Morganville Vampires 11: Last Breath (35 page)

“I can try to find him,” Claire said. “Look, what choice do we have? Amelie’s not looking for Michael, or for any of them. She’s going to pack up and run with however many of her people are left. If we just wait here, we’re sitting ducks for the big Morganville apocalypse anyway. Maybe I can find out where they are, and I can get Michael, and Oliver, and Oliver can stop this. He’d rather fight than retreat. He can convince Amelie.”

“That’s true,” Eve said. “He’s not really the giving-up type.” She blinked back tears and grabbed Claire’s hand, vial and all. “Do you really think you can find Michael?”

“Wait a second. Think about it,” Shane said. “Eve, that thing that almost got us—that’s probably what got Michael, if the vamps are so scared. You want Claire to go one-on-one with it?”

“I won’t,” Claire said. She already had, and it hadn’t ended well. “All I’m going to do is try to find where they’re keeping the ones they take. Then once I know where they are, we can get help. I can call—”

Shane was shaking his head. “Phones are dead. Hell, for all I know, she’s downed carrier pigeons, too. There’s no way for us to find you if things go wrong, Claire, and I can’t—I
won’t
let you take that risk.”

She put her hands on his face. He looked so serious now, and she ached for him, really, but there was no way that she could hide here. Hiding would get them all killed.

Sometimes, you had to risk everything, and she knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that this was the time.

“You will, because you love me,” she told him, and kissed him. It was a gentle, sweet, wrenching kiss, and it made her want to cry at the thought of leaving him. “Shane, I’ll come back. Be ready when I do, because this is going to get dangerous.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers for a long few seconds, then stepped back.

“You’re not seriously letting her go!” Eve said. “Did Myrnin give you the crazy? Because this is
not safe
!”

“I know.” He let go of Claire’s hand. “And she’s not going alone. I’m going with her.”

Well, Claire couldn’t honestly say that she hadn’t expected that, but she’d been dreading it. “You can’t,” she said. “Shane, I’m going to be on foot.”

“Even more reason for me to go. Hey, don’t worry. I’ll carry the heavy weapons.”

She didn’t
want
him to come with her. For good reason—she was scared of losing him, and she knew,
knew
, that what was out there waiting was capable of … anything. He’d survived terrifying experiences, she knew that, but this—this was different.

She also knew that there was no way he’d take no for an answer. Just no way at all. He’d follow on his own if she tried to leave him, and that would only put him in even more danger.

Finally, she shook her head and sighed. “Then get the stuff and hurry. We probably don’t have long before Myrnin’s blood wears off.”

“Wait,” he told her. “Seriously. Do not move until I get back.”

Claire nodded. She thought about bolting while his back was turned, but that wouldn’t do any good. He came back in less than a minute, anyway, wearing his jacket with the pockets loaded down.

He handed her a set of blue squishy earplugs. “What?” She stared at them, confused, as he shoved a set in his own ears.

“Trust me,” he said. “You may need them.”

She pressed them in. They made her own heartbeat sound insanely loud, but blocked out voices pretty well; she had to read his lips to make out that he said,
Good to go.

“Eve, we’ll be back,” she said. “Lock the doors!”

Eve nodded. She looked stressed and anxious, but she had her long fencing épée in one hand, and a silver stake in the other.
I’ll be fine,
she said, or Claire thought she did, anyway.

Claire rushed to her and hugged her, hard. She kissed her on the cheek and said, “Love you, Eve.”

“Love you, too,” Eve said. Claire heard it, just barely, through the muffling sound barriers.

Then she and Shane set off into the dark of a Morganville they no longer knew.

 

 

There were things out there, and Claire realized why Shane had given her the earplugs by the time they reached the area around Common Grounds; there was a
sound
in the air, something like singing. She couldn’t hear much of it, but it made her distracted, anxious, and it made her want to take the earplugs out to listen.

She didn’t, only because when she reached for them, Shane grabbed her hand and held on to it, shaking his head.

Shane dragged her into the shadows next to the awning of Common Grounds, which was closed and shuttered; in the red and green glow of the neon coffee cup in the window, Claire saw a human figure standing on the street corner, under a flickering light.

In between the flickers, she thought it was black, an oily kind of darkness, but in the light, she saw a man. Pale, nondescript, anonymous.

She knew him, and drew in her breath sharply as she pushed back against Shane’s warm, steady strength. His arms went around her.

Magnus. That was the man who’d killed her.

He stood on the corner for a few long moments, then turned and walked away into the darkness, heading south. Claire gripped Shane’s hand tightly and led him out of the shadows. He pulled her to a stop again.
Wait,
he mouthed.
What?

Shane shook his head.
Dangerous.

Of course it was. But she knew,
knew
that Magnus was the key to all this. He’d killed her for a reason; she just didn’t fully understand what it was.

She dragged Shane insistently on, to the corner. They hugged the brick wall, and Claire peeked around it to see where he was.

Magnus stopped just as she looked. He was standing over a rusty iron grating set in the concrete of the sidewalk—a drain into the sewers. Claire had a flash of memory, of a grate just like that—where had she seen it?

Magnus seemed to … collapse. There was no other word for it; he broke into wet splashing drops, and in a second, maybe two, he was
gone
.

Like he was made out of water. It was sickening and wrong on so many levels, and it made her feel dizzy and hot, despite the cold rain pouring down on the hood of her coat.

That was how he’d gotten away from her behind the drugstore, and at the grocery store; he’d just flushed himself down the drain, and left her standing there confused, looking in all the wrong places. The idea that he’d been down there, looking up at her, watching her—that made her shudder all the way to her spine.

He knew I’d seen him,
Claire thought.
He couldn’t take the chance I’d known where he’d gone. So he killed me rather than risk it.

There was no sign of anyone—or any
thing
—else on the street. Claire gulped to force down her nausea, then tugged Shane forward, to stand next to the grate.

She pointed at it.

He gave her an odd look.

She pointed again, reached down, and grabbed hold. It was
way
too heavy for her to lift, even though she pulled until her muscles trembled and spasmed.

Shane shook his head, sending spray flying, and bent over to put his back into it as well. With his help, she got it to creak up at a rusty forty-five-degree angle.

The flood of water on the streets was roaring into the gutters and drainage openings, and this one was no different; it was a waterfall leading down into a black pit.

Shane dug a flashlight from his pocket, switched it on, and lit up the darkness.

It was like a vision of hell, if hell was made of water; thick, brown currents raced below them, carrying shreds of trash, tangles of metal, branches, the debris of everything that had washed in from the streets. She caught sight of rats swimming for their lives. They were swept along at a terrifying rate.

Shane put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head, again. It was too dangerous; he was right. Going into a storm drain was suicidal in this rain; they’d be swept away and mashed up against a grating and drowned, at best.

Besides, apparently Magnus could turn himself into some kind of
liquid
. How could she possibly track that?

Think.
Surely, with all this rain, Magnus wasn’t actually living in the sewers; maybe it was his version of a highway. But obviously he was comfortable in the water….

The singing was starting up again, high and sweet at the edges of her awareness, and she unconsciously reached for her earplugs, then stopped herself.

Like the old stories of the sirens, in Greek mythology. Or the mermaids.

Singing, to lure people to their deaths.

All she had to do was follow the sound.

Shane pushed the grating down and spread his hands in a questioning gesture.

She grabbed his arm, and towed him on, through the rain, in the direction that the creature who’d killed her wanted his prey to go. Toward the singing.

They had two advantages, she figured; one, they were at least partly protected against the sound of that music. And two, they were coming into it knowing the risks.

The singing seemed stronger as they walked south, into one of the less-populated areas of town; there were abandoned houses here, and old shuttered buildings that had once been stores. There were still a few homes being lived in. A thick knot of dread formed in Claire’s chest when she saw that some with lights on had open doors, as if the inhabitants had simply walked out and left them as they were.

She caught sight of a woman ahead of her in the rain. No coat. She was wearing light house shoes that flapped wetly in the icy stream running down the sidewalk, and her clothing was plastered flat against her body. Claire pointed, and she and Shane ran forward to catch up with her.

The woman—a vampire?—didn’t seem to notice them at all. She was staring straight ahead, and her wet face was blank as she struggled on, one step at a time. She was shuddering with the cold in her thin clothing.

Shane grabbed her and pulled her to a stop. She tried to yank free, but not as if she was alarmed by getting surprised on a dark street; it was more impatience, as if he was an obstacle she had to overcome to get where she needed to be.

After a few seconds of silent struggle, the woman suddenly turned toward him and swiped her fingernails at his face. Definitely a vampire: her eyes were muddy red, and her fangs flashed sharp in the dim light. Shane let go as he ducked, and she stumbled on, at the same relentless pace.

Can’t stop her,
Shane said.
Want me to …
He mimed knocking someone out. Claire shook her head. She hated to do it, but the woman was leading them where they needed to go.

They followed behind at a careful distance, but it didn’t seem like there was any reason to worry about being spotted; nobody else was around at all, and certainly the woman didn’t care if they were behind her, as long as they didn’t get in her way.

She slowed and turned, finally, and shuffle-splashed her way up a set of steps toward a big, old building with windows soaped opaque. Shane played his flashlight over the name over the door.

MORGANVIKLKLE CIVIC POOKL.

Whatever it was, it had been closed for ages; the building looked old and sagging, and the paint had peeled from the brick to leave it looking diseased and rotten. The big white door had been locked, Claire saw, but the hasp was broken off now, and the rusted lock lay on the stairs.

The woman went to the door, swung it open, and disappeared inside. This close, the singing was soaking through the earplugs, making Claire feel sick and shaky with the need to take the soundproofing out and
listen
, really
listen
. The message was important, and she could almost understand….

Shane reached up for his, and she grabbed his hand and shook her head. He took a deep breath and nodded, and together, they went up the steps to the white door.

Ready?
She mouthed it to him, and got a flash of a smile in response.

Not really,
he said.
But let’s do it.

She had the urge to move fast, but held back; Shane couldn’t move at vampire speeds, and leaving him behind,
here
, wasn’t even an option. Not with that
sound
pressing down, dragging and piercing right through the soundproofing now, digging into her brain.
Closer,
it was singing.
Come and rest. Come and rest.

She didn’t want to rest, but she couldn’t stop herself from moving forward, slowly, with Shane’s hand clutched tight in hers.

The room she walked into was dark, and smelled of mold. The carpet was ancient and filthy, and overhead, the ceiling had cracked and split. Paint had peeled off in elaborate curls, like ribbons, and she ducked to avoid them. There was an old desk, and a wrinkled cardboard sign that read, when Shane turned his flashlight on it, MEMBER SIGN-IN SHEET. The clipboard was still there, dangling from a silver chain, but the papers were long gone.

The entire place reeked of damp and rot.

Closer,
the music whispered.
Peace and stillness. Closer.

There was a hallway beyond the entry hall, and it glimmered with fairyland lights and reflections.

Shane pulled at her hand, shaking his head frantically. He pointed at the door leading back outside, into the cleaner night air.

But she had to see. Just to be sure.

Claire edged forward down the hall, still gripping his hand. She tried not to touch the walls, which were black with mold. The carpet was gone now, and there were two doors off the hall, one labeled MEN’S KLOCKER ROOM, the other WOMEN’S. The texture of the floor changed to tile, and it was slick and slippery.