Hannah reached behind her back and took out a carbon-black combat knife. It must have been razor-sharp; it sliced through the ropes in three quick jerks, freeing her other hand and her ankles.

Hannah turned to Myrnin. “The kid’s right. She deserves to be on her feet, at least.”

Claire got up, rubbing her numbed hands, and glanced toward the parlor door.

And found that Magnus was standing right there.

She froze, unable to move or speak from sheer surprise. He was just as he had been the last time she’d seen him here in the Glass House—average, forgettable, a man without a face of any note until you concentrated a little, and things moved behind that shell, things that were wrong and utterly sickening. He was a bag full of grave worms, wriggling. He was rot and ruin and destruction, mouths and teeth and madness.

And Hannah glanced at him, then away, as if she couldn’t see him at all.

Myrnin didn’t even turn toward him.

“He’s here,” Claire said through a suddenly bone-dry throat. She could feel the ache in it, where his hands had grabbed and twisted and shattered. “He’s in the doorway. Right now.”

Myrnin turned and stared in that direction, but it was very clear that all he saw was an empty space. Hannah, too. Claire clutched Hannah’s handgun in both hands, raised it, and fired.

It had a kick, but not as bad as the shotgun; the noise was sharper, like a slap to the ears that left hers ringing. Her eyes stung a little, and her nose hurt with the sharp smell of burning cordite … and she hit Magnus, square in the chest.

It didn’t matter at all. The bullet passed right through him and buried itself in the far wall. Well, she thought, that wallpaper’s toast. Michael was going to be so mad.

Hannah grabbed the gun from her, holstered it, and tossed Claire a shotgun loaded with silver—but it was too late.

Because Magnus had moved, in a sickeningly liquid, boneless rush, and now he had Myrnin pressed against him as a shield.

Claire brought the shotgun up, but she couldn’t fire.

“Kill him!” Myrnin shouted at her. “Claire, I don’t matter. Kill him!”

She couldn’t. She angled around for a better shot, but Magnus turned with her, his teeth gleaming silver-sharp over Myrnin’s shoulder. If Magnus bit, he would infect Myrnin just as he had Amelie. The threat was very clear.

“I don’t want this one,” Magnus said. His voice was pale and whispery, and Claire had the eerie feeling that she was the only one who could hear him. “His blood is tainted. But I will kill him if you don’t put down your weapon.”

Hannah had backed away, into the far corner of the room, and Claire pretty much forgot her immediately. The world narrowed to the shotgun barrel, Magnus’s multiple rows of gleaming teeth, Myrnin’s pale, exposed neck and the horrified look on his face.

“Kill him,” Myrnin said again. His voice was soft and gentle and very steady. “I don’t matter so long as he is stopped, Claire. There are things that are more important than a single life.”