Leaving aside what that meant (although I had a nasty suspicion), he wasn’t exempting me from the whole biting thing. Or, come to think of it, from the other thing, either. His eyes had taken on an unpleasant red cast—worse than Michael’s ever got. It was like looking into the surface of the sun.
Miranda’s hand tightened on mine. “You really need to go,” she whispered.
“No kidding.”
“Back this way.”
Miranda pulled me to the side of the room. There, behind a blind corner, was the open window through which I’d originally heard the boys partying.
Pennywell knew his chance was slipping away. He sidestepped and lunged, and Michael twisted and caught him in midair. They’d already turned over twice, ripping at each other, before they hit the ground and rolled. I looked back, breathless, terrified for Michael. He was young, and Pennywell was playing for keeps.
On our way to the window, Miranda ducked and picked up something in the shadows. My cell phone. I grabbed it and flipped it open, speed-dialing Shane’s number.
“Yo,” he said. I could hear the jocks pounding on the car. “I hope you’re insured.”
“Now would be a good time for rescue,” I said.
“Well, I can either ask real nice if they’ll move the cars, or jump the curb. Which do you want?”
“You’re kidding. I’ve got about ten seconds to live.”
He stopped playing. “Which way?”
“South side of the building. There’s three of us. Shane—”
“Coming,” Shane said, and hung up. I heard the sudden roar of an engine out in the parking lot, and the surprised drunken yells of the jocks as they tumbled off the hood of my car.
I began to shimmy out the window, but an iron grip closed around my left ankle, holding me in place. I looked back to see Mr. Ransom, eyes shining silver.
“I was trying to bring you help,” he said. “Did I do wrong?”
“You know, now’s not really the time—” He didn’t take the hint. Of course. I heard the approaching growl of the car engine. Shane was driving over the grass, tires shredding it on the way. I could hear other engines starting up—the football jocks. I wondered if they had any clue that half their team was doing broken-field running against a vampire right now. I hoped they had a good second string ready to play the next game.
Mr. Ransom wanted an answer. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. “Asking Pennywell probably wasn’t your best idea ever,” I said. “But, hey, good effort, okay? Now let go so I’m not the main course!”
“If you’d accepted my offer of Protection, you wouldn’t have to worry,” he pointed out, and turned his gaze on poor Miranda. Before he could blurt out his sales pitch to her—and quite possibly succeed—I backed out of the window, hustled her up, and neatly guided her out just as my big black sedan slid to a stop three feet away. The back door popped open, and Claire, fairy wings all aflutter, pulled Miranda inside. It was like a military operation, only with one hundred percent less camouflage.
Mr. Ransom looked wounded at my initiative, but he shrugged and let me go. “Michael!” I yelled. He was down, blood on his face. Pennywell had the upper hand, and as Mr. Ransom turned away, he lunged for me.
Michael grabbed the vampire’s knees and held on like a bulldog as Pennywell tried to get to me.
“Stake me!” I yelled to Shane, who rolled down the window and tossed me an iron spike.
A silver-coated iron railroad spike, that was. Shane had electroplated it himself, using a fish tank, a car battery, and some chemicals. As weapons went, it was heavy-duty and multipurpose. As Mr. Pennywell ripped himself loose from Michael’s grasp, he turned right into me. I smacked him upside the head with the blunt end of the silver spike.
Where the silver touched, he burned. Pennywell howled, rolled, and scrambled away from me as I reversed my hold on the spike so the sharper end faced him. I released the catch on my whip with my left hand and unrolled it with a snap of my wrist.
“Wanna try again?” I asked, and gave him a full-toothed smile. “Nobody touches up my boyfriend, you jerk. Or tries to bite me.”
He did one of those scary openmouthed snarls, the kind that made him look all teeth and eyes. But I’d seen that movie. I glared right back. “Michael?” I asked. He rolled to his feet, wiping blood from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. Like me, he didn’t take his eyes off Pennywell. “All in one piece?”
“Sure,” he said, and cast a very quick glance at me. “Damn, Eve. Hot.”
“What? The whip?”
“You.”
I felt a bubble of joy burst inside. “Out the window, you silver-tongued devil,” I told Michael. “Shane’s wasting gas.” He was. He was revving the engine, apparently trying to bring a sense of drama to the occasion.
Michael didn’t you first me, mainly because I had a big silver stake and I obviously wasn’t afraid to use it. He slipped past me, getting only a little handsy, and was out the window and dropping lightly on the grass in about two seconds flat.
Leaving me facing Pennywell. All of a sudden, the stake didn’t seem all that intimidating.