Claire closed her eyes and visualized the living room of the Glass House: the sofa, the TV, the table, the bookcases, the guitars, everything all in a rush. When it was stable in her mind, she opened her eyes and sent the image out into the dark.
Yes!
Colors swirled like ink in water, and started to make an image in the darkness. It was the Glass House. She’d gotten it right.
Frank Collins was standing on the other side. She raised a hand to tell him to come through. He jumped, and she felt the stir of air against her face as he passed her, heading for the fight. Then West came through with the bow. Rudolph was following her—
Something hideously strong grabbed her from behind, and she lost control of the portal. Rudolph screamed, and something terrible happened to him as the opening snapped shut—she didn’t know what; she couldn’t see; there was a hand over her eyes and her mouth; she couldn’t breathe, and the hand was cold, very cold. . . .
Myrnin’s voice whispered in her ear, “Checkmate, little pawn. Your move.”
FIFTEEN
He took the hand off her eyes and wrapped his other arm around her waist, holding her tight against him. “Stop,” he said to the others. Claire opened her eyes to see Shane getting up from the floor, wiping blood from his eyes. He looked dizzy, but focused. Eve was standing frozen about twenty feet away, terrified and unsure. Michael was down with a wooden stake in his chest—oh, God, that could kill a young vampire if it was in long enough—and Frank Collins was slowly circling around, staring at Myrnin and Claire with the intensity of a hunting tiger.
West, the only other member of their backup who’d made it through alive, had her bow drawn and was standing with an arrow pointed at Myrnin’s chest. The only problem was that Claire’s own chest was actually in the way.
“Help Michael,” Claire said. Myrnin’s hand closed around her throat, choking off her words, but Shane seemed to understand, and went to pull the stake out of Michael’s chest. Their friend rolled on his side, coughing, weak and not able to even try to get up.
Shane held the stake in his fingers and twirled it restlessly, staring at Myrnin now with the exact same expression his father had.
“Let the kid go,” Frank said. “You know how this is going to end. It’s just a matter of how bloody you want to make it.”
“Well, friend, I don’t know about your tastes, but I tend to like it very bloody,” Myrnin said. He shifted position, dragging Claire along like a rag doll without any effort at all. “Have we been introduced?”
“Probably not. Why, you asking me out, sweetheart?”
“You’re not my type, darling. Is this one yours?”
“No,” Frank said, and looked at Shane, just in a quick flicker. “Let’s say she’s a friend of the family.”
“That’ll do. Now, if you want to keep her breathing, you’ll take all these children and your woman-at-arms—hello, West, how have you been, my dear? Haven’t seen you since Richard was king—and depart gracefully, while you still have the chance, and bring Ada to me. If you do, I may let this one go.”
“Nice offer,” Frank said. “Why exactly should I take it again?”
“Because the boy there wants you to,” Myrnin said. “I can tell. Can’t you? He’s just dying to come over here and save her from the evil, wicked vampire. Well, boy, why don’t you? Don’t you like her?” Myrnin’s hand tightened on her neck. “Come on—tell her how you feel. It’s your last chance, you know, before she dies.”
Don’t, Claire tried to say, but all that came out was a squeak. She felt a little sick, because she knew what Myrnin was doing, and she hated it.
“Sorry, freak,” Shane said, “but you’ve got a wrong number. I don’t know that chick at all. And the second you kill her, we’ll take you down, so maybe you’d better find a new plan.”
That stung a little, but Claire could see that he was lying, at least about that first part. She could see it in his eyes. It hadn’t been long, but he felt something for her, even if it wasn’t maybe what she felt yet—and she knew Shane. He’d never, ever stand by and just let her be hurt. He wouldn’t do that even if she was a total stranger.
“I think your friend has a hero complex,” Myrnin said in a whisper, right into her ear. “That makes this even more interesting, doesn’t it, Claire?”
She felt her heart stutter in her chest. He knew her. No—no, wait, he didn’t; he just knew her name. It wasn’t the same Myrnin, not at all.
The grip around her throat eased just a little, and she was able to gasp out, “Myrnin, please stop. Please. You know this isn’t right.”
“You know what isn’t right? Waking up to find everything changed, to find Ada missing, to find humans breaking into my last safe haven intent on destroying what I hold dear? Does that sound right to you?”
“It’s not what you think,” Claire said desperately. “Ada’s not here. She’s not coming back. You have to understand that what’s down there isn’t something you should be protecting; it’s something you have to stop!”
He was silent. Frank Collins took a step forward, then stopped, watching Claire’s face. She frantically shook her head.
“You do sound convincing,” Myrnin said. He put his head down, mouth very close to the side of her throat, and took in a deep breath. “You do smell familiar, I admit. Your scent is all over the lab, and I confess, I have no explanation for that.”
“Because I work here. For you,” Claire said. “You know that. Myrnin, you have to remember. Please try.”
All of a sudden he let her go and shoved her forward, hard—straight into Shane’s arms. Shane dropped the stake to grab her as she fell, and held on.
Myrnin stood there for a moment, head cocked to one side, staring at the two of them. “I have the oddest feeling,” he said, “that I’ve seen this before. Seen you before.”
“You have,” Claire said, and cleared her throat, trying to ignore the ache. “Myrnin, you know us. Stop. Just stop and think, okay?”
He stared at her, and she saw that he was trying—groping for the lost threads of his life. She saw how it frightened him to feel this way, too. Maybe he’d enjoyed it, on some level; maybe it had felt like freedom, not worrying about anyone but himself and Ada.
But that wasn’t him. Not anymore. It hadn’t been for years.
“Claire,” he said, and took a step forward. “Claire, I think . . . I think I . . . forgot something . . . about—I don’t think this is right. I don’t think any of this is right. And I think I know . . . I think I know Ada—”
He stopped and turned to look at the portal an instant before Claire felt the flash of power from it. “No!” he snapped, and stretched out a hand toward the doorway, which was starting to spark and flicker with color. “No one else comes in!”
She couldn’t let him stop this, no matter what happened, but she felt sick about it. She’d been close, so close to breaking through . . . and now it was gone again.
Claire scooped up the fallen stake and lunged for his back.
She didn’t make it, of course; Myrnin was too fast, and too alert. He whirled, grabbed her arm, and held the point of the stake an inch from his chest, staring right into her eyes.
“Oh, child,” he said. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
But she’d done exactly what she’d meant to do, and in the next second, power rushed through the room, crackling along her skin, and Amelie stepped through the portal behind Myrnin, shining like a white diamond in the dim light. Behind her came two more vampire guards, and Oliver. But Oliver wasn’t going to be any help, because he was wearing silver chains on his wrists and ankles.
He could hardly stand, Claire realized. He looked terrible.
Myrnin forced Claire to drop the stake, and held on to her wrist as he turned to face Amelie, bowing low from the waist. “Founder.”