She said, “He won’t hurt me. I’ll call as soon as I can. You guys go home. Please.”

“Claire—”

“Shane, go.”

To her utter dismay, she saw Kim move over to her friends and stand next to Shane. Kim put a hand on his arm, and he looked down at her. “Let her go,” she told him. “She’ll be fine.”

Claire knew that this was not the right time to be wanting to scream, Take your hands off my boyfriend, bitch, but it was all she could do to hold the words inside. Pennywell’s hand closed around her wrist, cold and strong as a handcuff, and as he began to pull her away, Claire met Shane’s eyes one last time.

“I’ll be back,” she said. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

He probably thought she meant fighting vampires.

What she really meant, deep down, was Don’t fall in love with Kim.

Chapter 5

5

Pennywell marched her outside of the concert hall, into the chilly night. There was a smell of rain in the air, and thunder rumbling far off in the distance. Lightning shattered across the sky, briefly turning Pennywell almost luminous, and as Claire blinked away the glare, she saw that he was pulling her in the direction of an idling limousine parked at the curb.

“In,” he barked, and shoved her at the open back door. She stumbled, caught herself, and crawled in. It was dark, of course. And it smelled like cigar smoke. Pennywell clambered in behind her, agile as a spider, and slammed the door behind him. The big car accelerated away from the curb.

“Where are we going?” Claire asked.

“Nowhere,” said a voice out of the dark—Oliver’s voice. The lights in the back slowly came up, revealing him sitting on the bench seat opposite her. Next to him was the source of the smoke, who smirked at her as he took a long pull on his cigar. Myrnin had put on a wine red jacket for the evening, something with elaborate embroidery on it. He looked almost normal, actually. He was even wearing the right shoes.

There was nothing normal about his smile, though.

“Cohiba?” he asked, and took an unlit cigar out of his pocket to offer it to her. She shook her head, violently. “Pity. You know, daring women used to smoke.”

“Cancer isn’t sexy.”

He raised his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “You all die of something,” he said. “And we all pay for our pleasures, one way or another.”

“Myrnin, what the hell is going on? You send this freak to abduct me. . . .”

“Actually,” Oliver said, “I sent Pennywell. It seemed to me he would be the one of us you and your friends would be least likely to argue with.”

Pennywell laughed. “There you are wrong.”