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"You're going to need Oliver's permission for any of this," Michael said. "You know that, right?"
"In fact, I do not. He specifically told me I was not allowed to initiate any battles," Myrnin said. "This is not a battle. I need you to go into the building and turn the cutoff wheels. Nothing more. It's a simple enough operation, and quite obviously necessary. Oliver will be happy with the results."
Michael shot Shane a look. "Translation: what Oliver doesn't know won't hurt us, theoretically," he said. "So we're doing it on our own."
"How exactly is that any different from any other day?" Shane asked. "We got this, man. And if he's right, it needs to happen or we have no shot at all at controlling these things. They'll take the town away from us until there's no place left to hide except right here in Founder's Square, surrounded. Food and water will run out, sooner or later, even if they can't break through."
"And vampires must also feed. They will begin to take blood where they can get it," Myrnin said softly. "It's something I very much wish not to happen, Shane. But at this point it is inevitable if we don't act now. This is as much to save your lives as ours. Oliver refuses to see that just now, and we cannot wait. Will you do it?"
"I only need to know one thing. Am I going to need the flamethrower?" Shane asked.
Myrnin smiled, with fangs. "Absolutely."
CHAPTER FIVE
EVE
So, I was running around Morganville in what was just about twilight with a bunch of vampires, none of whom were Michael. Or even Myrnin. Or even Oliver.
This was not comforting.
I know, my idea, and it was a good one, but being surrounded by fangs when my body was still shuddering off the effects of ... what had happened ... wasn't a personal best time ever. I'd briskly introduced myself to the female vamp who seemed to be in charge; she'd said her name was Adele, but not in any way that encouraged me to use it. The other vamps didn't volunteer so much as a nod. I was invisible.
And maybe, thinking about it, that was kind of a good thing. I mean, I'd rather be invisible than a walking snack-pack. But at least worrying about my veins kept me from thinking about the dangers of running around in a town where the draug could pop up at any time.
Oh, and the vamps were wearing what looked like headphones, with some kind of bubbling copper attachments on the sides-Myrninwear, apparently, to cancel out the draug's siren song. I hoped they were efficient noise cancellation. Me, I stuck to foamy earplugs.
Of course, we were in a vamp sedan, which meant I couldn't even look out at scenery, such as it was in Morganville, since the window tinting was on the extreme side. I could only admire the pale skin of my co-riders, and think about the many, many awful ways this could go wrong.
And miss Michael, in a traitorously angry kind of way. I couldn't believe that I'd stabbed him, but then, he'd not only hurt me, he'd tried to scare me. Seriously tried. And I wasn't going to let that kind of bad boyfriend behavior go on without some kind of response, though in retrospect, escalating the domestic violence might not have been the most positive choice.
Got the point across, though, and I wasn't sure that when you were dealing with a vampire, counseling really worked. God, Michael. Why did this happen to us? I wanted to ask him that, not that he'd have any kind of an answer. I wanted to be in his arms, snuggled together under layers of warm blankets, safe from the world.
But I wasn't sure anymore-or at least, my body wasn't sure-that I was safe with him. Which was exactly what Michael had been afraid of this whole time. What all the vamps, including Amelie, had warned us about.
What I'd totally refused to believe, until that moment when his eyes had opened bloodred, and his teeth had slid down sharp as steel, and his hands had grabbed my shoulders so hard they left blue-black bruises, and for an instant I shivered at the touch of his hot breath on my neck and then, and then ...
I squeezed my eyes tight shut because I did not want to remember him that way. Or me that way. Or us that way, out of control, careening toward the darkness. That wasn't Michael, my sweet golden Michael with his music and his strength and his gentle touch; that wasn't me, with my confidence and quips.
That was a killer and a victim, and there was nothing romantic about it, nothing sexy, nothing but pain and blood and darkness coming on fast. I believed in Michael enough to know that if he'd actually done it, if he'd drained me dry, when he'd come to his senses he would never have been able to live with what he'd done. Shane would have killed him, but it wouldn't have mattered to him because he'd have been dead inside already. Walk-into-the-sunlight dead inside.
Toxic love.
Maybe he's right, some part of me kept whispering. Maybe you should give it up. Move on. Let him find some nice vampire girl he doesn't have to be afraid to be around.
I hated that part of me so much I wanted to kill it with fire. But I was also afraid it was the smartest part.
I was crammed in the backseat between two motionless vamps, both male, who had been staring out the darkened windows; now, as the car pulled to a halt, they opened their doors and got out. By the time I'd scrambled out, they were taking up positions facing away from the car, and Adele, the driver, had popped the trunk open. She pointed to me, then to the trunk, then to a house.
I was still getting my bearings, which wasn't easy to do; the rain had stopped for the moment, but the clouds were thick and dark, and with no lights on, this was a totally anonymous street ... until I caught sight of the sagging white picket fence and the bleached-white bulk of our house, the Glass House, rising up in menacing Victorian angles toward the sky. No lights on. It totally looked haunted, even though just now it actually wasn't for a change.
She gestured to the other vamp, who reached in the trunk and handed me a thick canvas bag. I staggered under the weight, but grabbed it in both hands and lugged it up the steps and onto the porch. I had the front door key in my pocket, where it always was, and as I unlocked the door I felt a sense of relief, of coming home.
But stepping over the threshold didn't bring any rush of warmth, or welcome, or anything that I expected to feel. The Glass House felt ... dead. Abandoned.
I leaned the canvas bag full of weapons and ammo in the corner by the front door and flipped the light switch. No response. The power was out in this part of town, but I hadn't come unprepared; I took a mini flashlight out of my cargo pants pocket and dragged the bag into the parlor room. It was as dusty as ever. Shane had left a jacket thrown over the wing chair. I unpacked the weapons and ammunition and laid everything out carefully on the coffee table and sofa, easy to grab if we needed it ... and then considered the empty canvas bag.
I was here, and having our own clothes would feel a whole lot more comfortable in exile. So despite the vamps waiting impatiently outside, I ran upstairs, rummaged in each of our rooms as fast as possible, and shoved shirts, pants, underwear into the bag.
I wanted to take everything, but there wasn't time. On the way out, though, I hesitated, then put Michael's guitar into its case and clicked it shut.
The vamps could just stuff their objections.
I came out on the porch and locked the door-habit, I suppose-and turned to see ...
... Nobody.
The vamps had all vanished.
The sedan was sitting at the curb idling. All the doors were shut. The trunk was still open.
I didn't like the feeling of the earplugs, suddenly; they felt oppressive, magnified my fast breathing, made me feel oddly suffocated. I wanted to take them out, and I actually reached up for the left one before I realized what I was doing. I could make out, very faintly, a high-pitched sound.
Singing.
Dammit.
I ran for the car, threw the bag and guitar into the trunk, and grabbed a shotgun pre-loaded with silver shot, plus a couple of the vials of silver nitrate. Then I pulled open the door of the sedan.
I wasn't exactly shocked to find it empty. The impulse to get in and drive away-even if I'd be driving blind, given the opaque tinting-was almost irresistible, but though the vamps hadn't even wanted to give me their names, I was the one who'd gotten them out into this. The noise cancellation headsets clearly hadn't worked ... or else something else had drawn them off. Either way, I owed it to them to find them.
So I went looking.
I mean, it was my own neighborhood. I lived here. That was the Farnhams' house right there; I didn't like them, because they were a mean, bitter old couple of the get-off-my-lawn variety, but they were familiar. Across the street was Mrs. Grather, who'd been a librarian since books were carved on stone or something. She was always out puttering around with dying flowers. I knew each and every person who lived on this block, or at least had lived here, before the events of the past few days. Maybe they were still locked up inside, hiding. Maybe they'd left Morganville for good.
