quiet, anyway, and if there were vampires hiding in German's Tire Plant, they all knew exactly where they were, and for that matter, could tell what blood type they were. So stealth didn't seem a priority.
Claire cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled, very loudly, "Shane! Eve! Hannah! Anybody!"
The echoes woke invisible birds or bats high overhead, which flapped madly around; her voice rang from every flat surface, mocking Claire with her own ghost.
In the whispering silence afterward, Monica murmured, "Wow, I thought we were being subtle or something. My mistake."
Claire was about to hiss something really unpleasant at her, but froze as another voice came bouncing through the vast room--Shane's voice. "Claire?"
"Here!"
"Stay there! And shut up!"
He sounded frantic enough to make Claire wish she'd stuck with the whole quiettime policy, and then Monica stopped breathing and went very, very still next to her. Her hands closed around Claire's arm, squeezing bruises again.
Claire froze, too, because something was coming out of the mouth of that painted clown--something white, ghostly, drifting like smoke. . . .
It had a face. Several faces, because it was a group of what looked like vampires, all very pale, all very quiet, all heading their way.
Staying put was not such a great plan, Claire decided. She was going to go with run away.
Which, grabbing Monica's wrist, she did.
The vampires did make sounds then, as their quarry started to flee--little whispering laughs, strange hisses, all kinds of creepy noises that made the skin on the back of Claire's neck tighten up. She held the glass vial in one hand, running faster, leaping over junk when she could see it coming and stumbling across it when she couldn't. Monica kept up, somehow, although Claire could hear the tortured, steady moaning of her breath. Whatever she'd done to her right leg must have hurt pretty badly.
Something pale landed ahead of her, with a silent leap like a spider pouncing. Claire had a wild impression of a white face, red eyes, a wideopen mouth, and gleaming fangs. She drew back to throw the vial . . . and realized it was Myrnin facing her.
The hesitation cost her. Something hit her from the back, sending her stumbling forward across a fallen iron beam. She dropped the vial as she fell, trying to catch herself, and heard the glass break on the edge of the girder. Silver dust puffed out. Monica shrieked, a wild cry that made the birds panic again high up in heaven; Claire saw her stumble away, trying to put distance between herself and Myrnin.
Myrnin was just outside of the range of the drifting silver powder, but it wasn't Myrnin who was the problem. The other vampires, the ones who'd come out of the clown's mouth, leaped over stacks of trash, running for the smell of fresh, flowing blood.
They were coming up behind them, fast.
Claire raked her hand across the ground and came up with a palm full of silver powder and glass shards as she rolled up to her knees. She turned and threw the powder into the air between her, Monica, and the rest of the vampires. It dispersed into a fine, glittering mist, and when the vampires hit it, every tiny grain of silver caught fire.
It was beautiful, and horrible, and Claire flinched at the sound of their cries. There was so much silver, and it clung to their skin, eating in. Claire didn't know if it would kill them, but it definitely stopped them cold.
She grabbed Monica's arm and pulled her close.
Myrnin was still in front of them, crouched on top of a stack of wooden pallets. He didn't look at all human, not at all.
And then he blinked, and the red light went out in his eyes. His fangs folded neatly backward, and he ran his tongue over pale lips before he said, puzzled, "Claire?"
She felt a sense of relief so strong it was like falling. "Yeah, it's me."
"Oh." He slithered down off the stacked wood, and she realized he was still dressed the way she'd seen him back at Common Grounds--a long, black velvet coat, no shirt, white pantaloons left over from his costume. He should have looked ridiculous, but somehow, he looked . . . right. "You shouldn't be here, Claire. It's very dangerous."
"I know--"
Something cold brushed the back of her neck, and she heard Monica make a muffled sound like a choked cry. Claire whirled and found herself facetoface with a redeyed, angry vampire with part of his skin still