Michael drove, because he was once again the only one with vampire vision; Eve and Claire shared the rest of the front seat, not very comfortably because of the shotguns he’d given them, and Monica, Richard, and Hannah were in the back.

Eve was watching Monica through the narrow window. “If she puts a foot wrong, I am seriously considering playing Shank the Skank,” she said.

“What happened?” Claire asked. “You and Michael—you were convinced he was dead. I saw you. But then …”

“Then Michael overheard Myrnin fessing up to Lord High Inquisitor Oliver, and Oliver mentioned how Shane just might be alive. Which Myrnin already knew.” Eve bared her teeth in a thing that was so not a grin. “Michael decided to have a chat with him. We went to the garage because we figured you’d end up there.” The not-grin faded. “I’m all for having more hands with guns on this, but you sure we can trust Richard Morrell and Hannah Moses? Not to mention Monica?”

Claire shrugged, not really caring right now. “I think that once they’re in it, it’s pretty hard for them to back out,” she said. “I’m not leaving without him, Eve. I can’t. Not again. I don’t care what happens, but I’m not letting him die like that.”

Grief and terror threatened to spill out of the tightly locked container inside her, and Eve grabbed her hand and held on to it, hard. “I know,” she said. “Trust me, I know.” She did. Michael had been taken by the draug, anchored underwater. Fed on.

She knew.

Claire swam up out of her misery long enough to ask, “What about, you know, the two of you? Better?”

Eve cut a glance toward Michael, who was driving and pretending hard not to be hearing any of this. His acting needed work. “Sure,” Eve said, but that wasn’t so convincing, either. “We’re good to go.”

“I’m not asking if you’re good to be working together. I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” Eve interrupted. “Let’s just … talk about it later.”

Michael could not, Claire thought, have looked more tense, or more sad.

Richard and Hannah were having a fierce, whispered conversation in the corner of the truck as they braced themselves against the metal walls, and gripped the panic straps overhead. Monica had apparently decided that she had every right to sit on Amelie’s plush throne, which wasn’t at all a surprise. Claire really hoped that Amelie found out about it later.

That would be fun.

The drive back across town didn’t take long, especially at the speed Michael was driving. Night had fallen hard because the clouds were still hanging heavy over the town, though the rain had stopped. The air still had that moist, unpleasant feel to it, and Claire felt as if she had mold growing on her skin in a sticky, invisible net.

The clock in her head was ticking, and it had been too long, way too long, for Shane already. She closed her eyes and concentrated on him, on somehow reaching him, giving him strength. Stay with me. Please, stay with me. He’d begged her for the same thing, not so long ago, when things had looked darkest. He’d had faith that she’d survived beyond any reasonable evidence to the contrary, and she couldn’t do any less for him. She couldn’t. She couldn’t face the darkness without him by her side.