“Well, the cops aren’t vampires. And the Protections won’t keep them out.”
As Claire watched, the six police cars, all with their lights running in bloodred and vein blue flashes, were joined by two long, skeletal fire trucks. One at each end of the block.
Michael said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.
“Oh, shit!” Shane whispered. “They wouldn’t.”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “I think they would. If this book is that important, I think they’d do just about anything to get it.”
Oliver’s face suddenly popped up in front of the window. They all screamed—even Michael—and jumped back. Shane tried to push Claire behind him. She smacked at him until he left her alone.
She wanted to hear what Oliver had to say.
“It’s nearly five o’clock,” Oliver said, his voice muffled by the window glass. “We’re running out of time, Michael. Either invite me in and give me the book, or I’m afraid this is going to get unpleasant.”
“Wait!” Claire balled her hands into fists. “I want to trade for it!”
His eyes weighed her, and dismissed her. “I’m very sorry, my dear, but that opportunity has come and gone. We’re in much rougher waters now. Either hand over the book, or we’ll come in and get it. I promise you, this is the best deal you’re likely to get this side of hell.”
Michael yanked down the shade. “Shane. You, Eve, and Claire get into the pantry room. Move it.”
“No way!” Eve declared. “I’m not leaving you!”
He took her hand and locked eyes with her, in a way that made Claire’s knees go weak even at several feet away. “They can’t hurt me, except by hurting the house itself. They can’t kill me, except by destroying the house. Understand? You guys are the vulnerable ones. And I want you safe.”
He kissed her hand, darted a self-conscious look at Claire and Shane, and then kissed her lips, too.
“Huh,” Shane said. “Thought so.” He took Claire’s hand. “Michael’s right. Better get you girls someplace safe.”
“You, too, Shane,” said Michael.
“No way!”
“Not the time to be proving anything, dude. Just take care of them. I can take care of myself.”
Maybe, Claire thought. And maybe he just wanted them out of the way in case he couldn’t.
Either way, she didn’t have a chance to protest. Shane steered her and Eve into the kitchen, loaded them down with water and prepackaged food like Pop-Tarts and energy bars, and helped them stack things in the dark, gloomy hiding place where Claire had spent her first morning in the Glass House.
She didn’t know if Shane really might have followed Michael’s orders—it was possible, she guessed—but just as they were pushing the last of the supplies into the narrow little doorway, there was a loud crashing of glass from the living room.
“What the hell?” Shane blurted, and ducked out to see what was going on. Claire went after him, and when she looked back, Eve was following, too.
But they didn’t get very far, because the kitchen window smashed into splinters, and Claire and Eve stopped and turned to look.
Oliver was standing just outside the window. They heard more glass breaking, all over the house.
“Girls,” he said. “I’m sorry to do this. Truly I am. But you’re not giving me much choice. Last chance. Invite me in, and this can end peacefully.”
“Bite me!” Eve taunted. “Oh, wait…you can’t, can you? Not from way out there!”
His eyes flared, and his fangs snapped down. Threat display. That was what it was called when a rattlesnake shook its tail, or a cobra spread its hood. He was giving them a clear sign that he didn’t find them very funny.
“The book,” he said. “Or your lives. That’s the only deal you’re going to get, Claire. I suggest you make the right choice quickly.”
“It’s okay,” Eve said. “They can’t come inside.”
Oliver nodded, his faded, curling hair blowing in the hot night wind. “That’s true,” he said. “But then, I’m hardly all alone.”
And he stepped aside as a policeman, in uniform, broke out the remaining glass with a nightstick and hopped up on the windowsill to climb through.
Eve and Claire screamed and ran.
The living room was a mess of broken furniture, scattered papers, struggling bodies—Shane punched out some guy in a black jacket, who flew back out of the window and into the arms of some waiting, snarling vampires. Michael was fighting a couple more, whom he just bodily picked up and threw out. As Eve and Claire skidded into the room and broke right and left, the cop in pursuit ran headlong into Michael and got tossed out, as well.
“They’re coming in!” Eve screamed, and slammed the kitchen door and jammed a chair under the handle. Michael grabbed the nearest bookcase—not the one with the Bible on it, Claire saw—and pulled it over to block the window, then leaned the sofa against it.
“Upstairs!” he yelled. “Move it!”
Shane grabbed Claire by the hand and pounded up the steps, half dragging her; she missed a step and stumbled, and pulled him off-balance just at the right moment, because the bat that was swung at his head missed and thumped into the wall with a crack of wood. Another person hiding at the top of the stairs, this one female and tall. Shane grabbed the bat away from her and menaced her with it, driving her back down the hallway. Claire recognized her—one of the dorm girls, Lillian.
“Don’t!” Lillian yelled, and put up her arms when Shane pulled back the bat.
“Hell,” Shane spit in disgust. “I can’t hit a girl. Here, Claire. You hit her.” He tossed her the bat. Claire grabbed it and came to a clumsy batting stance, wishing she’d paid more attention in phys ed. Lillian screamed again and ran into the open doorway of Eve’s room. Eve, coming up the stairs, screamed, too, for different reasons.
“Hey! That’s my room, bitch!” And she flew in to grab Lillian by the hair, swing her around, and throw her out into the hall, then shoved her toward the stairs. “Michael! This one needs to go out!”
She shoved her again. Lillian tottered down the steps, and shrieked once more before leaving the building at speed, propelled by Michael-power.
“Check the rooms,” Shane panted. “If one got in, there are probably more. Don’t take chances. Yell for help.”
Claire nodded and hurried to her room. It looked quiet, thank God—the windows were unbroken, and there was no sign of anybody hiding in the closets or under the bed. Same for the bathroom, although she had a bad shower-curtain moment. She heard crashing from down the hall. Shane had found somebody. She ran out into the hall and started to come to his defense, then hesitated when she saw that Eve’s door was now open a crack.
She’d left it closed.
She opened it slowly, as silently as she could, and peeked around the edge…
…and saw Eve up against the wall, and Miranda holding a knife at Eve’s throat. She recognized the bruises and bite marks on her neck first, then the faded blue eyes as the girl’s head turned toward her.
“Don’t,” Miranda said. “I have to do this. Charles says I need to. To make the visions stop. I want it to stop, Claire. You understand, right?”
“Let her go, Miranda, okay? Please?” Claire swallowed hard and stepped into the room. She could hear fighting from down the hall. Shane and Michael were busy. “You don’t want to hurt Eve. She’s your friend!”
“It’s too much,” Miranda said. “So many people dying, and I can’t do anything. Charles said he’d make it go away. All I have to do is—”
“What? Kill Eve? Really, don’t—you don’t want to—to do anything—” Panicked, she looked to Eve for help. One thing was for sure: the pallor in Eve’s face wasn’t makeup.
“Yeah,” Eve said faintly. “I’m your friend, Mir. You know that.”
Miranda shook her head so hard her dark hair flew. The knife trembled against Eve’s throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut, whispering something that sounded like, “Charles,” and when she opened her eyes again she looked different. Not scared. Focused.