Amelie let go of Oliver and turned toward Claire, just as the wooden panel opened below with a sudden cold rush of damp air.

The smell of dead things doubled.

Oliver toppled over heavily to the floor, facing away from Claire. She tried to get up, tried hard, but nothing was working in her body. It was like receiving a violent electrical shock. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Something wet slithered over her outstretched foot, and she pulled it in closer, whimpering. That touch felt like worms and mold, filthy water, dead flesh. She was grateful it lasted for only a second, and then was past her as Magnus flowed up into his human form, facing Amelie—or at least the draug that had once been Amelie.

She pulled the silver knife out of her back and stopped screaming, and for a second neither of them moved.

Magnus said, “Your transformation is almost complete. You will be a beautiful and terrifying thing, my queen.”

She said nothing. Her silvery, shimmering eyes looked empty as a moonlit lake.

Oliver made a raw sound, and it took Claire a moment to realize that he was laughing. “You’ve lost, Magnus,” he said. “Your thralls are dead.”

“You were passing clever in using human science. I will have to find a new defense to counter it.” Magnus didn’t seem overly concerned about it. “No matter. I will create a new generation. They will have resistance to your poisons. And after all of you are dead, they will learn to feed on lesser fare. I have heard there are seven billion humans on the earth now. Enough for us to feed for thousands of years.”

Oliver pushed himself up to a sitting position. He looked awful, but there was fire in his eyes, bright and furious. “No,” he said. “You won’t. Because you’re not leaving this place alive.”

“I am a master draug. You, fool, can’t kill me. But you’ll make a fine addition to my blood gardens.” The draug reached down for him, and Oliver batted the hand—the misshapen thing that passed for one—away.

“You’re not the only master draug here,” he said.

“You mean my lovely creation?” Magnus laughed, a sound like saws rubbing together, and Claire flinched and fought the urge to cover her ears. “Your former queen? She has no thralls. No hive. She is no master draug yet. She will make her own kingdom, yes, but not here. This town is mine. You and the last of the vampires are my meat. She can feed her spawn on the thin blood of humans, far from here, when I allow her to go.”

The draug that had once been Amelie was watching him with blank concentration, and something eerily like hunger. She took a step toward him, and Magnus watched her without any sign of alarm.

“You forget something,” Oliver said. “Legend says a master draug cannot die by the hands of vampires. But it says nothing about dying at the hands of another draug.”