Just as an experiment, she moved her hand back to the door, pressed it flat, and switched the cold blue light off. Instantly, the texture changed from paint and wood to the brittle, dusty feel of wallpaper.
Eve made a little sound of distress as the dark closed in. Claire switched the light back on, and there was the door, impossible but present.
She fumbled with the keys, tried them one after another, and finally, one turned in the old, rusted lock.
The door swung open.
“Claire,” Eve said. “You can’t go in there. If you do, you can’t keep the light on the door, and that means . . .”
“That means it seals up behind me,” Claire said. “Yeah, I get it. So . . .”
“So that’s me, volunteering,” Eve said. She stepped up next to Claire and swallowed hard; the shotgun was in her hand. Not enough to stop most vampires, but enough to slow them way down and make them think twice. In terms of Morganville’s vampire population, a shotgun was the equivalent of a Taser—nonlethal force, as long as it wasn’t aimed at their face. “I go in first, right?”
“You can’t,” Claire said. “Step in front of me.”
Eve did, and the second she blocked the light, the doorway just . . . disappeared, in the shape of Eve’s body. No matter where she moved, if she blocked the artificial moonlight, the whole room disappeared. “Well, this is awkward,” she said. “So, how about we just stay out here and nicely ask Myrnin to please come out? Hello, crazy dude? Anyone?”
There was no answer. Nothing. Claire swallowed hard and said, “Put your arm around my neck, Eve.”
“Um . . . okay?”
Claire stepped in closer and changed the light source to her left hand. Her right went around Eve’s waist. “We have to move together,” she said. “Don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” Eve promised. “So, left foot first?”
They took each step together, edging carefully through the doorway. Without looking, Claire knew it had sealed behind them. She pinwheeled Eve to the left to sweep the light through the darkness, and purely by luck, she managed to shine it directly on the window opposite.
Sunlight poured in, bright and cheery . . . and for a second it lit up the entire room. The wardrobe, both doors shut now. The small chest with the old-fashioned bowl and pitcher.
The bed.
And Myrnin, lying on it, still as death.
It was only a glimpse, because as soon as the sunlight poured across the room, Claire’s light ceased to function at all—or, more accurately, it just became completely useless. She quickly averted the beam toward her feet, away from the window, and plunged them into darkness so thick it seemed to wrap around them like black cotton.
Eve made a little squeak of protest.
Claire carefully lifted the blue beam again until it rested on the bed. On Myrnin. Together, she and Eve twin-walked toward him. He didn’t look hurt, just motionless. His hands were folded together on his chest, over what looked like the same device he’d retrieved from the wardrobe the night before. His eyes were open. Claire risked poking him. No response.
“This isn’t good,” Eve said. “What now?”
“Drag him out, I guess,” Claire said. “But you’ll have to put the shotgun down if you do.”
“I do not like this plan.”
“Got another one?”
“Not so much. Okay. Hang on.” Eve leaned forward and pulled the round device from Myrnin’s arms; she stuck it inside the pocket of the vest she was wearing, where it made a big, awkward bulge. Then she leaned her shotgun against the wall and grabbed Myrnin by one arm to pull him toward her. He slid like a dead man, slack and empty, and it was awful to see. Eve kept pulling until Myrnin thumped off the bed to the floor, and then she grabbed the back of his shirt. “Right. Now what?”
“We back up toward the door and never take our eyes off of him,” Claire said.
That plan lasted one step, and then they both stopped, because of a sound that shouldn’t have been there . . . the sound of the wardrobe door creaking open from behind them . . . just off to their left.
And a slow rustling.
“Claire?” Eve whispered. Her voice was shaking. “Might want to, ah, light that up.”
Something told Claire that whatever was coming out of that cabinet, she really didn’t want to see it. She had the strong feeling that the reason Myrnin was in this state might have something to do with it. So instead of turning and looking directly, she took the light, reversed it, and pointed it straight behind them where she thought the room’s door should be.
“Step back,” she told Eve. “Fast. One, two, three . . .” They moved in an awkward, but fast, backward scuttle, dragging Myrnin along with them, and Claire’s arm bumped into the wooden doorframe. “Squeeze!”
Eve pushed hard into her, and somehow they both got through the doorway. Myrnin, Claire thought suddenly, and swung the light in a smooth curve upward as they passed through the doorway to keep it open for him.
His feet had just passed the boundary when she saw the thing from the wardrobe.
It was a vampire. Ancient, bony, bitter white, with mad pale eyes and rags for clothes.
And it was staring at them.