her.” Morley paced back and forth in front of the bars, humming a song Claire didn’t recognize. In the net of his wild hair, his eyes glittered with a kind of silvery light. They expressed not exactly hunger, but more like amusement. “You look cramped in there, my friends. Shall I get you out?”

“Actually, it’s pretty roomy,” Shane said. “I’m feeling better about it all the time.”

“Perhaps ...” Morley turned. “Ah, you’re playing the gentleman, I see. Of course, by all means. Ladies first.”

“No!” Shane lunged at the bars. Morley had his eyes fixed on Eve and Claire now, and Claire thought, with a sinking sensation, that putting on a brave face wasn’t going to get her very far—not with him. “Changed my mind. Sure. I’ll go first.”

Morley shook his finger gently in Shane’s direction, but without taking those shining eyes off the girls. “No, you had your chance. And I despise those who think themselves gentlemenin any case. You’re not making friends that way.”

“No!” Shane yelled, and slammed his hand into the bars, which rattled uneasily. “Over here, you ratty flea-bag! Come and get it!”

“Fleas suck blood,” Morley said mildly. “Quite the cousin of the vampire, those clever little creatures, so why should I find that insulting? You really must find more interesting ways to bait me, boy. Tell me my beard would better stuff a butcher’s cushion. Or that I have more hair than wit. Live up to your heritage, I beg you.”

Shane had no idea what to say to that. Claire cleared her throat. “Like ... you’re... an inhuman wretch, void and empty from any dram of mercy?” She hated Shakespeare. But she’d had to memorize lines back in high school for a production of The Merchant of Venice.

And it had finally paid off, from the surprise in Morley’s face. He actually took a step back.

“It speaks!” he said. “And in lilting, glorious words. Though I am not so partial to the Bard, myself. He was a pitiful man to drink with, always dashing off to scribble away in the dark. Writers. Such a boring lot.”

“What are you doinghere? Because I know you didn’t come to get us,” Claire said. She advanced and wrapped her hands around the bars, as though she wasn’t at all afraid of him. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat, but she knew he could. “We’re not important enough.”

“Well, that’s certainly true. You’re entirely incidental. Actually, we’re in search of a town. Something small, remote, easily controllable. This seemed a good possibility, but it’s rather too large for our purposes.”

We.Morley hadn’t just slipped out of Morganville alone. Claire remembered the big, throbbing engine outside. Might be a big truck. Might be a bus. Either way, it would probably hold a lot of vampires—like the ones Morley had applied to be allowed to leave Morganville with in the first place.

Oh, this just got better and better.

“You can’t just move in here,” Claire said, trying to sound reasonable, as if that would do any good. She let go of the bars and backed away as Morley took a step toward her again. “People live here.”

“Indeed, I’m not planning on it. Too much trouble to subdue such a large population. However, we’re in need of supplies, and this town’s quite well stocked. Couldn’t be better.” Morley suddenly lunged forward, grabbed the bars of their cell, and ripped the dooroff—just like that, with a shriek of iron and sharp snapping sounds.

Eve, behind Claire, screamed, and then the sound went muffled, as if she’d covered her mouth.

Claire didn’t move. There didn’t seem to be much point. Shane was yelling something, and for some odd reason the place on her neck hurt, the place where Myrnin had bitten her, where there was still a nasty scar.

Morley stood there for a moment, hands on both sides of the doorway, and then stepped inside. He glided,like a tiger. And his eyes turned red, the irises lighting up the glittering color of blood.

“Get down!” somebody yelled from behind him, and Claire hit the floor, not daring to hesitate even for a second. There was a loud roar that it took her a second to identify as gunfire, and Morley staggered and went down to one knee.

The sheriff looked dazed, and there was blood on the side of his head, but he held his gun very steady. “Get down, mister,” he said. “Don’t make me shoot you again.”

Morley slowly toppled forward, face-forward, on the floor. The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief and gestured for Eve and Claire to come out. Claire did, jumping over Morley’s outstretched hand and expecting that any second, any second at all, he’d reach up and grab her, just like in the movies.

He didn’t. Eve hesitated for a few seconds, then jumped for it, clearing Morley by at least a couple of feet, straight up. The sheriff grabbed them and hustled them off to the side, then unlocked Shane’s cell. “Out,” he said. “Help me get him inside.”

“It won’t do any good to lock him up,” Shane said. “He already ripped off two of your doors. You want him to go for three?”

The sheriff had clearly been trying not to think about that. “What the hell are these people?” he snarled. “Some kind of damn monsters?”

“Some kind of,” Shane said. He’d put his hands on Claire, and now he wrapped his arms around her, and after a second, included Eve in the hug, too. “Thanks. I know you don’t believe us, but we’re not the bad guys here.”

“I’m starting to think you might be right about that.”

“What gave you your first clue? The fangs, or the door ripping?” Shane didn’t wait for an answer. “He’s not dead. He’s playing with you.”

“What?”

“You can’t kill him with that thing,” Eve said. “Can’t even slow him down, really.”

The sheriff whirled to stare at Morley, who was still facedown on the floor. He aimed his gun at the body again and kept it there.

Morley didn’t move.

“No, he’s down,” the sheriff said, and walked over to press fingers to Morley’s dirty neck. He yanked his hand away quickly, stumbling back. “He’s cold.”

Morley laughed, rolled over, and sat up, doing his very best risen-from-the-grave imitation. It helped that he was filthy and looked kind of crazy scary.

The sheriff backed away, far away, all the way to the wall, then aimed his gun at Morley and pulled the trigger, again.

Morley brushed his clothes lightly, dismissing the bullet even before the echoes from the shockingly loud gunshot stopped ringing in Claire’s ears. “Please,” he said, and practically levitated to his feet. He reached out and took the sheriff’s gun from him, then tossed it in the corner of the cell where Eve and Claire had been kept. “I hate loud noises. Unless it’s screaming. Screaming’s all right. Let me demonstrate.”

He reached out and grabbed the sheriff around the neck.