adjusted the seat even closer, and got familiar, again, with the clutch. It was painful and humiliatingly awkward, but she managed. The truck leaped forward with a low, rumbling growl, and she thought,
We could probably pull down a building with this thing.
Worth noting, anyway.
Leaving the false circle of safety—false, because Claire knew it was just an illusion, sponsored by all those lights—still felt like a Very Bad Idea. She flipped on the headlights, on bright, even though it was still murky afternoon, and after a moment reached out and turned on the truck’s heater as well. The hot, dry blast of air made her shiver in relief. She felt chilled to the bone, and slimy, even though she knew there
probably
hadn’t been any draug in the raindrops that had soaked through her clothes.
What if there had been? How many of those contaminated raindrops does it take to make a whole draug?
They knew next to nothing about these things, and lack of knowledge always bugged her. She glanced over at Naomi—or, actually, at the back of Naomi’s head, because the vampire was turned to hold her shotgun out of the passenger window, watching for any sign of attack.
“Left,” Naomi said in a flat voice. “Then straight ahead.” She didn’t sound like she was much better than she had been, back on the steps … coping, but not happy about it. Claire wondered how long it would take for her antibodies—if vampires had such things—to destroy the invading blood … and what would happen if a lot of foreign vampire blood was introduced, all at once. Her skin prickled, and it wasn’t from the chill.
It might kill them. It would certainly go a long way toward knocking them down, fast.
She wondered how many humans knew that. It was good information, but it made her shudder to have it in her head. They didn’t like having their vulnerabilities known.
Claire turned left at the dead stoplight, after a brief pause. Kind of stupid, really, because there wasn’t any traffic to worry about. As far as she could tell, they were the only headlights moving in town. The rain had slacked off to a dully falling mist, and she kept the wipers working to clear the windshield. The steady
thump-thump-thump
had a soothing, normal kind of rhythm.
And then she heard something singing along with it.
At first she thought it was Naomi, unlikely as that was; it was a low hum of sound, elegant and just at the edge of her hearing. Then she thought it was the truck’s radio, or maybe a CD playing, but turning the dial didn’t bring up the sound.
She should have known it was the draug, but something kept her from remembering that. Instead, she found herself gradually turning the wheel toward the sound, hunting for it, trying to understand what that song was, a song she knew and loved and could
almost remember ….
As she was gliding into a slow right-hand drift toward the infected part of town, a drift that would take them on a wide turn into a main street, Naomi suddenly reached out and grabbed the wheel in a bone white hand, wrenching it back the other way. Holding it there.
Claire stomped on the brakes, suddenly and violently aware, and glared at her. From the back of the pickup she heard a metallic clang as Shane’s back hit the cab of the truck, and then an outraged, “Hey!
Flamethrower!
”
“I must adjust frequencies,” Naomi said, and twisted knobs on the device she’d taken out of her pocket again; suddenly the faint singing faded into a blessed white-noise silence. “You need to be careful, Claire. If you hear them, then they hear you—sense you, at any rate. Magnus has a taste of you now. He’s curious about your return. You don’t want to be in his hands again.”
Magnus. The head of the draug—their master, as Claire understood it. They all looked identical, but there was something about Magnus that was just more … there. A kind of density that pulled everyone around him into the dark.
In his hands again.
She couldn’t help
We could probably pull down a building with this thing.
Worth noting, anyway.
Leaving the false circle of safety—false, because Claire knew it was just an illusion, sponsored by all those lights—still felt like a Very Bad Idea. She flipped on the headlights, on bright, even though it was still murky afternoon, and after a moment reached out and turned on the truck’s heater as well. The hot, dry blast of air made her shiver in relief. She felt chilled to the bone, and slimy, even though she knew there
probably
hadn’t been any draug in the raindrops that had soaked through her clothes.
What if there had been? How many of those contaminated raindrops does it take to make a whole draug?
They knew next to nothing about these things, and lack of knowledge always bugged her. She glanced over at Naomi—or, actually, at the back of Naomi’s head, because the vampire was turned to hold her shotgun out of the passenger window, watching for any sign of attack.
“Left,” Naomi said in a flat voice. “Then straight ahead.” She didn’t sound like she was much better than she had been, back on the steps … coping, but not happy about it. Claire wondered how long it would take for her antibodies—if vampires had such things—to destroy the invading blood … and what would happen if a lot of foreign vampire blood was introduced, all at once. Her skin prickled, and it wasn’t from the chill.
It might kill them. It would certainly go a long way toward knocking them down, fast.
She wondered how many humans knew that. It was good information, but it made her shudder to have it in her head. They didn’t like having their vulnerabilities known.
Claire turned left at the dead stoplight, after a brief pause. Kind of stupid, really, because there wasn’t any traffic to worry about. As far as she could tell, they were the only headlights moving in town. The rain had slacked off to a dully falling mist, and she kept the wipers working to clear the windshield. The steady
thump-thump-thump
had a soothing, normal kind of rhythm.
And then she heard something singing along with it.
At first she thought it was Naomi, unlikely as that was; it was a low hum of sound, elegant and just at the edge of her hearing. Then she thought it was the truck’s radio, or maybe a CD playing, but turning the dial didn’t bring up the sound.
She should have known it was the draug, but something kept her from remembering that. Instead, she found herself gradually turning the wheel toward the sound, hunting for it, trying to understand what that song was, a song she knew and loved and could
almost remember ….
As she was gliding into a slow right-hand drift toward the infected part of town, a drift that would take them on a wide turn into a main street, Naomi suddenly reached out and grabbed the wheel in a bone white hand, wrenching it back the other way. Holding it there.
Claire stomped on the brakes, suddenly and violently aware, and glared at her. From the back of the pickup she heard a metallic clang as Shane’s back hit the cab of the truck, and then an outraged, “Hey!
Flamethrower!
”
“I must adjust frequencies,” Naomi said, and twisted knobs on the device she’d taken out of her pocket again; suddenly the faint singing faded into a blessed white-noise silence. “You need to be careful, Claire. If you hear them, then they hear you—sense you, at any rate. Magnus has a taste of you now. He’s curious about your return. You don’t want to be in his hands again.”
Magnus. The head of the draug—their master, as Claire understood it. They all looked identical, but there was something about Magnus that was just more … there. A kind of density that pulled everyone around him into the dark.
In his hands again.
She couldn’t help
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