Bite Club

FOUR

Michael was home when they arrived, and surprisingly, he wasn’t playing guitar. He was sitting on the couch in Shane’s customary spot, playing a game. “Hey,” he said as Claire and Eve entered. “Nobody made dinner.”

“Nobody but you was home to eat it,” Eve said. “And I’m taking a wild guess that you didn’t make it, either.”

“Nope.” He killed a zombie with a chainsaw, and ducked instinctively as another one lunged at him out of the shadows on the screen. “Guess we’re all going to bed hungry, like the bad children we are.”

“Guess not.” Eve winked at Claire, who held up a grease-stained bag. “Seriously, you couldn’t smell the burgers? Is your vampire nose on the fritz, Michael?”

“I was hoping I was imagining the burgers.”

“Shut up. I got you one made extra rare. With pickles. I know you like pickles.”

Michael paused the game and put the controller aside, and as he stood up, the door opened and Shane came in. He nodded to Michael as he dropped his canvas bag in the hallway, next to Eve’s. “Who got burgers?”

“See, he can smell the burgers!” Eve yelled from the kitchen.

Michael ignored that. “You guys go to the gym?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “The martial arts guy is pretty hard-core.”

“I got a bruise!” Eve shouted. “Big one! Right over my heart! Guess who put it there?”

Michael raised his eyebrows at Shane, who held up his hands. “Not me, man. I never touched her.”

“Oliver!” Eve backed out of the kitchen door, holding plates, balancing them like a pro. “Michael, here’s your almost-cooked one. Shane, got you the jalapeño burger. Me and Claire have plain old boring ones.”

“We’re branching out into different forms of junk food,” Michael said. “Exciting.”

“Shut up. Do you want your juice warmed up?” Juice, Claire figured, was Eve’s new code for blood. Well, technically, it was juice, Claire supposed. People juice.

“I’ll get it,” Michael said. “Thanks. Shane, Claire—Cokes?”

“Yes!” Claire yelled, at the same time Shane did. He walked over to put his arm around her and bent to kiss her.

“Jinx,” he whispered.

“I like this version of jinxies better than the one I did in grade school,” she said. He tasted like salt and metal, but it still seemed sexy—and so did the way his damp T-shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. She’d never thought sweaty was all that sexy before, but Shane…well. Shane rocked it.

“So, what did you do at the gym?” he asked. “I thought I saw you on the stair machine.”

Oops. Busted. “I was on it for a while,” she said. “Then Eve took me to teach me how to fence.”

“Not so much how to fence as how to hold a sword and not drop it,” Eve said. “And then I fought Oliver to a draw.”

Shane fluttered his hands. “Oh, and then we were all elected as ice princesses and asked to go to Disneyland!” He rolled his eyes.

“Laugh all you want. I’m going to look way better in full skirts than you,” Eve said. “And besides, I’m not lying. I got a mortal touch on Oliver. Ask your girlfriend.”

“She hit him with her sword,” Claire said, when both Michael and Shane looked at her. “I saw it.”

“And then, to make sure I knew my place, he practically rammed his épée through my heart, but, you know, details. Hence the bruise.” She dragged down the neckline of her shirt to show off the top of it. Shane whistled appreciatively—not at her assets, Claire felt sure. The bruise. That was Shane, through and through.

“I didn’t know fencing was a contact sport,” he said. “I thought it was more, you know, a pretend sport. Like golf. Or competitive eating.”

“Hey, golf is hard.” Eve shrugged. “Anytime you want me to whip your lame ass on eighteen holes, let me know.”

“I got whipped enough, thanks.” Shane flopped down in his chair and pulled the plate toward him. “I could eat roadkill, I’m so hungry. Without hot sauce.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I have no idea what’s really in these burgers,” Eve said. Michael came out of the kitchen and put three cold cans of Coke on the table, and one sports bottle that might have possibly held juice. Warm juice. Claire was glad it was opaque. “Dinner together. Wow. This is an event.”

It was, recently. They’d all been doing their own thing so much, it had been more like two of them eating together, or maybe three. Having all four at the table was great for a change. Eve chattered on about work, and how awesome the fencing room (the salle?) was at the new gym. Michael put in a few tidbits about what was happening with his music, which was still up in the air after their road trip to Dallas to get his demo recorded. It was sounding positive, but Michael was all about the caution and pessimism.

Claire almost blurted out the whole Myrnin/Frank face-off, but realized that she couldn’t, because Shane was there, and Shane still didn’t know his father had survived…at least, in the form of a brain in a jar, hooked up to a computer. Shane thought Frank was dead, and he was at peace with that, kind of. Claire didn’t know how he was going to feel about the rest of it, and she couldn’t stand to hurt him. There was no reason he had to know.

Or so she kept telling herself, anyway.

It was a nice time together, and it felt like home. The laughter made her warm, and the occasional glances and smiles from Shane made her tingle all over. After dinner, she and Eve did the dishes (but only because it was their turn) while Michael and Shane claimed the couch and loaded up the new game. Turned out it was—no surprise—another zombie game. Blood and guts ensued. Claire curled up between them on the couch with a textbook, while Eve stretched out on the floor and flipped through a magazine.

A normal night. Very, very normal.

Until Shane lost the game.

“Damn it!” he yelled, and threw the controller at the screen. Like, really threw it. It hit the edge of the frame, instead of the softer LCD part, and pieces of the controller broke off and went everywhere. Eve yelped and rolled over, brushing off pieces of plastic. Claire flinched.

“Jesus, Shane, get a grip,” Michael said. “You lost. BFD, man. It’s not the first time.”

“Shut up,” Shane said. He stood up, grabbed the controller, and glared at it. “Piece of crap.”

“Don’t blame the equipment. It was working fine before you scrapped it.”

“How the hell do you know? Were you playing it?”

“I know you owe me for a new controller.”

“Screw you, bro.” Shane threw the broken controller at Michael this time. Not that it was a risk; Michael calmly reached up and caught it, so smoothly it might have been some kind of special effect.

“Maybe you should chill out.”

“Maybe you should stop with the vampire reflexes in game!”

Michael frowned. He didn’t usually let Shane get to him, but Claire could see the anger forming. “I played you fair.”

“Fair?” Shane barked out a laugh. “Man, you have no idea what you’re talking about anymore, do you? You don’t even know when you’re screwing us.”

“Hey!” Claire said, and stood up between them, as Michael got to his feet. The air felt thick and ominous now, the house’s reflection of the feelings of its owners. “You guys, stop! It’s just a game!”

“No, it’s not just a game. Get the hell out of the way!”

“Stop!” she said sharply, and punched Shane in the shoulder. “Jeez. Didn’t you get enough fighting in for the day? What is this? Michael’s right. You don’t get to destroy stuff just because you lost a game. You’re not three years old, Shane!”

His dark eyes focused on her, and she felt a very real, very cold chill go through her. That was not the Shane she knew. That was the other Shane. “Don’t hit me,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

Claire let her hands drop to her sides and took a deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I just wanted to get your attention.”

Well, she’d gotten it, all right. She wished she hadn’t. But at least it had broken the momentum of whatever was going on between Shane and Michael.

Now it was just between her and Shane.

“Claire,” Michael said. She held out a hand without looking at him, and he fell silent.

And she waited for Shane to say something.

SHANE

I hate losing. I mean, really, a lot. I usually try to cover it up and pretend like I don’t, but there’s something inside me that gets twisted up and desperate. Because losing means that you’re at someone else’s mercy, even if it’s just a game. Even if it’s not supposed to mean anything.

I’d had too much of that in my life, being in someone else’s power. First my dad’s. Then the vampires’. There was always somebody looming, somebody faster and stronger and crueler than me, and it made me feel like a scared kid inside all the time.

I wasn’t lying. The game controller had flaked out on me. The buttons stuck. It wasn’t my fault that I lost; it was the tool’s. I wasn’t going to lose, not to Michael. Not anymore. Yeah, losing my temper was stupid—I mean, it was my favorite game controller I’d busted—but thinking that it wasn’t fair, that he’d cheated, that he’d used those vampire reflexes to win and didn’t deserve it…It burned me, okay? Burned me bad.

And I wanted to kick his ass.

Maybe it was just that something had gotten loose in the gym, something I usually kept locked down inside some dark cave. I mean, it was Michael. But just now, staring him down, I was reminded that he wasn’t actually my friend. Not the one I’d grown up with, the one who’d had my back, anyway. This was Michael’s body, but he wasn’t the same person inside of that shell. Not at all.

The girls were upset. Claire was trying to talk to me, but I wasn’t hearing her, not until she smacked me in the shoulder. It felt like a sharp, stabbing blow, although I knew it wasn’t; it was just that all my nerves were on fire because I was so hyped, and I probably had a bruise there on top of everything. I said something to her, something that probably wasn’t very nice, and I felt a particularly nasty impulse race red from my brain to my hand.

My fingers clenched into a solid ball of muscle, bone, and power.

Claire looked up at me, worry and anger on her face, and for the first time, I saw myself reflected in her eyes. I saw what I was doing.

I knew that look. That face. I’d seen it throughout my childhood, when Dad came stumbling home from the bar. I’d seen it heavy-duty industrial strength after Alyssa died, twenty-four/seven.

Oh, God. God.

It was like some curtain got snapped back, flooding my insides with light, and I didn’t like what I was seeing in myself, not at all. Fighting was one thing. But this…this was something else. It was me becoming what I never wanted to be.

…But deep down…way deep down, I realized why my dad had been the way he was. It was easy to let go of all those demons, let them roar.

And it felt good.

That was more frightening than anything else I’d ever known.

Claire actually saw something happen inside him, some kind of snap. Shane blinked, and then he was totally Shane—warm, real, and contrite. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said, and put his arms around her. “I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.” She felt his body language shift, and guessed he was looking at Michael, even while he was holding her. “Sorry, bro.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. He didn’t sound convinced. “Okay. Just don’t take it so seriously next time. It’s just a game, man.”

“I’ll pick up a new controller tomorrow,” Shane said. “Really. Sorry.” Claire could tell from his tone that he meant it; he wasn’t just saying it. And she guessed Michael could tell that, too. “I guess I just got too much adrenaline going.”

Eve, who’d been lying on the floor, staring up at them, finally got to her feet. “Men,” she said, and shook her head. “I am not picking up plastic shards. Collins, that’s your job. Enjoy. I’m bouncing.”

“Yeah, but are you leaving?” Shane asked. It was a weak effort at insult from him, but at least he’d tried. She gave him a quick smile and flipped him off—first time that evening—and headed upstairs. Claire caught herself yawning and checked her watch. Wow, it was late. And she had an early start in the morning.

She kissed Shane’s cheek, and he turned his head and it turned into a much longer, sweeter kiss. Which she broke, regretfully, and said, “I have to get to bed, too.”

He made a low, questioning sound in his throat. She blushed, because Michael was right there. Michael pretended to be doing something else, which didn’t mean anything. Vampire senses. He could probably feel how fast her heart was racing. “No,” she whispered, in Shane’s ear. “I’ve got to rest.”

“Okay,” he whispered back, and kissed her neck, just where it made her shiver. He knew it was her favorite spot, and it made her weak in the knees. “I’ll be good. Oh, wait, I’m always good….”

“Stop it.” Her voice didn’t sound so sure now. “I need to rest.”

He let go of her and stepped back, hands up. “Cool,” he said. “Go.”

She did, reluctantly—and when she looked back, Shane was picking up shards of broken controller from the carpet, and Michael was watching him with a small frown still grooved between his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what he was seeing.

Michael looked up at her as she paused on the steps. “Good night,” he said.

She waved. “No fighting between the two of you,” she said. “Promise?”

He crossed his heart and pretended to drive a stake into it, which made her smile and wince at the same time. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “Right, Shane?”

Shane looked up. “Right,” he said. But there was something odd in his face when he looked at Michael, a kind of wariness that reminded Claire of the old days, when Michael had first turned vamp. Shane hadn’t trusted him then, not at all.

And she wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly decide not to trust Michael again…but she was almost sure that’s what she was seeing.

It was all very confusing, and she was too tired to process it. But once she got in bed, with the moonlight falling cool over the sheets, she couldn’t sleep after all. She tossed and turned, watching the black branches scratch at the windows like skeletal hands, and wondered what Shane was doing. She’d half expected him to come knock on her door, but he hadn’t.

Finally, she started getting drowsy, and was almost asleep when she had the unmistakable impression that someone was in the room with her, right there, standing beside the bed.

She turned over, heart pounding. The moonlight didn’t reach that side of the bed, and the room was dark, but she could make out something…a shadow…

And then the shadow stepped forward, into the light, and it was Myrnin. Not Shane.

He looked…dangerous. His dark hair curled black around his pale face, and his eyes were very wide, very dark. Claire opened her mouth to demand to know what the hell he was doing here, in her bedroom, but she didn’t get the chance. His hand flashed out and covered her mouth with cold flesh.

She tried to scream, but it came out a muffled buzz, not nearly loud enough to alert anybody. Myrnin held a long, slender finger to his lips and bent close.

“So sorry to do this,” he whispered. “I realize it’s not appropriate. That’s right, isn’t it? Coming to a lady’s boudoir without an invitation is still inappropriate, even in these lax social circles?”

She nodded emphatically. He didn’t let go, probably because he could tell she was going to yell the house down if he did.

“Well, so sorry, but this is a bit of an emergency. Get dressed. Amelie wants to see us.”

Oh. Well, vampires didn’t keep regular people hours, but still. Not cool.

“Please don’t scream,” he said. “It would look so very bad for me, all things considered.”

That, more than anything, made her nod. Myrnin’s cold hand moved away, and she pulled in a deep, convulsive breath…but didn’t yell. She did scoot all the way over in the bed, preparing to eject at a second’s notice.

“You could have called,” Claire said. Her voice sounded a little higher than usual. “I have a phone.”

“I lost mine,” he said. Claire could so believe that. “Stupid things. So small. So easy to put in a pocket and forget them when you wash your clothes…Well. It just seemed easier to come over. Are you dressed?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking me that. Standing in my bedroom in the middle of the night. Don’t you think that’s a little creepy? Maybe even perverted?”

“Ah, excellent point. I’ll just…wait outside. But hurry. And tell no one.”

Claire expected Myrnin to head for the bedroom door, but no, of course, that was too normal, wasn’t it? Instead, he opened the window, the one that overlooked the backyard, and climbed through. He dropped down with all the ease of someone stepping off a curb, only it was twenty feet down, if not more.

Claire didn’t even bother to look. Of course he was okay, and she didn’t care if he wasn’t. How could he just show up like this while she was sleeping……

She was fumbling in the dresser for clean underwear when there was a soft knock at the door. “Claire? You awake?”

Shane. She froze and held her breath. She wanted to open it, fall into his arms, and forget all about Myrnin and his weird behavior, but the truth was that Myrnin didn’t show up for nothing. Something was wrong, and he’d said, Tell no one. That included Shane, unfortunately. She watched the doorknob, but it didn’t turn, and after another quiet knock, she heard his footsteps moving away, toward his room.

Claire let out her breath, shook her head, and muttered, “And again, I hate you, Myrnin.”

Dressed, if not exactly stylish, Claire stuck her head out of her bedroom window. As expected, Myrnin was pacing there, hands behind his back, head down. He was wearing some kind of neon-bright shirt that was probably a holdover from the eighties, and was back to his shorts and comfortable sandals. These were leather, at least, and looked kind of like something a guy would wear. If pushed.

Not exactly vampire chic, as pop culture defined it, but Myrnin wasn’t one for fitting in. Ever.

He looked up at her, black hair falling back from his moon-pale face, and said, “Well? Jump!”

It was one thing for a vampire. Quite another for a breakable, not-too-athletic human. Claire shook her head. Myrnin sighed, tugged at his hair with both hands as if wanting to pull out his brain by the roots, and then seemed to have a bright idea. He dashed off into the darkness.

A moment later, he was back, carrying a ladder—and not their ladder. He’d ripped it off from a neighbor, Claire guessed. Well, it was better than jumping.

The climb down was chilly and scary, because Myrnin didn’t think about bracing the ladder, which bounced and shifted uneasily with every step she took. Claire jumped the last couple of rungs, landing flat-footed, and whispered, “Where did this thing come from?”

“Oh, out there,” Myrnin said, and waved vaguely at the darkness. “We don’t have time for niceties. Keep up, please.”

Oh, right. Myrnin didn’t drive, so there was no car; that meant walking. In the dark. In Vampire City. Well, at least she had an escort, although he had longer legs and didn’t bother to slow down for her, so she had to almost jog to stay with him.

“What’s going on?” she asked, by the time they’d reached the corner of Lot Street. The streetlight was out. Most of the streetlights in Morganville stayed off when you needed them most. “What’s the emergency?”

“I found out who killed your friend.”

“Oh.” She sucked in a deep breath as they crossed the street and took a right, heading for Founder’s Square in the center of town. “Who?”

It was a simple question, but she didn’t expect a simple answer. Myrnin was always being vague when she most needed clarity.

So it surprised her when he said, “Do you actually want to know?”

“Of course I do!”

“Think carefully before you answer. Do you want to know, Claire?”

That sounded…ominous. And Myrnin sounded very, very serious and in control, which was odd, to say the least.

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?” she asked. He glanced over at her, and she was unsettled again by the concern in his expression.

“Yes,” he said. “Several that I can think of.”

“Then why drag me out of bed about it?”

“Not my choice. Amelie’s orders. Trust me, I objected. I was overruled.”

Claire concentrated on walking for a few moments, until the pale glow of the lights from Founder’s Square warmed the night ahead of them. The houses they passed were silent and dark. Apart from a few barking dogs, nobody seemed to notice them.

“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me before we get there. It’s better if I know what I’m walking into.”

“I knew you’d say that.” She couldn’t decide whether Myrnin approved or sounded resigned about it. “Very well. It’s Eve’s brother. Jason.”

Jason. Well…that didn’t shock her quite as much as it probably should have. Jason had sat with them at their dinner table. He’d even kind of saved her life once. But on the other hand, he’d terrorized her, threatened her, and he’d actually hurt Shane. With glee. Jason was not a good person, deep down.

“Eve’s going to be so upset,” Claire said. She couldn’t imagine how bad her friend would feel; Eve had been so excited about Jason’s supposed turnaround, so supportive of his attempts to make himself better. And now this. It would knock her flat.

“You’re not surprised.”

“Not…really. I mean, I’m disappointed more than surprised. I wanted him to be…better.”

“Ah, Claire.” Myrnin shook his head and reached out to give her a quick, fierce, one-armed hug. “You want us all to be better than we are. That’s charming, and alarming. I’ve disappointed you many times.”

“Not like this.”

“Very much like this,” he said. “But perhaps not so bloodily.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

Myrnin gave her a long, sideways look. She realized that it maybe wasn’t the most perceptive question she’d ever asked. “No,” she said. “No, Myrnin. He didn’t kill a vampire, no matter how it turns out. Human violence gets judged and punished by humans. That’s the rule.”

“Amelie makes the rules, dear child.”

They were in a relatively deserted part of town now, heading for Founder’s Square. Normally, Claire wouldn’t have liked walking out here in blazing noon sun, not even with an escort, but having a vampire at her side had made her careless.

She never saw it coming, not until Myrnin suddenly stopped and raised his head, face gone still and unnaturally pale in the silvery moonlight. He usually had a kind of awkwardly angled grace that was almost human, but now he took on that weird vampire stillness that made Claire feel so…clumsy. So vulnerable.

Except Myrnin hadn’t abruptly gone all fangy on her; he was focusing on something out in the dark.

“Claire,” he said, in a low, soothing, carefully controlled voice. “I would like you to take out your mobile phone and call the police, please. Do that now. Perhaps that emergency number.”

It was so utterly un-Myrnin that it scared her into fumbling her phone out of her pocket. “Why?” she whispered, as she started punching the three numbers in.

“Because it’s an emergency,” he said, and then something hit him, something faster than Claire could actually see, and she’d only just gotten the 911 entered and hadn’t pressed call, and before Myrnin fell, something had her wrist in a crushing grip. She had a confused impression of a stench like the worst body odor in the world, like poor Stinky Doug times a thousand, and a feverish glitter of eyes, and a face that looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over it…….

With sharp, sharp, sharp fangs that glittered like knives and were heading straight for her throat.

Myrnin hit him—it?—with so much force that the two vampires skidded at least fifty feet, rolling and punching and fighting, and Claire realized that just standing there like a total idiot might not be the best survival strategy. She felt numb and stupid with shock, but she saw the glowing blue screen of her phone in the grass, scrambled for it, and hit the call button. She looked around wildly, trying to get her bearings; it all seemed dark and murky and strange, but she saw the street sign in the faint gleam of the underpowered streetlight at the corner.

She was only two blocks from Founder’s Square.

Claire ran, holding the phone to her ear. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a sledgehammer hitting her chest. The sidewalk was dark, very dark, but she didn’t worry about cracks or uneven pavement or anything else but running as fast as she possibly could, heading for the somewhat questionable safety of even more vampires, and, God, she couldn’t believe she was running to the vampires, but that thing, that thing wasn’t—

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

She didn’t have any breath, she realized. Claire gasped out something about where she was and was about to try to explain what the hell had just happened, when she tripped and the phone went flying as she lost her balance and momentum carried her forward into what was going to be a bone-snapping impact with the pavement.

She got her hands in front of her, but it wasn’t the pavement she hit.

It was Myrnin, who caught her, gave her a look she couldn’t read at all, and grabbed her fallen phone when she pointed numbly at it. He had blood on his face and long, animal scratches that were healing slowly. His clothes were ripped and shredded, too.

Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms and ran for Founder’s Square. It didn’t take long—thirty seconds, maybe—but Claire used the time to get her head back together and try to slow down her flailing heartbeat. You’re not going to die. Calm down.

She ran it through her head again. Myrnin’s alarm. The glimpse of that skeletonized face. The smell of death.

That had been a starving, savage vampire, and in Morganville, that shouldn’t be happening. Vampires had ready access to the blood bank, if nothing else. If they were lawbreakers, they had plenty of easy targets. How did one get that skeletal, that savage? And why attack Myrnin first, before going for her? She’d had the feeling it had come for her only because she was calling for help.

It didn’t make sense.

“Something’s going on,” she said as they turned the corner and she saw Founder’s Square dead ahead. “Put me down.”

“I’m fine,” Myrnin said, and stopped to let her slip down to a standing position. “Thanks for asking, Claire. Considering I subjected myself to unimaginable danger to protect the contents of your veins and your immortal soul, one might imagine you to be able to ask.” He was trying to be the old, casual Myrnin, but he was rattled, badly rattled. Claire found herself clutching her phone like a life preserver as she stepped away from him, and also realized that the police were still on the other end of the line, asking questions.

“Hello?” she said. “Police? You need to send a patrol car to—”

Myrnin took the phone away from her with a casual swipe of his hand and said, “Never mind. Everything’s fine now, no problem at all. Thank you for protecting and serving. Please don’t mind her at all.” And hung up.

“Hey!” Claire lunged for the phone. He held it up out of her reach.

“If you send human police after him, they’ll be handy snacks,” he said. “And they will also die, if they’re lucky. Come on.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged her along at a quick-march pace. He was using a little bit more force than he should have, and Claire tried not to wince. She’d already been grabbed way too much at that particular collection of bones.

“What just happened?” she asked. “And don’t tell me it was just a random vamp attack.”

“It wasn’t,” he said. “And we’ll talk when we’re there. Not before.”

They were coming up on the guard checkpoint now, and the uniformed policeman stepped out to give them a once-over. He nodded and waved them on. Myrnin didn’t even slow down, so neither did Claire.

“Where are we going?”

“To talk to Jason, obviously.”

“What? But—”

“I believe it’s connected. Jason is a pawn on the board, and we need to confirm just whose pawn he is. It’s thought that you might be able to extract that information from him.”

“Wait—you…you want me to interrogate him?”

“Talk to him. You established a rapport with him before; he may say things to you he would not to vampires. As a fellow human, you’re already advantaged.”

“Advantaged?”

“Let’s just say that he’s developed a deep distrust of vampire kind.”

“What the hell did you do to him?”

Myrnin didn’t look at her. Now they were walking down a wide sidewalk, spacious, framed by tall dark trees on both sides. Pretty in daylight. A prime ambush place in the dark. But there were vampires out strolling in the moonlight, living their lives in an entirely weird and alien sort of way from what she knew. Here, that awful skeletal thing wouldn’t attack. It wouldn’t dare.

She suddenly, badly, wanted to be back home.

“Myrnin? What was that?”

He didn’t say another word, all the way to the building where Jason was being held.