"You are so busted," Eve said, as Claire, fresh from a shower, ran down the steps shouldering her book bag.

Eve was sitting at the dining table, sipping a Coke and reading a Cosmo article with great concentration. She was wearing pink today - or, as Eve liked to call it, Ironic Pink. Pink shirt with poison skull and bones logo. Matching pink pedal-pushers with skulls embossed at the hems. Little pink skull hair ties on her pigtails, which stood out from her head aggressively, daring someone to mock them.

"Excuse me?" Claire kept moving. Eve barely glanced up from the article.

"Don't even try," she said. "I know that look."

"What look?" Claire shoved open the kitchen door.

"The now-I-am-a-woman look. Oh God, don't tell me, please, because then I have to feel guilty that you're seventeen and I should have been more of a den mom, right?" Claire couldn't think of anything to say. Eve sighed. "He'd better have been a good, sweet boy to you, or I swear, I'll kick his ass from here to - Hey, is that Shane's shirt?"

It was. "No." Claire hurried into the kitchen.

Michael was standing at the coffeepot, pushing buttons. He looked over at her and raised his eyebrows, but he didn't say anything.

"What?" she demanded, and dumped her book bag on the table as she poured herself a glass of orange juice. "Do I owe back rent?"

"We've got some things to talk about other than the rent."

"Like what?" She kept her stare focused on her OJ."Like how far you're going to take this whole undercover-cop thing with Bishop, and whether or not you're going to get yourself killed? Because I'm wondering, Michael."

He took in a deep breath and ran his hands through his curly golden hair as if he wanted to rip a handful out in frustration. The cut on his hand, Claire noticed, was neatly healed without any trace of a scar. "I can't tell you anything else. I already took a huge risk telling you what I did, understand?"

"And did I rat you out? No. Because according to Patience Goldman, this" - she yanked back her sleeve and showed him the tattoo, which was barely a shadow now under her skin, and hardly moving at all - "this thing is running out of juice. I don't think he's noticed yet, but he probably will soon."

"That's why I told you to stay away from him."

"Not like I came on my own! Theo . . . " It struck her hard that she hadn't even asked, and she felt all of her good vibes of the morning flee in horror. "Oh God. Theo and his family - "

"They're okay," Michael said. "They were taken to a holding cell. I checked on them, and I told Sam. He'll get word to Amelie."

"That'll do a lot of good."

Michael glanced up at her as he poured his coffee. "You seem different today."

She was struck speechless, and she felt a blush burn its crimson onto her face. Michael's eyebrows rose, slowly, but he didn't say anything.

"Okay, that's . . . not what I meant. And don't ever play poker." He gave her a half smile to show her he wasn't going to harass her about it. Yet. "You moving back in?"

"I don't know." She swallowed and tried to get her racing heartbeat under control. "I need to talk to my parents. They're really . . . I'm just scared for them, that's all. I thought that maybe if I stayed with them, it would make things better, but I think it's made it worse. I wish I could just get them out of Morganville. Somehow."

"You can," said a voice from the kitchen doorway. It was - of all people! - Hannah Moses, looking tall, lean, and extremely dangerous in her Morganville police uniform, loaded down with a gun, riot baton, pepper spray, handcuffs, and who knew what else. Hannah was one of those women who would command attention no matter what she was wearing, but when she put on the full display, it was no contest at all. "Mind if I come in?"

"I think you're already in," Michael said, and gestured to the kitchen table. "Want some coffee to go with that breaking and entering?"

"It's not breaking and entering with a badge, especially if someone lets you in."

"And that would be . . . ?"

"Eve. Actually, I'll have some orange juice, if you've got more," Hannah said. "All coffeed out. I've been patrolling all night." She did look tired, as she settled in a chair and stretched her legs out, although tired for Hannah just looked slightly less focused. She was wearing her cornrowed hair back in a complicated knot at the nape of her neck; having it away from her face emphasized the scar she'd gotten in Afghanistan, a seam that ran from her left temple over to her nose. On some women it might have been disfiguring. On Hannah, it was kind of a terrifying beauty mark. "It's getting nasty out there."

For Hannah to say that, it had to be worse than nasty. Claire poured some orange juice into a Scooby-Doo cup and handed it over before sitting down herself.

Michael said, "You're talking about getting Claire's parents out of town? How is that possible, without tipping off Bishop?"

"Oh, there's no doubt he'll know," Myrnin said, from right behind Claire - close enough that his cool breath touched the back of her neck, and she squealed and spilled her drink all over the table. "What he knows no longer matters. We want him to know."

"How did you get in here?" Michael asked, and from the shock on his face, he clearly hadn't seen Myrnin make his appearance, either. Myrnin, when Claire turned to look at him, was smirking. He'd had a bath; his hair, face, and hands were clean, although his clothes still held on to their well-lived-in filth.

"You'd hardly understand it if I told you. But to answer your question, Chief Moses has complete cooperation from me in bypassing the safeguards around the town. We need to get specific groups of people out of Morganville, and among those people are your parents, Claire."

She wet her lips. "Any special reason we're moving so fast now?"

"Yes," he said, and Hannah sent him a sharp look that would have stopped anybody sane. Didn't work on him, of course. "We are ready. Once Bishop starts killing, he will start with the ones we love first. That includes your parents, Claire, who will have no way to defend themselves."

He knew something. She could see it, and it scared her to death. "When?"

He spread his hands. "Unknown. But I can tell you that it's coming. Michael knows this as well."

Michael didn't say anything, but he studied the table very hard. Claire resisted an urge to fling some orange juice his way. "When can we get them out of town?"

"I'll handle getting them packed and ready to go," Hannah said. "I'm filling two buses with the most likely targets, and those are getting a mandatory evac out of Morganville in the next two hours." Claire saw a movement at the door, and noticed that Eve had slipped inside the kitchen, but was standing silently against the wall. As she watched, Shane came in, too, fresh from a shower, hair sparkling with drops. His gaze locked with hers, but he didn't come to her; he took up wall space next to Eve.

Hannah noticed them, too. "You two," she said. "You're on the bus today. Grab a bag. Pack for a couple of days. If you need more, we'll get it for you."

Eve and Shane both talked at once, an out-of-tune duet of angry denials. Eve slapped Shane on the shoulder and shut him up so she could go first. "No way. I'm not going anywhere, Hannah. End of story."

Shane added, "I'm not going anywhere if Claire stays here."

"Then she goes, too," Hannah said. "I was going to do that anyway."

But both Michael and Myrnin were shaking their heads. "She can't," Michael said. "Faded or not, that tattoo links her directly to Bishop. He'd still be able to track her down - and all the others who went with her."

"Not necessarily," Myrnin said. "There are vampires who could block his perception of her, if they traveled with her. But they are not available at present."

"Patience Goldman," Claire said. "Right?"

"If Theo had only waited one more day, this could have been avoided. I had planned to use her for that very purpose. But I suppose the fault is ours; if we'd kept him closer in our plans, he would not have acted so stupidly." Myrnin shrugged.

"I still wouldn't have gone," Claire said. "I'm not leaving Michael all by himself, pretending to be Bishop's best friend."

"Oh, thanks for that. Glad I inspire such confidence."

"Well, you don't. You're not a spy, Michael. You're a musician."

"The two," Myrnin said dryly, "are not mutually exclusive. But Michael is right. Our little Claire cannot leave the boundaries of Morganville, as matters stand just now. Besides, I need her at my side."

"Well, if she's not going," Shane said, "count me out of the running away party."

"Ditto," from Eve.

Hannah gave them both looks that should have made suitcases magically appear in their hands, but then she gave up and shook her head. "I can't promise you I'll be able to keep you safe. Understand?"

Eve rolled her eyes. "Have we ever asked for that? Like, ever? You know us, Hannah. We all went to the same high school - well, except for Claire. We Morganville kids have dodged vamps our whole lives. Not like it's new territory."

"Not true," Myrnin said, very soberly. "You might have played games with Morganville's tamed vampires, restrained by rules and laws. You've never really faced someone like Bishop, who has no conscience and no restraint."

"Don't care," Eve shot back. "That just means it's more important that we all stick together."

"Always some crazy fool who stays with a hurricane coming. Can't save everybody." Hannah drained her orange juice down to a pale froth on the bottom of the glass. "All right. I'm moving on. We're pulling people from the Founder Houses first, then anybody who has ties to Amelie, then people who were in the old Morrell administration. And yeah, the Morrells, too."

"Isn't Richard missing?"

"No," Hannah said. "Richard's just been working with us to get people lined up for evacuation. I told his damn sister to cool it, but she's still ringing every alarm bell she can find. Wish I could find a special bus just for her. A stinky, slow one. Preferably with a backed-up toilet."

Claire smiled at that, then remembered someone else. "The Goldmans," she said. "They need help, too. Can you get them?"

"No idea where they are," Hannah said.

"I know." Myrnin looked thoughtful."I'm not sure, but I can try," he said. "They have no blood ties to Amelie or to Bishop, so they would be safe enough if we could get them on their way. But it's a risk including vampires in your evacuation."

"Then again, it means that we have some vampires fighting on our side if things go wrong outside of town," Hannah pointed out. "Not a bad thing."

"Provided the Goldmans will alight." He seemed about to say something else, but then he shook his head and made his hands into fists. "No, that isn't what I meant. Will fight. No. Provided that . . . provided . . . "

He was losing it. Claire got up and opened her backpack. She took out a small box of red crystals and handed it over; for most vampires, it would have been a massive dose. For a human, it was certain, gruesome death.

For Myrnin, it was like taking a handful of candy. He choked, swallowed, and nodded as he tossed the empty box back to her. Then he turned away, face to the corner, and braced himself with outspread arms, head down. His whole body shook.

That's not supposed to happen.

Then he spasmed so badly she thought he was going to fall. "Myrnin!" Claire touched his shoulder; she'd never seen this happen before - not this bad, anyway. "What's wrong?"

He whispered, "Get away. Get them all away from me, now."

"But - "

"Everything smells like blood. Get them away."

Claire let go and backed up, gesturing for Hannah and even Michael to follow. Nobody said a word. Shane held open the kitchen door, and they all left.

All except Claire, who stayed at the exit, watching Myrnin fight for his life and sanity, one slow second at a time.

She saw his shoulders relax, and felt her tide of worry begin to recede - until he turned toward her.

His eyes weren't red. They were white. Just . . . white, with the faint shadow of an iris and pupil showing through. The eyes of a corpse.

"Claire," he said, and took a step toward her.

Then he fell, hit the ground, and went completely limp.

"We could take him to the hospital," Hannah said, but not as if she thought it was a good idea. Claire was kneeling next to Myrnin, with Michael hovering near her, ready to yank her out of the way if Myrnin should suddenly surge back to bloodsucking life.

He was quiet. He looked dead.

"I think this is a little beyond the hospital," Claire said. "It's part of the disease. It's in his notes - he charted the progress; sometimes this happens. They just . . . collapse. They revive, but usually when they do, they're not - " Her voice failed her, and she had to clear her throat. "Not the same." Myrnin's notes, what she could remember of them, seemed to indicate that when - or if - the vampire recovered from the coma, he didn't have much left of his original personality.

Myrnin had been sick a long time. He'd lost the ability to create other vampires more than a hundred years ago; he'd begun behaving weirdly about another fifty years after, and from there it had progressed rapidly. Amelie, by contrast, was just now getting to the early physical symptoms - the occasional loss of emotional control, and the shakes. Oliver . . . well. Who knew if Oliver's problem was the disease or just a bad attitude?

The fact that Myrnin had held out longer than at least thirty other vampires confined underground in cells was either proof that the disease didn't work the same way in everyone, or that Myrnin was incredibly determined. He hadn't wanted to take the cure . . . but there wasn't a choice now. He had to take it.

And she had to get him to Dr. Mills.

2

They carried him through the portal - well, Michael and Hannah carried him; Claire concentrated on getting them to their target location, the basement of Morganville High. "Stay here," Claire said. "I'm going to get the doctor."

"We can carry him up," Michael said. He was being charitable; he could have done it on his own, no problem, but he was letting Hannah take half the weight.

"I know," Claire said. "I just don't want to lead a really obvious parade to a secret hideout."

She didn't wait for an answer, just dashed up the steps, through the broken-locked door, and out into the hallways, dodging around oblivious teens her own age who were hustling to and from class. It was early morning, but Morganville High was in full session, and Claire had to shove her way through the crowd with a little more force than usual.

Somebody grabbed her by the back of her shirt and hauled her to a sudden stop. She flailed for escape, but it was just like always - she was too small, and he was way too big.

Her captor was wearing a shirt and tie, and had the drill sergeant hairstyle of school officials everywhere. He glared at her as if she was some bug he'd caught scurrying across his dinner table. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded. "No shoving in the halls!"

"I'm not a student!" she yelled. "Let go of me!"

He got a glance at the gold bracelet on her wrist, and his eyes went wide; he quickly focused back on her face. "You're that girl - Claire. Claire Danvers.The Founder's - Sorry." He let her go so suddenly she almost toppled over. "My apologies, miss. I thought you were just another of these rude punk kids."

There were a few moments in her new, weird life when it was all worth it - worth being the freak of nature with all the baggage that had been loaded on her in Morganville.

This was one of them. She braced herself, put her hands on her hips, and glared at him with the kind of icy calm that she imagined Amelie would have brought down like a guillotine blade. "I am a rude punk kid," she said. "But I'm a rude punk kid you don't get to order around. Now, I'd like you to leave me alone and go to your office. And shut the door. Now."

He looked at her as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I don't need you out here causing trouble right now. Go!"

He looked confused, but he nodded reluctantly and headed for a door marked ADMINISTRATION farther down the hall.

"Eat your heart out, Monica," Claire murmured. "Thanks for the bitch lessons." She broke into a full run, leaving him and his petty kingdom behind.

Myrnin had taken her through darkened corridors, but she remembered the turns; she also remembered a little too late that the way was dark, and wished she'd thought to grab a flashlight somewhere along the way. There was little light coming into the hall during the last leg, and desks and chairs stacked randomly in her path; she had to slow down or end up taking an epic spill.

Finally, she saw the locked doors at the end of the hallway, and lunged around a dusty teacher's desk to batter at the heavy wood panel.

"Hey!" No answer. She knocked again. "Dr. Mills! Dr. Mills, open up; it's Claire! I need your help!"

There was no answer. She tried the door handle.

"Dr. Mills?"

The door opened without the slightest resistance.

The room was empty. No sign of a struggle - no sign of anything, actually. It looked like nobody had ever been here. All of the equipment was back on the shelves, sparkling and clean; there was no sign of the production of serum and crystals that had been going on here. The only thing that gave it away was the lack of a coating of dust.

Claire dashed for the room behind - the teacher's office and locked storage, where the Mills family had been living.

Same story. Nothing there to show they'd ever been here, not so much as a scrap of paper or a lost toy. "Oh God, they were moved," Claire whispered, and turned to run back to where she'd left her friends. She hoped the Mills family had been moved, at least. The alternative was much, much worse, but she couldn't see Bishop - or his henchmen - taking the time and energy to clean up after themselves. They certainly hadn't in Myrnin's lab.

Claire let out an involuntary yell because a ghostly woman - black and white, shades of gray, no color to her at all - blocked the way out.

She looked like she'd stepped right out of a photograph from the Victorian ages. Big full skirts, hair done up in a bun, body slender and graceful. She stared straight at Claire, hands clasped in front of her. There was something so creepy and aware about her that Claire skidded to a sudden halt, not sure what she should do, but absolutely sure she didn't want to go anywhere near that image.

Claire could see the room behind right through her body. As she watched, the ghost broke up into a mist of static, then re-formed. She put a finger to her lips, gestured to Claire, and glided away.

"Ghosts," Claire said. "Great. I'm going crazy. That's all there is to it."

Only, when she checked the other room, the ghost was still there, hovering a couple of inches above the floor. So at least she was consistently crazy.

The phantom beckoned for Claire to follow, and turned - getting thinner and thinner, disappearing, then widening again to show a back view. Not at all like a real person, more like a flat cardboard cutout making a one-eighty. It was startling and eerie, and Claire thought, I'm not hallucinating this, because I'd never imagine that on my own.

She followed the ghost back out into the science lab, then out into the hallway. Then into another classroom, this one empty except for desks and chalkboards. The same dusty sense of disuse lay over everything. It didn't feel like anyone had been here in years.

The ghost turned to the chalkboard, and letters formed in thin white strokes.

AMELIE HAS WHAT YOU NEED, it wrote. FIND AMELIE. SAVE MYRNIN.

"Who are you?" Claire asked. The ghost gave her a very tiny smile. It seemed annoyed, and more than a little superior.

Three letters appeared on the chalkboard. ADA.

"You're the computer?" Claire couldn't help it; she laughed. Not only was she talking to a blood-drinking computer, but it liked to think of itself as some gothic-novel heroine. Plucky Miss Plum the governess. "How do you - Oh, never mind, I know it's not the time. How can I find Amelie?"

USE BRACELET. Ada's black-and-white image flickered again, like a signal getting too much interference. When she re-formed, she looked strained and unhappy. HURRY. NO TIME.

"I don't know how!"

Ada looked even more annoyed, and wrote something on the board - but it was faint, and faded almost before Claire could read it. B-L-O . . . "Blood?" Claire asked. Ada herself was fading, but Claire saw her mouth the word yes. "Of course. What else? Why can't any of you guys ever come up with something that uses chocolate ?"

No answer from the computer/spirit world; Ada disappeared in a puff of white mist and was gone. Claire looked around and found a thumbtack pressed into the surface of a bulletin board. She hesitated, positioned the thumbtack over her finger, and muttered, "If I get tetanus, I'm blaming you, Myrnin."

Then she stabbed the sharp point in, and came up with a few fat drops of red that she dripped onto the surface of the symbol on Amelie's bracelet.

It glowed white in the dim light. The blood disappeared into the grooves, and the whole bracelet turned warm, then uncomfortably hot against her skin. Claire gritted her teeth until she felt a scream coming on, and finally, the burning sensation faded, leaving the metal oddly cold.

And that was it. Amelie didn't magically appear. Claire wasn't sure what she'd expected, but this seemed really anticlimactic.

She stuck the thumbtack back on the board and went back to tell Hannah and Michael that she'd completely failed.

Dejected, she headed back to the basement. The hallways were deserted now, since classes were back in session. As she passed the administration office door, it opened, and the man she'd sent to his room like a little kid looked out. "Miss Danvers?" he asked. "Is there something I can do for you?"

This was every high school kid's fantasy, Claire thought, and she was tempted to tell him to do something crazy, like strip naked and run around the auditorium. But instead she just shook her head and kept on walking.

He came out of the door and got in her way.

"Could you put in a good word for me?" he asked, and when she tried to go around him, he grabbed her by the arm. He lowered his voice to a fast, harsh whisper. "Tell Mr. Bishop I can help him. I can be of use. Just tell him that!"

The big double doors leading out into the sunlight at the end of the hall crashed open, and a whole troop of people came flooding in. They all wore long, dark hooded coats, and they moved fast, with a purpose.

Faster than humans.

The two in the lead threw back their hoods, and Claire was relieved to see that one of them was Amelie, perfectly composed and looking as in charge as ever, even if she wasn't queen of Morganville anymore.

The other leader of the pack was Oliver, of course. Not so comforting.

"Milton Dyer," Amelie said. "Please take your hand off of my friend Claire. Now."

The man went about as pale as his white shirt, and looked down at Claire, and his hand wrapped around her arm. He let go as if she'd suddenly become electrified.

"Now go away," Amelie said to him in that same calm, emotionless voice. "I don't wish to see you again."

"I . . . " He wet his lips. "I'm still loyal to my Protector... "

"Your Protector was Charles," Amelie said. "Charles is dead. Oliver, do you have any interest in picking up Mr. Dyer's contract?"

"I really don't," Oliver said. He sounded bored.

"Then that settles things. Leave my sight, Mr. Dyer. The next time you cross my path, I'll finish you." She said it without any particular sense of menace, but Claire didn't doubt for an instant that she meant it. Neither did Mr. Dyer, who quickly retreated to his office. He didn't even dare to slam the door. It closed with a soft, careful click.

Leaving Claire in the hallway with a bunch of vampires. Old ones, she thought - Amelie and Oliver were obviously old, but the others seemed to have come through their sunlight stroll without a mark, too. Ten of them in total. Most of them didn't bother to put their hoods back and reveal their faces.

"You used the bracelet in a way that I did not teach you," Amelie said. "Who showed you how to use it to summon me?"

"Why?"

"Don't play games with me, Claire. Was it Myrnin?"

"No. It was Ada."

Amelie's gray eyes flickered, just a little, but it was enough to tell Claire that she had knowledge that Amelie wished she didn't. "I see. We'll talk of that later," she said. "Why did you use the blood call? It's intended to alert me only if you are seriously injured."

"Well, someone is. Myrnin's very sick. He's downstairs. I need to get him some help. I came to find Dr. Mills, but - "

"Dr. Mills has been relocated,"Amelie said."I thought it best, after Myrnin's ill-advised visit here. I can't tell you where he is. You understand why."

Claire knew. And she felt sick and a little angry, too. "You think I might give him away. To Bishop. Well, I wouldn't. Myrnin knew that."

"Whatever Myrnin believes, I can't take the risk. We are close to the endgame, Claire. I risk only what I must."

"You're not happy that Myrnin introduced me to Ada, are you?" Claire asked.

"Myrnin's judgment has been . . . questionable of late. As you say, he is ill. Where can we find him?"

"Downstairs, by the portal," Claire said. Amelie nodded a brisk dismissal and turned to go, along with all of her followers. "Wait! What do you want me to do?"

Amelie said nothing. Oliver, lingering behind for just a moment, said, "Stay out of our way. If you value your friends, keep them out of our way, too."

Then they were gone, moving fast and silently through the basement doorway.

Claire stood in the empty hallway for a few deep breaths, hearing the sounds of lectures continuing on inside of classrooms, student voices raised in questions or answers.

Life went on.

So weird.

She started to go down to the basement, but a vampire she didn't know blocked the entrance. "No," he said flatly. "You don't go with us."

"But - "

"No."

"Hannah and Michael - "

"They will be taken care of. Leave."

There wasn't any room for negotiation. Claire finally got the hint, and turned away to walk out of the high school the old-fashioned way . . . into the sunlight, the way Amelie and her gang had come. She had no idea where they'd come from, or where they were going.

Amelie wanted it that way.

Claire sat down on the steps of the high school for a few long minutes, shivering in the cold wind, not much warmed by the bright sun in a cloudless sky. The street outside the school looked empty - a few cars making their way around Morganville, but not much else going on.

She heard the door behind her open, and Hannah Moses clumped down in her heavy boots and offered Claire a big, elegant hand. Claire took it and stood. "Amelie's taking care of him?" she asked. Hannah nodded. "Michael went with?"

"He'll see you later," Hannah said. "Important thing is to get you out of here. I need you to help me get your parents on that bus."

"Bishop's going to find out," she said. "You know that, right? He's going to find out what you're doing."

Hannah nodded. "That's why we're doing it fast, girlfriend. So let's move."

Mom and Dad were having an argument; Claire could hear it from where she and Hannah stood on the front porch of their house, ringing the doorbell. Claire felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her parents didn't fight very often, but when they did, it was usually over something important.

The shouty blur of voices broke off, and about ten seconds later, the door whipped open. Claire's mom stood there, color burning high in her cheeks. She looked stricken when she caught sight of Claire, very obviously a guilty-looking earwitness to the fighting, but she rallied and gave a bright smile and gestured them both inside.

"Sheriff Hannah Moses, ma'am," Hannah said without waiting for introductions. "I don't think we've met in person before. I've known your daughter for a while now. She's good people."

She offered her hand, and Claire's mother took it for a quick shake as her eyes darted anxiously from Claire to Hannah, then back. "Is there some kind of problem, Sheriff Moses?"

"Hannah, please." Hannah really was turning on the charm, and she had an awful lot of it. "May I talk with you and your husband at the same time? This concerns both of you."

With only a single, worried look over her shoulder, her mother led the way down the long hallway and into the living room area. Same floor plan as the Glass House, but so wrenchingly different, especially now. Claire got mental whiplash from expecting to see the familiar battered couch and Michael's guitar and the cheerful stacks of books against the wall; instead, her mother's ruthlessly efficient housekeeping had made this room magazine-feature-ready, everything carefully aligned and straightened.

The only thing that wasn't ready for the photo shoot was Claire's father, who sat in one of the leather armchairs, face flushed. He had a stubborn set to his jaw, and an angry fire in his eyes that Claire hadn't seen in, well, forever. Still, he got to his feet and shook hands with Hannah, politely gesturing her to the couch while Claire's mom sank down on the other end, with Claire left to take the middle seat. Normally, her mom would have been fluttering around offering coffee and cookies and sandwiches, but not this time. She just took the other armchair and looked worried.

Hannah said, "Let's put all our cards on the table. There's a town emergency. Mr. and Mrs. Danvers, you are going to need to come with us. Pack a bag for a few nights, take whatever you need that you can't live without. I can give you about fifteen minutes."

That was . . . blunt. Claire blinked. She expected a flood of questions from her parents, but she was surprised by the silence.

Claire's parents looked at each other, and then her father nodded. "Good," he said. "I've wanted to do this for a while. Claire, go with your mother and pack. I'll be up in a second."

"Um . . ." Claire cleared her throat and tried not to look as awkward as she felt. "I'm not going, Dad."

They both looked at her as if she'd spoken in Chinese. "Of course you are," her mom said. "You're not staying here alone. Not with what we know about how dangerous it is."

"I'm sorry, but you know just enough about Morganville to get yourselves in trouble," Hannah said. "This really isn't up for discussion. You have to pack, and you have to go. And Claire can't come with you, at least not yet."

One thing about Hannah: when she said something like that, she clearly meant it. In the silence that fell, Claire felt the weight of both her parents' stares directly on her, so she looked down at her clasped hands instead. "I can't," she said. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not," her dad said, with a steely undertone in his voice she couldn't remember hearing before. "It's absolutely simple. I'm your father, you're under eighteen, and you're coming with us. I'm sorry, Chief Moses, but she's too young to be here on her own."

"Dad, you sent me here on my own!" Claire said.

"Why do you think we were fighting, Claire?" her mom replied. "Your father was just reminding me that I was the one who thought sending you to a school close by, just to get some experience with it, would be a good idea. He wanted you to go straight to MIT, although how we were going to pay for that, I really don't have any - "

Dad interrupted her. "We're not going to start this up again. Claire, we were wrong to let you go off on your own here in the first place, no matter how safe we thought it would be. And we're fixing that now. You're coming with us, and things will be better once we're out of this town."

Claire's hands formed into fists as frustration boiled up inside her. "Are you listening to me? It's too late for all that stuff! I can't go with you!"

She should have guessed that they'd make the wrong assumptions . . . and, in a way, the right one. "It's the boy, isn't it?" Claire's mother said. "Shane?"

"What? No!" Claire blurted out a denial that, even to her own ears, sounded lame and guilty. "No, not really. It's something else. Like I said, it's complicated."

"Oh my God . . . Claire, are you pregnant?"

"Mom!" She knew she looked as mortified as she felt, especially with Hannah looking on.

"Honey, has that boy taken advantage of you?" Her father was charging full speed down the wrong path; he even stood up to make it more dramatic. "Well?"

Claire stared at him, openmouthed, unable to even try to speak. She knew she should lie, but she just couldn't find the words.

In the ringing silence, her father said, "I want him arrested."

Hannah asked, "On what charge, sir?"

"Are you kidding? He had sex with my underage daughter!" He gave Claire a look that was partly angry, partly wounded, and all over dangerous. "Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong, Claire."

"It . . . wasn't like that!"

Her dad transferred his glare over to Hannah. "You see? I'll swear out a complaint if I need to."

Hannah looked perfectly comfortable. "Sir, there's no complaint to be sworn out here. Fact is, Claire is seventeen years old, which by Texas law makes her able to give consent on her own. Shane's only a year older than she is. There's no laws being broken here, beyond maybe the law of good sense, which I think you'll admit is often a casualty of our teen years. This is a family matter, not a matter for the police."

Her father looked shocked, then even angrier. "That's insane! It has to be illegal!"

"Well, it's not, sir, and it has nothing to do with why I'm telling you Claire needs to stay in Morganville. That has to do with the vampires." Hannah had deftly moved the whole thing off the subject of Shane and sex, for which Claire was spine-meltingly grateful. "I'm telling you this for your own good, and for Claire's own good: she stays here. She won't be unprotected; I promise you that. We're committed to keeping her safe."

"Who's we?" Claire's dad wasn't giving up without a fight.

"Everybody who counts," Hannah said, and raised her eyebrows. "Time's a-wastin', Mr. Danvers. We really can't debate this. You need to go right now. Please go pack."

In the end, they did. Claire went to help her mother, reluctantly; she didn't want the subject to come back to her and Shane, but it did as soon as the door was closed. At least her father wasn't in the room. God, that had been awkward.

"Honey." Claire paused in the act of dragging a suitcase out from under her parents' bed, took one look at the serious expression on her mother's face, and kept on with what she was doing. "Honey, I really don't like your getting involved with that boy - that man. And it's not appropriate for you to be living in that house with him. I just can't allow that."

"Mom, could we please focus on not getting killed today? I promise, you can give me the I'm-so-disappointed-in-you speech tomorrow, and every day after, if you will just pack!"

Her mother opened a drawer of the dresser by the window, grabbed a few handfuls of things at random, and threw them into the open suitcase. Not normal. Mom made those people who worked retail clothing stores look sloppy about how they folded things. She moved on to the next drawer, then the next. Claire struggled to neaten up the mess.

"Just tell me this," her mother said as she dumped an armload of clothes from the closet onto the bed. "Are you being safe?"

Oh lord, Claire did not want to have the birds-and-bees part two conversation with her mother. Not now. Not ever, to be honest; they'd suffered through it once, awkwardly, and once was enough. "Yes," she said, with as calm and decisive a tone as she could manage. "He insisted." She meant that to reflect well on Shane. Of course, Mom took it the wrong way.

"You mean you didn't? Oh, Claire. It's your body!"

"Mom, of course I - " Claire took a deep breath. "Can we just pack? Please?"

She winced as a rain of shoes descended on the bed.

Hannah was waiting when she finally dragged the suitcase downstairs. Claire's father had come in for a few minutes, just long enough to add his few things to the pile, and then he'd tried to tote the bag himself, but Claire had insisted on doing it. The thing was fifty pounds, at least.

Hannah raised her eyebrows at Claire. What happened?

Claire rolled her eyes. Don't ask.

It was a cold, silent ride to the bus.

Richard Morrell had commandeered two genuine Grey-hound buses, with plush seats and tinted windows. According to the hand-lettered sign in the front window, it was a charter heading to Midland/Odessa, but Claire suspected they'd go somewhere else as a destination.

The first bus was already being loaded by the time Claire arrived with her parents; in line to board were most of the town officials and Founder House residents, including the Morrells. Eve was there, too, holding a clipboard and checking people in at a folding table.

"Oh, look, there's your friend," Claire's mom said, and pointed. "She doesn't look very happy."

She wasn't pointing at Eve, but at Monica. Monica definitely wasn't happy. She had to be forced onto the bus, arguing the entire time with her brother, who looked harassed and angry. She'd somehow managed to shoe-horn her two friends into the evacuation along with her, although Gina and Jennifer looked a lot more relieved at being given a chance to leave town. Monica was probably thinking that she stood a better chance of social queen bee-ness with Bishop than if Amelie was in charge, but she was thinking short-term; if what Myrnin said was right, and Claire had no reason to think it wasn't, then the entire social order of Morganville was about to get shattered, and being the most popular wouldn't get you anything but more face time with the firing squad.

The argument with Monica came from the fact that Richard Morrell refused to get on the bus. Well, Claire had seen that coming. He wasn't the type to run. "There's a whole town here that can't get out," he snapped at his sister, who was stubbornly resisting getting pushed toward the idling bus. "People who need looking after. I'm the mayor. I have to stay. Besides, since Dad's gone, I'm on the town council. I can't just go."

"You have got such an ego, Richard! Nobody's counting on you. Most of the stupid people in this town would claw one another apart to get out, if they thought they could."

"That's why I'm staying," he said. "Because those people need order. But I need for you to go, Monica. Please. You need to look after our mom."

Monica wavered. Claire, looking up, could see Mrs. Morrell sitting on the bus, looking out the window with a distant, remote expression. Monica had said her mother wasn't dealing very well, and she did look thin and frail and not entirely in this world.

"That is such emotional blackmail!" Monica spat. Behind her, Gina and Jennifer looked at each other, took a few quiet steps back, and mounted the stairs to board the bus, leaving Monica on her own. "Seriously, Richard. I can't believe you're sending me away like this!"

"Believe it. You're getting on, and getting out of here. Now. I need you to be safe." He hugged her, but she stiff-armed him with an angry glare, and turned and boarded without another word. She slumped into the seat behind Jennifer and Gina, next to her mother, and folded her arms in silent protest.

Richard breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to Claire's parents. "Please," he said. "We need to get these buses moving."

Claire's father shook his head.

"Dad," Claire said, and tugged on his arm. "Dad, come on."

He still hesitated, staring at Hannah, then Richard, then Claire. Still shaking his head in mute refusal.

"Dad, you have to go! Now!" Claire practically shouted. She felt sick inside, worried for them and relieved to think they'd be safe, finally, somewhere outside of Morganville. Somewhere none of this could touch them. "Mom, please. Just make him go! I don't want you here; you're just in the way!"

She said it in desperation, and she saw it hurt her parents a little. She'd said worse to them over the years; she'd had her share of I hate you and I wish you were dead, but that had been when she was just a kid and thought she knew everything.

Now, she knew she didn't, but in this case, she knew more than they did.

Frustrating, because they'd never see it that way.

"Don't you talk to us like that, Claire!" her mother snapped. Her dad put a hand on her shoulder and patted, and she took a deep breath.

"All right," Dad said, "I can see you're not going to come without a fight, and I can see your friends here aren't going to help us." He paused, and Claire swallowed hard at the look in his eyes as he locked stares with Hannah, then Richard. "If anything happens to our daughter - "

"Sir," Richard said. "If you don't get on the bus, something is going to happen to all of us, and it's going to be very, very bad. Please. Just go."

"You need to do it for your daughter," Hannah added. "I think you both know that, deep down. So you let me worry about taking care of Claire. You two get on the bus. I promise you, this will be over soon."

It was a sad sort of farewell, full of tears (from Mom and Claire) and the kind of too-strong hug that meant Claire's father felt just as choked up, but wasn't willing to show it. Her mother smoothed her hair, just like she'd done since Claire was a little girl, and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"You be good," she said, and looked deep into Claire's eyes. "We're going to talk about things later."

She meant about Shane, of course. Claire sighed and nodded, and hugged her one last time. She watched them walk up the stairs and onto the bus.

Her parents took a seat near the front, with her mom next to the window. Claire gave a sad little wave, and her mom waved back. Mom was still crying. Dad looked off into the distance, jaw set tight, and didn't wave back.

The bus closed its doors with a final hiss and pulled away from the deserted warehouse that served as a dropoff point for the departures. Three police cars fell in behind it, driven by people Hannah had handpicked.

Claire shivered, even though she was standing in the sun. They're leaving. They're really leaving. She felt very alone.

The bus looked so vulnerable.

"Cold?" A jacket settled around her shoulders. It smelled like Shane. "What did I miss?"

She turned, and there he was, wearing an old gray T-shirt and jeans. His leather jacket felt like a hug around her body, but it wasn't enough; she dived into the warmth of his arms, and they clung together for a moment. He kissed the top of her head. "It's okay," he said. "They'll be okay."

"No, it's not okay," she said, muffled against his chest. "It's just not."

He didn't argue. After a moment, she turned her head, and together they watched the caravan stream away toward the Morganville city limits.

"Why is it," she asked in a plaintive little voice, "that I can fight vampires and risk death and they can accept that, but they can't accept that I'm a woman, with my own life?"

Shane thought about that for a second; she could see him trying to work it out through the framework of his own admittedly weird childhood. "Must be a girl thing?"

"Yeah, must be."

"So I'm guessing you told them."

"Um . . . not on purpose. I didn't expect them to be so . . . angry about it."

"You're their little girl," Shane said. "You know, when I think about it, I'd feel the same way about my own daughter."

"You would?" There was something deliciously warm about the fact that he wasn't afraid to say that to her. "So," she said, with an effort at being casual that was probably all too obvious. "You want to have a daughter, then?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Hit the brakes, girl."

But he didn't sound angry about it, or nervous. Just - as was usual with Shane - focused on what was in front of them right now. A sense of calm was slowly spreading through her, sinking deeper with every breath. It felt better when she was with him. Everything felt better.

Shane asked, "What about the Goldmans? Were they on the bus, too?"

"I didn't see the Goldmans," Claire said. "Hannah?"

Hannah Moses was still standing nearby, signing papers on a clipboard that another uniformed Morganville cop had handed her. She glanced toward the two of them. "Couldn't get to them," she said. "Myrnin was going to arrange that, but we've got no way to get them out of Bishop's control right now. The clock's running, and it's only a matter of minutes before Bishop finds out what we just did, if he hasn't already."

Richard Morrell's phone rang. He unclipped it from his belt and checked the number, then flipped it open and walked away to talk for a moment. Claire watched him pace, shoulders hunched, as he had his conversation. When he folded up the phone and came back, his face was tense. "He knows," he said. "Bishop's calling a town hall meeting for tonight at Founder's Square. Everybody must attend. Nobody stays home."

"Oh, come on. You can't get everybody in town to a meeting. What if they don't get the message? What if they just don't want to do it?" Claire asked. Even in Morganville, making people stick to rules - whatever the rules were - was like herding cats.

Richard and Hannah exchanged a look. "Bishop's not one for taking excuses," she said. "If he says everybody has to be at the meeting, he'll make it open season on anybody who isn't there. That's his style."

Richard was already nodding his agreement. "We need to get word out. Knock on every door, every business. Lock off the campus and keep the students out of this. We've got six hours before sundown. Let's not waste one minute."

Shane was drafted into helping a whole crowd of people load supplies into the warehouse - food, water, clothing, radios, survival-type stuff. Claire wasn't sure why, and she didn't think she really wanted to know; the atmosphere was quiet, purposeful, but tense. Nobody asked questions. Not now.

The first of Bishop's vampires showed up about two hours later, driving slowly past the perimeter in one of the city-issued cars with tinted windows. Hannah's strike team stopped the car, and Claire was surprised to see them fling a blanket over the vampire as he was dragged out of the shelter into the sun, and hauled off to be confined under cover.

"Most of Bishop's people are really Amelie's," Hannah explained. "Amelie would like us to keep them alive, if we can. She can turn them back, once Bishop's gone. Call it temporary insanity - not a killing kind of offense, even for vampires. We just need to keep them out of commission, that's all."

Well, that sounded deceptively easy to Claire's ears; she didn't think Bishop's converts - even the unwilling ones - would be all that eager to be put on the bench. Still, Hannah seemed to know what she was doing. Hopefully. "So that's the plan: we just grab every vamp who comes looking?"

"Not quite." Hannah gave her a slight smile. "You do know I'm not telling you the plan, right?"

Right, Claire was still on the wrong side. She glared down at her much-faded tattoo, which was still moving under her skin, but weakly, like the last flutters of a failing butterfly. It itched. "I wish this thing would just die already."

"Has Bishop tried to reach you through it?"

"Not recently. Or if he has, I can't feel it anymore." That would be excellent, if it really was a bad connection. Maybe she was in a no-magic-signal dead zone. "So what can I do?"

"Go knock on doors," Hannah said. "We've got a list of names that we're still looking for, for the second bus. You can go with Joe Hess."

Claire's eyes widened. "He's okay?" Because she had an instant sense memory of the feeling of that death warrant in her hands, the one she'd given to him.

"Sure," Hannah said. "Why wouldn't he be?"

Claire had no idea what had happened, but she liked Detective Hess, and at least riding around with him would give her a feeling of forward motion, of doing something useful. Everyone else seemed to have a purpose. All she could think about was that her parents were on a bus heading out of town, and she didn't know what was going to happen to them. Or could happen to them.

She wished she'd said a better good-bye. She wished they hadn't been so upset with her about Shane. Well, they're going to have to get used to it, she thought defiantly, but even to herself, it felt weak and a little selfish.

But being with Shane wasn't a mistake. She knew it wasn't.

Joe Hess was driving his own car, but it had all the cool cop stuff inside - a radio, one of those magnetic flashing lights to go on the roof, and a shotgun that was locked into a rack in the back. He was a tall, quiet man who just had a way about him that put her at ease. For one thing, he never looked at her like some annoying kid; he just looked at her as a person. A young person, true, but someone to take seriously. She wasn't quite sure how she'd earned that from him, considering the death warrant delivery.

"I'm locking the doors," he told her as she climbed into the passenger seat, half a second before the click-thump sound echoed through the car. "Nice to see you, Claire."

"Thanks. It's good to see you, too. What about the buses?" she said. "Are they out of town yet?"

"Amelie herself escorted them through the barrier a few minutes ago," he said. "There was a little bit of trouble at the border, nothing we couldn't handle. They're on their way. Nobody was hurt."

That eased a tight knot in her chest that she hadn't even known was there. "Where are they going - No, don't tell me. I probably don't need to know, right?"

"Probably not," he agreed, and gave her a sidelong look. "You okay?"

She looked out the car window and shrugged. "My parents are on one of those buses, that's all. I'm just worried."

He kept sending her looks as he drove, and there was a frown on his face. "And tired," he said. "When you left me, did you go back to Bishop? Did he hurt you?"

There really wasn't an easy answer to that. "He didn't hurt me," she finally said. "Not . . . personally."

"I guess that's part of what I was asking," he said. "But that doesn't answer my question, really."

"You mean, am I in need of serious therapy because of all this?" Another shrug seemed kind of appropriate. "Yeah, probably. But this is Morganville. That's not exactly the worst thing that could happen." She turned her head and looked directly at him. "What was on the scroll I gave you?"

He was quiet for so long she thought he was blowing off the question, but then he said, "It was a death warrant."

She already knew that. "Not yours, though."

"No," he said. "Someone else's."

"Whose?"

"Claire - "

"It doesn't matter. We got it reversed. It's not an issue anymore."

"I delivered it. I have a right to know."

For answer, Joe dug into the pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, still curling at the edges, with fragments of wax clinging to the outside. He held it out to her.

Claire unfolded it. The paper was stiff and crackly, old paper, with a faintly moldy smell to it. The handwriting - Bishop's - was spiky and hard to read, but the name was done larger and underlined.

Eve Rosser.

"That's not happening," Joe said. "I just wanted you to know that. If he tells you about it, I wanted you to understand that Eve is perfectly safe, all right? Nothing will happen to her. Claire, do you understand me?"

She'd carried an order to him to kill her best friend.

Claire couldn't think. Couldn't feel anything except a vast, echoing sense of shock. She tried to read the rest of the paper, but her eyes kept moving back to Eve's name, going over and over it.

She folded up the paper and held it clutched tightly in one hand. Breathe. She felt light-headed and a little sick.

"Why you?" she asked faintly. "Why give it to you?"

"That's Bishop's style. He picks out people least likely to do what he wants, so he can punish them when they refuse to carry out the order. Object lessons for the rest of Morganville. He knew I wouldn't kill Eve. Not a chance. This was less about his wanting to get rid of Eve than to get rid of me."

She still felt cold. Sure, Detective Hess wouldn't have done it, but what if she'd been told to take it to someone else? Monica, maybe?

Eve might be dead right now, and it would have been all her fault.

She felt the death warrant being tugged out of her fingers. When she opened her eyes, fighting back tears, Detective Hess was slipping it back into his pocket. "I just wanted you to understand what we're up against," he said. "And to understand that no matter what happens, some of us will never do what he wants."

Claire realized that she couldn't count herself in that club. She'd already done what Bishop wanted.

More than once.

God, she really didn't want to think about how far she'd wandered into that swamp, but she was definitely up to her butt in alligators.

"All right, back to business." Hess handed her a piece of paper. "These are the people we still need to find," he said. "I heard about what happened with Frank Collins. You and Shane were there?"

She really wasn't up to talking about that. "Dr. Mills is with Amelie," she said. "You can cross him off this list. She isn't going to send him out of town."

All around Morganville, as they drove, there were signs things were happening - people gathering in groups, whispering at fences, and pausing to stare hard at the passing car. No vampires in sight, but then Claire wouldn't expect there to be so close to noon. "What is this?" she asked. Hess shook his head.

"There's still a pretty strong antivampire movement in town," he said. "It got stronger these last few months. I've been trying to keep them calmed down, because if they start this now, they'll just get themselves killed. And most of them aren't looking at Amelie's side as anything but another target. We can't afford that until Bishop's gone."

"So what do we do about it?"

"Nothing. Nothing we can do right now. Bishop's the one pushing the agenda, not us. If he wants a fight tonight, he's going to get one. Maybe bigger than he wants."

The fourth address on the list was an apartment - there weren't many apartment buildings in Morganville, since most people lived in single-family houses, but there were a few. Like in any small town, the complexes varied from crappy to less crappy; there was no such thing as luxury multifamily housing.

The apartment complex they stopped at was on the crappy end of the short spectrum. It was stucco over brick, painted a sun-faded pink, with two stories of apartments built into an open square on a central . . . well, Claire guessed you could call it a courtyard, if you liked a view that included a dry swimming pool with dark scum at one end, some spiky, untrimmed bushes, and an overflowing trash can.

Joe Hess checked apartment numbers. If the run-down appearance of the place bothered him, he didn't show it. When they reached number twenty-two, he banged loudly on the door. "Police, open up!" he yelled, and pushed Claire out of the way when she tried to stand next to him. He gave her a silent stay there gesture, and listened. She couldn't hear a thing from inside.

Neither could he, apparently. He shook his head, but as they turned to go, Claire clearly heard someone inside the apartment say, "Help."

She froze, staring at Detective Hess. He'd heard it, too, and he gestured her even farther back as he pulled his gun from the holster under his jacket. "Willie Combs? You okay in there? It's Joe Hess. Answer me, Willie!"

"Help," the voice came again, weaker this time.

Hess tried the door, but it was locked. He took in a deep breath. "Claire, you stay right there. Do not come in. Hear me?"

She nodded. He whirled and kicked into the door, and the cheap hollow wood splintered and flew open on the second try, sending wood and metal flying.

Detective Hess disappeared inside. Claire saw curtains fluttering and blinds tenting as people looked out to see what was going on, but nobody came outside.

Not even in the middle of the day.

It seemed like a very long time until Detective Hess came out with someone held in his arms. It was a girl about Claire's age, pretty, dressed in a Morganville High T-shirt and sweatpants, like she'd just dropped in from gym class.

She wasn't moving, and he was holding a towel on her neck.

"Call an ambulance," he ordered Claire. "Tell them it's a rush, and bring the bite kit."

"Is she - "

"She's alive," he said, and stretched her out on the concrete, still holding the towel in place. Hess looked up at her with fury shining in his eyes. "Her name is Theresa. Theresa Combs. She's the oldest of the three kids."

Claire went cold, and looked at the doorway of the apartment. "They're not - "

"Let's focus on the living," he said. "Hold this on her throat, just like this." She knelt beside him and pressed her small fingers where his larger ones were. It felt like she was pressing too hard, but he nodded. "Good. Keep doing that. I'm going to make one more sweep inside, just to be sure."

As he stepped over the girl and back into the apartment, Theresa's eyes fluttered, and she looked at Claire. Big, dark eyes. Desperate. "Help," she whispered. "Help Jimmy. He's only twelve."

Claire took her hand. "Shhhh. Just rest."

Theresa's eyes filled up with tears. "I tried," she said. "I really tried. Why is this happening to us? We didn't do anything wrong. We followed all the rules."

Claire couldn't do anything to help her, except hold her hand and keep the towel over her throat, just like Detective Hess said. When he came back to the doorway, drawn by the distant howl of an approaching siren, she looked up at him in miserable hope.

He shook his head.

They didn't speak at all until the paramedics took Theresa away. Claire stayed where she was, on her knees, staring at the blood speckling her trembling fingers. Detective Hess crouched down and handed her a moist wipe, with the attitude of somebody who'd done that sort of thing a lot. He patted her gently on the shoulder. "Deep breaths," he said. "I'm sorry you had to see that. Good job taking care of Theresa. You probably saved her life."

"Who did that to them?" Once she started wiping her hands, she really couldn't stop. "Why?"

"It's been happening all over town," Hess said. "People whose Protectors went over to Bishop. People who lost their Protectors in the fight. People whose Protectors never cared enough in the first place. Half of this town is nothing but a mobile blood supply right now." The look on his face, when she glanced up, was enough to make her shiver. "Maybe the crazies are right. Maybe we should kill all the vampires."

"Yeah," Claire said, very softly. "Because people never kill people, right?"

He had Eve's death warrant in his pocket.

He didn't argue about it.

They found another five people on Hannah's list, all safe and alive - well, one of them was drunk off his butt at the Barfly, one of the scarier local watering holes, but he was still breathing and unfanged. One by one, they were put on the bus.

By four p.m., the last bus was motoring out of Morganville, heading for parts unknown (to Claire, at least), and she was left standing with those who were left. Richard Morrell. Hannah Moses. Shane and Eve, standing there together, whispering. Joe Hess, talking on the police car radio. There were other people around, but they stayed in the shadows, and Claire had the strong suspicion that they were vampires. Amelie's vampires, getting organized for something big.

Without warning, Claire felt a burning sensation on her arm.

When she pulled back her sleeve, she saw the tattoo was swirling, like a pot of stirred ink under her skin. Bishop was trying to pull her in. She could feel the impulse to walk out of the warehouse and head for Founder's Square, but she resisted.

When she was afraid she couldn't hold back anymore, she told Shane. He put his arms around her. "I'm not letting you go anywhere," he promised. "Not without me."

The impulse felt like a string tied around her guts, pulling relentlessly. It was annoying at first. Then it hurt. Finally, she pulled free of Shane's embrace and walked in circles around the open space of the warehouse they'd used for the bus staging area, making wider and wider arcs. He intercepted her when she came close to the door, and she looked at him in silent misery. "I hate this!" she blurted. "I want this thing out!" And she burst into tears, because it felt overwhelming to her, this feeling of despair and anguish, of not being where she was supposed to be. This time, even Shane's presence couldn't help. The misery just came in waves, crushing her underneath. She heard Shane yelling at Richard Morrell, and then Hannah was there, saying something about helping.

Claire felt a hot sting in her arm, and then calm spread like ice through her veins. It was a relief, but it didn't touch the burning on her arm, or the anxiety boiling in her stomach. Her body still wasn't her own.

"She'll sleep for a while," Hannah said, from a long way off. "Shane, I need you."

Claire couldn't open her eyes, or tell them that she wasn't really asleep at all. She seemed to be - she got that - but she was desperately awake underneath. Painfully awake.

Shane kissed her, warm and gentle, and she felt his hand smooth her hair and trace down her cheek. Don't leave me, she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't make herself move or speak.

Her heartbeat thudded, slow and calm, even though she felt the panic building inside her.

She felt herself carried somewhere, tucked into a warm bed and piled with blankets.

Then silence.

Her eyes opened, as if someone else was controlling them, and as she sat up, she saw someone standing in the corner of the darkened room where they'd left her.

Ada.

The ghost put a pale, flickering finger to her lips and motioned for Claire to sit up. She did, although she had no idea why.

Ada drifted closer. Once again, she wasn't three-dimensional at all, just a flat projection on the air, like a TV character without the screen. She didn't really look human; in fact, she looked more like a game character, all smoothness and manufactured detail.

Somewhere in the dark, a cell phone rang. Claire walked over to a pile of boxes labeled EMERGENCY COMMUNICATION EQUIPMENT and ripped away tape to retrieve a cell phone. Fully charged, from the battery icon on the display. She lifted it to her ear.

"Bishop is trying to pull you to him," Ada's tinny, artificial voice said. "But I need you elsewhere."

"You need me."

"Of course. With Myrnin deactivated, I require someone to assist me. Take the portal to reach me."

"There's a portal?" Claire felt slow and stupid, and she didn't think it was the drugs that Hannah had given her. Ada's ghostly representation gave her a scorching look of contempt.

"I have made a portal," she said. "That's what I do, you silly fool. Take it, now. Six steps forward, four to your right. Go!"

The connection died on Claire's borrowed phone with a lost-signal beep. She folded the clamshell and slid it back in her pocket, and realized that someone - Shane, she guessed - had taken her shoes off for her. She put them on and walked six paces forward into the dark, then four steps to the right.

Her fourth step sent her falling through freezing-cold blackness, and then her foot touched ground, and she was someplace she recognized.

She came out in the cells where Myrnin and Amelie had confined the vampires who had become too sick to function on their own. It was an old prison, dark and damp, built out of solid stone and steel. The tornado that had raged through Morganville a few months back had damaged part of the building; Claire hadn't been involved in tracking down the escaped patients, but she knew it had been done, and the place repaired. Not that Bishop had cared, of course. Amelie had done that.

But all the cells were empty now.

Claire stumbled to a halt and wrapped her arms around her stomach, where the tug from Bishop's will felt like a white-hot wire being pulled through her skin. She braced herself against the wall, breathing hard. "I'm here," she said to the empty air. "What do you want me to do, Ada?"

Ada's ghost glided down the corridor ahead of her - still two-dimensional, but this time the view was from the back. Her stiff belled skirts drifted inches above the stone floor, and she looked back over her shoulder toward Claire in unmistakable command. Great, Claire thought. It's not bad enough that Bishop has his hooks in me; now it's Myrnin's nutty computer, too. I have way too many bosses.

Eve would have told her she needed a better job, which would include sewage treatment.

"Where are we going?" she asked Ada, not that she expected an answer. She wasn't disappointed. The prison was laid out in long hallways, and the last time Claire had been here, most of the cells had been filled with plague victims. She'd delivered their food - well, blood - to them to make sure they hadn't starved. Some had been violent; most had just been lying very still, unable to do much at all.

Where were they now?

At the end of the line was the cell where Myrnin had spent his days, off and on, when he was too dangerous to be in the lab or around anybody - even other vampires. It had been furnished with his home comforts, like a thick Turkish rug and a soft pile of blankets and pillows, his ragged armchair, and stacks of books.

No sign of Myrnin, either.

Ada glided to the end of the hall, then turned to face Claire, flickering from a back view to a front view like a jump cut in a movie.

"That's really creepy," Claire said. "You know that, right?"

Her phone rang. She opened the clamshell. "You were seeking Dr. Mills," Ada said. "He is here."

"Where?"

"Follow. He requires assistance."

Claire kept the phone to her ear as Ada turned around again and misted right through the stone wall. Claire stopped, her nose two inches away from the surface of the barrier. She slowly reached out, and although the stone looked utterly real - it even smelled real, like dust and mold - there was nothing under her hand but air. Still, her brain stubbornly told her not to take another step, or she'd end up with a bruised face at the very least. In fact, her whole body resisted the order to walk on.

Claire forced her foot to rise, inch forward, and step into the stone. Then the other foot, shuffling forward to match it. It didn't get any easier, not for five or six tor-turous inches, and then suddenly the pressure was gone, and she stepped through into a large, well-lit room.

A room full of vampires.

Claire froze as dozens of pallid faces turned toward her. She'd never gotten to know the inmates - they'd mostly been anonymous in the shadows - but she recognized a few of them. What were they doing out of their cages?

The voice on the phone at her ear snapped, impatiently, "Would you come, then?"

Claire blinked and saw that Ada was drifting in the middle of the room, staring at her in naked fury. "They're not going to - "

"They will not hurt you," Ada said. "Don't be absurd."

It really wasn't all that absurd. Claire had seen some of these same vampires clawing gouges in stone with their fingernails, and gnawing on their own fingers. She was like a doggie treat in a room full of rabid rottwei lers.

None of them lunged at her. They stared at her as if she was a curiosity, but they didn't seem especially, well, hungry.

She followed Ada's image across the room to a small stone alcove, where she saw Dr. Mills lying very still on a cot.

"Oh no," Claire whispered, and hurried over to him. "Dr. Mills?"

He groaned and opened reddened eyes, blinking to focus on her face. "Claire," he croaked, and coughed. "Damn. What time is it?"

"Uh - almost five, I think. Why?"

"I just went to sleep at four," he said, and flopped back to full length on his cot. "God. Sorry, I'm exhausted. Forty-eight hours without more than a couple of hours down. I'm not a med student anymore."

She felt a wave of utter relief. "They didn't, you know - "

"Kill me? Other than by working me half to death?" Dr. Mills groaned and sat up, rubbing his head as if he was trying to shove his brains back inside. "Amelie wanted to use the serum to treat the worst cases first. I got everyone housed here, except for Myrnin. I have two doses left. There won't be any more if we don't get blood from Bishop to culture."

She'd almost forgotten about that. "Have you seen Myrnin?"

"Not since Amelie brought me here," Dr. Mills said. "Why?"

"He's sick," Claire said. "Very sick. I was looking for you to try to help him, but I don't know where he is now. Amelie took him, too."

He was already shaking his head. "She didn't bring him here. I haven't seen them."

Claire sensed a shadow behind her and, turning, came face-to-face with a vampire. A smallish one, just a little taller than her own modest height. It was a girl barely out of her teens, with waist-length blond hair and lovely dark eyes, who smiled at the two of them with an unsettlingly knowing expression.

"I am Naomi," she said. "This is my sister Violet." Just behind her was a slightly older girl, same dark eyes, only a little stronger in the chin, and with midnight-black hair. "We wish to thank you, Doctor, for your gift. We have not felt so well in many years."

"You're welcome," Dr. Mills said. He sounded tense, and Claire could understand why; the vamps were all on their best behavior, but that could change, and she saw a shadow of it in Naomi. "I'm sure Amelie will be along to get you soon."

The two vamps nodded, bobbed an old-fashioned curtsy, and withdrew back into the main room. There was a soft buzz of conversation building out there, a kind of whisper that sounded like a calm sea on the shore. Vampires didn't have to speak loudly to be heard, at least by one another.

"Is Amelie coming?" Dr. Mills asked. "Because I'm starting to feel like the special of the day around here."

Oh. He thought Claire was the scout riding ahead of the vampire cavalry. She looked around for Ada, but she didn't see any sign of her now. She'd just faded out. Claire folded up the phone and put it back in her pocket, feeling a little stupid. "I don't know," she said. "I was told you needed help."

He gave a jaw-cracking yawn, murmured an apology, and nodded. "I've got sacks of crystals, and some of the liquid. We need to distribute it all over town, make sure everybody who needs it gets medicated. It won't last for long, and it isn't the cure, but until I can get Bishop's blood, it'll have to do. Can you help me measure it into individual doses?"

Claire realized, as she was scooping measuring spoons of red crystals and putting them in bottles, that the burning urgency in her guts had finally, slowly faded away.

She pulled up her sleeve.

The tattoo was barely a shadow under her skin.

As she stared at the place where it had been, Naomi the vampire leaned over her shoulder and studied it with her. Claire flinched, which was probably what the vamp had intended, and Naomi chuckled. "I see Bishop marked you," she said. "Don't fear, child. It's almost gone now. He marked my sister once." The smile left her face, and it set in hard, cold lines. "Then he marked us both forever. Sister Amelie told us he was dead, long ago, but he isn't, is he?"

Claire shook her head, unable to say anything with fangs so close to her neck. Naomi didn't seem to be threatening, but she didn't seem to be comforting, either.

"Then it's come to it," Naomi said. "It's time for us to fight him. Good. For my sister's sake, I'll be happy to face him again." Naomi's cool hand stroked Claire's cheek. "Pretty child. You smell warm."

Claire shuddered. "Yeah, well, I, uh, am. I guess."

"Warm as sunlight. So was I, once." Naomi's sigh brushed Claire's skin, and then the vampire was gone, moving in a blur. The vampires were all moving faster now - recovering, Claire guessed. Growing stronger.

Dr. Mills was looking at them in satisfaction, but Claire couldn't quite get there from here. Great, they were feeling better; she could get behind that.

But now they were healthy vampires. Which meant they could make more vampires, and that changed everything. It changed the entire dynamic of Morganville.

Didn't it?

Her phone rang. No number displayed on the caller ID. Claire flipped it open and said, "What, Ada?"

"You must take Dr. Mills and leave," Ada said. "I will dial the portal for you. Go now."

"Would you mind telling me what - "

"Do as I say or I will leave you both alone in a room full of vampires who may crave an instant hot meal."

Myrnin's computer was such a bitch.

Claire snapped the phone shut. "Grab what you need," she said. "It's time to go."

Dr. Mills nodded. He'd loaded the individual doses into a couple of duffel bags, and he handed one to her as he hefted the other. He opened up a padded silver box and checked the contents.

Two syringes.

"Those are the last two doses of the serum, right?" Claire asked. "Maybe I'd better . . . ?"

He handed them over. "Make sure Myrnin gets one, and Amelie gets the other," he said. "Oliver will try to hijack one for himself. Don't let him."

Like she stood a chance of saying no to Oliver on her own, but she nodded anyway. Dr. Mills seemed relieved to have the stuff out of his hands. He looked around at the vampires, who were all turning toward them. "Maybe we should be going," he said. "I'm sure they're all grateful, but - "

"Yeah," Claire said. "Let's."

Walking through the crowd was like walking through a giant pride of lions. They might be calmly observing, but there was no mistaking the predatory gleam in their eyes as they did it. Claire caught the glitter of fangs in one or two mouths, and made sure not to make eye contact.

Naomi stepped into her path. The young vampire - well, young-looking - blocked the way out. "May I beg a favor?" she asked. "A small one, I assure you."

Claire licked her lips. "Sure."

"Give this to my sister Amelie," she said, and lifted a silver necklace off of her alabaster neck. It was a beautiful little thing, thin as a whisper, and it had a white cameo dangling from it. "Tell her that we are with her if she requires it."

Claire put the necklace in her pocket, and nodded. "I'll tell her." Naomi didn't move. "Did you want something else?"

"Oh, yes," Naomi said faintly. "Very badly. But you see, I know my sister. I know she would not forgive me if I did anything untoward. So you and your kind doctor must go, before we forget our promises."

Still, she didn't move.

Claire went around her. Naomi turned to watch her.

Stepping through the stone illusion seemed a whole lot easier this time, maybe because she knew staying was definitely not a good idea at all.

Ada's ghost stood in the hallway, looking furiously out of sorts with the delay. She turned and glided away at top speed. Claire broke into a run to keep up, and Dr. Mills kept pace. Ada suddenly stopped and spun her image to face them like a flat cardboard cutout, and the speaker on Claire's phone shrieked with static.

Dr. Mills went down.

"Run!" Ada screamed through the speakerphone, but Claire couldn't. She couldn't leave him behind.

Claire stopped to reach down to help him up, but he wasn't moving. There was a cut on his head, and although he was breathing, he was completely unconscious.

The cut was on the back of his head. He hadn't fallen that way.

Someone had hit him.

Ada tried to tell her to run away, but she stayed where she was. Ada's ghostly image screamed silently in frustration and burst into a storm of misty static.

Gone.

In the darkness, Claire felt fingers brush her hair.

"Naomi?" she asked in a faint whisper.

A dry chuckle sounded next to her ear, shockingly close. "Never met the lady. You know who I am," a male voice said. "Don't you, Claire?"

She closed her eyes.

"Hello," she said, "Mr. Collins."