blood. Some particularly unpleasant spraypaint artist had done an enormous, terrifying clown face, with windows for the eyes and a giant, open doorway for a mouth. Yeah, really not going in there, Claire thought. Although the way these things went, she probably would have to.
"Why do you say that?"
"Say what?" Claire asked absently. She was listening for any sound of movement, but this place was enormous and confusing--just as Hannah had warned.
"Say that I'm a bad person!"
"Oh, I don't know--you tried to kill me? And get me raped at a party? Not to mention--"
"That was payback," Monica said. "And I didn't mean it or anything."
"Which makes it all so much better. Look, can we not bond? I'm busy. Seriously. Shhhh." That last was to forestall Monica from blurting out yet another injured defense of her character. Claire squeezed past a barricade of piledup boxes and metal, into another shaft of light that arrowed down from a highup broken window. The clown painting felt like it was watching her, which was beyond creepy. She tried not to look too closely at what was on the floor. Some of it was animal carcasses, birds, and things that had gotten inside and died over the years. Some of it was old cans, plastic wrappers, all kinds of junk left behind by adventurous kids looking for a hideout. She didn't imagine any of them stayed for long.
This place just felt . . . haunted. Monica's hand grabbed her arm, just on the bruise that Amelie's grip had given her earlier. Claire winced.
"Did you hear that?" Monica's whisper was fierce and hushed. She needed mouthwash, and she smelled like sweat more than powder and perfume. "Oh my God. Something's in here with us!"
"Could be a vampire," Claire said. Monica sniffed.
"Not afraid of those," she said, and dangled her fancy, silver Protection bracelet in front of Claire's face. "Nobody's going to cross Oliver."
"You want to tell that to the mob of people chasing you back there? I don't think they got the memo or something."
"I mean, no vampire would. I'm Protected." Monica said it like there was simply no possibility anything else could be true. The earth was round, the sun was hot, and a vampire would never hurt her because she'd sold herself to Oliver, body and soul.
Yeah, right.
"News flash," Claire whispered. "Oliver's missing in action from Common Grounds. Amelie's disappeared. In fact, most of the vampires all over town have dropped out of sight, which makes these bracelets cute fashion accessories, but not exactly bulletproof vests or anything."
Monica started to speak, but Claire frowned angrily at her and pointed off into the darkness, where she'd heard the noise. It had sounded odd--kind of a sigh, echoing from the steel and concrete, bouncing and amplifying.
It sounded as if it had come out of the clown's dark mouth.
Of course.
Claire reached into her pocket. She still had the vial of silver powder that Amelie had given her, but she was well aware that it might not do her any good. If her friendvampires were mixed in with enemyvamps, she was out of luck. Likewise, if what was waiting for her out there was trouble of a human variety, instead of bloodsuckers . . .
Shane and Hannah were in here. Somewhere. And so--hopefully--was Eve.
Claire eased around a tattered sofa that smelled like old cats and mold, and sidestepped a truly impressive rat that didn't bother to move out of her way. It sat there watching her with weird, alert eyes.
Monica looked down, saw it, and shrieked, stumbling backward. She fell into a stack of ancient cartons that collapsed on her, raining down random junk. Claire grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, but Monica kept on whimpering and squirming, slapping at her hair and upper body.
"Oh my God, are they on me? Spiders? Are there spiders?"
If there were, Claire hoped they bit her. "No," she said shortly. Well, there were, but they were little ones. She brushed them off Monica's back. "Shut up already!"
"Are you kidding me? Did you see that rat? It was the size of freaking Godzilla!"
That was it, Claire decided. Monica could just wander around on her own, screaming about rats and spiders, until someone came and ate her. What. Ever.
She got only about ten feet away when Monica's very small whisper stopped her dead in her tracks.
"Please don't leave me." That didn't sound like Monica, not at all. It sounded scared, and very young. "Claire, please." It was probably too late for being