Black Dawn

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

  CLAIRE

  "No!" She'd been screaming it until her throat felt bloody, but Myrnin wouldn't let go of her, and she couldn't get Eve or Michael to do anything. Eve was huddled in the front seat, crying; Michael was driving and not looking in the rearview mirror at her. From the glimpses she'd had of his reflection, his face was set like a mask, but there were tears glittering in his eyes. Tears and fury. "No, you can't leave him there, you can't!" But that wasn't what she was really saying. I left him, she was screaming to herself, inside. I left him there. I abandoned Shane and I can't let that happen. I can't live with that. I should have stayed.

  Myrnin was muttering under his breath, a liquid flow of what she was sure were curse words in a language she couldn't recognize. Welsh, maybe. He broke off to say, sternly, "That's enough. You won't be helping him by all this, will you?"

  "You're not helping him at all!"

  He wrapped both arms around her, pinning her helplessly with her back against his chest, and it was like being held in an iron vise. "Hush," he said softly. "Hush, now. If we go back, we'll die. All of us. He's already gone. "

  "They have him, you know that, they have him, and they-they-maybe he's still alive, maybe-"

  "He's dead. There's nothing to go back for. I'm sorry. "

  She screamed then, without words, just a tortured shriek that echoed around the metal box. It sounded like someone else's voice, someone else's pain, because no matter how tormented it was it couldn't even begin to approach how much she hurt.

  Claire felt Myrnin's cold lips brush her cheek, and heard him murmur, "You will never thank me for this, fy annwyl. " And then he moved a hand to her throat and pressed in a specific place, and in seconds, the world tunneled into gray, then black, and she was gone.

  She came to again with her head in Eve's lap.

  They were sitting in their makeshift bedroom, the big ballroom with their cast-off clothes and sleeping bags littering the floor, cups of drying coffee sitting on antique tables that had been pushed to the wall. Claire's head hurt, her throat hurt, and her eyes felt swollen, and for a moment she couldn't remember why. Eve was silently stroking her hair. Upside down, Eve looked strange. Her eyes were red, and she looked very shaken and sad.

  She pulled in a deep breath as she realized Claire was awake. "Michael!"

  He was there in a flash beside her, kneeling next to Claire. He took hold of her hands and pulled her up into a hug.

  He didn't say anything. Not a thing.

  She didn't want to remember. Her hands fisted behind his back, her whole body shook with the need not to know. Michael was shaking, too. After a moment, he let go and sat back, avoiding her eyes as he wiped his face with an impatient gesture, but not before she saw the tears.

  "He's not dead," she said. "He's not. They took him. I saw them take him. "

  "Claire-" Michael slowly shook his head. He looked tired, angry, and . . . just broken. "Myrnin said he was dead. "

  "He's not. "

  It was Eve's turn to put her arms around her. Unlike Michael, she wasn't crying now. She'd finished, Claire supposed, and how was that fair, that anybody could ever finish crying? Ever?

  "If I believed there was a chance, any chance, I'd already be going," Eve said. "But, sweetheart, he's gone. "

  Claire shoved her back with a burst of white rage. She jumped to her feet. "Myrnin knocked me out," she spat. "How long?" They didn't answer her until she kicked at the limp sleeping bag and yelled it again. "How long?"

  "Five minutes, maybe," Eve whispered. "Claire, don't. We're not your enemies-don't do this . . . . We love him, too. "

  "Not fucking enough, you don't!" she snapped, and left them there. She was walking first, then running. Nobody tried to stop her. She flew through confusing hallways, reversed course, her heart hammering, and tried three different routes before she saw the room at the end with the vampire guards standing sentry.

  They stepped out in front of her, right palms outstretched in a clear no way signal. Claire slowed, but she kept coming. "I need to see Oliver," she said. "Right now. "

  "He's not available. "

  "I need to see him!"

  "Stop. "

  She didn't. She wasn't sure what her plan was, because right now there was nothing inside her but the burning, ripping need to do something . . . probably fifteen minutes had passed since she'd last seen Shane, and he was still alive, she was sure he was. Something had to be done. Someone had to listen. She locked gazes with the vampire on the right-she knew him, he was one of Amelie's regular crew, and sometimes she caught him looking, well, not human but approachable.

  Not now. His expression had set like concrete, and his light brown eyes were cold. "Turn around," he said. "Now. "

  She couldn't. She couldn't give up, because Shane wouldn't have given up on her. He'd have fought like a wildcat, made them put him in a cage or let him go, and she couldn't do any less for him, could she?

  It took about one second for the vampire to reach out, grab her, and carry her back down the hallway. She kicked and screamed but it didn't do any good, and the fast motion made her dizzy and sick, disoriented, so that when he dumped her off and slammed and locked the door on her she was still too woozy to stand and fight.

  Claire screamed and kicked and battered the heavy wooden door with pure adrenalized fury until she collapsed in a gasping, shaking heap next to it.

  Then a voice said, "You finished?"

  She looked around, surprised, and found she wasn't the only occupant of this makeshift cell. It had a couple of camp beds in it, some bottled water, and half a box of energy bars sitting on the floor nearby . . . and a boy she recognized. He was skinny, and he had a mass of greasy dark hair that flopped over his face.

  "Jason!" she blurted, and felt an immediate surge of fear. Eve's brother wasn't someone she could trust, not even at the best of times, and being locked in a room with him was definitely not the best of times.

  He was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, chewing an energy bar. "I hate being locked up, too," Jason said, "but screaming at the door won't get you anywhere, and you're giving me a headache. So, you got on the wrong side of the vamps, finally. Good for you. "

  "What are you doing here?"

  He laughed dryly and held out his hands. They were cuffed. "Prison labor," he said. "They've got me loading up shotgun shells. It's my rest period, which you're screwing up with all your screaming. "

  Claire knelt down to examine the lock on the door (new, and good) and then the hinges (located on the outside of the door, not the inside). Then she started looking around the room. No windows, like most of the rooms in this vampire shrine. Nothing but four walls, carpet, paneling, and the few things provided for comfort.

  Her gaze fixed on Jason. "What do you have?" she asked him. Myrnin, or someone, had searched her and there was nothing left now in her own jeans pockets but lint.

  "Not a damn thing," Jason said. "Why, you gonna search me?" He laughed. "Shane's gonna get a real kink in his tail over that. "

  "Shane's in trouble," Claire said, "and I swear to God that if you don't help me, I'll break your finger off and use the bone to pick the lock. "

  Jason stopped laughing and gave her a long, odd look. "You're kind of serious," he said. "Huh. That's dark, for you. "

  "Shut up and help. "

  "Can't. I got my own ass to save here. I do anything off-limits, like touching that door, and I end up bags of blood in a refrigerator, if I'm lucky. Sentence of death, remember?" He rattled his handcuffs for effect. "I'm working out my appeal. "

  Claire ignored him. Think. Think! She tried, but there wasn't much to work with. Water. Plastic bottles. A box of energy bars that came in crinkly metallic wrappers . . .

  She lunged for those, stripped the wrapper loose from a bar, and began folding it in careful, precise movements.

  "I'm all for hobbies, but you think this is the
time for origami? Whatcha making, a crane?"

  Claire made a thin metallic probe. It was too flexible to serve as a lock pick, but she searched the baseboards. One good thing about modern life-you were never far from an electrical outlet.

  She shoved one end of her probe into one of the flat sides of the plug, then bent it and jammed the other end of the U into the plug's other side, completing the circuit. Getting shocked was inevitable, and she gritted her teeth and took the pain; it wouldn't kill her. She'd been shocked plenty of times on things in Myrnin's lab.

  She tore a piece from the cardboard box the energy bars had come in, and held it to the metallic strip. It started to smolder, then smoke, and then a thin edge of flame licked at the paper. Claire grinned without amusement and held the burning cardboard up to the rest of the box. Once that was burning, she dropped it on the carpet, which-flame-retardant or not-rapidly began smoking and melting.

  The fire alarm went off.

  "Holy shit," Jason said. "You are crazy. "

  Vampires took fire seriously; it was something that would kill them, quickly, and every building in Founder's Square was equipped with massive fire detection systems.

  The smoke was rising, and acrid, and Claire coughed involuntarily, then coughed again. The stench was bad. The plug sparked and a thin thread of fire ran up the wall.

  "Put it out," Jason said, no longer even a little amused. When she didn't, he grabbed a blanket and flung it over the burning carpet, stamping hard just as the alarms went off with a fierce shrilling sound. Greasy smoke billowed up, sending them both into a hacking fit, and now the wall was on fire, really, and Claire felt an awful surge of destructive joy as the door rattled and a guard stepped in with a fire extinguisher. He assessed the situation instantly, disregarded the two of them, and went to the wall to spray it with foam.

  Claire broke for the open door. She didn't realize until she'd gained the hall that Jason hadn't followed her; when she glanced back, he was standing right where he'd been, facing the open doorway.

  He raised his cuffed hands and gave her a finger wave.

  Fine. If he wanted to stay in prison, she had absolutely no objections.

  There were alarms all over the place, summoning people to fight the fire. It wasn't a big one, and it'd be out in seconds, but she'd created chaos, and that was all she needed. She just had to get to the basement, find a car, and . . . she'd figure out the next part as she went along. She'd have to. If Michael and Eve weren't going to help . . .

  She made it to the elevator and pushed the button for the parking garage. There had to be some car she could steal, something. She needed to get out of here and back to the treatment plant. Seconds counted. Shane was still alive; she believed it, despite what Myrnin said.

  She refused to believe him.

  The elevator doors opened, and Claire rushed out, then skidded to an immediate halt, because Hannah Moses, Morganville's police chief, was standing there, gun drawn, looking really damn serious. She wasn't aiming it, but it wouldn't have been much work to take that step, either. Standing a couple of paces away was Richard Morrell, the mayor. He was tall, good-looking, and young, not even ten years older than Claire, but he looked older, way older now. Stress, she guessed.

  He was holding his sister, Monica, by both elbows as she twisted to get free in a storm of flying long, dark hair. She froze when she saw Claire. If Morganville had a queen bitch, it was Monica; she'd elected and crowned herself way before Claire had ever run afoul of her. It didn't help that she was also pretty and had a huge budget for clothes and shoes. Monica's lips parted, but she didn't say anything. She tried to stomp on her brother's foot with her high heels, but he was obviously used to handling her, and he must have been wearing steel-toed boots.

  "Let's all just be calm," Hannah said. She was a scary figure, Claire thought; there was presence to her, a cool and competent sort of aura that made you instantly believe, in any situation, that she'd been there, done that, and written the how-to book. It was almost certainly not true some of the time, but it was impossible to tell that from her body language and expressions. She had her cornrowed black hair tied back in a messy knot, and although she was wearing her police uniform, she'd lost the hat somewhere. The scar that jagged its way down her face looked fearsome in the dim light, and her dark eyes were very, very steady. "I'd ask where's the fire, but I'm guessing it's upstairs. "

  "It's out," Claire said. "Hannah, I have to go. Right now. "

  "Not alone, you're not. "

  "Why is Monica here? She left with the others. " Morganville's privileged elite-mostly vampires, but a few well-connected humans-had fled before the draug had really attacked in force. Monica had cheerfully boarded the bus.

  "God, let go, Richard. I'm not going anywhere!" Her brother released her, and Monica made a show of smoothing down her entirely-too-high-priced dress, which ended just below illegal. "My brother's all I have left, and he came running back here out of some misguided sense of loyalty to the little people. I couldn't let him face danger without me, could I?" She hesitated, then shrugged. "Besides, I ran out of money. And my credit cards were frozen. "

  "So you came back here?" Claire stared at her for a second, stunned by the magnitude of the void that was Monica.

  Monica said, "Bite me, preschool. I don't care what alligators you're swimming with, anyway. I hope they eat all the best parts. "

  "Whatever. I don't have time. Shane's been taken by the draug, and I have to get him back. I have to. "

  Hannah's whole body language softened. "If he's been taken, you know how that ends, honey. I'm sorry about that, I truly am. "

  "No, he's strong. Shane is so strong. If anybody can survive, he can-I believe that. Hannah, please, you have to help me . . . . " She gulped back tears, because tears wouldn't help. "Please. "

  Even Monica had gone still now, and she'd lost some of her edge. Hannah considered all this in silence, and then slowly shook her head. "You've got no chance," she said. "You don't even know where he's being held-"

  "The water treatment plant," Claire interrupted. "They haven't had time to move him anywhere, and they can't, because Myrnin closed off the pipes. They can't leave there, not easily. "

  "I'd never say can't when it comes to these bastards. They supposedly couldn't get here at all, but here they are. " Hannah made a decision of some kind, and holstered her weapon, though she kept her eyes on Claire. "What's your plan?"

  "Go get him. "

  "Honey, that is not a plan. That's what we in the military call an objective. " Hannah said it compassionately but firmly. "You don't know he's even still alive. "

  "Actually," said a voice from the shadows by the stairs, "we do. " Michael emerged, along with Eve.

  He had Myrnin by the throat, and Myrnin was not looking good. In fact, he was looking like he'd gone ten rounds with Michael and lost.

  He looked . . . beaten.

  Michael shook him, his face tense and hard. "Tell them what you told me. "

  Myrnin made a choking sound. Michael let go, and the other vampire fell to his knees, coughing. "I meant no harm," he whispered. "I was trying to save you. All of you. "

  "Just tell her. "

  Myrnin's head was bowed, his dark hair hiding his expression. "He may yet be alive. "

  Hope wasn't a peaceful thing; it was painful, a jagged white-hot explosion that ripped through her and forced her heart into overdrive. Claire heard herself say, over that heavy hammering, "You lied. "

  "No. No, it's true, he's gone, Claire. When the draug take humans, without exception, they die. It's just-vampires last for a long time, humans for a much shorter one, and humans seem to . . . dream. They don't suffer as vampires do. It's easy for them. They slip into . . . visions. " He looked up then, and she honestly couldn't figure out what was in his face, his eyes, because her own were shimmering with tears. "It's kinder to leave him in them. He's dying, Claire. Or dead. But either way-"
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  "He's alive right now," she said flatly.

  "Yeah," Michael said. It sounded like a growl, and his eyes glowed dull red in the shadows. "He lied to us. And we're going to get Shane. Right now. "

  Myrnin looked down again. He didn't even try to speak this time. He just . . . shook his head.

  Claire couldn't begin to think of how much it hurt her for him to do this, so she just . . . didn't. She turned to Hannah. "We're going. "

  "You still don't have a plan. "

  "Yeah, we do," Michael said. "They came after us because we were attacking weak points in the system. Attacking them directly. We're not doing that this time. We're just going in after him, and they don't really care about humans; they care about vampires. They hunt us. " He let that fall into silence before he said, "They'll care about me. I'll make them care. I'll go a different way and lead them off. That lets everybody else get to Shane. "

  This plan was clearly news to Eve. "No!"

  "Eve, I can do this. Trust me. "

  "No, Michael, they already had you once, and-"

  "And I know what it's like," he said. "That's why I can't leave him there, and we don't have time to beg for help, which Oliver isn't going to give anyway. Claire was right about that. "

  Hannah glanced down at Myrnin. "What about him? Is he helping?"

  "He's helped enough," Claire said. "He stays here. " Myrnin looked up at that, but she just stared at him, hard, until he looked away. "We don't need another vampire right now. Agreed?"

  "All right," Hannah said. "It's a decent rough plan, but you don't know exactly where he's being kept, and it's a large building. You need more boots on the ground-humans, not vampires. I'll go with you. "

  "Hannah," said the mayor. He sounded tense, and his expression mirrored that. "You can't. It's dangerous. "

  "Danger's what you pay me for, Richard," she said, and smiled at him. There was something a whole lot warmer in that smile, Claire thought, than just a mayor/police chief sort of friendship, and the look in Richard's eyes confirmed it. "You go on, take care of your sister. I'll be fine. "

  He closed his eyes for a second. "No," he said. "If you go, I go, too. I'm coming. Monica, just get inside and stay there. "

  "No way. I'm not letting you run off to get killed somewhere without me, jackass. "

  "Shut up," Eve said flatly. "We have zero time for you and your bullshit dramatics. "

  "Or what, you'll bleed on me, Emo Princess of Freakdomonia?"

  Claire stepped forward and got Monica's attention. She didn't know how she looked, but Monica seemed to shift a little, as if she was considering taking a step back. "Fine. You come with us. " At the very least, Monica was a rabbit to throw to the wolves, and she wouldn't hesitate to do it if it was the difference between life and death for Shane. "If you get in my way, I'll kill you. " It was glaringly simple to her right now, and she meant it, every bit of it. Monica had never earned herself anything else, and despite all the breaks Claire had been willing to give, and how kind she was deep down, right now all that was gone. Just . . . gone.

  And what was left was something Monica fully understood, all right, because she took a breath and tossed her hair back and nodded. "I'm not getting in your way," she said. "I'll help. I owe Shane for something. Besides, who do you know who's more ruthless than me? Them?" She tilted her head at Michael and Eve, and Claire had to admit she had a point. "It's just once, and then it's all square. I'm not your friend. I'm never going to be your friend. But Shane doesn't deserve to die like that. If he dies, I get to kill him. "

  She was perfectly earnest about that, and Claire didn't have time to untangle the crazy, anyway. She just said, "Fine. Let's go," and headed for the armored truck. Michael was already unlocking it. "But you ride in the back, Monica. "

  Michael drove, because he was once again the only one with vampire vision; Eve and Claire shared the rest of the front seat, not very comfortably because of the shotguns he'd given them, and Monica, Richard, and Hannah were in the back.

  Eve was watching Monica through the narrow window. "If she puts a foot wrong, I am seriously considering playing Shank the Skank," she said.

  "What happened?" Claire asked. "You and Michael-you were convinced he was dead. I saw you. But then . . . "

  "Then Michael overheard Myrnin fessing up to Lord High Inquisitor Oliver, and Oliver mentioned how Shane just might be alive. Which Myrnin already knew. " Eve bared her teeth in a thing that was so not a grin. "Michael decided to have a chat with him. We went to the garage because we figured you'd end up there. " The not-grin faded. "I'm all for having more hands with guns on this, but you sure we can trust Richard Morrell and Hannah Moses? Not to mention Monica?"

  Claire shrugged, not really caring right now. "I think that once they're in it, it's pretty hard for them to back out," she said. "I'm not leaving without him, Eve. I can't. Not again. I don't care what happens, but I'm not letting him die like that. "

  Grief and terror threatened to spill out of the tightly locked container inside her, and Eve grabbed her hand and held on to it, hard. "I know," she said. "Trust me, I know. " She did. Michael had been taken by the draug, anchored underwater. Fed on.

  She knew.

  Claire swam up out of her misery long enough to ask, "What about, you know, the two of you? Better?"

  Eve cut a glance toward Michael, who was driving and pretending hard not to be hearing any of this. His acting needed work. "Sure," Eve said, but that wasn't so convincing, either. "We're good to go. "

  "I'm not asking if you're good to be working together. I mean-"

  "I know what you mean," Eve interrupted. "Let's just . . . talk about it later. "

  Michael could not, Claire thought, have looked more tense, or more sad.

  Richard and Hannah were having a fierce, whispered conversation in the corner of the truck as they braced themselves against the metal walls, and gripped the panic straps overhead. Monica had apparently decided that she had every right to sit on Amelie's plush throne, which wasn't at all a surprise. Claire really hoped that Amelie found out about it later.

  That would be fun.

  The drive back across town didn't take long, especially at the speed Michael was driving. Night had fallen hard because the clouds were still hanging heavy over the town, though the rain had stopped. The air still had that moist, unpleasant feel to it, and Claire felt as if she had mold growing on her skin in a sticky, invisible net.

  The clock in her head was ticking, and it had been too long, way too long, for Shane already. She closed her eyes and concentrated on him, on somehow reaching him, giving him strength. Stay with me. Please, stay with me. He'd begged her for the same thing, not so long ago, when things had looked darkest. He'd had faith that she'd survived beyond any reasonable evidence to the contrary, and she couldn't do any less for him. She couldn't. She couldn't face the darkness without him by her side.

  If she'd ever had any doubts that she loved him, really loved him, she knew now. It was easy to love somebody when love was happy, but when it was hard, when it meant facing things you feared . . . that was different. He'd done it for her, many times. And now she had to do it for him.

  She opened her eyes, feeling calm and centered and focused, as Michael brought the truck to a halt. "Same drill," he said. "I get out and open the back. Claire, you keep the keys. " He didn't say, in case I don't make it back, but that was what he meant. Eve let out a wordless little sound of despair; just for a moment, their gazes locked.

  "I still love you," he said. "I mean it. All of it. "

  She didn't answer, not verbally, but she nodded.

  And then he was a blur as he bailed out of the truck.

  Tears rolled down Eve's cheeks, and she whispered, "God, I love you, too. "

  Maybe he heard it. Claire hoped so.

  Claire climbed out, helped Eve, and by the time she'd made it around to the back, Hannah, Richard, and Monica were out. And Mic
hael was gone. Claire locked the truck again with the remote and stuck the keys in her pants pocket.

  Hannah clicked on a heavy flashlight. Eve had one, too. "Richard, I'm with you and Monica. Claire, the cell network should still be working for high-priority users. Call if you find Shane. I'll do the same. Either way, we're back here in fifteen minutes. "

  I'm not leaving without him, Claire thought, but she didn't say it. She just nodded and checked her phone. She had a signal. "Good," she said. "They'd have him in water, right?"

  "Through the center entrance, staircase down. Then we split off, right and left. Check every pool and tank," Hannah said. "Girls, you watch your backs in there. "

  "Ay-firmative," Eve said, and tried for a smile. "Sorry. An Aliens reference always makes me feel better at times like this. Except I'm not sure I'm the one who lives through the movie. "

  They moved together in a group, in through the main entrance.

  It was dark inside, and Eve's flashlight didn't light up too much. They took the stairs down, and Monica stumbled; Eve hissed at her, something about what dumbass wears heels at a time like this?, but Claire was focused straight ahead.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Hannah nodded. "You go right," she whispered. "Stay quiet. Fifteen minutes, Claire. I mean it. "

  Claire nodded. She didn't mean it at all.

  She and Eve split off to the right. Eve's flashlight illuminated a hot circle that showed concrete, pipes, neon yellow signs and tags; there were some faint emergency lights down here, still functioning on battery, Claire guessed, so she asked Eve to switch her flashlight off. It took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust, but it meant better peripheral vision.

  This bottom level of the building extended out into open-air pools, but they were farther away, on the other side of a large chain-link fence. Inside, there were regimented rows of closed and open tanks. Eve climbed the ladder to the first one and used her flashlight. She shook her head and jumped down.

  The next, farther on, was a closed tank with a plastic curved lid over it and some kind of sliding port for taking samples. Claire's turn to climb, and she slid open the port, gagged on the smell that issued forth, but she couldn't see anything in the cloudy, foul water. If Shane was in there, he couldn't have made it.

  She jumped down next to Eve. Eve didn't even ask; Claire guessed she didn't have to.

  They kept going. Five more tanks, some closed, some open. Nothing.

  The draug were nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Maybe Michael had been right. Maybe they'd ignore the humans in favor of Michael's wild-goose chase . . .

  "Out there," Eve whispered. "Look. "

  Michael. He was outside by the pools, running over catwalks, and the pools were bending, twisting, shuddering, reaching.

  The draug were after him, but he was giving them a game.

  "We have to go faster," Claire said. "Come on. " She swarmed up the next ladder and looked in the pool.

  A dead face looked back at her, eyes pale and blind in the dim light.

  She screamed, and her scream echoed and echoed and echoed through the dark, loud as an alarm, but she didn't care because oh God, she'd been wrong . . .

  "Move!" Eve shouted in her ear. She'd climbed up next to her, and had her arm around Claire's waist. "Go on, get down! Now!"

  "He's dead," Claire whispered. "Oh, God, Eve-"

  Eve gulped, visibly gathered her courage, and turned her gaze on the dead face in the pool. And then she said, "That's not Shane. "

  "But-" A bubble of hope rose up, fragile as glass. "Are you sure-"

  "I'm sure," Eve said. "That's not him. Come on. We have to move it. If they didn't hear that-"

  They jumped down, landed with simultaneous thumps on the metal grating, and headed for the next tank.

  But just ahead, the darkness rippled.

  And then a white face emerged from that blackness, eyes that weren't eyes, a mouth that moved all the wrong ways, that wasn't human at all except when she looked at it straight on.

  Magnus. There were others with him, but she could somehow tell when it was him; the others looked like bad photocopies. They didn't have the same . . . gravity.

  Magnus said, "You. The girl with clear eyes. "

  "Yeah, me. You want me," Claire said. "Because I can tell who you are. I always could. I just didn't know it. So give Shane back, and you can have me. "

  "Child," he almost purred. "I can have you in any case. " Magnus's whole face distorted into something so monstrous and evil that she screamed, couldn't help it, and all the others copied him like reflections, because that's all they were, shards and fragments of him.

  They were linked, and somehow that was important, vital, but she didn't have the time to think about it.

  She fired at him.

  The shotgun kicked hard at her shoulder, and a stinging fog of gunpowder blew back over her, but she was too late; he'd read her intentions and melted back into the others, and the ones who were splattered weren't him, weren't the master.

  And then he was gone, sinking through the grating.

  "Time's up," Eve said. "We have to find Shane now. "