Claire screamed and kicked and battered the heavy wooden door with pure adrenalized fury until she collapsed in a gasping, shaking heap next to it.

Then a voice said, “You finished?”

She looked around, surprised, and found she wasn’t the only occupant of this makeshift cell. It had a couple of camp beds in it, some bottled water, and half a box of energy bars sitting on the floor nearby … and a boy she recognized. He was skinny, and he had a mass of greasy dark hair that flopped over his face.

“Jason!” she blurted, and felt an immediate surge of fear. Eve’s brother wasn’t someone she could trust, not even at the best of times, and being locked in a room with him was definitely not the best of times.

He was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, chewing an energy bar. “I hate being locked up, too,” Jason said, “but screaming at the door won’t get you anywhere, and you’re giving me a headache. So, you got on the wrong side of the vamps, finally. Good for you.”

“What are you doing here?”

He laughed dryly and held out his hands. They were cuffed. “Prison labor,” he said. “They’ve got me loading up shotgun shells. It’s my rest period, which you’re screwing up with all your screaming.”

Claire knelt down to examine the lock on the door (new, and good) and then the hinges (located on the outside of the door, not the inside). Then she started looking around the room. No windows, like most of the rooms in this vampire shrine. Nothing but four walls, carpet, paneling, and the few things provided for comfort.

Her gaze fixed on Jason. “What do you have?” she asked him. Myrnin, or someone, had searched her and there was nothing left now in her own jeans pockets but lint.

“Not a damn thing,” Jason said. “Why, you gonna search me?” He laughed. “Shane’s gonna get a real kink in his tail over that.”

“Shane’s in trouble,” Claire said, “and I swear to God that if you don’t help me, I’ll break your finger off and use the bone to pick the lock.”

Jason stopped laughing and gave her a long, odd look. “You’re kind of serious,” he said. “Huh. That’s dark, for you.”

“Shut up and help.”

“Can’t. I got my own ass to save here. I do anything off-limits, like touching that door, and I end up bags of blood in a refrigerator, if I’m lucky. Sentence of death, remember?” He rattled his handcuffs for effect. “I’m working out my appeal.”

Claire ignored him. Think. Think! She tried, but there wasn’t much to work with. Water. Plastic bottles. A box of energy bars that came in crinkly metallic wrappers …

She lunged for those, stripped the wrapper loose from a bar, and began folding it in careful, precise movements.

“I’m all for hobbies, but you think this is the time for origami? Whatcha making, a crane?”

Claire made a thin metallic probe. It was too flexible to serve as a lock pick, but she searched the baseboards. One good thing about modern life—you were never far from an electrical outlet.