Shane's dad turned on an electric light overhead, and the sudden glare made Claire wince and blink. She looked down quickly at Dr. Mills to confirm that he was still breathing, and not moving. Good. She needed all her concentration right now.

Frank Collins looked the same as he had the last time she'd seen him alive, there in Bishop's office - thin, lean, with his long graying hair down around his face, only now he was paler. He looked like a man who'd lived hard and died the same way - and there was definitely a shadow in him that hadn't been there before. A crazy, scary shine in his eyes, like a silver film. He had a few things in common with Oliver, but where Oliver came across as tough, frightening, and ultimately rational, Collins missed that last one entirely.

He was way too close. Claire stayed very still, trying not to let her pulse pound too hard.

"I see what my son likes about you," Frank Collins said. "You're tougher than you look."

"Thanks," she said. "Now back off."

He laughed again. It echoed off of the stone, as if he'd brought three or four copies of himself to enjoy the show. "No," he said. "I don't think so. Never done it before. Never will." He paused "I'd like to talk to my son."

"Never going to happen," Claire said. "He doesn't want to talk to you."

Mr. Collins's smile showed more than teeth. His fangs slowly unfolded, and the edges caught the dim light. "You think he'd want you sucking plasma, too, sweet-heart? It would kill him if something like that happened. So you might try to be a little more polite."

She wanted to vomit at the thought of Frank Collins biting her. "He'll kill you," she said. "You know he would."

"Maybe he'd try." Frank shrugged. "He wouldn't hurt you, though. I know my boy well enough to know how head over heels he is for you. He'd never touch a hair on your pretty little head. You're his weakness, Claire."

That was sickeningly true. Shane would do anything to save Claire. He'd even let his father turn him into a vampire - which might be what Freaky Frank was thinking about.

She couldn't let that happen. No way.

Claire slowly let the duffel bag she was holding thump down to the floor, and took stock of what she had to work with. Not much. Frank Collins had been turned by Bishop; he wasn't sick. She had no hope of curing him, or even treating him. This was his natural state of crazy.

Her backpack.

Claire let it slide down her arm, hoping that he'd think she was getting ready to make a run for it. It'd be useless to do that; she'd never make it.

Plus, he'd enjoy the chase.

As her backpack caught in the crook of her elbow, she grabbed the front zipper. Gravity helped her pull it down as the weight sagged forward.

Oh, crap.

The stakes weren't in the front pocket. She'd put them in the bigger interior, with her books. There was nothing in the front pocket but some paper clips, a highlighter, and half a candy bar. She didn't think bribing him with chocolate would get it done.

"Relax," Shane's dad said. "I'll let you go."

That seemed . . . too good to be true, but Claire was willing to take it and run. "Thanks," she said, and bent to grab Dr. Mills to pull him toward the portal.

"I didn't say he could go," Frank said, his smile full-tilt crazy. "I deserve a little bonus for being so accommodating."

Claire could feel her heart pounding now, even through the layers of calming drugs that Hannah had dosed her with before. Everything seemed to slow down. She didn't pause to think. She threw all her strength into grabbing the pack in both hands, twirling in place like a shot-putter, and slamming the pack into Frank Collins's back.

There were a lot of books in there, and physics was something not even vampires could ignore, especially when it hit them full force. Frank went sprawling. Claire grabbed Dr. Mills by one arm and dragged him toward the spot where Ada had been standing.

Ada flickered back into existence as she approached. The speaker in Claire's phone activated and Ada shouted, "Leave the man; get the bags!"

"Bite me," Claire snapped. She heaved, got Dr. Mills up to a sitting position, and rolled him through the portal.

Then she dashed back for the duffel bags.

Frank Collins's pale hand grabbed her wrist. She looked up, right into his scarred face and silvery eyes, and screamed. There was no way she could break free, not without leaving her hand behind. He was just that strong.

Shane's dad yanked her down to her knees on the floor. He pulled the strap of her backpack off her shoulder and ripped the tough fabric open, spilling the contents all over the floor. Advanced Particle Physics slipped off into the dark, along with Fundamentals of Matrix Computations . Out spilled two sharp-pointed wooden stakes. Out of sheer desperation, she made a grab for them, but his foot came crashing down to pin them to the floor before she could get there.

He stood there, staring at the stakes, and she saw something move over his face, like a ripple of real human pain. "Christ," he murmured. "I used to carry some just like that when I was starting out hunting them. What the hell am I doing?"

She knew what that pain was, and all of a sudden she knew how to hurt him. "You're hunting," Claire said. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt as if it would break her ribs. "That's what vamps do. Hunt people."

He shook his head silently, then looked up at her. He almost looked sane again, or as sane as Shane's father ever got. "I've been fighting vampires a long time," he said. "Killed a couple; did you know that?"

She knew. He and Shane had almost been executed for killing Brandon, even though Shane hadn't had anything to do with it. He stared down again at the hand-carved stakes sticking out from under his big, scuffed boot.

"Never ended up using stakes all that much," he said, and looked her right in the eyes. "You know why?"

She was afraid to ask.

"Because if you don't kill a vampire, it just makes them angrier," he said. "You think you can kill me with something like this?"

She swallowed hard. "Sure. Not that you're going to let me try."

"Truth is, the worst thing I ever feared was this. Being this. Shane tell you that?" She slowly nodded. "I'm sorry he had to see what happened to me. I'm sorry for all the things I did to make his life hell over the years. You understand?"

She shook her head, because she really didn't.

"You tell Shane I love him," Frank said. "I always did. Didn't show it right, I know that, but that was never his fault. I'm glad he found you. He deserves something good in his life."

And then he lifted up his boot and picked up the stakes. Claire opened her mouth, but her voice caught in her throat.

He didn't hurt her.

"You go home," he said. "You tell my son his father says good-bye. Wish I'd gotten to see him one more time, but you're right. It's probably not a good idea."

He turned away toward the darkness, with the stakes in his hand.

"I guess you should know that he loves you, too. He can't help it." Her voice echoed from the stone. She didn't know why she said it, except that she knew, with sad certainty, that she wouldn't see him again.

She thought Shane's dad hesitated, but then he shuffled on, until he was out of sight.

The instant he was gone, Claire grabbed the duffel bags, and lunged to her feet, heading for the open portal.

She stumbled out on the other side, tripped over Dr. Mills's motionless body, and fell into Oliver's arms.

He looked at her with an absolutely disgusted expression, and dropped her on her butt on the plushly carpeted floor of Amelie's study.

"It's gone," Claire said for the four hundredth time, as Oliver turned her arm this way and that, holding it under a light so bright it felt like a laser cutting into her skin. "Hey! I said it's gone!"

Oliver held her in place with a grip so hard she knew it would leave its own kind of tattooing. In blue, purple, and black. "And I said that Bishop would very much like us to think that it's gone," he snapped. "You were told to stay where you were. As usual, you ignored that instruction, and now you've placed us all at extreme risk of - "

"Let her go, Oliver," Amelie said from the other side of the vast, polished desk. She drummed her perfect fingernails on the surface, making a light, dry tapping sound like bones dropped on marble. "The girl could have betrayed us a dozen times or more by now. She hasn't. I believe we can give her the benefit of the doubt, for now."

He let Claire go and stalked away, arms folded. This, Claire thought, was Amelie's war council - Sam Glass sat next to her in a side chair, looking more like Michael all the time as his red hair grew out into a mess of waves and curls. Oliver paced. Richard Morrell stood nearby, looking as if he wanted to pace, but was too tired to make the attempt.

Michael moved up next to Claire, put his hand on her shoulder, and led her off to the side, near where Hannah Moses leaned against the wall, looking fascinated and worried. Claire knew just how she felt. Being plunged into the deep end - and this was it - meant swimming for your life, with sharks. Even the supposedly friendly ones could turn and take your leg off when they felt like it.

"Where's Myrnin?" Claire whispered. Michael shook his head. "Isn't he here? Somewhere?"

"No idea," Michael whispered back. "Amelie stashed him someplace; I just don't know where. He's not - "

"Michael," Amelie said, "I said I would give her the benefit of the doubt, not the full story. Please be quiet." She stood up, and Claire saw that she'd changed clothes again, this time to a flawless pale pink suit, something that looked like it belonged on a runway in Paris. Not what Claire would have thought you'd wear to a show-down. "Claire. Thank you for bringing the supplies that I requested from Dr. Mills. Thank you also for retrieving the good doctor. I am told that he will recover from his wound." Her light-colored, cool eyes focused on Claire, and shot right through her. "May I also see your arm?"

Always polite. That was when Amelie was the most dangerous, Claire knew. She slowly extended her arm, still holding Michael's hand on the other side for comfort. Amelie's touch was cold and light. She didn't study the skin, like Oliver had; she ran her fingertips over the surface, and then lowered Claire's arm back to her side.

"Michael," she said,"please take Claire to your friends. I am sure you would both prefer to be with them now."

"But . . ." Claire licked her lips. "Don't you want me here? To help?"

"You'll help when it's needed," Amelie said. "For now, you should be elsewhere. We will be bringing in some of my people to remove them from Bishop's influence. The process can be somewhat unsettling to witness."

Oliver made a rude noise as he continued his relentless pacing. "It's far worse when it fails," he said. "I hope you're not fond of this carpet."

Amelie ignored that. "Myrnin and Dr. Mills had told me that the work could not continue on the serum without more of Bishop's blood. Is that correct?" Claire nodded. "Difficult to achieve, I'm afraid, but I will include that in our calculations."

"We talked about drugging him."

"So Myrnin said." Amelie wasn't going to tell her anything. "It's no longer your concern. I will rely on you and your friends to be in attendance this evening. You should come prepared."

"Prepared for what?" Claire asked.

Amelie's eyebrows rose. "Anything. We are no longer following a plan. We are facing the final moves on the chessboard, and who wins will very much depend on nerve, skill, and the ability to do the unexpected. You may count on my father being ready to do his worst. We must be just as ruthless."

Claire thought about that moment in the tunnels, with Frank Collins. She hadn't felt ruthless at the end. She'd felt sad.

She didn't suppose Amelie, Oliver, or any of the rest of them would have hesitated for a second. Frank Collins was a bad guy. He'd been a bad guy as a human, right? But still . . . there was just that one moment when she'd seen him as a man who loved his son.

Maybe everybody had those moments. Even the worst people.

Maybe it didn't matter, except to her.

The door opened at the far end of the room, and two of Amelie's favorite vamp bodyguards came in, dragging a beat-up human. At least, Claire thought he was human; it was hard to tell, under all the dirt and bruises.

Oh. She knew him. It was Jason Rosser, Eve's crazy-ass brother. He looked like he'd been living in a garbage dump for months - for all Claire knew, he had been. Eve had said he'd been coming by the house, maybe even acting less insane, but right now, Claire couldn't see it. He looked like a rabid sewer rat, and as he scanned the room, he was all gleaming, crazy eyes and bared teeth.

When the guards let him go, at a nod from Amelie, Jason lunged for the Founder of Morganville. She didn't raise a hand to defend herself. She didn't have to.

Oliver met him halfway, grabbed Jason by the throat, and slammed him down onto the carpet flat on his back.

"You see?" Oliver said, and gave Amelie a freakishly calm smile. "You really should have thought about the carpet; you'll never get the smell of him out of it. Really, Amelie, you do insist on bringing home strays."

"I also put them down when necessary," she said. "This one happens to be yours, Oliver, yes? So I leave him to you for proper judgment."

Nobody said a word in protest to that. Not even Claire. Jason was nobody's friend; Claire would never, ever forget the night he'd almost killed Shane, for nothing. She wasn't about to speak up on his behalf.

Oliver stared deep into Jason's eyes and said, "You deserve to die, you know. Not only for the fact that you reek of guilt; I'm partial to a bit of mayhem now and then. No, you deserve to die because you broke the laws of Morganville without my permission." Oliver's smile widened into something out of a bad-clown nightmare. "So what then am I to do with you? You broke your word to Brandon. You broke your word to me. You had the bad taste to betray Amelie, in full public view. You took the side of that ancient reptile Bishop."

Jason laughed. It sounded like breaking ice. "Yeah, I did," he said. "Vamps are getting a break for doing the same thing. I get to die. Perfect. Nothing ever changes around here, does it? If a vampire does it, they can't help it. If a human does it, they're lunch meat."

Amelie said, "Is there anyone who will speak for him?" Claire knew it was a pro forma kind of question, like, Speak now or forever hold your peace, but she was thinking about Eve. About how she was ever going to tell her that she'd watched her brother die, and hadn't said a word . . .

But as it happened, she didn't have to.

"I will," Michael said.

There was a collective intake of breath. Nobody - Claire included - could quite believe he'd spoken up. It even made Oliver turn and lose his bitch face.

"Don't do me no favors, Glass Ass," Jason snapped.

"I'm not." Michael turned to Amelie. "He's a pathetic little worm, but he's just a criminal. He deserves to be punished. Not killed like some rabid dog."

"He's a killer," she said.

"Well, if he is, he's not the only one in this room, is he?"

Amelie showed her teeth briefly in a smile. "Will you take his parole, Michael? Will you put him into your own household and shelter him with those you love?"

Michael didn't answer. He wanted to - Claire could see it - but he just . . . couldn't.

Finally, he shook his head.

"If you won't trust him with those you love, how can I trust him with anyone else's family?" Amelie said, and nodded to Oliver.

Claire blurted, "Wait!"

"May we please have done with interruptions from the children's section?" Oliver said.

"Why is he here?" Claire asked, talking so fast that she stumbled over the words. "Why is he here? Who brought him here?"

"Who cares?"

Amelie held up a warning hand. "It's a reasonable question. Who brought him to us?"

"Nobody," one of the guards said from the door. "He came through the portal."

"What?" Amelie crossed to Jason in a flash, knocked Oliver out of the way, and slammed the boy back against the closest wall. "Tell me how you came to work the portals."

"Somebody showed me," Jason said. "He showed me a lot of things. He showed me how to kill. How to hide. How to get around town without anybody knowing."

"Who?"

Jason laughed. "No way, lady. I'm not telling. That's all I've got left to bargain with, right?"

Amelie's face twisted with anger, and she was about two seconds from snapping some bones for him. "Then you have nothing, because I will have it out of you one way or another."

Sam Glass, who hadn't said a thing, slowly rose to his feet. "Amelie. Amelie, stop."

"Not until this worm tells me who showed him the portals!"

"Then I'll tell you," Sam said. "I showed him. I showed him everything you showed me."

Silence. Even Oliver looked as if he didn't quite understand what he'd just heard. Amelie stood there like an ivory statue, holding Jason in place with one flattened hand on his chest.

"Why?" she whispered. "Sam, why would you do such a thing?"

It felt, to Claire, like suddenly the room was empty and they'd all turned to ghosts, except for Amelie and Sam. There was something so powerful in the stare between them that it just vaporized the rest of the world. "I did the best I could," he said softly. "You left me no choice. You wouldn't see me. You wouldn't speak to me, all those years. I was alone, and I - I wanted to do something good." He took in a deep breath and walked toward her, coming close enough to touch, although he didn't reach out. "Jason was a victim. Brandon brutalized him, and no one did anything to stop it. So yes, I taught the boy to fight, to defend himself from Brandon. I taught him to use the portals to help him escape when he needed to get away. I couldn't stop Brandon, not without you, but I could try to save his victims. I thought I was helping."

"Don't worry, man; I wasn't going to throw you under the bus." Jason laughed. "Fuck it, you were the only one who was ever good to me. Why should I?"

"The boy rewarded you by showing my father everything you taught him," Amelie said softly. She broke the stare with Sam and looked at Jason's face. "Didn't you?"

"It was what I had to trade. You set up the rules, lady. I just followed them."

Amelie grabbed Jason by the hair and shoved him at Sam, who caught him in surprise, and then held him when Jason tried to break free. "He's yours," she snapped at Sam. "You created this. Deal with it." She spun to Oliver. "You were right. Bishop does know how to use the network."

"Then we can take advantage of that," Oliver said. "Since he assumes we do not know that he does."

They'd effectively dismissed Sam and Jason. Sam stared at Amelie with so much pain in his face that it made Claire hurt to look at it, then shook his head. "Let's go," he said, and nodded to Michael and Claire. "All of us. Now."

No one tried to stop them. When Jason tried to make one last clever little comment, Sam slapped a hand over his mouth and dragged him out. "Shut up," he said. "You're still alive. That's a better outcome than you deserve."

Claire portaled them directly into the Glass House. She breathed an involuntary sigh of relief at finding Shane sitting on the couch, staring at a flickering TV screen like it held the secrets of the universe, and Eve pacing the hallway in her clumpy boots.

Eve spotted them first, screamed, and threw herself on Claire like a warm Goth blanket. "Oh God, everybody thought you were dead! Or, you know, Bishoped, which would have been worse, right? What happened? Where did you go?"

Over Eve's shoulder, Claire saw that Shane had gotten to his feet. "You all right?" he asked. She nodded, and he closed his eyes in sudden relief. Claire patted Eve's back, in thanks, love, and a little bit of get-the-hell-off-me . Eve got the message. She backed up, sniffling a little, and couldn't keep a smile from ruining her sad-clown makeup.

"Sorry about that," Claire said. "I . . . well. It wasn't exactly my idea, and I can't really explain. . . ."

"But you're okay. No fang marks or . . . " Eve's gaze darted past Claire, and she stopped talking. Stopped moving, too.

Shane, on the other hand, moved fast, putting himself between Claire and Jason. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Fuck you too, Collins."

"Shut up," Sam said, and gave Jason a warning shake that must have rattled his bones. "He's here because I didn't want to kill him. Any other questions?"

Eve still wasn't saying anything. Claire couldn't blame her; she had the same kind of conflicted emotions passing over her face that Shane had when he thought about his dad. Love/hate/loss. That sucked, when Jason was standing right there. She hadn't really lost him. Not yet.

Michael went to her, the same way Shane had gone to Claire - to get between her and her brother. "He's not welcome here," Michael said, and that put the force of the Founder House behind it. Claire felt a pressure building, getting ready to evict Jason and - presumably - Sam, if Sam didn't let go of him.

"Wait," Sam said. "You send him out there, he's dead from all sides, and you know it. Bishop has no use for him, hasn't since Jason's assassination attempt failed. Amelie would kill him without blinking. You really want to do that to your girlfriend's brother?"

"Michael, don't," Eve said. "He won't hurt us." And everyone rolled their eyes at that. Even Jason, which was borderline hilarious.

"Look," Jason said, "all I want is a way out of this stupid town. You arrange that, and I'll never show my face around here again. You can keep your stupid hero life-style. I just want out."

"Too late," Shane said. "Last bus already left, man. And we're thirty minutes away from Bishop's big town hall meeting. You can run, but you can't hide. Anybody who isn't there is dead. He's going to send out hunters. It'll be open season."

"I could stay here," Jason said quickly. "Upstairs. In the secret room, right?"

They all looked at one another.

"Oh, come on, it's not like I'm going to run up your phone bill and watch pay-per-view. Besides, if I was going to kill you in your sleep, I would have already done it." He made a kissy-face at Shane. "Even you, asswipe."

"Jesus, Jason." Eve sighed. "Do you want to end up in the landfill, or what?" She touched Michael on the arm, and he glanced back at her and took her hand. "Can you tell if he lies to us?"

"Uh, no. Drinking blood doesn't make me a lie detector."

Sam spoke up somberly. "I can." He shrugged when Michael gave him an odd look. "It's just a skill. You pick it up, over time. People can't control their bodies the way vampires can. I can usually tell when they're lying."

"No offense, but you've been wrong plenty of times, Sam. Like, deciding that you could trust this little weasel as far as you can throw him," Michael said, then caught a devastating pleading look from Eve. "All right. Go ahead. Ask him whatever you want."

Eve took in a deep breath, looked her brother in the eyes, and said, "Please tell me the truth. Did you kill those girls?"

Because that had been Jason's rep. Murdered girls, dumped all over town, a string of killings that had begun right after Jason had gotten out of jail, just about the time Claire had moved to Morganville. One body had been put here in their own house, in an attempt to implicate Shane and Michael.

Jason blinked, as if he somehow hadn't really expected her to ask. "The truth?"

"Of course, the truth, idiot."

"I've done bad things," he said. "I've hurt people. I need help."

Eve's face fell. "You really did do it."

"It wasn't my fault, Eve."

"Never is, is it? I really thought - "

"He's lying," Michael said. He sounded as surprised as Claire felt. "Right, Sam?" Sam nodded. "My God. You really didn't do it, did you?"

Jason looked away from them. "Might as well have."

"What the hell does that mean?" Eve snapped. "Either you did, or you didn't!"

"No," her brother said. "Either I did, I didn't, or I was there when it happened and didn't stop it. Figure it out."

"Then who - "

"I'm not saying. People think I'm a killer; they leave me the fuck alone. They think I'm just some sad-ass ride-along clown. They'll kill me quick." Jason looked up now, right at Eve, and for the first time, Claire thought he looked sincere. "I never killed anybody. Not on my own, anyway. Well, I came close with you, Collins."

"But you won't tell us who did kill them?"

He shook his head.

"Are you afraid?" Eve asked, very gently.

Silence.

"You know what?" Shane said. "Don't care. Street him before we wake up with our throats cut by him or his imaginary playmate."

And they might have, except that the doorbell rang. Michael flashed to the window and looked out. "Crap. Our ride's here. We don't have time for this."

"Michael," Eve said. "Please. Let him stay, at least for now. Please."

"All right. Get him upstairs and lock him in. Sam, can you stay with him?

"No," Sam said. "I have to go back to Amelie."

"We have to leave. Claire, can you shut down the portal that leads here?"

"I can try, sure."

As Sam hustled Jason up the stairs to the second floor, Claire touched the bare wall at the back of the living room, and felt the slightly pliable surface of the portal lying on top of it. It was invisible, but definitely active.

"Ada," she whispered, and felt the surface ripple.

Her phone rang. Claire answered it. No incoming caller ID had appeared on the display, just random numbers and letters. She answered.

"What?" the computer snapped. "I'm busy, you know. I can't just be at your constant beck and call."

"Shut down the portal to the Glass House."

"Oh, bother. Do it yourself."

"I don't know how!"

"I hardly have time to school you," Ada said primly. God, she reminded Claire of Myrnin - not in a good way. "Very well. I shall do it for you this one time. But you'll have to turn it on again yourself. And stop calling me!"

The phone clicked off, and under Claire's fingers, the surface turned cold and still, like glass.

Blocked. Quantum stasis, she thought, fascinated, and wondered how that worked, for about the millionth time. She wanted to take Ada apart and figure it out. Yeah, if you live long enough. It had taken Myrnin three hundred years to put Ada together; it might take her that long just to figure out the basic principles he'd used.

Michael came back into the living room, leading two other vampires - Ysandre, that smug little witch, and her occasional partner Fran?ois, an equally nasty reject from some Eurotrash vampire melodrama.

They were walking cliches, but they were also deadly. Claire couldn't even look at Fran?ois without remembering how he'd ripped the cross off of her neck and bitten her. She still had the scars - faint, but they'd always be there. And she couldn't forget how that had felt, either.

A hot flood of emotion came over her when she saw him smirking at her - hate, fear, loathing, and fury. She knew he could feel it coming off of her in sick waves.

She also knew he enjoyed it.

Fran?ois gave her an elaborate bow and blew her a kiss. "Cherie," he said. "The exquisite taste of you still lingers in my mouth."

Shane's hands closed into fists. Fran?ois saw that, too. Claire touched Shane's arm; his muscles were tensed and hard. "Don't let him bait you," she whispered. "I was a snack. Not a date."

Fran?ois closed his eyes and made a point of sniffing the air. "Ah, but you smell so different now," he said, with elaborate disappointment. "Rich and complex, not simple and pure anymore. Still, I was the first to taste your blood, wasn't I, little Claire? And you never forget your first."

"Don't!" she hissed to Shane, and dug her fingernails in as deep as she could. It was all she could do. If Shane decided to go for him, she knew how it would end.

Luckily, so did Shane. He slowly relaxed, and Claire saw Michael's tension ease as well. "We talking, or are we walking?" Shane asked. "I thought we had someplace to be."

Claire felt a sunburst of pride in him, and a longing that came with it - she wanted all of this to just stop; she wanted to go back to the night, the silence, the touch of his skin and the sound of his whispers. That was real. That was important.

It was a reason to live through all this.

She took Shane's hand and squeezed it. He sent her a look. "What?"

She whispered, "You're just full of awesome; did you know that?"

Fran?ois made a face. "Full of something. In the car, fools."

Founder's Square at twilight was full of people - rock-concert full. Claire didn't even know this many people lived in Morganville. "Did they grab the students, too?" she asked Michael.

"Bishop's not quite that stupid. It's residents only. University gates were closed. The place is under lock-down."

"What, again? Even the stoners are going to figure out something's going on." Claire certainly would have, and she knew most of the students weren't that gullible. Then again, knowing and wanting to push the status quo were two very different things. "You think they'll stay on campus?"

"I think if they don't, the problem's going to solve itself," Michael said somberly. "Amelie will try to protect them, but we've got a much bigger issue tonight."

Technically, that challenge was saving Morganville, and everybody in it.

There were no chairs down on the grassy area, but Bishop's vampires were out and about, and they were separating people at the entrances to the park and sending them to special holding areas. Or, Claire, thought, pens. Like sorting cattle. "What are they doing?"

"Dividing people according to their Protectors," Fran?ois said. "What else?"

Bishop had kept the Protection system, then - or at least, he hadn't bothered to really dismantle it. People were being questioned at the gate. If they didn't name a Protector, they got slapped with a big yellow sticker and herded into a big open area in the middle. "What if their Protector is one of Amelie's rebels?" She knew the answer to that one. "Then they're no longer Protected. They go in the middle, too?"

Michael looked pallid - not just vampire-pale, really stressed and upset, as if he knew what was coming before she did. Claire didn't get it until Fran?ois said, "Just like your friends," and he grabbed Shane. Ysandre took hold of Eve. They both fought and cursed and tried to get free, but it was no use - they were shoved apart from Michael and Claire.

They were both dragged away to the big cordoned- off area in the center of the square. Claire tried to follow them, but Michael held her back. "Don't," he said. "Bishop may not know you're out of his control yet. Tell him you were drugged by Hannah to keep you out of the way. It's the truth; he'll probably sense that."

"What about Shane? Eve? God, how can you just stand there?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I have to. Claire, don't screw this up. You won't help them, and you'll only get yourself killed." He gave her a grim smile. "And me, because I'd have to get in the middle."

Claire stopped fighting him, but she still couldn't accept it. She saw why Richard had wanted people out of town who were at the highest risk; Bishop intended this to be a public spectacle.

His final act to make himself the undisputed ruler of Morganville. In the bad old days, that meant executing lots of people.

Fran?ois took Claire's arm and marched her up to the front, past angry, scared men and women she knew by sight, and some she'd never seen before. That section had a symbol taped to the barrier that surrounded it -  she vaguely recognized it as the symbol for a vampire named Valerie, who'd joined Bishop in the first round of fighting. And yes, there was Valerie, standing inside the barricade with her humans, but looking very much as if she wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Past Valerie's barricades was a big raised stage, at least twenty feet off the ground, with steps leading up to it. There were plush chairs, and carpet, and a red velvet backdrop behind it. Spotlights turned the sunset pale in contrast. The stage was empty, but there was a knot of people standing at the foot of the steps.

Richard Morrell was there, dressed in a spotless dark blue suit, with a sky blue tie. He looked like he was running for office, not about to fight for his life; apparently, he and Amelie had the same philosophy on looking good for the Apocalypse. Next to him, Hannah still wore her police uniform, but no belt - and no gun, handcuffs, baton, stakes, or pepper spray. They'd taken away the human cops' weapons. There were other people, too - mostly vampires, but Claire recognized Dean Wallace, the head of TPU, and a few of the other prominent humans in town, including Mr. Janes, who was the CEO of the biggest bank in town. Mr. Janes had decided to stay. She'd seen his name on Richard's evac list, and she'd seen him driving away from the warehouse instead of getting on the bus.

She wondered how Mr. Janes was feeling about that decision right now. Not too good, she was guessing. He kept looking out at the crowd, probably trying to find friends and family.

She knew how he felt.

Richard Morrell nodded to her. "You okay?"

Why did everybody always ask that? "Sure," she lied. "What's going to happen?"

"Wish I knew," Richard said. "Stay close to Michael, whatever happens."

She was going to do that regardless, but she appreciated that he cared. He patted her on the back, and under cover of shaking her hand, he pressed something into her hand.

It was a silver knife, no bigger than her finger. Razor-sharp, too. She tried not to cut herself - the last thing she wanted was for the vamps around her to smell blood - and managed to get it in the pocket of her hoodie without stabbing herself. From Richard's warning look, she got that it was a weapon of last resort.

She nodded to let him know she understood.

A cordon of vampires closed in around them, including the tall, thin, sexless dude whom she'd last seen with the Goldmans. What was his name? Pennywell. Ugh. He had a thin smile, like he knew what was going to happen, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"Up," he said, and jerked his chin to indicate that they were supposed to climb the steps. Richard went first - trying to set a good example, Claire supposed - and she followed, along with Hannah and Michael. It seemed like a long climb, and it reminded her of nothing else than those old stories about people getting hanged, or walking the last mile to the electric chair.

Up on the stage, it was a whole lot worse. There were hisses and boos from the crowd, quickly hushed, and Claire was blinded by the white spotlights, but she could feel thousands of people staring at her. I'm nobody, she wanted to shout. I don't want to be up here!

They wouldn't care about her motives, or her choices, or anything else. She was working for Bishop. That made her the enemy.

Richard took one of the chairs, and Dean Wallace sat next to him. Hannah stayed standing next to Richard's chair, arms folded. Claire didn't quite know what to do, so she stuck close to Michael as Mr. Janes claimed the last plush chair.

Two vampires came up the steps carrying Bishop's massive carved throne, which they set right in the exact center of the carpeted stage.

Mr. Pennywell - if he was a he; Claire still couldn't really tell - stood next to the throne, along with Ysandre and Fran?ois. The old friends, Claire thought. The clique.

Bishop came through the curtains at the back of the stage. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and a colorful red pocket square. In fact, he was dressed better than Mr. Janes. No ornate medieval robes, which was kind of what Claire had expected. He didn't even have a crown.

But he had a throne, and he settled into it. His three favorite henchpersons knelt in front of him, and he gave them a lazy blessing.

Then he said, "I will speak with the town's mayor."

Claire didn't know how it was possible, but Bishop's voice echoed from every corner of the square - a pocket microphone, she guessed, broadcasting to amplified speakers hidden in the trees. It was eerie, though. She squinted. Out behind the lights, she saw that Shane and Eve had squeezed their way through the crowd and were standing at the front of the group in the center of the square. Shane had his arm around Eve, but not in a boyfriend way - just for comfort.

The way Michael had his arm around Claire.

Richard Morrell got up and walked over to stand in front of Bishop.

"I demanded loyalty," Bishop said. "I received defiance. Not just from my daughter and her misguided followers, but from humans. Humans under your control, Mayor Morrell. This is not acceptable. It cannot continue, this blatant defiance of my rule."

Richard didn't say anything, but then, Claire had no idea what he really could say. Bishop was just stating the obvious.

And it was just a warm-up to what was coming.

"Today, I learned that you personally authorized the removal from our town of several of our most valued citizens," Bishop said. "Many members of your own town council, for instance. Leaders of industry. People of social standing. Tell me, Mayor Morrell, why did you spirit these people away, and leave so many of your common citizens here to bear the punishment? Were you thinking only of the rich and powerful?"

Clever. He was trying to make the town think that Richard was like his dad - corrupt, in it for his own sake.

It would probably work, too. People liked to believe that sort of thing.

Richard said, "I don't know what you're talking about. If anyone left town, I'm sure they must have had your permission, sir. How could they have left if you didn't authorize it?"

Which was a direct slap in the face for Bishop on the subject of his authority. And his power.

Bishop stood up.

"I will find out the secrets of this town if I have to rip them bloody from every one of you," he said, "and when I do have my answers, you will pay a price, Richard. But to ensure that we have a loyal and stable government, I must ask you to appoint a new town council now. Since you so carelessly allowed the last one to slip away."

"Let me guess. All vampires," Richard said.

Bishop smiled. "No, of course not. But if they are not vampires, I will, of course, make them vampires . . . simply to ensure fairness. . . ."

His voice trailed off, because someone was coming up the steps. Someone Bishop hadn't summoned.

Myrnin.

He looked half-dead, worse than Claire had ever seen him; his eyes were milky white, and he felt blindly for each slow step as he climbed. He looked thinner, too. Frail.

She felt sick when she saw the manic smile on his face, so out of touch with the exhaustion of his body.

"So sorry, my lord," he said, and tried to make one of his usual elaborate bows. He staggered, off balance, and settled for a vague wave. "I was detained. I would never miss a good party. Is there catering? Or are we dining buffet?"

Bishop didn't look at him with any favor. "You might have dressed for the occasion," he said. "You're filthy."

"I dress as nature wills me. Oh, Claire, good. So glad to see you, my dear." Myrnin grabbed Claire and dragged her away from Michael, wrapped her in a tight embrace, and waltzed her in an unsteady circle around the stage while she struggled.

There was nothing vague about his voice when he whispered, "Do nothing. Something is about to happen. Keep your wits, girl."

She nodded. He kissed her playfully on the throat - not quite as innocently as she would have liked - and reeled away to lean on the back of Bishop's chair. "Beg pardon," he said. "Dizzy."

"You're drunk," Bishop said.

"That's what happens when you are what you eat," Myrnin agreed. "I stopped off for a bite. Unfortunately, all that was left in town were pathetic alcoholics, and criminals too fast for me to catch."

Bishop ignored him. He turned his attention back to Richard. "Will you name your town council, Mayor? Or must I name them for you?"

"You'll do what you want." Richard shrugged. "I'm not going to enable you."

"Then I'll have to remove those of your appointees who remain." Bishop snapped his fingers, and Ysandre and Fran?ois moved to grab Mr. Janes and Dean Wallace. When Hannah Moses tried to interfere, she ended up facedown on the carpet, held there by Pennywell. "And I'll allow my hunters to relieve us of any of your citizens who remain unclaimed, or are loyal to my enemy. There. That should clear the air a great deal."

The screaming started down in the crowd as the people in the center of the square realized they'd been put there to die.

Shane and Eve . . .

Claire grabbed the silver knife in her pocket and tried to get to Bishop. Michael tackled her, probably for her own good.

Myrnin lunged for Bishop. Bishop caught him easily, laughing at Myrnin's flailing attempts to fight, and snapped his fingers at Ysandre. She reached in her pocket and took something out that Claire recognized.

A syringe. From the color of the liquid, it was Dr. Mills's cure.

Bishop plunged the needle into Myrnin's heart and emptied the contents, then dropped Myrnin to lie on the carpet, writhing, as the cure raced through his body.

When he opened his eyes, the white film was gone from them.

He was healing.

But he was also in horrible pain.

"I know your plans," Bishop said, and smiled down at him. "I know you filled yourself with poison before coming here. I know you planned to have me drain you and cripple myself so your mistress could finish me off. Unfortunately, it's wasted effort, my dear old friend."

He gestured, and the curtain at the back opened.

Amelie was dragged out, bound in silver chains. She was still wearing her perfect pink suit, but it wasn't so perfect now - filthy, ripped, bloody. Her pale crown of hair had come down in straggles all around her face.

She had a silver leash around her neck, and Oliver was holding it.

Oliver.

Claire felt hot, then cold, then very still inside. She'd come to believe he wasn't as bad as she'd thought; she'd actually started to think he really was almost . . . trustworthy.

Obviously, Amelie had thought so, too. And Michael, because he went for Oliver in a big way, and was brought down by Pennywell and two others.

Worse, though, was the next prisoner, also wrapped in silver chains, and suffering a lot worse than Amelie from the touch of the poisonous metal. His skin smoked and blackened where it touched him, because he was younger and more fragile than she was.

Sam Glass.

Amelie cried out when she saw him, and closed her eyes. She'd lost her careful detachment, and now Claire could see in her how much she cared. How much she wanted Sam.

How much she loved him.

Bishop smiled, and in that smile, Claire saw everything. He didn't want to just destroy Morganville; he wanted to destroy life, and hope, and reasons for living at all. He could win only if he was the last vampire standing, no matter how many people that meant he had to kill along the way.

"You couldn't have won, Amelie," he said, and the tattoo on Claire's arm flared back into view, weaving its way up from a single spot of indigo on her wrist until it covered her arm. Then her chest. She felt it spreading like poison through her whole body, burning, and then it flared out like a brush fire. Gone for real, this time. "There, you can have your little pet back now. I no longer have need for her. She helped me learn everything I needed to know."

"I doubt that," Amelie said. Her voice was ragged with emotion, but she held her father's stare. "I was careful to keep things from her."

"Not so careful to keep them from Oliver, though. And that was a mistake." He tipped her chin up to meet her eyes. "Morganville is mine. You are mine. Again."

"Then take what's yours," Amelie said. She seemed weak now. Defeated. "Kill, if you wish. Burn. Destroy. When it's over, what do you have, Father? Nothing. Exactly what you've always had. We came here to build. To live. It's not something you would ever understand."

"Oh, I do understand. I just despise it. And here," Bishop said, "is where you die."

He yanked Amelie's head to the side, and for a horrible second Claire thought she was going to see him kill her, right there, but then he laughed and kissed her on the throat.

"Though, of course, not at my hands," he said. "It wouldn't be moral, after all. We must set a good example, or so you like to tell me, child. I'll let your humans kill you, eventually. Once you've begged for the privilege."

He shoved Amelie aside, into Pennywell's hands, and instead, he grabbed Sam Glass.

"No!" Michael shouted, and leaped to his feet to stop it.

He couldn't. Claire caught sight of Sam's pale, set face, of a determination she couldn't understand, and of Michael being brought down ten feet away, as Bishop exposed Sam's throat and bit him.

Amelie's scream tore through the air. Myrnin - still shaking and weak - crawled toward her. Ysandre kicked him aside, laughing.

Oliver just stood there, like an ice sculpture. Only his eyes were alive, and even they didn't show Claire anything she understood.

Michael wasn't there to hold Claire down anymore. She scrambled to her feet, clutched the silver knife, and plunged it into Ysandre's back as deeply as she could. It dug into bone.

"Oh," Ysandre said, annoyed. She tried to get at the knife, but it was out of her reach. She turned on Claire with a snarl, then staggered. Shock blanked her pretty face, and then worry.

Then fear, as the burning started.

She fell, screaming for help. Claire vaulted over her to kneel next to Myrnin. He was fighting his way back through the pain, panting, and his eyes were bright crimson from the stress, and probably hunger.

He wasn't out of control, though. Not anymore. "Get me up," he demanded. "Do it now!"

She offered him a hand, and he used it to haul himself to his feet - unsteady, but stronger than she'd ever seen him. This was a different Myrnin . . . sleek, glossy, dark, and dangerous, with his glowing, angry eyes fixed on Bishop.

"Stop him!" Claire yelled at Myrnin, as he just stood there. Sam was dying. Myrnin was letting it happen. "It's Sam! You have to stop him!"

Instead, Myrnin turned and attacked Pennywell.

"No! Myrnin, no! Sam!"

Oliver still wasn't moving. He was staring at Bishop. Waiting.

They were all waiting.

Down in the crowd, screaming had started, and as Claire looked out she saw that people were trying to run. There were vampires moving through the crowd - hunters, taking victims. The Morganville humans were fighting for their lives. A lot of people had shown up armed to their own funerals, including Shane and Eve; Claire caught glimpses of them down there, and all she could do was pray they'd be okay. They had each other for protection, at least.

She had to help Michael. Claire didn't dare grab the knife from Ysandre's back - it was the only thing keeping her out of the fight - but she couldn't just stand there, either.

Luckily, she didn't have to. Hannah Moses shouted her name, and as Claire turned, she saw Hannah throwing something at her. She instinctively reached up to catch it.

It was a sharp wooden stake. Hannah didn't wait to see what she was going to do with it; she was already heading for Fran?ois, who was trying to get hold of Richard Morrell. Hannah leaped on the nasty little vampire, pinned him with an expert shift of her weight, and plunged her own wooden stake through his heart. It wouldn't kill him, probably, but he was out of the struggle until somebody removed it.

Michael had already won his fight by the time Claire got there; he was bloodied and a little unsteady, but he grabbed her arm and yelled, "Get out of here!"

"We have to save Sam!" she protested.

But it was too late for that.

Bishop dropped Sam limply to the carpeted floor, and Claire could see that if Sam was still alive, he wouldn't be for long. The holes in his throat were barely leaking at all, and he wasn't moving.

Fury whited out her good sense.

Claire ran at Bishop as he turned, and rammed the stake at his chest, right on target for where his heart would be, if he had one at all.

He caught her wrist.

"No," he said gently, like someone with a pet who'd piddled on the good furniture. "I'll not be taken by the likes of you, little girl."

She tried to get away, but she knew it was over; there was just no way she was getting out of this. Michael had gotten into a fight along the way to reach Sam. Amelie was down on her knees, still bound by all the silver chains. Hannah and Richard were back-to-back, defending themselves against three vampire guards.

Myrnin was fighting Pennywell, and destroying half the stage along the way. There was some old hate there. History.

Oliver had drifted closer to Amelie, although Claire couldn't see any change in him at all. He still wasn't fighting, for or against, and he certainly wasn't making any heroic effort to save her.

"Claire!"

Shane. She heard him scream her name, but he was too far away - twenty feet down, at the foot of the stage, looking up.

He had a knife in his hand. As she looked down to meet his eyes, he flipped it, grabbed it by the blade, and threw it.

The knife grazed her cheek, but it hit Mr. Bishop right in the center of his chest.

He laughed. "Your young man has quite the throwing arm," he said, and pulled the knife out as casually as a splinter. Not silver. It wouldn't do a thing to him. "Your friends like to think they still have a chance, but they don't. There's no . . . "

Then the oddest thing happened. . . . Bishop seemed to hesitate. His eyes went blank and distant, and for a second Claire thought he was just savoring his victory.

"There's no chance," he started again, and then stopped. Then he took an unsteady step to the side, like he'd lost his balance.

Then he let her go altogether, to brace himself on the arm of his throne. Bishop looked down at the knife in his hand - Shane's knife - in disbelief. He couldn't hold on to it. It slipped out of his fist, hit the seat of the chair, and bounced off to the floor.

Bishop staggered backward.As he did, his coat flapped open, and Claire saw that the wound was bleeding.

Bleeding a lot.

"Get the book!" Amelie suddenly screamed, and Claire saw it, tucked in the breast pocket of Bishop's jacket. Amelie's book, Myrnin's book. The book of Morganville, with all the secrets and power.

Seemed only right that it ought to be the thing he lost tonight, even if he won everything else.

Claire darted in, grabbed the book, and somehow ducked his clutching hands.

Bishop lunged after her as she danced backward, but he seemed confused now. Slower.

Sicker?

As if sensing some signal, Oliver finally moved. He took a pair of leather gloves from his pocket, calmly put them on, and snapped the silver chains holding Amelie prisoner. He picked up the end of the silver leash and held it for a second, looking into her eyes.

He smiled.

Then he took that off her neck and dropped it to the floor.

Amelie surged to her feet - wounded, bloodied, messy, and angrier than Claire had ever seen her. She hissed at Oliver, fangs out, and then darted around him to kneel next to Sam.

His eyes opened and fixed on her face. Neither of them spoke.

She took his hand in hers for a moment, then lifted it to touch the back of it to her face.

"You were right," she said. "You were always right, about everything. And I will always love you, Sam. Forever."

He smiled, and then he closed his eyes . . .

. . . and he was gone. Claire could see his life - or whatever it was that animated a vampire - slip away.

Her eyes blurred with hot tears. No. Oh, Sam . . .

Amelie put his hand gently back on his chest, touched her lips to his forehead, and stood up. Oliver helped her, with one hand under her arm - that was the only way Claire could tell that Amelie wasn't herself, because she seemed to be more alive than ever.

More motivated, anyway.

Bishop was seriously hurt, although Claire couldn't figure out how; Shane's knife couldn't have really injured him. The old man was barely staying on his feet now, as he backed away from Amelie and Oliver.

That put him to moving toward Myrnin, who picked up Pennywell and threw him like a rag doll way out into the distance - all the way to the spotlight, where Pennywell slammed into the glass and smashed the machine into wreckage.

Then Myrnin turned toward Bishop, blocking him from that side.

The three vampires fighting Hannah and Richard suddenly realized that the tide was turning against them, and moved away. As a parting shot, though, one of them yanked the stake out of Fran?ois's chest, and the vampire yelled and rolled around for a second, then jumped to his feet, snarling.

Oliver, annoyed, reached down and picked up the silver leash he'd removed from Amelie's neck. In a single, smooth motion, he wrapped it around Fran?ois's throat and tied him to the arm of Bishop's heavy throne. "Stay," he snapped, and, just to be sure, wrapped another length of heavy silver chain around his ankle. Fran?ois howled in pain.

Oliver plucked the wooden stake out of Claire's hand, removed the silver knife from Ysandre's back, and drove the stake all the way through her to nail her to the stage. It went through her heart. She shuddered and stopped moving, frozen in place.

"There, that should keep them for a while," Oliver said. "Claire. Take this." He tossed the knife to her, and she caught it, still numb and not entirely understanding what had just happened.

"You're . . . you're not - "

"On Bishop's side?" He smiled thinly. "He certainly has thought so, since I sold myself to him the night he came to Morganville. But no. I am not his beast. I've always been my own."

Amelie took a step toward her father. "It's over," she said. "You've done your worst. You'll do no more."

He looked desperate, confused, and - for the first time - really afraid. "How? How did you do this?"

"The key was not in guessing whom you would choose to kill," she said, and her voice was light and calm and ice cold. "You taught me endgames, my father. The key to winning is that no matter what move your opponent makes, it will be the wrong one. I knew you'd kill at least one of us personally; you enjoy it far too much. You couldn't resist."

Like Bishop, she lost her balance. Oliver caught her and held her upright.

Bishop's face went blank. "You . . . you poisoned me. Through Myrnin. But I didn't drink."

"I poisoned Myrnin," she said. "And myself. And Sam. The only one who didn't take poison was Oliver, because I needed him in reserve. You see, we knew about Claire after all. We counted on your knowing where we would be, and what we'd planned, at least insofar as she witnessed it." A pawn. Claire had always been a pawn.

And Sam - Sam had been a sacrifice.

Amelie looked unsteady now, and Oliver put an arm around her shoulders. It looked like comfort, but it wasn't; he took a syringe from his pocket, uncapped it with a flick of his thumb, and drove it into the side of Amelie's neck. He emptied the contents in, and she shuddered and sagged against him for just a moment, then drew in a deep breath and straightened.

She nodded to Oliver, who took out another syringe, which he pitched to Claire. "Give it to him."

For a second she thought he meant to Bishop, but then she realized, as Myrnin's strength failed and he went to his knees, who it was really meant to help. She swallowed hard, looking at Myrnin uncertainly, and he moved his hair aside to bare the side of his pale neck. "Hurry," he said. "Not much time."

She did it, somehow, and helped him back to his feet.

When he looked up, she could see that he was better. Much better.

Amelie said, "In case you have any doubt, Father, that was an antidote to the poison that is taking hold inside you. Without the antidote, the poison won't kill you, but it will disable you. You can't win against us. Not now."

Down among the crowds, the fights were dying down. There were casualties, but many of them were Bishop's people; the humans of Morganville weren't quite as easy to lead to slaughter as he'd expected. All their anger and vampire-slaying attitude had helped, after all.

And now, pounding up the steps on the side of the stage, came Shane and Eve, backed by a party of grim-looking humans, including Detective Hess and several other cops. All held weapons. Eve had a crossbow that she aimed at Bishop's chest.

Michael took an extra stake from Hannah.

All of Morganville on one side, and Bishop alone on the other.

He backed up, toward the back of the stage.

Behind him, the curtain took on a silvery shimmer.

"Portal!" Claire yelled, but it was too late; Bishop had activated an escape hatch, and in the next second he stumbled through it and was gone. Amelie was too far away, and too weak to go after him anyway.

Claire didn't think; she just jumped forward, put her hand on the portal's surface, and yelled Ada's name.

"What?" the computer asked. The sound this time boomed out of the portal.

"I need to track Bishop!" Claire said.

"I don't work for you anymore, human," Ada said, and shut down the portal with a snap. Claire turned to look at Myrnin, who was watching a few feet away, eyes fading back to his normal black. He walked toward her, bare feet gliding over the carpet, and studied the empty space where the portal had been.

Then he reached out and drew a wide circle with a sweep of his arm, and the silver shimmer flickered back into view.

"Don't be rude, Ada," he said. "Now, I know you can hear me. Where did our dear Mr. Bishop take himself off to?"

"I can't tell you," Ada said primly. "I don't work for you, either."

Myrnin placed his palm flat on the surface of the shimmer and looked at Claire. "He's reprogrammed her," he said. "He must have gone to her and given her his blood while we were making our own plans. I didn't expect him to move so quickly. I wasn't thinking as clearly as I should have been." He removed his palm, and Claire realized he'd done it as a kind of mute button, so Ada wouldn't hear what they had to say. "Ada, my darling, I put you together from scraps and my own blood. Are you really going to say you don't love me anymore?" Claire had never heard him sound that way before - so in control of himself, so assured and darkly clever. It made her shiver somewhere deep inside. "Let me come to you. I really want to see you, my love."

Ada was silent for a moment, and then her ghostly image appeared on the surface of the portal - a Victorian woman, dressed in the big skirts and high collar of the times. She smoothed her pale hands over the fabric of her dress. "Very well," she said. "You may call on me, Myrnin."

"Excellent." He grabbed Claire by the hand and stepped through the portal.

Her foot came down on something soft that ran off with a shrill squeak, and she jumped and gave out a squeal of her own. Rats. She hated rats. It was too dark to see, but in the next second the lights flickered on around the cavern, and there was the monster tangle of pipes and elaborate bracing that was Ada.

Her ghost stood in front of the clumsy giant typewriter-style keyboard, smiling at Myrnin like a lovesick girl, but the smile faltered when she saw Claire. "Oh," she said, through the tinny speakers of the computer. "You brought her."

"Don't be jealous, love. You're the only girl for me." Myrnin strode up to the keyboard, through Ada's two-dimensional form, and Claire saw Ada make a startled face and turn toward him.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Myrnin!"

"Fixing you, hopefully," he said. "Claire."

She headed for his side, but Ada turned on her, and the prim Victorian image turned into . . . something else. Something dark and corrupt and horrible, snarling at her.

She flinched and veered off, but Myrnin's hand reached out and grabbed her to drag her in, past Ada. "Ignore her," he said. "She's in a mood." Myrnin tapped symbols, then uncovered the sharp needle on the control panel, and slammed his hand down on the point. "Ada. You will no longer accept commands from Mr. Bishop; do you understand me?"

"He was nicer to me," Ada said sulkily. "He gave me better blood."

"Better than mine? I believe I'm offended."

Ada's giggle sounded like a rattle of tinfoil. "Well, you haven't been yourself, you know. But you taste much better now, Myrnin. Almost like your old self."

"Imagine that. Well, then, I promise that you'll get all the lovely sweet blood you'd like from me, if you will block Bishop from access, my sweet."

Ada made a long, drawn-out humming sound, as if she was thinking, and then she finally said, "Well . . . all right. But you have to give me a full pint."

"I haven't moved my hand at all, my dear. Drink away." He let almost a minute go by, then gestured to Claire to come closer. "Nearly done, Ada?"

"Mmmmmm." Ada sighed. "Yes. Delicious. I feel ever so much - What are you doing?"

He yanked his hand off the panel, grabbed Claire's, and slammed it down on the needle. She knew better than to try to fight him this time, just winced and bit her lip and tried not to wonder if, say, having Myrnin's blood infecting hers would have any nasty side effects, like a sudden craving for blood and an allergy to the sun.

"Sorry," he said, not as if he was, and altered his voice again to that velvety, dark, seductive tone. "Ada, my love?"

No answer.

"Ada, Claire is my very good friend, and I really must insist that she have the same access I do."

Ada made a retching sound.

"Ada."

"No."

He sighed. "List for me who has access to the system, please."

Ada said, "There are currently six individuals with full access to the portals, not including you. I have removed Mr. Bishop, because you asked so very nicely. That leaves Amelie, Oliver, Michael, Claire, Jason, and Dean. Although Claire is no good for you, Myrnin. You should eat her immediately."

"Thank you, I shall think that over." He frowned down at the console. "Jason. Jason Rosser? Why did I not know this? And who is Dean?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Ada said, and laughed. Myrnin blinked.

"She's not supposed to do that, right?" Claire asked.

"Right. Oh dear. I think that my blood might have carried an infection deep into her systems. This may be a very bad thing."

"Can't you give her the cure?"

"It's not quite that simple," Myrnin said, and shifted his focus again. "Ada, my love? Can you tell me how Jason and Dean have access to the system?"

"Sam Glass gave it to Jason," she said. "But not full access, of course. Just to use open portals. Dean is Jason's friend. I revoked Sam's access, obviously. Because he's no longer functional."

Claire fidgeted uncomfortably. The white-hot pain in her hand was starting to eat away at her calm. "Um - Myrnin, can I please stop now?" She figured that Ada must have drained at least a pint by now.

"Please," Ada said. "I don't like your blood anyway." She made a computerized spitting sound. Claire yanked her hand away in relief and cradled it against her chest, squeezing her fist tight to stop the bleeding. "Disgusting. Too sweet."

Claire stuck her tongue out at the computer.

"I saw that."

"Good," she snapped. "Where did Bishop go?"

"Why should I - "

"Ada!" Myrnin's voice cracked across the computer's sulky response, and she went quiet. "I want you to block access to the portals for anyone except me, Amelie, Oliver, Michael, and Claire. Do you understand?"

"I'm not your slave." Ada's image flickered, then went out completely.

"I'm sorry," Myrnin said, and put his hands on the machine, almost like a caress. "My dear, I will come back and talk to you soon, and we'll work all this out. But you must promise me this. It's important."

Ada's sigh echoed through the speakers. "I can never say no to you," she said. "All right. I've locked out Dean and Jason, too."

"I guess that's it," Claire said, and felt a little bubble of relief that quickly popped when Myrnin shook his head.

"One more thing. I need to know where Bishop went when he traveled the last portal. Ada, love, can you do that for me?"

Behind them, Claire felt the subtle warping of a portal forming. She and Myrnin both turned to look. Ada's ghost reappeared, and then drifted off to the side, hands clasped behind her back. Definitely sulking.

Michael stepped through, holding Eve's hand. Behind him came Shane.

"Really." Ada sighed. "There's just no getting rid of any of you, is there?"

"Ada! Tell me where Bishop is!" Myrnin was out of patience, and she must have heard it in his voice. She shrugged.

"The university," she said. "I expect he can hide there for some time without detection. Plenty of snacks, after all."

If by snacks she meant students, then Claire supposed she was right. And the university was full of cavernous buildings, many of which were deserted at night. She was right. It was the perfect hiding place for Bishop, if he wanted to regain his strength and regroup.

They had to get him before that happened.

Myrnin was already on it. He stepped up to the portal Michael and the others had come through, tapped the surface, and listened. Claire heard it, too, faintly - a kind of ringing sound. A frequency. Of course. The portal worked on frequencies, like a radio - tune in to the right one, and you arrived at the correct destination. She'd been doing it without understanding consciously how, but now that she focused, she could hear the tone clearly.

"Here," Myrnin said, and stepped through. Claire reached back for Shane's hand, and walked into the unknown with him.