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Claire was no general, but she knew that fighting a war on two fronts and dividing their forces wasn't a great idea. "We have to find Amelie."
"Wherever she's gotten herself off to," Eve snorted. "If she's even still--"
"Don't," Claire whispered. She restlessly rubbed the gold bracelet on her wrist until it dug into her skin. "We need her."
More than ever, she was guessing.
By the time they'd dropped off the next to last radio, at their own home, which was currently inhabited by a bunch of freakedout humans and a few vampires who hadn't yet felt whatever was pulling some of them off, the dawn was starting to really set in. The horizon was Caribbean blue, with touches of gold and red just flaring up like footlights at a show. Claire delivered the radio, the code, and a warning to the humans and vampires alike. "You have to watch the vamps," she pleaded. "Don't let them leave. Not in the daylight."
Monica Morrell, who was clutching the walkietalkie in her redtaloned fingers, frowned at her. "How are we supposed to do that, freak? Give them a written warning and scold them really hard? Come on!"
"If you let them go, they may not get wherever it is they're being called before sunrise," Hannah said. She shrugged, a fluid flow that emphasized her muscles, and smiled. "Hey, no skin off my nose or anything, but we may need 'em later. And you could get blamed for not stepping up."
Monica kept on frowning, but she didn't seem inclined to argue with Hannah. Nobody did, Claire noticed. The former marine had an air about her, a confidence that somehow didn't come off at all like arrogance.
"Great," Monica finally said. "Wonderful. Like I needed another problem. By the way, Claire, your house really sucks ass. I hate it here."
It was Claire's turn to smile this time. "It probably hates you right back. I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said. "You're a natural leader, right?"
"Oh, bite it. Someday, your boyfriend won't be around to--" Monica widened her eyes. "Oh, snap! He's isn't around, is he? Won't be back, ever. Remind me to send flowers for the funeral."
Eve grabbed the back of Claire's shirt. "Whoa, MiniMe, chill out. We've got to get moving. Much as I'd like to see the cage match, we're kind of on a schedule."
The hot crimson haze disappeared from Claire's eyes, and she took in a breath and nodded. Her muscles were aching. She realized she'd managed to clench just about every muscle, ironhard, and tried to relax. Her hands twinged when she stretched them out of fists.
"See you soon," Monica said, and shut the door on them. "Wait, probably not, loser. And your clothes are pathetic, by the way!"
That last part came muffled, but clear--as clear as the sound of the locks snapping into place.
"Let's go," Hannah said, and herded them off the porch and down the walk toward the white picket fence.
Walking on the street, heading vaguely north, was a vampire. "Oh, crap," Eve said, alarmed, but the vamp didn't seem to care about them, or even know they were there. He was wearing a police uniform, and Claire remembered him; he'd been riding with Richard Morrell, from time to time. Didn't seem like a bad guy, apart from the whole vampire thing. "That's Officer O'Malley. Hey! Hey, Officer! Wait up!"
He ignored them and kept walking.
Claire looked east. The sun's golden glow was heating up the sky, fast. It wasn't over the horizon yet, but it would be in a matter of seconds, minutes at most. "We've got to get him," she said. "Get him inside somewhere."
"And do what, babysit him the rest of the day? O'Malley's not like Myrnin," Eve said. "You can't stake him. He's not that old. Seventy, eighty, something like that. He's only a little older than Sam."
"We could run him over," Hannah said. "It wouldn't kill him."
Eve sent her a wideeyed look. "Excuse me? With my car?"
"You're asking for something nonlethal. That's all I've got right now. The three of us aren't any kind of match for a vampire who wants to get somewhere, if he fights us."
Claire took off running toward the vampire, ignoring their shouts. She looked back. Hannah was after her, and gaining.
She still got to Officer O'Malley first, and skidded into his path.
He paused for a second, his green eyes focusing on her, and then he reached out and moved her aside. Gently, but firmly.
And he kept on walking.
"You have to get inside!" Claire yelled, and got in front of him again. "Sir, you have to! Right now! Please!"
He moved her again, this time without as much care. He didn't say a word.
"Oh, God," Hannah said. "Too late."
The sun came up in a fiery burst, and the first rays of sunlight hit the parked cars, Eve's standing figure, the houses . . . and Officer O'Malley's back.
"Get a blanket!" Claire screamed. She could see the smoke curling off him, like morning mist. "Do something!"
Eve ran to get something from the car. Hannah grabbed Claire and pulled her out of his way.
Officer O'Malley kept walking. The sun kept rising, brighter and brighter, and within three or four steps, the smoke rising up from him turned to flames.
In ten more steps, he fell down.
Eve ran up breathlessly, a blanket clutched in both hands. "Help me get it over him!"
They threw the fabric over Officer O'Malley, but instead of smothering the flames, it just caught fire, too.
Hannah pulled Claire back as she tried to pat out the flames. "Don't," she said. "It's too late."
Claire turned toward Hannah in a raw fury, struggling to get free. "We can still--"
"No, we can't," Hannah said. "There's not a damn thing we can do for him. He's dying, Claire. You tried your best, but he's dying. And he's not going to take our help. Look, he's still trying to crawl. He's not stopping."
She was right, but it hurt, and in the end, Claire wrapped her arms around Hannah for comfort and turned away.
When she finally looked back, Officer O'Malley was a pile of ash and smoke and burned blanket.
"Michael," Claire whispered. She looked at the sun. "We have to find Michael!" Hannah went very still for a second, and then nodded. "Let's go."
Chapter Seven
The gates of the university were shut, locked, and there were paramilitarystyle men posted at the gates, all in black. Armed. Eve coasted the big car slowly up to them and rolled down the window.
"Delivery for Michael Glass," she called. "Or Richard Morrell."
The guard who leaned in was huge, tough, and intimidating--until he saw Hannah in the backseat, and then he grinned like a kid with a new puppy. "Hannah Montana!"
