That was a mistake. He was starting to realize it, finally. And revise his attitude.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll go. But you stay safe.”

I gave him a little smile, but it was my battle smile, without humor. “Always,” I said. I was a survivor. Hell, I’d survived worse than this. Supernatural horrors were bad, but they were nothing to the burning hatred and viciousness that humans could visit on each other. I hadn’t lived through segregation, but my dear, sweet, tough old Gramma Day had; she’d been born in the days when colored couldn’t eat in the same restaurants, dance in the same clubs, drink from the same fountains, or pee in the same toilets as whites. Humans were capable of a whole lot worse than vampires, in my experience.

Maybe they just inherited their viciousness from us.

The rain was letting up, but where it hit bare skin it burned like stings, or bites. Cannibal rain. I’d seen a lot of crap, but this was weird even for Morganville. As Richard headed for the cruiser, I resisted the urge to tell him to be careful. He was a Morganville native; he understood the rules. He was tough, deep down, too. He’d be all right.

I had a split second to wish I’d said it.

A sudden gush of water came off the top of the looming roof of the building, splatting down over Richard and in front of him, and in the next second it was forming arms that weren’t arms, a body that was more boneless worm than human form, and my brain refused to process what that was, that face—

I yelled and brought the shotgun up but Richard was right in front of it, held as a shield. It knew. It knew what it was doing.

It grinned at me, some horrible and incredibly wrong configuration of teeth and tongue and lips, and its eyes were melting and forming and bulging and I felt an utterly strange impulse to scream and hide my eyes, like a child, as if that would stop what was about to happen.

Then it enveloped Richard. Dragged him into its own body. The thick, heaving mass closed around him, and I heard him scream. Just once, before his mouth disappeared.

If I fired, I’d hurt the draug, but I’d kill Richard.

“Shoot it!” Captain Obvious was screaming at me. I recognized the voice, heard the buzz of the words, but I was completely focused on what was in front of me. “God, shoot it now!”

It won’t hurt him much, I told myself. They had Shane for hours, submerged in that tank. It can’t hurt him so much; it’s just trying to force me to shoot and kill Richard.

He was struggling inside it, like a bug caught in molasses.

The watery, sticky form of the draug was taking on a pinkish tint.

Do something!

I left Captain Obvious and his yelling, raced to the cruiser, and pulled open the back door. Claire was pounding on the window, reaching across Shane to do it. She was holding out a bag of white powder, and for an insane second I thought drugs, which was always a problem in any small town, but as I hesitated she screamed, “Throw it at the draug!”