“You have to care! If you don’t give it over, they’ll rip all of you apart to get it! I’m trying to save you!”

Michael slammed his fist into his face two or three times, quicker than Claire could blink. Oliver went down again, scrabbling at the floor, then rolled over and stared furiously through tangled graying hair up at them. Vampires bled, after all, but it didn’t quite look right—not red enough, and too thick. It trickled from the corners of Oliver’s mouth as he snarled, fangs down, and tried to drag Michael close enough to bite. Michael hit him so hard that one of the fangs broke off and skittered away across the floor like an ivory dagger. Oliver shouted in surprise and pain and rolled, trying to protect himself.

“Eve!” Michael yelled, and dragged him by one foot down the hallway toward the door. “Revoke the invitation! Do it!” Oliver was fighting him wildly now, ripping long raw scratches in the wooden floor with his fingernails, snarling and twisting to get free. “Eve!”

Shane lunged for Eve, pulled her to her feet, and shook her hard. That didn’t work. She just stared right past him, her face still and dead.

Claire moved him out of the way and slapped Eve hard.

Eve yelped, clapped a hand to her wounded cheek, and blinked. “Hey! What the hell…?” And then she looked past Claire to the furious battle going on in the hallway, lips parted in amazement.

“Eve!” Michael yelled again. “The invitation! You have to withdraw it now!”

“But I didn’t—” Eve didn’t waste time arguing. “Hey! Oliver! Get the hell out of our house!”

Oliver went still. Completely still, like a dead man. Michael picked him up by an arm and a leg, and threw him out into the dark. Claire heard the vampire hit the pavement outside and curse as he rolled back to his feet and came back at the door.

He bounced off a solid cushion of air in the doorway.

“You’re not welcome,” Michael grated. He had a cut on his face, bleeding a thick thread down the side of his neck, and he was breathing hard. “And by the way? Eve quits.”

He slammed the door in Oliver’s snarling face, and collapsed against it, shaking. He didn’t look all-powerful anymore. He looked terrified. “Michael?” Eve asked, breathless. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” he said, and got it together. “Eve, stay away from the door. He got to you once; maybe he can do it again. Claire! You, too. Stay away from the door.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down the hall—which was a mess, wow, the floor all ripped up, the walls scraped and scratched—and shoved her down to a sitting position on the couch. “Claire.”

“Um…yes?” Things were moving too fast. She didn’t know what he was waiting to hear.

“The book?”