Michael exchanged a long, significant look with Claire. Something’s wrong, it said. No kidding. “No, bro,” he said gently. “No pool.”

“Because they could be coming out of the pool.”

“Shane. There’s no pool.”

Shane huffed in a deep breath, and nodded, visibly getting a grip. “Right. They filled it in. I know. It just seems—doesn’t that seem convenient for us right now? That they filled it in?”

He wasn’t making any sense, and this was the worst possible time. Claire swallowed and switched her focus to Myrnin. “Who were you calling?” she asked.

“Oliver,” Myrnin said. “He’s sent some of his forces out to attack the draug in the heavily infected area. No rescue will be forthcoming from Founder’s Square at the moment. We’re quite on our own.”

Claire watched as other figures appeared beyond the heavy drops slamming down on their car and smearing the windshield.

All Magnus. All not Magnus. She could tell the difference. He’d sent his creatures, but he hadn’t come himself.

Yet.

“What are we going to do?” she asked. Shane had no answer for her. Neither did Myrnin, or Michael. “Guys, we need something!”

Shane pulled his shotgun back in and rolled up the window, sealing out most of the sound of the pounding drops hitting glass, metal, ground. “We’re going to have to run for the shed, or stay here sealed up.”

“They will find a way inside here,” Myrnin said. “Look.” He pointed to the air-conditioning vents, and Claire saw there was now a thin, silvery stream of liquid pouring down from each of them. Not a lot, but enough. It was starting to pool on the floor mats.

She pulled her feet up with a sound of raw disgust.

“So we run,” Michael said. “The shed must be built watertight, because of the chemicals stored inside. We should be okay there for a while.”

A while. Not permanently. But there was no such thing as safe now, only … not yet caught. This cat-and-mouse game could end only one way: the cat’s way.

But the mice had a trick or two left yet, and even a cat could get hurt if the mice bit hard enough.

“Did you bring the iron hydroxide?” Claire asked Myrnin; he nodded, gaze fixed outside the car windows. His face looked still, pale and empty, but his eyes were full of shadows. And fear. “Don’t use it until you have to. They adapt.”

“I know,” he said. “But we have another secret weapon we should use first.” Michael looked pleased with that … until Myrnin handed him an umbrella and said, “Don’t open it in the car. It’s terribly unlucky.” He passed out more to Shane and Claire.

“I told you,” Claire said as she threw open the passenger door on the roaring downpour. “Humans are more ingenious than vampires. We invented umbrellas.”

And, for once, she got the last word.

They probably should have died running for the shed, and likely they would have if Shane and Michael hadn’t been so fast and so good with their weapons. She gave her gun to Myrnin and held the umbrellas for them, which left her half uncovered and drenched in draug-infected water by the time they gained the shelter of the shed. She dumped the dripping umbrellas outside, and Shane pulled her inside as Myrnin slammed the door and bent the steel frame to lock it firmly closed.