She pointed it at Claire.

Shane froze in place, his grin fading fast. “You’re bluffing.”

“Probably seems that way,” Hannah said. “But you know me

well enough to know I don’t point a weapon unless I’m ready to

shoot to kill. I like you, Shane. I like your girl, here. But you’re testing me, and I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He stayed still. The deputy got hold of him and wrenched his

bound hands up high enough to make Shane stand on tiptoe, his

face twisted in pain. He put a hand on Shane’s shoulder. “Walk,

punk,” the man growled.

Shane walked.

Claire did, too. Eve had fallen into a watchful silence, but even

so, Hannah had her zip- tied as well. That was almost certainly a

wise move. People underestimated Eve a lot, because of her funny

sarcasm and cute- as- a- button face, but they did it at their peril.

They left Dr. Anderson handcuffed and silent in the car be-

hind them, and Claire wondered about that.

Someone had put in a fresh sidewalk to the door of the ware-

house, and there were newly planted bushes and sprigs of trees

around it. Even so, walking up to it felt like walking up the steps 9780451414274_Daylighters_TX.indd 12

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to one of those old- time gallows; she didn’t know what was going

to happen to them once they were inside. The thick glass doors

had the rising sun symbol on them, and the words the daylight

foundation beneath it.

And, in gold lettering, all are welcome in the light. That

sounded nice . . . unless you’d met their followers under less well-lit circumstances. Say, in a lab where they were ripping vampires

apart.

Hannah opened one of the double doors, and a breath of

chilled air raised goose bumps on Claire’s bare arms. She had ex-

pected cavelike darkness, but as her eyes adjusted from the bright

outdoor sun, she realized that it was nearly as bright inside, thanks to a giant skylight over the central atrium in which they stood.

Bathed in the glow was a wooden desk with the Daylighters sym-

bol on the front of it, and a well- dressed older woman who smiled

kindly at them.

“Mrs. Hodgson?” Claire blurted. She knew the woman; she

was a neighbor on Lot Street, where their old Victorian house was

located. A nice lady, always puttering in her garden with her flow-

ers and waving to them pleasantly. She’d brought over cookies for

Christmas a couple of times. Snickerdoodles.

“Claire? Eve? And oh, my, Shane, too.” Mrs. Hodgson looked

politely distressed at the sight of their restraints. “Now, don’t you worry at all. There’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of here. You’re in the light now. You’re safe.” She got up from the desk, revealing that she was wearing a fitted suit that was straight out of the 1960s, complete with a strand of shiny pearls, and came around to clip