Naomi shrugged. “It is the best we can manage now. Not that it will matter, when this is done; the university will never reopen, and of course we will leave this town. We must. Amelie will see the sense of it soon, or Oliver will. Morganville is dead to us.”

She said it as if it was vampire religion or something—that running was the only option. And Claire guessed that given the long and terrible experience the vamps had with the draug, maybe that wasn’t so unreasonable. But Amelie had decided to fight. Oliver would fight, too; he’d made it clear that he’d rather do that.

What scared Claire was that he might now be the only one, other than Myrnin, who really felt that way. The vampires weren’t heartless, exactly, but they were extremely focused. If they stood a better chance of survival by sacrificing the humans who were supposedly under their Protection, well, they’d send flowers to the funerals and feel a little bit sad. You can’t trust them, Claire reminded herself. Not when it comes to something like the draug, something that can kill them. They’ll always put themselves first.

But how did that really match with how Myrnin acted? Or Amelie, or even Oliver, for that matter? Vampires were different, just like people were different. Some ran. Some didn’t. Some fought. And some, a very few, actually cared.

“I can see our house,” Shane said, and pointed. There it was, barely visible in the gloom—a white house no larger than a toy from this distance, distinguished from its neighbors by the Victorian shape. No lights burning there. No one to need them now. And there weren’t many lamps burning out there anyway. A few candles or fireplaces flickered in windows, but the steady glow of electric power was out now, except here in the very heart of the city. Most people had left town already, when the vampires were distracted; Claire suspected Myrnin had lifted the barriers to allow them to do it undetected. The ones who remained were, like Shane, fighters. People who just didn’t go when they got pushed. “I told you that the outside needed paint. Truth is, this whole town needs a damn makeover.”

He was right. Morganville, soggy and dripping in the rain, did look horrible. The fierce desert sun wasn’t much kinder to it, but at least it had looked … clean. Not like this, so utterly washed of life, muddy and disheartened.

“First on my list,” Claire said, “after we try not to die. Paint the house.”

“It’s good to have goals,” he said, and held out his hand. “Watch your step.”

Naomi gave them a curious look, but jogged down the stairs, moving as lightly as a cat, and with the alien, fluid grace of one, too. Claire and Shane followed more carefully, since the rain had left the marble slippery. “How can we tell if the draug are here?” Shane called to Naomi as his boot splashed into a puddle on the first landing. She was also wearing boots, big ones that laced up to her knees.