“The book,” he said. “Or your lives. That’s the only deal you’re going to get, Claire. I suggest you make the right choice quickly.”

“It’s okay,” Eve said. “They can’t come inside.”

Oliver nodded, his faded, curling hair blowing in the hot night wind. “That’s true,” he said. “But then, I’m hardly all alone.”

And he stepped aside as a policeman, in uniform, broke out the remaining glass with a nightstick and hopped up on the windowsill to climb through.

Eve and Claire screamed and ran.

The living room was a mess of broken furniture, scattered papers, struggling bodies—Shane punched out some guy in a black jacket, who flew back out of the window and into the arms of some waiting, snarling vampires. Michael was fighting a couple more, whom he just bodily picked up and threw out. As Eve and Claire skidded into the room and broke right and left, the cop in pursuit ran headlong into Michael and got tossed out, as well.

“They’re coming in!” Eve screamed, and slammed the kitchen door and jammed a chair under the handle. Michael grabbed the nearest bookcase—not the one with the Bible on it, Claire saw—and pulled it over to block the window, then leaned the sofa against it.

“Upstairs!” he yelled. “Move it!”

Shane grabbed Claire by the hand and pounded up the steps, half dragging her; she missed a step and stumbled, and pulled him off-balance just at the right moment, because the bat that was swung at his head missed and thumped into the wall with a crack of wood. Another person hiding at the top of the stairs, this one female and tall. Shane grabbed the bat away from her and menaced her with it, driving her back down the hallway. Claire recognized her—one of the dorm girls, Lillian.

“Don’t!” Lillian yelled, and put up her arms when Shane pulled back the bat.

“Hell,” Shane spit in disgust. “I can’t hit a girl. Here, Claire. You hit her.” He tossed her the bat. Claire grabbed it and came to a clumsy batting stance, wishing she’d paid more attention in phys ed. Lillian screamed again and ran into the open doorway of Eve’s room. Eve, coming up the stairs, screamed, too, for different reasons.

“Hey! That’s my room, bitch!” And she flew in to grab Lillian by the hair, swing her around, and throw her out into the hall, then shoved her toward the stairs. “Michael! This one needs to go out!”

She shoved her again. Lillian tottered down the steps, and shrieked once more before leaving the building at speed, propelled by Michael-power.

“Check the rooms,” Shane panted. “If one got in, there are probably more. Don’t take chances. Yell for help.”

Claire nodded and hurried to her room. It looked quiet, thank God—the windows were unbroken, and there was no sign of anybody hiding in the closets or under the bed. Same for the bathroom, although she had a bad shower-curtain moment. She heard crashing from down the hall. Shane had found somebody. She ran out into the hall and started to come to his defense, then hesitated when she saw that Eve’s door was now open a crack.