It was. The warmth of Shane’s skin settled around her along with the fabric, and she hugged it close, breathing him in. “Yes,” she said, finally getting her head back together. “You’re cold, though.”
“Not that cold,” he said. “I’ll be okay.”
“No, you won’t,” Michael said, and stripped off his own jacket to toss it to Shane as he turned around. “Put that on. I won’t exactly catch my death.” The sound of the water droplets slamming down on the tin roof and walls was relentless, like a hail of marbles, and he had to raise his voice to be heard over the roar. “Myrnin! Do we have any leaks in here?”
“Yes,” Myrnin said. He seemed quite calm. “Several. Substandard construction, unquestionably. I believe there might be cause for a lawsuit.”
That should have put them all on edge, and it certainly raised shivers on Claire’s nerves, but Shane shook his head. “Trust me. We’re okay.”
“Shane—we’re not okay!”
“Want to see a magic trick?” he asked her, and kissed her, quick and light. For the moment at least, he was almost himself. “Come with me.”
Myrnin was standing well back from the door, frowning at the silvery trickles that had wormed their way through cracks and were blending together into a shallow little pool. Some of it was watershed that had come off the umbrellas, and their clothing; the rest was liquid forcing its way past the gaps. It wasn’t fast, but it didn’t have to be. It was relentless. Anyone who’d ever seen a flood understood how terrifying that could be.
“If you have more brilliant ideas, this would be an excellent time to divulge them,” Myrnin said. “Otherwise, I will do you the kindness of snapping your necks before Michael and I take silver.” He was very matter-of-fact about it, but when Claire looked closely she saw the wild, trapped, horrified look in his eyes, the rigid set of his body. This was, very literally, his worst nightmare. How long had he been fighting and fleeing the draug? Ages.
And Michael. Michael had been trapped by them before. She looked at him now, and saw how sharp and focused his expression was, how tense the muscles cording his arms and chest. He was struggling to control his own fear.
The sprinklers were firing off everywhere around the building; running would just send them straight into the arms of their enemies, but hiding wouldn’t do, either. Not for long.
“Move,” Shane said. Myrnin did, backing up a few more feet, which allowed Shane to push past him to another barrel sitting on a pallet behind him. It had the same paint scheme as the barrel the two of them had rolled out to the car. Claire watched as Shane hunted around and came up with a small crowbar, which he used to lever open the seals on the top of the barrel. The top was hinged in the middle, Claire realized, and he flipped that part over. “Score,” he said, and raised the crowbar in triumph. “Who’s your daddy?”
Myrnin stared at him as if he’d gone completely mental. “Excuse me?”
“Figure of speech,” Claire said hastily, and rushed over to join Shane. Michael beat her there, but he’d stopped, frowning, looking down into the barrel.
“Sorry, but what the hell?” He’d found a plastic scoop in a holder, and was poking around in the barrel. “What is this stuff?”
Shane took the scoop away and dug it into what looked like … soap flakes. “You remember in junior high when there was, oh, I don’t know, maybe some incident where a boy threw a giant firecracker down in the toilet and blew it up and maybe there was a big flood?”
Michael blinked. “I remember the toilet blew up and the bathroom flooded half the hallway.”
“And what happened then?”
“You got detention.”
“Before that. The janitor had to clean it up, and I had to help him.” He slapped the side of the drum. “Super Slurper. Developed by NASA. Absorbs about two hundred times its weight in water. Sprinkle it on, wait a minute, and scoop it up like powder. Watch.”
He walked past Myrnin to the pooling liquid, gave it a little bye-bye wave, and dumped the scoop of powder on top of it.
A high, thin tone ripped through Claire’s ears—a tiny bit of the draug scream. And then the powder darkened, and the liquid drew into it, pulled against its will.
Bound up in a chemical matrix and completely, utterly, trapped.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and felt her whole body heat up as the realization spread through her. “Oh my God, Shane!”
Myrnin came a hesitant step closer, staring. His eyes were very wide, fixed on the powder as it absorbed the water. He dropped to his knees to watch, then leaned over it.
Then he poked the remains.
The powder had turned darker, but it was still powdery—a little mealy, maybe. He picked up a sample and rubbed it between his fingers.
Then he sat back and looked up at Shane with an absolutely unreadable expression.
“You,” he said, “are a genius.”
“Nope,” Shane said. “But it turns out my no-good past is good for something after all.”
Michael threw his arm around Shane’s neck and ruffled his hair. “Good job, bro.”
“Dessicants,” Myrnin said wonderingly. “A mostly modern invention. We used them before, with very limited success, because they took so long to work; silica was tried, and other minerals, but this … this is astonishing. How much can a scoop of it absorb?”
“One hell of a lot,” Shane said. “Use enough and it turns into a solid, like jelly, and you can just pick it up and toss it out.” He had a dark flush in his cheeks, but his eyes were gleaming. He was proud of himself.
Good. He deserved to be.
Myrnin did an absolutely crazy little dance, one that left Claire openmouthed and wishing she’d taken video, because that was something she was sure she’d never see again in her lifetime.
Michael took the rest of the scoop and made a little powdery line across the threshold. The incoming water ran into it and just … disappeared. “I’ll check the perimeter,” he said. “Hope you guys brought a deck of cards. We’re going to have time to kill in here.” He grinned at Shane. “Seriously, man. You’re my hero.”
Shane still looked happy, but then … then something happened. His smile faltered, fell away. He stood very still, watching Michael.
“What? What did I say?” Michael asked him. “You okay?”
Shane had just … shut down. Michael glanced aside at Claire, and she took Shane’s hand. No response. “Shane? What’s wrong?”
“Hero,” he whispered. “Michael said I was his hero.”
“Well, you’re mine, too.”
“Always wanted to be … but it isn’t right, that can’t be right. Isn’t there a pool inside? We have to get to the pool, put the silver in the pool ….” He squeezed his eyes shut, and he was trembling now. “This is wrong. I can’t be the hero. I can’t be. That’s how I know … know it’s wrong.”
“Shane!”
He just … folded up, suddenly, and collapsed with a hollow boom of his back against the metal wall of the shed as he sat down. His eyes opened, and they were haunted, dark, empty. “This isn’t right,” he said. He looked at her, but it was as if he didn’t really see her. “You can’t be here. You weren’t here. You were safe. I’d never let you get hurt, Claire. Not again. It was just us, not you …”
“What in heaven is he talking about?” Myrnin snapped. “We don’t have time for this—”
“He’s remembering the dreams,” Michael said softly. “The draug make humans dream. I don’t think he can tell the difference anymore between then and now.”
Myrnin considered that for about, oh, a second, and then shook it off. “Irrelevant,” he said. “This substance he found changes everything. With this chemical, we can make weapons that will not just weaken but kill them, destroy them utterly, and do no harm to those vampires trapped inside the pools. Thousands of years of terror, death, running—all of it can end. We need to find a way to leave here and kill Magnus. He is the only one who matters now.”