Then he opened his eyes and said, in a small, annoyed voice, ‘Ouch. I haven’t had that happen in ages. I still don’t favour it.’ And a bullet literally pushed its way out of his forehead.

Claire fell to her knees. She watched the bullet tumble off the slope of his skin and hit the concrete in slow motion; it left a little splashed trail of blood as it went, until it made a loop and rolled to a stop against a wall. She saw it, but she didn’t exactly believe it … she’d seen vampires heal, but she’d never actually thought about bullets, and where they might have gone.

But they had to go somewhere, and that somewhere was out.

‘Glad it was you and not me,’ Shane said, and offered Myrnin a hand up. ‘Any brain damage?’

‘Since the bullet actually passed through his brain, then yes, idiot boy, there’s certainly brain damage,’ Oliver said. And sure enough, as Myrnin tried to rise, his left side didn’t function properly, and he stumbled and pitched into a drunken fall on the floor. Oliver sighed in annoyance and helped him rise, again, and this time held on as Myrnin staggered. One foot didn’t seem to be responding. ‘It will pass. And his brain’s the least fragile thing about him, in any case.’

‘You say the nicest things,’ Myrnin said. He was slurring his words, and he threw an arm around Oliver’s neck. ‘Marry me.’

‘Exactly what part of the brain did that bullet hit?’ Shane asked, hovering on the edge of manic laughter.

Oliver sighed. ‘He means carry me. And no. I won’t.’

Claire shook herself out of the strange fugue she seemed to be in, got up, and went to Pete, who was at the doorway. There were two dead men there. Both were wearing suits, and there were gold pins on their lapels – some kind of horizon, and a stylised sun rising over it. Pete was kneeling down with his eyes on the entrance while patting down the corpses – at least, Claire assumed they were corpses. They weren’t moving, and there was a hell of a lot of blood. Or, in vampire terms, wasted dinner. She supposed she ought to feel shocked about it, but these same two men had been intent on killing her, and Shane, and if Myrnin hadn’t been a vampire he’d have been lying just as dead.

She couldn’t work up much emotion at the moment.

‘Anything?’ she asked. Pete shook his head.

‘No ID,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think it matters right now. Two down, and four more still out there. Those aren’t bad odds, but the problem is that they have us exactly where they need us – we make any attempt to break out through the door, and they can just pick us off.’

‘Not the vamps,’ she said.