Midnight Alley (33 page)

Claire picked her way across the room, moving very slowly and taking care not to tip over any of the leaning books, or crunch on any broken glass. At the back of the lab she saw that the tray where she'd put out the red crystals for drying was empty. There was no sign of the crystals themselves, but the notebooks were stacked neatly on one corner.

As she picked them up, Myrnin's voice came from right behind her shoulder. She felt his breath cool on the back of her neck. ‘‘Those don't belong to you.''

She whirled, backed up, and overturned a stack of books that slithered into another, like stacks of dominos crashing.

‘‘Now look what you've done,'' Myrnin said. He seemed very quiet, but there was something wrong in his eyes.

Badly wrong.

Claire backed up, glancing behind her to be sure the way was clear; in that instant, Myrnin was on her. She shoved the notebooks between them, and his claws tore into them, shredding them. ‘‘No! Myrnin,
no
!''

She threw him off, mainly because his knees slipped on fallen books, and she scrambled away, panting. Somehow, she remembered to hold on to the damaged notebooks. Myrnin snarled and tried to follow, but the debris made for uncertain footing, and his jump went wrong. He crashed into a bookcase, and it toppled over on him, raining volumes.

Claire tried to get to the stairs, but there was no way she was going to make it. He was already flanking her, angling to cut her off from any hope of rescue or escape.

She was going to die, and Monica would die, too. And so would Myrnin, because he was too far gone now. She hadn't seen any flicker of recognition left, not even for an instant.

She backed up, and her shoulders hit the hard stone wall. She slid, trying to put herself in a corner, but there was a leaning bookcase in the way. When she fell against it, it slid sideways, revealing the door that Myrnin had shown her before.

The heart-shaped lock was hanging open.

Unlocked.

Claire gasped and grabbed it, ripped it away, and swung open the door.

She felt Myrnin's claws catch in her hair, but she pulled free and fell forward . . . into the dark.

It didn't now. Myrnin had changed the destination, and this was no place she recognized at all. It was dark, damp, and it smelled like a combination of sewer and garbage dump. She blinked, and her eyes adjusted much more quickly to the darkness than they should have—the crystals, still doing their job. She was feeling an ache in her extremities now, working its way in. Once it reached her core, she'd be into withdrawal again.

She had no idea how bad it would be this time, but she couldn't afford to wait.

Claire whirled, and the doorway was still there, right where it had been.

Myrnin was framed in it, staring at her.

She couldn't go that way. She had to find another path.

Claire ran into the dark. There was just enough light filtering in from very narrow, very tall windows, that as her eyes adjusted, she realized she was inside a prison—a filthy, horrible prison, with very little light.

And some of the cells were full.

It took her a while to realize it, because they were all so
quiet
—pale, quiet things, one to a cell, that flashed to the bars like ghosts as she ran past. That changed, the farther she went. A sound went up—a whisper at first, rising to a howl. She heard metal rattling.

Claire was gasping, and she was getting tired, and Myrnin was behind her.

It was where all the vampires would end up, one after another. Left to die in the dark, alone, trapped, and starving.

Amelie let that happen.

It got quiet suddenly, and that was worse than the howling and rattling. Claire glanced over her shoulder and saw that Myrnin was slowing down, then stopping. There was only the sound of her feet hitting the stone floor, until she skidded to a stop, too.

‘‘Claire,'' Myrnin whispered. ‘‘What are you doing here?'' He sounded confused, but at least he knew her name. He fumbled at his pockets, found some kind of small silver box, and opened it. Red crystals spilled out into his palm, mounded up, and, choking and retching, he forced them into his mouth.

The effects sent him staggering. He braced himself with one shoulder against the wall of the hallway and moaned. It sounded like it hurt. A lot.

‘‘Not much time,'' he said. His voice was barely there at all, but in the cold silence, she heard every word. ‘‘The notebooks. You need them?''

‘‘I—I made a mistake. Somebody else took the crystals. I need to give them to the doctors.''

‘‘Someone else took the crystals?''

‘‘Yes.''

‘‘Most die,'' he said, as if it didn't matter. ‘‘Maybe you can find a way from what you wrote; I don't know. I never tried.''

That meant that when he'd given her the crystals that first time, he hadn't even known if they would kill her.

God.
And she'd thought he actually cared.

He sounded very tired. ‘‘You understand how to use the doors now?''

‘‘No.''

‘‘All you have to do is find a doorway, then concentrate on your destination. Mind you, it's the rare human who has the mind to manage it even once, never mind on a regular basis—and the doors have a subtle go-away to anyone not invited to use them. You can go to any Founder House, or to seven other doorways in town, but you must have a mental picture of where you are going first. If you fail to do so, you end up''—he raised a hand with effort, and gestured feebly—‘‘here. Where she keeps the monsters.'' Myrnin smiled faintly, but his smile looked broken. ‘‘After all, I ended up here, didn't I?''

Claire fought to still her heartbeat. ‘‘How do I get back? Back to your lab?''

‘‘That way.'' Myrnin looked down at his hand, as if it seemed odd to him. He turned it this way and that, examining it, and then pointed. ‘‘Stay to the right; you'll find it. Don't go near the bars. If they grab you, you must not let them pull you close enough to bite. And Claire . . .''

She clutched the notebooks tight to her chest as he met her eyes. He still seemed rational, but even that massive dose of crystals hadn't driven the beast completely back.

‘‘I need you to do me two services,'' he said. ‘‘First—promise me that you'll continue to work to find the cure. I'm no longer able to carry it forward.''

She swallowed hard, and nodded. She'd have tried, anyway. ‘‘I can't do it alone,'' she said. ‘‘I'll need help. Doctors. I'm going to give them the notes and see if we can find something.''

Myrnin nodded. ‘‘Just don't explain what it does.'' He looked around. On the far side of the wall was an empty cell, with its door standing open. There was a decaying bunk, but nothing else.

He took a breath, let it out, and walked into the cell. Then he turned and firmly closed the door behind him. Claire heard the lock engage with a thick, metallic
clank
.

‘‘Second thing,'' Myrnin said, ‘‘do bring me some books, when you visit. And perhaps more crystals, if you're able to produce more. It's so nice to think clearly again, even for a few moments.''

She felt as though he'd punched into her chest and ripped out her heart. She felt hollow, light, and empty.

And very, very sad.

‘‘I will,'' she said. ‘‘I'll be back.''

When she looked back, Myrnin had settled himself on the edge of the bunk, staring at the floor.

He didn't look up when she said, ‘‘I won't just leave you here. I promise. I'll come see you.''

She hesitated, and thought she heard something whispering to her. A voice.

Her mother's voice.

‘‘You should go,'' Myrnin said tonelessly. ‘‘Before we both have cause to regret it.''

She ran.

 
Nothing got her on the way back to the door, although a lot of the sick vampires reached out mutely to her, or screamed; she covered her ears and ran, heart pounding, feeling sicker and more terrified all the time. The relief of seeing the open door ahead was like a warm blanket after the cold. The doorway was black, just black; she couldn't see Myrnin's lab on the other side. Couldn't see anything.

Think!
Myrnin had said she had to focus, visualize where she wanted to go. Of course, he'd also said that she probably wouldn't be able to do it.
No, don't think about that. If you want out of here, you have to focus. Hard!

Nothing. Nothing at all.

She closed her eyes, even though it was terrifying to do it here, in this place, and slowed her breathing. She thought about the lab, about the confusion of clutter, the books, the bottles, the new and the old. She
smelled
it, like a breath of home, and when she opened her eyes she could see it on the other side of the door.

Claire took a deep breath, stepped over the threshold through a slight tug of resistance, and turned to close the door as soon as she was through.

When she turned back, Amelie was waiting.

She stood in the center of the room, hands folded. Her ancient, smooth face was untroubled by any kind of expression, but there was something bitter in her eyes.

‘‘He's gone,'' Amelie said. ‘‘Where is he?''

‘‘I—the prison.''

‘‘You took him below.'' Amelie frowned slightly. ‘‘
You
took him below.''

‘‘I think he wanted to go there. He—put himself in a cage.'' Claire struggled to keep her voice steady. ‘‘How—how can you leave them like that?''

‘‘I have no choice.'' It would never occur to Amelie to explain, of course, and it would probably get Claire nowhere to demand it. ‘‘If he is truly lost, then it's over. The experiment is ended, and there is no cure. No way to save my people.'' She sat down in one of the threadbare armchairs, shoving books out of the way as she did. It was the first ungraceful thing Claire had ever seen her do. ‘‘I thought—I never thought we would fail.''

Claire came a step or two closer. ‘‘I have the notebooks,'' she said. ‘‘And—Myrnin must have left more stuff here I can read. You haven't failed yet.''

Amelie shook her head, and a wisp of hair broke free from the coronet. It made her look young and very fragile. ‘‘I must have someone trusted to maintain the machines, or it will all fail, anyway. And only Myrnin could do that. I had hoped that you—but he told me only a vampire could. And there is no one else.''

‘‘Sam?''

‘‘Not old enough, and nowhere near powerful enough. It would have to be someone near my own age, and that would mean—'' Amelie looked at her sharply. ‘‘I can't give such power to my enemy.''

Claire didn't like the thought, either. ‘‘What else can you do?''

‘‘End it.'' Amelie's voice was so soft Claire barely understood the words. ‘‘Let it all go. Destroy it.''

‘‘You mean—let everybody go?''

Amelie's gaze locked with hers, and held. ‘‘No,'' she said. ‘‘That is not what I mean at all.''

Claire shuddered. ‘‘Then—why not let Oliver in? You've been fighting so hard to keep him out. Why not try this first? What do you really have to lose?''

Amelie's pale eyebrows slowly rose. ‘‘Nothing. And everything, of course. But you should fear that we would succeed, Claire. Because if we do, if the vampire race is not doomed to die, where does that leave you? An interesting question, for another day, perhaps.'' She nodded at the notebooks in Claire's hands. ‘‘If you intend to save the Morrell girl, you should hurry,'' she said. ‘‘Use the portal. I will send you directly to the hospital.''

There was a portal to the hospital? Claire blinked and looked back at the closed and locked door. ‘‘Um—are you sure it won't open to—''

‘‘To below?'' Amelie shook her head. ‘‘I have no intention it should. If you do not, then it will do as we say. Myrnin could only make the doorway work to below, never back here. So only you and I have such abilities, for now.''

Claire thought about something, with a sickening wrench. ‘‘Are you sure?''

‘‘What do you mean?'' Amelie looked up, slowly, her eyes fierce and bright.

A rush of images flitted through Claire's mind: Oliver, grabbing her in her own house. The dead girl in the basement. Jason appearing and disappearing from Monica's party, and reappearing near Common Grounds.

Oh no.

‘‘Can you tell?'' Claire asked. ‘‘If somebody's using the portal?''

‘‘Myrnin could, I suspect, but I cannot. Why?'' Amelie stood up, and this time the frown was definite. ‘‘What do you know?''

‘‘I think you've got a traitor,'' Claire said. ‘‘Somebody showed Oliver, and Oliver showed Jason. And Captain Obvious and his friends probably knew, too. Jason must have shown them—''

‘‘Impossible,'' Amelie interrupted with a flash of impatience. ‘‘My people are beyond suspicion.''

‘‘Then how did Jason bring a dead girl into Michael's house without permission? Because you said he'd have to be invited in. And he wasn't.''

Amelie froze, and her eyes went cold and flat. ‘‘I see,'' she said, and then whirled toward the small door that led into the narrow, overstuffed library, and the door that Claire had once used to come in from the university. ‘‘You seem to be proven right. Someone's coming in. Go, take the doorway.
Hurry.
''