‘Eve,’ she said. ‘I need something stiff, but flexible. Do you have anything that can—’ Before Claire finished the sentence, Eve was holding something out to her – the leather collar she’d been wearing around her throat, studded with silver. Basic anti-vamp defence stuff. Claire dashed over to get it and came back to the grate. If I designed this, where would I put the trigger? She imagined it as a design in her head, then spun it around. Right. Back of the track, where it would be hidden from view, but reachable. Not easily reachable, because that would defeat the whole purpose. But Claire took hold of the collar – which was perfect, really – and carefully ran it down one side of the track.

One of the studs caught on something – just a slight break in the friction, but enough to tell her where the release could be. Claire reversed her hold on the collar and used the buckle this time. It took six tries before the silver hooked on, but she got a firm contact, and yanked straight down.

Something clicked.

Claire took hold of the bars and tried to raise them. They slid up an inch, then two, before her trembling muscles gave up the fight. She felt something pull in her back, and winced.

‘Here,’ Oliver growled, and bumped her aside. ‘Leave it to those with the power to manage it, for God’s sake.’ His hands were burnt, she could see the lurid red streaks vivid in the glow of the flash, but he used his shirt again as a cushion and grabbed on. One strong heave, shoulders bunching and a surprising number of muscles flexing under the paper-white skin, and the grate shrieked slowly upward. It got to the top, and there was a second click. He let go. It held in place, concealed with just the sharp tips of it sticking down. If she hadn’t known it was there, she wouldn’t have known to look.

Oliver fell back, chest heaving as he pulled in breath after unneeded breath; the burns had gone all the way up to his shoulders, and the bright red flesh looked unhealthy and extremely tender. But Oliver was old. Why was it so hard on him? Amelie could handle the stuff, after all. Then again, Jesse had been badly burnt, too. Was it just that some vamps were less sensitive to it than others? Or maybe even something in the lineage – Bishop’s bloodline being more resistant. Interesting problem, and part of her brain chewed away on it even as she asked him, ‘What can I do?’

‘Go away,’ he snapped, and shut his eyes. His face was taut with effort, and Claire backed off. Most vampires with silver burns had to have blood, quickly. She didn’t necessarily want to be Oliver’s portable life support unit.