Текст книги "Ghost Town"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Because she intended for him to see it.

The jeans and T-shirt didn’t seem good enough anymore. Claire went to her closet and pulled out and rejected things that just weren’t right until she found a top she’d almost forgotten about—an impulse buy in Dallas, like the pink wig up on the shelf that she wore when she was in a silly mood. This was a soft, silky button-down shirt in dark red, and it fit really well—too well for her to feel comfortable wearing it to school, or to the lab, or anywhere else, for that matter.

But for this, it was perfect.

She dressed, added a touch of lipstick, and headed back. Eve was still in the bathroom, of course. Claire banged on it on the way by and yelled, “Vampire attack!”

“Tell them to bite me later!” Eve yelled back. Claire grinned and skipped down the steps, and arrived just as Shane came out of the kitchen, carrying two plates loaded with chili dogs.

He didn’t quitedrop them. He put them on the table and said, staring at her, “New shirt?”

She smiled. “Bought it in Dallas. Do you like it?”

“Oh, come on. What’s not to like? Especially with the easy-open buttons.”

“You did notsay that out loud.”

“Huh. I thought I did, actually.”

Claire slipped into her chair. He’d gotten her a cold Coke, too, which was perfect. So were the chili dogs. He’d even left off the onions. “Delicious,” she mumbled around a mouthful, and then thought that probably spoiled her fancy new look.

Her fancy new look, though, was nothing compared to Eve’s outfit, and just as the doorbell rang, Eve came clattering down the stairs in her buckles and laces and fishnets and boots, and Shane’s eyebrows climbed high. He chewed chili dog, swallowed, and said, “Is there some holiday I’m missing? Girls’ Dress-up Day?”

“Yes, Shane, and it’s a secret you will never share,” Eve said. “You just benefit. So shut up.”

“You look like a Goth factory exploded all over you!” he called as she ran down the hall.

“Love you, too, jackass!”

The door slammed. Shane grinned and took a huge bite of his second hot dog. “She’s so sensitive,” he mumbled.

“That’s because you’re not.”

“What?”

Claire sighed. “Never mind. I should know better than to think guys would ever figure that out.”

“Okay, this is not a conversation I ever intend to have. Did you get the car?”

“Eve said it’s fine.”

Shane wolfed down the rest of his food in record time, before she’d even tried to start her second hot dog. She shook her head, took her plate into the kitchen, and put it in the refrigerator for later . . . although she was pretty sure Shane would sneak back and eat it, too, if she didn’t get to it first.

He was practically bouncing up and down to leave when she came back with the car keys, which she pitched to him underhanded; he fielded them without a pause as he headed for the door.

“Shotgun!” Claire yelled.

He laughed and opened the door, and took a giant step back, because, of all people, Ameliewas standing there. She didn’t come inside, although she could have; as Claire joined Shane, she looked at each of them in turn with her cool gray eyes reflecting the hallway light in a strange kind of way. Amelie was wearing her hair down these days, which was still odd to Claire, who’d become so accustomed to that white-gold hair being fastened up in a crown. The long hair made her look much younger. She’d changed how she dressed, too—instead of the formal, stiff suit jackets and skirts, she’d put on dark pants and a black, silky shirt. She was wearing a gold pendant in the shape of a lily, with a red stone in the center. It looked beautiful, and expensive, and old.

“Uh . . . hi, Amelie. Come in?” Claire moved back to give her room. Amelie smiled slightly and nodded as she walked past them. She smelled like refrigerated roses. She walked ahead of them down the hall, paused in the living room, and turned back to face Claire.

Shane was still at the door. “Where are the spear carriers?”

“Pardon?” Amelie raised pale eyebrows.

“You know, your guys. The guards.”

“They’re outside. They shall stay there, unless they’re needed. I trust they won’t be, Mr. Collins.”

Shane locked the door and came back to stand beside Claire. He folded his arms and waited.

Amelie seated herself on the couch and crossed her legs, still staring at Claire and Shane. Suddenly, Claire felt as if she’d been called to the principal’s office. What had she done wrong?

Amelie said, “Forgive the intrusion. I would have called, but I was in the area, and I had a moment to stop by.” Claire noticed she didn’t ask themif they had a moment . . . but then, she wouldn’t. “Please sit.”

“No, thanks,” Shane said. “We were on our way out.”

“Ah. Well, I will be brief.” She focused on him. “Your father has come to me and asked to be included in the register of vampires in Morganville. I have allowed it. I feel that I owe it to him, despite the crimes he has committed against us; after all, it was my own father who sentenced him to this life, and I know he did not want it.” She was focused entirely on Shane, who had gone stiff and very still.

His eyes went flat and blank for a second, and then he straightened and took a deep breath. “I don’t care what he does,” he said. “Include him all you want. But he’s not my father. My father died.”

Claire and Shane had watched it happen. Frank Collins, fearless vampire killer, had been dragged in and attacked by Amelie’s evil old vamp daddy, Bishop. He’d been drained. And he’d been brought back.

It had been beyond horrible having to see it, especially for Shane. But worse than that was knowing his dad was a vampire. And knowing that he was still walking around.

Which was why Claire hadn’t mentioned her sighting of him earlier.

“I thought you might feel so,” Amelie said. Her tone was cool, very neutral, and Claire shivered a little, as if she’d caught a chill. “I felt it worth the attempt to give you a chance to reconnect. Frank Collins has entered a training program we have established for new vampires to break them of bad habits and reinforce the rules of Morganville that they must live by; he will finish this program within the week. Once he does, he will have the same status as any other vampire who has signed the Morganville accords. He may not be harmed without my permission. Should anyone attempt it, I will take it personally.” She continued to stare at Shane. “Anyone. I trust you do understand what I’m saying to you.”

Shane just shook his head, face closed and hard. Claire wanted to take his hand, but his arms were still folded defensively across his chest. He wasn’t meeting Amelie’s eyes.

“Shane,” the Founder of Morganville said, using his name for the first time. “I am sorry. I know this will be . . . difficult for you, considering the history between you and your father, and what has happened to him. But according to the laws of Morganville, he will also be allowed to become a Protector, if he wishes to do so. He has said that he will gladly accept the responsibility of acting as yourProtector, should you choose—”

“No way in hell. Get out,” Shane interrupted her. He didn’t say it loudly, but there was a frightening, out-of-control look in his eyes. “Just get out. I’m not talking about this.”

Amelie didn’t move. She stared at him. He’d met her eyes now, and after a long, tense moment, she spread her hands in a graceful gesture, unfolded her long legs, and stood. “I have taken enough of your time,” she said. “I am sorry to have upset you. Your father may well come to see you, so please remember what I’ve said: no matter how you feel, you cannot strike at him without consequences. Even a friend of Morganville has limits.” Her icy gray eyes shifted, and Claire froze in place. “Claire, I rely on you to remind him if he should forget this.”

Claire nodded, suddenly unable to speak at all. She glanced at Shane, who wasn’t moving, and hurried down the hall to the door to open it for Amelie. When she did, she found Amelie’s two big vampire guards, in their black suits and ties, standing on the porch, facing out toward the road.

Amelie walked past her and down the steps without another word. The guards fell in behind her, helped her into the big black limousine that idled at the curb, and as it glided off into the dark, Claire stood there watching it go.

What just happened?Things had changed so fast, and so violently, that she felt shaky.

It occurred to her that standing here with the door wide-open was a victim-type thing to do in Morganville, so she quickly closed and locked it, took a deep breath, and went back to Shane.

He was sitting down on the couch at one end, staring straight at the not-currently-on TV. He was playing with the remote control, but he didn’t press the power button.

“Shane . . .”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t care that Frank’s still alive, because he’s not my dad. He hasn’t been my dad for years, not since Alyssa—not since she died. He’s even less my dad now than he ever was, and he never was up for father of the year anyway. I don’t want to know him. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

“I know,” Claire said, and sat down next to him. “I’m sorry. But he did save my life once, and I have to think maybe he can . . . change.”

Shane snorted. “He already changed—into a bloodsucking freak. What bugs me is that he has one minute of regret, and he gets to wipe out years of being a drunken asshole, beating the crap out of me, nearly getting us all killed more than once. . . . No. I’m glad he saved you. But that doesn’t even startto make us even. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

There didn’t seem to be anything she could possibly say. He was really upset—she could see it; she could feelit. “Are you okay?” What a stupid question, she thought, as soon as she said it. Of course he wasn’t okay. He wouldn’t be slouched like a boneless sack on the couch, staring at a dead TV with even deader eyes, if he was okay.

“If he comes here . . .” Shane swallowed. “If he comes here, you have to promise me you’ll stop me from doing something stupid. Because I will, Claire.”

“No, you won’t,” Claire said, and finally took his hand. “Shane, you won’t. You’re not like that. I know it’s all complicated and crazy and it hurts, but you can’t let him do that to you. I’ll make sure Michael and Eve know that if he shows up, we just tell him to leave. He’ll never get in the door.”

She felt cold again—icy, in fact—and felt a hum all along her nerves. What wasthat? Not a draft. Definitely not a draft. It felt like . . . anger. Cold, hard anger, like the kind that was inside Shane right now—but she was feeling it from the outside.

The house.

She’d gotten used to its not doing this kind of thing anymore; the Glass House had always seemed to have a kind of presence to them, something that reflected their feelings, their fears . . . but it had died with the portal system. So she thought.

You fixed the portal system, remember?Apparently, that put the house itself back on the grid, too, which was why it was reacting to Shane’s mood. She was never sure what the house understood, but she was absolutely sure it was on their side. Maybe that even meant it would make sure Frank Collins never came here again.

She reached for a blanket and pulled it over her shoulders, still shivering. If the house was showing her any reflection of Shane’s anger, he was deeply upset, even though he was struggling not to show it.

Shane finally pressed the power button on the TV and dropped his left arm over her shoulders. She felt the chill ease a little. “Thanks,” he said. “If you hadn’t been here when she said all that, I probably would have done something pretty dumb. Or said something even dumber.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You’re a survivor.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Takes one to know one.”

“So, no drive-in?”

“It’s a zombie movie.”

“Well, there are good points about zombie movies. There’re usually smart girls in them, for some reason. And the smart girls hardly ever get killed.” Claire kissed him back, on the cheek. “Besides, I know how much you like zombie movies. Especially with chain saws and everything.”

Shane flipped channels for a few seconds, then shut the TV off, got up, and held out his hand. “Chain saws,” he repeated. “You’re right. It’s probably just what I need.” He didn’t let go of her hand after he’d helped her to her feet; instead, he put it on his chest, over his heart. She felt the strong, steady beat beneath. “You look great. You probably already know that.”

She kissed him, and they stood together, rocking slightly from side to side, until Shane broke the kiss and smiled down at her. “Save it for the drive-in,” he said, and touched her lips with one finger. “I’ll drive fast.”

“You’d better.”

FOUR

Shane drove the hearse—Eve’s, a huge, black, vaguely old-fashioned monster, with the fringed funeral curtains still in the back—down Morganville’s poorly lit streets, winding through backstreets Claire had never visited even in daylight. She saw glints of eyes in the darkness, and if there were any street-lights in this part of town, they were broken or turned off. She felt relieved when he made a turn that took them onto a broader avenue . . . until she took a good look. Lots of people walking around in the shadows.

Not normal for Morganville. But normal for vampiresin Morganville.

“Yeah, it’s Vamp Central Station,” Shane said. “Not like Founder’s Square—that’s where the upper-class bloodsuckers hang out. This is where the rest of them come. There’s another blood bank down here, and nothing around gets much human business after dark. Don’t worry; we’re not stopping.”

And they didn’t, not even for a light that was shifting from yellow to red; Shane just gunned right through it.

Claire was glad he did. Heads were turning to watch the car go by. Maybe Amelie’s Protection extended out here. But she didn’t want to risk her neck—literally—on that.

Two more turns and all of a sudden there was a giant white screen looming up out of the darkness ahead, surrounded by a fence. It looked like a parking lot inside, with some kind of vending stand at the back.

Just like in the old movies.

“Amazing,” Claire said. Shane pulled up to the ticket stand at the entrance and handed over a couple of dollars—it didn’t cost much, apparently. Then he drove on in. The lot was about half-full, mostly with battered old cars and trucks that matched up with what the humans of Morganville drove. There were also a few heavily tinted late-model sedans—vampmobiles. Well, she supposed even vampires loved the movies. Who didn’t?

“So how does this work?” Claire asked. “How do we hear the sound?”

For an answer, Shane flipped on the radio and tuned it to an AM channel. Immediately she was treated to a burst of static, followed by extremely cheesy music that had probably annoyed people even back when her grandmother was young.

“Fantastic,” Claire said, in a way that meant it wasn’t. “You know, Eve went to a rave.”

“By herself?”

“With a friend. She’s sort of doing the mother-hen thing.”

“Are you wishing we’d gone, too?”

“No,” Claire said, although secretly she thought it might not have been terrible. “This is great.”

Shane looked over at her. “Bullshit. You think it sucks.”

“I don’t! ”

“Just wait,” he said, and smiled. “You’ll see. You want a Coke? Popcorn?”

“Sure.” She sighed. Shane bailed out and set off for the refreshment stand at the back. Claire got out her cell and texted Eve. R u ok?She got a reply back in seconds. Death by boring. College poseurs. Yak.

Eve always made her laugh. B safe, Claire texted back. Eve sent a picture of herself with her friend, who looked intimidated and scared and very much as if she was wishing herself gone. Eve was winking. The message with it said, Half an hour more tops. C u home.

The car door opened, and Shane climbed in, handing her a cup of Coke and a giant bag of popcorn, which she tried to figure out how to balance in her lap. The Cokes went into cup holders, at least, and before she could take a handful of the steaming popcorn, there was a sudden flicker of color out the front window, and the coming attractions started up.

Shane took the bag of popcorn from her, set it carefully in the backseat, and turned the radio down. “Hey,” Claire protested. “How can we hear if—”

He leaned over and kissed her, and keptkissing her, and his lips were so hot and sweet and strong that she just felt herself melting against him. He eased her jacket off, and she didn’t even think about objecting, because even though it was cold she felt warm, so warm, and then his hands were . . . Oh, that was good. Very good.

She wasn’t thinking, not at all, not about anything except how incredible it felt to be with him, here, in the dark. When she finally came up for a gasping breath, most of her buttons were undone. Allof his were undone. Did I do that?she wondered with a shock, because it really wasn’t like her to be doing this out in public, where people could see.

But it felt like being alone. Deliciously, magically alone. Because they were in a crowd of people, but nobody was paying them the slightest bit of attention.

The movie had started, but she had zero idea what it was about, other than some crazy zombie guy stalking people. Oh, and there was a smart girl with glasses, and a hot guy who would probably survive, too. With the sound turned down to a whisper, she saw only flashes, and when she closed her eyes, she didn’t see anything but sunbursts of light against the darkness.

“What’s this?” Shane asked, and traced the line of her new bra with his fingertip. “Sexy. What else you got?”

“I’ll give you a hint. It matches.”

“Let’s take a look. . . .”

Things were about to get veryinteresting—and she wasn’t thinking about the movie at all—when her cell phone rang. Claire yelped and flailed around for it, mostly to shut it off, but Shane sat up, and she squirmed around to get to a sitting position, holding her shirt closed as she squinted at the display.

“It’s Eve,” she said. Shane smacked his forehead right into the steering wheel and made a sound of utter frustration. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” he said, not too happily. “I guess so. But tell her I hate her a whole lot right now.”

“You don’t.”

“Oh, trust me. I could not hate her more.”

Claire pressed the button and said, “Eve? Shane says—” She was interrupted by the sound of screaming. It was so loud and shocking that she almost dropped the phone. “Eve? Eve!”

Shane caught the alarm in her tone, and reached out for the phone. “Give,” he said. She handed it over, shaking, and he put it to his ear. “Eve? Eve, can you hear me? What’s going on?” He stopped to listen, and gave Claire a look that made her shiver again. “Yeah, I hear it. Are you safe?”

“Speaker!” Claire said. “Put it on speaker!”

He did. Screaming blasted out of the phone, but it wasn’t Eve’s; she was trying to talk. Only part of it came through. “ . . . Define safe. . . . trying to get . . . crazy . . . need help—”

“Hang on, Eve. We’re coming,” Shane said, and tossed the phone to Claire as he fired up the hearse’s engine, slammed it into reverse, and backed up with a squeal of tires. “Try to get an address!”

“I know where it is,” Claire said. She gave him the address, clear and sharp in her memory from the flyer she’d been handed days ago on the steps of the Science Building. “That’s not far, right?”

“Not far,” he agreed, and hit the gas, speeding toward the exit past rows of parked cars with fogged-over windows. “Keep her talking.”

“Eve? Can you hear me?”

“Yes!” Eve’s voice suddenly came through the background noise loud and clear. “We’re okay for now, but we need backup, big-time.”

“What’s going on? Vampires?”

“Oh, you’d think, but no. Some jackass jocks started tearing up the place. They’ve been rampaging around through half the town. . . . Oh, shit!” There was a rise in screaming and confused sounds. When Eve came back, she was out of breath. “ Nowthere’re vamps. And they are pissed.”

“Is Oliver there?”

“Didn’t stop to read name tags. Oh, man—seriously not good here. People are dying—Cory! Cory, no, don’t– Cory!” Eve’s last word was a scream of utter horror, and then the phone just . . . died. Claire hung up and tried calling back. Eve’s cheery voice mail took the call. She looked over at Shane, who was staring straight ahead with an expression as hard as stone. He shook his head.

“Hurry,” Claire whispered. She realized her shirt was still open, and quickly buttoned it up with trembling hands. “Does Eve keep any weapons in here?”

“Probably in the back. Wait—check the glove box.”

Claire opened it and found two silver-coated, sharp-tipped stakes. They weren’t her favorite vampire-fighting accessory, only because they weren’t something she could use at a distance, but the heavy, cool feel of them eased a tight, anxious knot in her stomach. But there was something odd about the way they felt. . . . Claire turned the stakes over in her fingers until she saw what that roughness in the surface was, and almost laughed.

“What?” Shane asked. Claire showed him the stake. The dashboard lights caught the silver surface and shone red from a skull design blinged out in fake rubies on it.

“She BeDazzled her stakes,” Claire said.

“Yeah, she would.” He almost smiled, but his eyes were wild, and he couldn’t seem to get his face to relax. “Get Chief Moses on the phone; get her to send the marines.”

Claire nodded and speed-dialed Hannah’s number. Hannah sounded cheerful and alert, but on guard when she answered. “Moses.”

“Hannah, it’s Claire. Eve’s in trouble—well, a lot of people sound like they’re in trouble. You know about the rave tonight?”

“I had some plainclothes officers there making sure the kids didn’t get into trouble. Except they did, right?”

“Eve called me, and there was screaming. I think you’d better send everybody. Just in case.”

“Done. And, Claire, don’t you go running in there.”

“But Eve’sin there! ”

“And we’ll get everybody out.”

Hannah hung up on her. “Hannah says not to go there,” Claire said.

“Well, I like the lady, but screw that,” Shane said. “Call Michael. Eve probably did, but just in case; he’d rip my ears off if I didn’t let him know what was up.”

Besides which, Michael’s vampire strength wouldn’t be at all a liability right now. Claire tried his phone, but it went to voice mail. She left a message with the address, and texted him, too. That was all she had time for, because Shane skidded the hearse around the last corner and onto a street that should have been deserted after dark—well, was deserted most of the time—but was parked up with cars on both sides.

There were people boiling out of the doorway of one of the big, rickety warehouses on the left, and Claire had a blurry impression of open mouths and panicked faces as the hearse hurtled toward them.

Shane blurted out a curse that normally would have made her blush and slammed on the brakes. Somehow, he managed not to hit any of the running, screaming crowd, which just parted and flowed around the car, scattering into the dark in all directions. Shane threw the hearse in park and took his hands off the wheel. They were shaking. He stared at them a second, then snapped out of it and grabbed one of the stakes from Claire. “Stay with me,” he said. “I mean it. Rightwith me.”

She nodded. Shane took a deep breath and got out of the car, and she slid out after him as he ran to the back and opened up the hatch to grab a black canvas bag. “Hope this isn’t her makeup,” he said as he shouldered the strap and slammed the door. “Let’s go.”

People were still coming out. Claire noticed that most of them seemed okay, just freaked-out, but there were a few who seemed like they might be injured. Maybe that was just from the general crowd panic—hard to tell. She hoped so. She heard the wail of sirens approaching, and had time to think, Hannah’s going to be really angry at us, but then it was too late to have second thoughts. Shane was moving against the flow of people, heading inside, and she’d promised to stay with him.

She kept her promises.

Someone smacked into Shane as he started through the doorway, and he staggered back a step, then grabbed whoever it was and yanked her out into the street.

Monica Morrell. She looked just as scared as everyone else running from the building, and then, as she realized who it was who had hold of her arm, she looked . . . relieved. Relieved?Claire thought. Really?Because Shane and Monica made cats and dogs look like besties. “Collins,” Monica said, and looked back. “Jennifer’s still in there. I think . . . I think she’s still in there.” She was trembling, and she looked cold in her red and white minidress.

No, it wasn’t red and white. It was white. Claire parted her lips, realizing what all the red was, and looked sharply at Shane. He was staring at Monica with a very odd expression—pity, mixed with distaste. But mostly pity. It was almost concern.

“What happened?” he asked. She didn’t answer, so he shook her, not too gently. “Monica, snap out of it. What happened?”

“It was all going okay, and then the Epsilon Epsilon Kappa guys showed up. They were all drunk and crazy, started yelling about being in a fight and how they kicked somebody’s ass. They busted stuff up.”

Shane went from concerned to pissed. “That’s it?”

“No! No, they . . . they were followed.” Monica swallowed. She looked pale and shaky. “The vamps came. I guess the ass they kicked belonged to one of them. It got ugly. It’s getting worse.” She looked down at Shane’s hand around her arm, and got a little of the old Monica ’tude back. “Who said you could go all bad-cop on me, Collins? Back your wannabe ass off!”

He didn’t let go. “Did you see Eve?”

“Little Miss Goth Princess had some boring chick with her. She’s—” Monica looked over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Everybody was running. I didn’t see where she went.” Shane let go of her. Monica grabbed him instead. “Hey,” she said. “Look for Jennifer. I didn’t see her come out. She was right behind me. I think.”

Shane said, “Let go or lose the fingers,” and she did, instantly, stepping back and wrapping her arms around her torso—for warmth, not in defiance. Shane looked back and held out his hand. Claire took it. “Ready?”

“I guess.”

“Watch your back.”

The oncoming wail of sirens meant help was coming, but Claire knew Shane wasn’t going to wait. She didn’t want to, either. That had been real fear in Eve’s scream.

They plunged onward, into the warehouse.

The place smelled like smoke—not burning-insulation smoke, but the kind of bong smoke college students liked a lot better. It made Claire’s eyes water. The rave lights were still on, cycling through all kinds of colors and patterns, strobing white every few seconds. The music was still thundering, too—the deejay had left tracks running and bugged out from behind the console in the corner. Claire could feel the vibrations in her bones, and her ears went instantly into shock. She could still hear, but it was like hearing through earmuffs.

A few people were too scared to make a break for the door; she could see them hiding behind the speakers, or pressed against the walls in a huddle, trying to pretend it all wasn’t happening. The usual Morganville strategy. It was hard to make out details in the weird lights, but none of them had Eve’s Goth style. Mostly college kids, Claire thought. Well, they’d gotten their tuition’s worth tonight.

There were bodies on the warehouse floor. They weren’t moving. Some of them had very, very pale faces, and wide eyes, and mouths still open in silent screams. Bite marks on their throats.

There were also a couple of vampires down—also pale, but with stakes in their chests; that didn’t necessarily mean they were dead, just wounded. There was one who was definitely dead, because—and Claire had to control an urge to retch—his head was missing. There was still a stake in his heart, too.

She thought she saw the head a few feet away in the corner, but no way was she going to go take a closer look. She was thankful Shane turned away from all that, heading into a hallway that channeled the thundering music into waves. It was still too loud to talk. In strobe flashes, Claire saw blood on the walls in smears.

The hallway opened into another big room, and the music wasn’t quite loud enough here to cover the screams. Or the sound of fighting.

Shane stopped, zipped open the bag, and pulled out a crossbow. He stuck the silver stake he’d been gripping into a pocket of his jeans, loaded the crossbow, put another bolt between his teeth, and nodded to Claire to follow. She nodded back.

When they came around the corner, they saw where the noise was coming from. A group of people were hemmed tightly into a corner, mostly cowering, but some were big, drunk-looking frat dudes who were yelling challenges and smashing wooden crates over the heads of the vampires who were closing in on them. The lights in here were dim, dirty fluorescents, and flickering like mad, but somehow Claire saw what happened next with high-definition, slow-motion clarity.

A male vampire—young-looking, with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing a black leather jacket—grabbed hold of one of the frat boys (who was, she realized, wearing an EEK T-shirt) and dragged him away from the others. The boy was football-big, but the slender vamp lifted him right off the ground by the neck, glaring up at him as he struggled and tried to scream.

Then the vampire said, “You think you can defy us and live? Who do you think you are, meat? This is ourtown. It’s always been ours. You have to pay for your disrespect.”

And then he closed his fist and crushed the boy’s big, muscular throat like crunching up a sheet of paper.

Shane brought the crossbow up almost as fast and fired. The bolt hit the vamp in the back, on the left side, just about dead center in the heart.

The two bodies hit the floor together.

And then all the vampires turned on Shane and Claire. Shane loaded the second bolt and dropped the bag between the two of them. Claire didn’t need any instructions; she crouched down and groped around inside the bag. No extra crossbow, unfortunately, but plenty more bolts, which she took out, and two vials of silvery liquid—silver nitrate. Claire handed Shane another bolt to put between his teeth and popped the cap on one of the vials.