“Over my dead body,” I whispered, but very, very quietly, because that was all too likely right now. So I couldn’t go down.

That left up, to the roof.

The stairs I’d taken to get here had no up, but there were things on the top of the building—air conditioners, at least—that people needed to repair, so there had to be access somewhere. I found an evacuation plan beside the silent, dead elevator, and it showed roof access on the other fire stairs. I headed that way, moving as quietly as I could. The draug didn’t seem really interested in me now, but that could change at any time. I needed to get to Claire, to make sure she was okay. She’d run downstairs, and maybe she’d gotten away, but what if she’d run into another trap? What if they had her?

I found the roof door. No locks, but it was alarmed, according to the big red sign. Great; pushing it meant that I was giving the draug a big neon sign that said IDIOT ESCAPEE HERE. Not much I could do about it, though; it was either sound the alarm and hope to find an escape, or stay here and hope I could play keep-away with things that vampires found horrifying and wrong.

I pressed the exit latch on the door. The alarm sounded a shrill, monotonous drone that hit me like an ice pick through the ear, and I ran for it. The shoes felt weird on my feet, molded to some other guy’s balance; the wintery chill and damp quickly soaked into the thick paper jumpsuit, and I had a mad second’s worry that it was just going to dissolve around me, like tissue, leaving me running around naked in work boots on a roof while the draug pointed and laughed before eating me.

Something was eating me. For a white-hot second, I felt the sting, but that wasn’t right. I’d changed clothes, I’d wiped down. There might be draug residue, but it wouldn’t be enough to hurt me.

I was okay.

Overhead, thunder boomed and lightning danced in the clouds.

I made it to the edge of the roof and peered over. There was no railing; this wasn’t some terrace or balcony—it was just tar, gravel, and a sharp drop for three floors, straight down to a parking lot.

And a big, square, gray armored truck that was still sitting right where we’d left it. Of course they were okay. I believed it, I knew it. Just like I knew they wouldn’t leave me behind.

Stinging. A breathtaking wave of it, again, flashing over me and then fading into a wave of calm. Everything is okay. Look, they’re here. They’re waiting for me. We’re okay.

I saw the driver’s side door open and Michael step out on the running board. Even in all that gray, dim light, his fierce grin glowed right along with his blond hair. “What’s with the prisonwear?” he shouted up.

“You know me. I’ve spent so much time behind bars I miss the fashions.” I looked at the drop. It didn’t get any better. “I’m cut off, man. Is Claire—”